Zhang Yijie replied, "Alright, so what should we eat?"

In the end, they chose a Japanese restaurant opened by a friend of Zhang Yijie's mom.

It was a high-end place, and the head chef came out specially to greet them.

Cheng Shuo distractedly exchanged a few pleasantries, and when he saw the person leave, he really couldn't hold back and continued to ask.

"Then what if you knew someone was going to commit suicide in a few days?"

"What the hell? Did you download some weird novel?"

Zhang Yijie focused on squeezing wasabi and stuffed a piece of tuna belly into his mouth. "You're being weird."

"But if you really knew, what would you do?"

"I'd watch him," Zhang Yijie replied. "Just, watch him all the time, don't give him any opportunity."

"What if you're not that close, and you don't have a good reason to?"

Zhang Yijie said, "If you're not that close, how would you know he's going to commit suicide?"

"Just don't worry about how."

"If you're not that close, then find his friends and tell them to keep a closer eye on him. If I'm not that close to him, I can't really do much even if I want to. A single reminder fulfills my obligation." He waved his hand. "Are you full yet? I feel like I need to order another sashimi platter."

Cheng Shuo, however, seemed stunned, and absent-mindedly stuffed the pickled red ginger from the side into his mouth.

Zhang Yijie waited for him to make a fool of himself, but the man surprisingly seemed not to taste it at all, swallowing it right down.

"What's with you?" He patted his good friend's shoulder. "Something's off."

It took a long while for Cheng Shuo to come back to his senses. He answered blankly, "You're right."

'What did I say?' Zhang Yijie thought for a long time but couldn't figure it out.

He never dwelled on trivial matters. "If you're not going to eat, I'm ordering another one for myself."

Cheng Shuo's handsome, bold features were twisted together, his mind lost in some far-off place. Zhang Yijie didn't let it bother him, ordering and savoring the sea urchin and surf clams all by himself.

When the man finally deigned to return to the mortal realm and hastily ate the leftover salmon belly, he put down his phone and asked Cheng Shuo if he wanted to go to the new pub Zhou Tianjun had mentioned in the group chat that night.

"Including us two, there should be eight people in total. Zhou Tianjun said the owner of that place is pretty interesting."

Surprisingly, Cheng Shuo shook his head.

"I'm going back to do my homework."

Zhang Yijie couldn't believe what he was hearing, his eyes widening. "What on earth is wrong with you?"

Cheng Shuo said, "You know, that substitute from before, named Cen Zeng, do you remember him?"

Zhang Yijie racked his brain and finally dredged up a faint impression from some dusty corner of his mind. "Oh, him," he said. "The one who was deadly quiet and never said a word?"

Hearing the word "deadly," Cheng Shuo subconsciously retorted, "He's just rather quiet."

"He's boring anyway, just happens to look like Xing Ji." Zhang Yijie asked, "What about him? Is he stopping you from going out?"

"How could that be possible," Cheng Shuo said. "We don't have a proper relationship to begin with."

"Then why are you going back to do homework?" he asked. "And why bring him up?"

He recalled Cheng Shuo's earlier questions and said, "Holy shit, did you find out he wants to kill himself?"

The eyes of the man before him darkened.

"Then you should hurry and get him to a hospital. Tell his friends, and have them get his family to stay with him. Fooling around is one thing, but it's not good if someone ends up dead. If something really were to happen, who knows if they'd try to pin the blame on you."

As Cheng Shuo listened, he felt his stomach churn.

He wanted to say that Cen Zeng's mother hadn't blamed him; she hadn't even planned a funeral for her son. He was the one who read the coroner's report. Suicide by Potassium Chloride injection. Before reading that report, he didn't even know what Potassium Chloride was.

But friends... that was indeed worth a try.

He ignored the rest of what Zhang Yijie said, stating that he had to go back.

His childhood friend, left behind, angrily cursed him on WeChat for losing his mind.

