7 Requesting the Handsome Man's Contact Information (7)

You are lying flat.

Before your eyes is the stark white ceiling of the dormitory, and beneath you is the familiar iron-frame bed, still topped with the small cotton quilt your mother stitched for you.

You are still biting down on a piping hot flatbread.

In your right hand, your phone screen is still lit. The game "Honor of Kings," which you had intended to play, is open on the display.

Everything—what you see, what you feel beneath you, the taste in your mouth, and the device in your hand—gives you an surreal, dreamlike sensation, as if you are Zhuang Zhou dreaming of a butterfly.

If not for the fiery red icon labeled "Burn, Little Introvert" sitting right next to your Honor of Kings app, you might have suspected this was all just a dream.

You blink in a daze. How did you end up back here?

You hadn't even settled the score with the system yet; you hadn't even asked it anything.

You remember the feeling of being deceived after looking at those four cards... You seem to have said, "I'm quitting the game..." and were promptly kicked out by the system.

But that "I'm quitting..." was clearly just a bluff, a tactic no different from the one your mother uses when haggling at a shop, threatening to walk away when a deal can't be reached. In reality, those shopkeepers never even let your mother walk three steps before calling her back.

It was the same "retreat to advance" strategy, so why didn't it work for you?

Was it because you hadn't spent any real money on the game? But it hadn't even given you the chance to pay-to-win.

As you pondered where your move went wrong, a loud "bang" echoed in the dormitory. The flatbread you were holding dropped onto your chest, and you scrambled to grab it, terrified that its blistering heat would scorch your already modest-sized chest.

You clung to the guardrail of your upper bunk and looked down.

It was your dorm leader who had returned. She was holding a package, and after swiping her key card, she had kicked the door open with her foot. She tossed the package onto the table and headed straight for you, looking uncharacteristically excited.

Taken aback by her sudden enthusiasm, you stared at her blankly, gripping the small light-green hanging basket attached to your bunk.

Then, you saw a hand fly out in front of you, tearing away half of your flatbread with lightning speed.

Oh, no—half of your flatbread.

Yes, she was that very roommate who held an intense love for her hometown delicacies and firmly forbade you from carelessly calling it "a plain pancake."

Sure enough, you knew you didn't possess the kind of charm that made people’s eyes light up.

You watched her take a bite, easily devouring a quarter of the flatbread in one go. She chewed vigorously, making "hissing" sounds of satisfaction, her face radiating pure joy. "This is the taste! I've missed it so much!"

She looked at you, who were staring at the remaining half in your hand and questioning the meaning of life. "Well? Isn't it delicious?"

"Delicious, yes, it's delicious," you nodded.

"Then why aren't you eating?" She eyed you suspiciously, clearly doubting that you actually liked it.

You rushed to clarify: "I've already eaten four. This is my fifth."

She was surprised by your sudden increase in appetite and was about to ask you more, but you quickly shoved the remaining half toward her, indicating that if she didn't mind that you had already taken a bite, she could have this one too.

She truly did not mind at all. Taking it from you, she began eating from both sides at once.

She finished quickly, then reached out to pat your head as you lay propped up in your hanging basket. "Not bad, not bad," she said.

You weren't sure if her "not bad" referred to you or the flatbread, but she left looking extremely satisfied.

As for you, you buried your chin in the cold metal basket and fell into deep thought. You realized that she was much better suited for that game than you—whether it was her cheerful, unpretentious personality or the way she polished off food so decisively. Plus, she looked like she could eat forever; she was practically the game’s chosen one.

***

That night, everyone finished washing up and climbed into bed one by one.

You lay in bed, scrolling through your phone aimlessly. When you visited Taobao, the "Guess You Like" big data algorithm pushed that 1,800-yuan, 10-gram caviar to you again.

This time, you didn't swipe past it in a hurry; you added it to your shopping cart.

But you didn't pay for it, because your monthly living allowance of 1,500 yuan wouldn't allow for such an operation.

Look, poverty doesn't just limit one's imagination; it limits one's actions. You could have potentially earned 178,200 yuan from the game, but for lack of start-up capital, your brilliant idea died in the cradle.

Of course, the other reason stopping you from taking out a 300-yuan loan for next month was that you had never eaten caviar and didn't know if it tasted good. What if it wasn't good? Wouldn't that 1,800 yuan be a total waste?

You were lost in these illogical thoughts when, suddenly, a tea party without snacks or drinks—a pure chatting session—broke out in the dorm. It started because your lower-bunk roommate said she had run into her "Crush" again today.

It was the first time you had heard her use the word "Crush," and you initially thought she had accidentally bumped into something, so you worriedly scanned her exposed limbs.

Then, you were mercilessly laughed at by the other three roommates.

But you really couldn't be blamed. The "crush" you had learned in school meant "to press, suppress, or destroy."

After their explanation, you understood that "Crush" meant someone you had a crush on at first sight. But compared to a "significant other" or a "boyfriend/girlfriend," a "Crush" was more casual. You figured this out yourself because you learned from their conversation that a person could have several "Crushes" at the same time. You guessed that because "Crush" was a trendy new term, the moral constraints around it weren't fully established yet.

Listening on, you soon gathered that the "Crush" your lower-bunk roommate had encountered today was a junior in the Computer Science department.

Yes, that’s right, your roommate had several "Crushes." They were scattered across different departments and years throughout the school, and there were even some from the sports college next door. As far as you could tell, the only common trait among these "Crushes" was that they were handsome.

But you had never seen their true faces. After all, your roommate was content with just looking.

