MCFEM C57

Chapter 57 – I Want to Invite You to Come with Me

“What kind of secret do you want from me?” Gu Yang heard himself ask slowly.

Song Yixing watched the person before him retreat a step, his gaze sharper than ever, yet the hostility in his expression carried no weight—like a cub whose territory had been intruded upon, baring teeth and claws, fierce in appearance but hollow within.

“You already told me once,” Song Yixing said quickly, startled by how defensive his reaction was. “When I was at your house for tutoring, you said… your mother—”

The words cut off abruptly.

He stopped himself before the last half of the sentence could slip out.

What kind of expression had Gu Yang worn when he’d said those things back then?

Propping his face with one hand, smiling, eyes unfocused and wandering, his whole being suffused with a dangerous heat.

But now, Gu Yang looked dazed and at a loss. He didn’t linger a second longer, fleeing like a frightened animal, running up the stairs without looking back.

Song Yixing instinctively reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of a sleeve—then curled his hand back.

In the end, he only stood there, watching as the other vanished upstairs.

He closed his eyes, little by little steadying the sour ache in his chest.

“You know Class Eleven’s Gu Yang?” A cold voice sounded from behind.

Song Yixing turned.

His mind was still full of what had just happened, his air of aloofness thicker than ever—but when his eyes met the girl who had spoken, there was the briefest flicker of movement in them.

“What’s wrong?” Xia Chun had caught that tiny shift in expression and asked coolly.

He wore a black-and-white ski jacket, the collar zipped all the way up, covering most of his face. Only his eyes showed, still and depthless as a well.

“…Nothing.” Song Yixing lowered his gaze. “I was thinking about something else.”

“Did you have a fight?” Xia Chun had seen Gu Yang walking away as she came out, but didn’t bother to explain, even though it might have sounded like she had been eavesdropping.

“It’s fine. I was just too impatient.” Song Yixing shook his head with self-mockery.

He said nothing more, and Xia Chun merely stood beside him, hands in her pockets. After a long silence, she finally spoke.

“I heard people say that Gu Yang came looking for you many times. You two must be close.”

“…Mm.” After a pause, Song Yixing forced the word from his throat.

In truth, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how much he meant to Gu Yang.

Because he had only ever been the one rescued, never able to give anything back.

And this time, his reckless attempt to take a step further had only backfired.

“Misunderstandings aren’t frightening,” Xia Chun said, looking toward the window. “But if you let cowardice stop you from pulling out the thorn, it will only dig deeper. And then the wound will never heal.”

Rain drizzled outside. Droplets traced lines down his reflection on the glass.

“And you?” Song Yixing asked suddenly. “Is there someone in Class Eleven you care about? I’ve never seen you pay attention to these things.”

In his vision, the classroom corridor blurred into the rooftop of the school building. Xia Chun still stood with his back to him, wind lifting his hair, strands flying wild yet unable to hide the deathly stillness.

Then that figure tilted forward—and fell.

A heavy thud resounded below.

The second echo in his memory.

In the last year of high school, the rooftop of the academic building had seemed cursed—two students in succession had jumped.

The first was insignificant, his death like a pebble dropped in a pond: a ripple, then silence, leaving no trace.

The second unleashed a tidal wave, dragging the well-crafted public image of Guanli High straight onto the pyre.

He remembered standing silently amid the crowd, catching in the corner of his eye He Ming’an pushing forward, shoving through bodies toward the front.

Sirens wailed. The fallen student was barely alive, blood gushing, trembling uncontrollably from agony. His bloody hand clutched at He Ming’an’s sleeve.

That boy, who always wore a smiling face, crouched silently, expressionless.

The dying one’s lips moved amid a curtain of hair matted with blood, repeating over and over the simplest syllables.

“It’s nothing,” Xia Chun said now. She smoothed her hair in the window’s reflection, then turned and walked back into the classroom.

—

“What’s with him?”

Yu Bai nudged Xie Wu, jerking his chin toward the brooding figure behind them.

“Who knows.” Xie Wu shook his head. “He’s been like that since coming back.”

Gu Yang’s face was dark, storm clouds heavy, as though he might unleash thunder at any moment.

“Had a fight?” He Ming’an turned, smiling as always. “You went to find Xiao Song downstairs just now, right? What were you talking about?”

“Only a true warrior dares to face things head-on,” Xie Wu said, full of admiration.

“I think class rep’s probably got a whole handbook in his head titled Gu Yang User Guide,” Yu Bai added, agreeing.

“Childhood friends really are different.” Ying Jiayi joined in their chatter.

