Acceptance

Everyone was watching Yu Mao, waiting for her answer. Even the cameras had swung toward her, framing her face head-on.

Nan Changgeng lifted her eyes and caught sight of the screen. That face, rendered in high-definition pixels, had black eyes and an expression so blank it looked carved from stone.

All that passion, all those cheers and shouts, passed through those eyes and were swallowed by a black hole, crushed to dust.

The more love she received, the more inhuman she seemed.

Without realizing it, Nan Changgeng stopped pressing her fingers together. She raised a hand to her chest and let out a soft breath.

Yu Mao tilted her head slightly, showing only the faintest trace of surprise at the result. When the shouting in the hall gradually died down, she immediately turned to look at Nan Changgeng.

“I lost. What do you want me to agree to?”

There was unmistakable anticipation in her tone.

Nan Changgeng could only fall silent.

The others were clearly entertained by this; even the host jumped in to egg her on.

Nan Changgeng just smiled and didn’t take the bait. “I’ll save it for later. I’ll tell you another time.”

She had long since decided what she wanted, but she had no intention of saying something so private in front of everyone.

This cat had already been marked in her mind as private territory.

Yu Mao didn’t look disappointed. She nodded smoothly in agreement, then, unable to wait for the result of her own vote count, lifted a foot and was about to head back to the contestants’ seats.

But the host, quick-eyed and quick-handed, caught the ribbon at her skirt’s waist and tugged her back with a teasing smile. “We all know you love Changgeng so much you can’t bear to be apart from her, but your score still hasn’t been announced. You’ll have to put off rushing to her for a moment.”

The audience broke into another wave of laughter.

The two of them looked at each other from afar; Nan Changgeng gave an awkward smile.

Yu Mao had no choice but to stand there again.

Fortunately, the host didn’t waste any more time. She quickly finished the process and announced the votes.

Yu Mao’s votes were indeed lower than Nan Changgeng’s; as of now, she was in fourth place, which was still a very good result.

Among the contestants who would come after Yu Mao, there were no especially strong ones left, so the top rankings probably wouldn’t change anymore.

After hearing the result, Yu Mao tried to leave again. The host was still unwilling to let her go, clutching her skirt tie and refusing to release it, determined to squeeze out one more interview line. “With this result, seeing so many people here just for you—was that completely beyond your expectations? How do you feel?”

She knew this was exactly what the fans in the audience wanted to hear; they had to be hoping that so much affection would move Yu Mao and make her change.

But Yu Mao’s answers were never predictable.

“It was beyond my expectations, but I’d already thought about it. When you look at me from a third-person perspective, what you feel is different from what someone who actually spends time with me feels.”

As soon as she finished speaking, the venue fell strangely quiet.

Those words were far too rational; they shouldn’t have appeared in a setting like this.

She was making it clear that, in her eyes, there was no such thing as false prosperity. This love being offered up before her would all be torn open by her; she would strip away every layer of decorative beauty and look straight at the truth hidden underneath.

The truth could hardly be called ugly, but for human beings who liked to fabricate beautiful fantasies for themselves, it inevitably seemed brutally harsh.

It was like every beautiful-looking human body hiding bloodied, pulpy organs inside; everyone knew this, everyone chose to ignore it completely, and only went mad for the outer shell.

So it was entirely imaginable how off-putting Yu Mao’s words were.

Someone praises your beauty; you cut open your own body to show them your flesh and organs, telling them the reason they think you’re beautiful is because they’re shallow and can only see the surface.

And yet Yu Mao looked perfectly matter-of-fact, pointing out the truth not because she was insecure, or felt undeserving, or was so depressed that she claimed to see through everything and find it all boring. She simply didn’t care.

She didn’t care about love, and she didn’t care about the people giving it; that was why she could so easily tear away the exquisite outer wrapping.

A cold machine.

The host subconsciously let go and froze there in a daze.

Even if Yu Mao had said some cold, formulaic words of thanks and moved on, the situation would have looked better than this. Now that she had spoken, it was obvious she didn’t take those feelings seriously at all.

And the livestream barrage had also taken a different turn; the atmosphere was poor. Online viewers, looking from a purely third-person perspective, saw it even more clearly than the live audience.

[Even though I already knew Cat only cared about Changgeng, actually seeing how little she cares about our love for her still feels so cold...]

[I should’ve accepted long ago that all this love is just self-touching self-consolation. Just treat her like the weird female lead in a drama; knowing she won’t jump out of the story to respond to you makes the liking feel even purer, honestly]

[Yeah, just admire her from behind a screen. She’s basically mentally ill. Did you really think that if enough people liked her, she’d be deeply moved and get better? That’s way too naive. Love alone can’t cure illness]

[Can some people please stop talking so nastily?]

[What’s the problem? Can’t even hear the truth? “Mentally ill” in an objective sense isn’t an insult]

[Another day of the CP fans winning big, yay]

In the brief silence onstage, Nan Changgeng sat properly in the contestants’ area and suddenly raised a hand to cover her mouth as she laughed. Her head dipped; the loose strands at her temples hid half her expression. Her low laughter wasn’t especially noticeable amid the noise filling the room.

Only the contestants seated near her noticed, and their gazes toward her turned a little strange.

But Nan Changgeng had no mind for that. She was just very happy, unable to hold back the laughter spilling out.