As you browsed Taobao, you listened to the other two roommates encouraging her to go up and ask for his contact information next time.

One said, "Just go up and ask! If it works, you have your Crush's WeChat. If it doesn't, it doesn't—he doesn't even know you."

The other chimed in, "Exactly, he doesn't know you, so what are you afraid of?"

It was the same old advice.

In the past, you never voiced an opinion. On one hand, you lacked experience; on the other, you could somewhat understand your roommate's hesitation—you were just as cowardly and had never proactively struck up a conversation with any boy. Of course, you were even more timid; she would at least secretly lust after them and talk big in private, whereas you had enough self-awareness to never dream that a handsome guy would ever take notice of you.

But now, hearing the encouragement from your other two roommates, your scrolling slowed unconsciously. You suddenly felt that what they said actually made a lot of sense.

It’s just asking for contact info, what’s there to be afraid of? He doesn't know you anyway. If he refuses, you won't lose a piece of flesh. If he gives it, he gives it; if he doesn't, he doesn't. If he doesn't, just ask again next time—you subconsciously applied the logic from the game.

So, you turned off your phone, leaned over to look at your lower-bunk roommate, waved your hand grandly, and said, "Next time you run into him, tell me. I’ll go ask for you. What’s there to be afraid of?"

Your roommate was startled by your sudden burst of bravado and peeked out to look at you, her eyes darting across your face as if checking to see if you had lost your mind.

Your other two roommates quickly reacted and started teasing.

"Look at how hesitant 'Number Three' is—it’s driven our honest 'Number Four' to this."

"Hahaha, exactly! 'Number Four' couldn't stand it anymore."

You were fourth in the dorm ranking, hence "Number Four," and your lower-bunk roommate was "Number Three." Finally, the three of them dissolved into laughter.

You, who were being perfectly serious: "???"

***

A new week.

At 7:00 AM, while the other two roommates were fast asleep, you and "Number Three" climbed out of bed with great effort, quietly washed up, packed your bags, and headed out for breakfast.

You were rushing to an 8:00 AM elective course that only the two of you unlucky souls had signed up for.

After class ended at 9:30, the two of you decided not to go back to the dorm yet but to spend some time in the library, grab lunch at the canteen, and then head back.

As you walked toward the library, chatting away, your arm was suddenly gripped tightly by your roommate.

You looked at her.

She was staring in one direction, her eyes shining.

You saw her neck stretched out like a giraffe’s, and you asked, "Did you see someone you know?"

She covered her mouth with one hand while patting your back with the other, thumping you hard. Finally, she managed to squeeze out two words through her covered mouth:

"It's him!"

You looked at your roommate, confused, seeing her still covering her mouth and speaking with an incredibly excited expression. You couldn't grasp the depth of meaning in her gestures, so you pulled her hand down.

She must have been deprived of oxygen from covering her own mouth, because once you pulled her hand away, she took a sharp, deep breath and said in a heavy, breathy voice: "It's the senior I was telling you about a few days ago!"

People really shouldn't be discussed; you muttered to yourself—speak of the devil, and he appears so quickly.

You looked over with curiosity.

That legendary senior from the Computer Science department seemed to be heading to the library as well. His back looked very tall, and he was wearing a white T-shirt. In the sweltering heat of midsummer, he actually looked clean and refreshing.

You had to admit, he was handsome at first glance.

He looked eighty percent similar to the back view of your mission target in the game. You couldn't help but suspect that all handsome men looked more or less the same. Only ugliness, it seemed, came in a thousand different varieties.

Your roommate, seeing you staring too, nudged you with her elbow, smugly: "What's wrong? Didn't you say you'd help me get his WeChat if we saw him? Why are you just standing here staring blankly?"

There’s a saying: "You can eat whatever you want, but you can't say whatever you want."

Once you’ve said it, you have to follow through.

The old you might have backed out in the face of your roommate's teasing, but after four rounds of the "ask for contact info" game, you were practically a seasoned pro. You didn't even need to prepare lines; they were already crowding the tip of your tongue. After all, you had practiced this countless times in your seat in the game.

"Give me your phone," you said to your roommate with a firm gaze, "I'll go get it for you right now."

Your roommate stared at you for a full three seconds before realizing you weren't joking. She took her phone out of her bag, unlocked it, and handed it to you hesitantly.

The more hesitant she became, the more determined you felt. Because at this moment, in her, you saw your former self.

You gripped your roommate's phone tightly and marched toward her Crush with your head held high.

You reached him and called out, "Excuse me, classmate, wait a moment."

He turned and stopped.

You felt the space in front of you suddenly darken.

You stared at his shoulders in the white T-shirt. The shirt was very clean, glowing as white as a bar of soap in the sun. Thinking this, you seemed to catch a faint, clean scent coming from him.

He didn't speak, seemingly waiting for you to start.

You didn't hesitate again. You said to him, "Classmate, my roommate has been following you for a long time. Could you add her on WeChat?"

As you said this, you held out your roommate's phone, which was displaying the WeChat QR code.

"Your roommate?" you heard him ask, sounding somewhat puzzled.

You turned slightly and pointed toward the direction where your roommate was standing, looking very well-behaved. "That one."

After speaking, you turned back to look at his reaction.

When you turned, you discovered to your surprise that his head was right behind yours, his face magnified right before your eyes.

He had apparently bent down behind you to try and find your roommate, following the finger you hadn't retracted yet.

This time, it was your turn to cover your mouth tightly with your hand!

You were completely shocked!

How could it be him???