Losing his mind? So be it. Everything was already crazy enough.

He drove home, opened the door, and found the living room dark.

His breathing suddenly quickened. He abruptly flicked on the lights and scanned the entire room.

Nothing new on the table, no one on the carpet.

He rushed to the guest room and began to knock.

No answer.

Unable to bear it any longer, he pushed down on the doorknob.

"Cen Zeng, Cen Zeng, are you in there?"

The room was empty and silent. The diary he had read repeatedly lay closed on the desk.

Breathing heavily, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest, he instinctively looked away, only to scan the room again a moment later.

No one.

Where was Cen Zeng?

He took out his phone and started to dial a number.

Just as he was about to press call, someone spoke from behind him, "What are you doing?"

The voice was cold.

Cheng Shuo sucked in a sharp breath, his nerves suddenly relaxing as he saw stars flash before his eyes. "Where did you go?"

His voice carried an anxiety he wasn't aware of, almost sounding like an interrogation.

Cen Zeng's tone held a rare note of sarcasm. "Perhaps you should explain why you're in my room."

"I didn't see you when I got back," Cheng Shuo replied. "Sorry."

He felt annoyed as the word left his lips. Here he was, worried sick about this person, yet he was the one who had to apologize, while the other man looked at him as if nothing was wrong.

"Where did you go?" he asked again.

"I went out for a bit," Cen Zeng answered. "Is there anything else?"

His tone had returned to its usual calmness, the attitude one would use to see a guest out.

"Where, specifically?" he pressed.

Cen Zeng didn't answer right away. He glanced down at the phone still in Cheng Shuo's hand and frowned slightly. "Who were you calling?"

He was on guard.

Cheng Shuo stared at him, his mind a chaotic mess.

For the first time today, he fully realized it—he knew nothing at all.

This person before him lived in his apartment, slept in his room, made him breakfast, and maintained a relationship with him that was neither too close nor too distant.

But he didn't know the other's daily schedule, whether he had friends, what exactly he was studying, why he wanted to die, or even if he was writing a suicide note. Oh, probably not. The note was likely something he remembered to write just before he died.

Fuck.

"You," he said. "I've answered two of your questions, now you have to answer two of mine."

"I went to the hospital," Cen Zeng replied. "The school's Affiliated Hospital."

Cheng Shuo's breath hitched. "What for?"

"To give my advisor a document," Cen Zeng said. "What is wrong with you, really?"

"What do you mean, what's wrong?"

"I don't recall this being our kind of relationship," Cen Zeng answered coolly. "Aren't you asking a bit much?"

Cen Zeng's words shut him down completely.

'But you died. You died in my home. You can pretend like nothing's wrong, you could even casually ask me to buy eggs before you died, but I can't.'

'Right now, I don't even know if you're pretending, I have no idea what you're really up to.'

"Just say I'm curious about you," Cheng Shuo replied.

Cen Zeng nodded. "Fine, but my life is very boring."

That attitude again. So calm, treating everything as insignificant. Then again, if he didn't even care about his own life, what else could possibly matter to him?

"What about your friends, then? You've met my friend, but I haven't met yours. Can I have a meal with them?"

Cen Zeng glanced at him again.

The overly bright, cool-white light in the room made him look gloomy and indifferent.

Cheng Shuo was already braced for a firm rejection, and was considering asking Chen Ziheng from the Student Council if he could look up Cen Zeng's class information.

"They're busy recently," he finally said. "Midterms are coming up, so they won't be free until the week after next."

The week after next.

The week after next is too late.

But as the words reached his lips, he changed what he was going to say. "Then it's settled. After your midterms are over, we'll all have a meal together."

Cheng Shuo said, "How about it?"

Cen Zeng blinked, then nodded. "Okay, but you'll probably find it dull."

"That's fine, that's fine," Cheng Shuo said. "As long as we can have a meal, that's enough."