She pressed a finger lightly against the corner of her lifted lips. Her eyes drooped lazily, her pupils an inexplicably deep shade, like a dark gray sea holding something profound and subtle.

She concealed it very well; no one could truly catch the look in her eyes.

Unlike her usual warmth and gentleness, there was now a blend of coolness and delight, mixed with a brief, deeply buried satisfaction; a desire sunk to unfathomable depths, finally filled for a moment.

In other people’s eyes, she was a good person with fine character and excellent conduct. Most of the time, she considered herself one too.

But in certain matters, she could never change her arrogance and self-satisfaction; for example, being chosen by a small animal with absolute and unwavering resolve.

From human beings, she had never received such steadfastness. During her upbringing, she had to remain outstanding at all times; her grades had to stay the best, and her violin playing had to keep improving continuously and quickly. The moment she fell behind, there were many people waiting to become the daughter her father considered more perfect than she was.

Every bit of recognition she received had to be earned by herself. The praise for her good grades, her excellent violin technique, her gentle and agreeable temperament—none of it was ever given to her simply for being her.

Without all that, her existence seemed unimportant. There were countless students with good grades in the world, countless geniuses who had studied music from childhood, countless girls with gentle personalities; anyone could have become her replacement. And if she did not work hard, she could ‘disappear’ from other people’s eyes at any moment.

For anyone, she was never someone who couldn’t be replaced. Even to her mother, there was more than one ‘dear child.’

And yet... among a group of animals, she had received a never-ending stream of recognition and affection.

All animals liked her. The most loyal dog would abandon its owner and run to her; timid cats that had been bullied would come to her for help; if she stood under a tree and raised her arm, a bird might happen to swoop down and land on her finger; whenever she went out into the wild, squirrels and rabbits and the like would gather around her.

This was the purest, most steadfast choice she had ever received in this world. It was hard not to feel a special sense of superiority and pride over such one-of-a-kind exceptionality.

This was hers alone; no one could take it away.

And now, she had obtained a humanoid cat whose emotional intensity was far greater than any small animal’s. She had received... a massive quantity of love, multiplied many times over.

Nan Changgeng casually glanced down at the audience, then crossed one leg over the other and rested her chin in her hand. She hummed a broken little love song through her nose; it was the tune from Yu Mao’s performance just now.

The sheer pleasure shattered a corner of her usual composure, revealing a kind of bright, lively excitement unique to her youth.

The host regretted her own reckless boldness and worked hard to warm up the slightly chilled atmosphere. Yu Mao was finally released and trotted back to the contestants’ area in quick, small steps.

Everyone knew she was returning to her own seat, but as she walked that short stretch, it always seemed to others like she was running toward someone.

And exactly who that someone was didn’t require much thought.

When she reached the side of her seat, Yu Mao had no intention of turning to face the stage. Her knee touched the chair first; then both legs came up onto it, and she sat down at an awkward angle, arms wrapped around the chair back as she lifted her head to meet the woman’s gray-blue eyes.

It wasn’t her imagination; those lowered eyes were deeper than usual, and gentler too, with a trace of careless languor added in.

Yu Mao knew that something must have changed.

Nan Changgeng was always serious when dealing with other people, no matter the time; only when she was alone did she ever show such a relaxed expression.

A hand reached out without the slightest hesitation and ruffled her hair; the gesture was almost too casual.

Yu Mao guessed that this signified a deeper layer of acceptance, and her happiness soared higher and higher.

That happiness reached its peak when the competition ended and the production team announced a change in dorms, with all contestants freely choosing teammates according to rank.

This round would eliminate the six people with the lowest vote counts. With the number of contestants reduced again, more dorm space had opened up, so the production team gave the top-ranked contestants a perk: they could choose one to three roommates. In other words, a room could have as few as two people. Only after the dorms were redistributed would the limit rise again to four people per room.

Yu Mao was ranked fourth; Nan Changgeng first.

After the rules were announced, that hand that always caused trouble atop Yu Mao’s head moved to her shoulder, and a faint voice drifted into her ear. “You’ll room with me.”

Her tone was slow and composed, yet left no room for argument, as if she didn’t think Yu Mao would refuse and didn’t allow her to refuse.

Yu Mao nodded rapidly like a pecking chick; the fierce joy inside her seemed about to burst her body open.

After the noise and excitement faded and the audience left, the contestants were left with a hollow sense of emptiness and parting sorrow.

The eliminated contestants would once again throw themselves into one last crying huddle with the close friends they had made.

Meanwhile, Yu Mao remained immersed in fantasies of living in the same room as Nan Changgeng tonight; even her heart rate had risen much faster than usual from sheer excitement.

Clearly, human joy and sorrow were not shared.

By the time the contestants boarded the return bus, it was nearly ten o’clock at night. The eliminated contestants had packed their luggage and could be sent by the production team’s cars to the airport, train station, or hotel. The director’s remaining scraps of conscience had been spent on making sure the contestants stayed safe.

The ones who remained had to change dorms and choose roommates again; by the time everything was finally sorted out, the clock was nearing eleven-thirty.

Nan Changgeng, ranked first, chose the dorm room by the window at the end of the corridor; it was Yu Mao’s original room, so Yu Mao didn’t have to move again.