“Come to think of it, how long has class rep known Gu Yang?” Yu Bai perked up at the word childhood friends, unable to resist poking into gossip. “I always figured they were close.”

“Since elementary school, I think. And they were in the same class in Guanli Middle, too.” Ying Jiayi wasn’t completely sure. “Anyway, a long time.”

“That really is a while.” Yu Bai sighed. “Gu Yang doesn’t seem like the type to keep long relationships, but if it’s class rep, I guess it makes sense. He’s honestly such a good guy.”

Ying Jiayi didn’t refute it. She admitted He Ming’an was reliable and kind—but after spending time together, she could feel he wasn’t nearly as warm inside as he appeared.

He would step in at the right times, yes, but he never truly opened his heart to anyone.

Of course, that wasn’t something to blame him for.

She was just curious—what kind of feelings drove He Ming’an to keep reaching out, again and again, to maintain his bond with Gu Yang?

Gu Yang stared silently at He Ming’an, lips pressed thin, looking decidedly displeased.

He Ming’an let him stare.

In that silent tug-of-war, the first to yield was Gu Yang.

Like a boneless creature, he collapsed onto his desk, burying his head in his arms.

“Xiao Song doesn’t seem like someone you’d fight with,” He Ming’an went on, smiling. “He’s quiet as a clam. Was it some kind of misunderstanding?”

“…Didn’t fight,” Gu Yang murmured.

Outside, the rain poured heavier.

Raindrops hammered down, but with the window closed, they had no weight.

Without that pane of glass, the rain would drench clothes, the wind would strip warmth from skin.

So if anyone tried to open the window, he would stop them.

Gu Yang’s lashes cast shadows over his pale cheeks, long and thick, curved slightly, his eyes lowered in weariness—a silent painting come to life.

“Misunderstandings should be cleared early,” He Ming’an said, with a touch of sigh in his tone.

Gu Yang lifted his eyes to meet his.

Though he had seen those gray eyes thousands of times, being stared at by them once again still made He Ming’an’s heartbeat stumble.

What was he expecting?

When the whole class avoided Gu Yang like the plague, when no one thought being close to him was a good thing—what was he hoping for?

The smile on his lips slowly faded.

The bell rang, signaling dismissal.

“School’s out,” Gu Yang said softly.

“…Right.”

He Ming’an smiled again. “Let’s head home, then.”

At the school gate they parted ways. But He Ming’an didn’t go home—he headed to his family’s company.

He had long been involved in company affairs, and most employees knew him. Passing by, they greeted him as “Young Master He.”

Unlike the messy power struggles in other wealthy families, the He family was simple. He Ming’an was undoubtedly the heir.

“Have you heard about the Lu family these past days? That fake young master finally got thrown out,” whispered Employee A at his desk.

“Finally? I’ve been following this drama through my friend at Tianchen Entertainment—it’s been suffocating. At least it’s wrapped up with a good ending.” Employee B sighed.

“You don’t know how much of a nuisance that fake was. When the real young master came home, he was older, so he was Second Young Master, and the fake got demoted to Third. Every time someone called him Third Young Master at the company, he threw a tantrum. So ridiculous—like anyone owed him anything. Work’s already exhausting.”

“Classic case of the guilty lashing out,” Employee A scoffed. “Unlike here—our young master is easygoing, always smiling, never makes trouble.”

“Exactly.” Employee B nodded. “Once I accidentally sent thousands of messages meant for the staff group straight to Young Master He. Froze his phone mid-meeting! I thought I was finished. But he just replied with a smiley face emoticon, told me to be careful next time.”

“Lucky bastard,” Employee A muttered. “Makes me think—when Young Master He inherits, I’d be glad to stay here till retirement.”

“You haven’t heard?” Employee C, who had been typing quietly, suddenly spoke. “The He family isn’t that simple. There’s actually…”

He stopped abruptly, stiff.

“What? What?” The other two leaned in, eager. Employee B even blurted, “What does he have?”

Employee A, sharper, noticed something amiss. Slowly, he turned—behind the glass door, He Ming’an stood watching them, eyes narrowed in his usual smile.

All three froze. “….”

“Still busy? You’re working hard. Don’t mind me, carry on.”

Waving, He Ming’an walked off.

His assistant hurried after him, sweating. He bowed low. “Young Master He, those employees—loose lips. I’ll discipline them, dock their pay.”

The assistant was an old hand, knew well enough that for both father and son, that subject was taboo.

He Ming’an paused briefly, then resumed his easy stride. “They’re probably just working late. Don’t give them grief. And make sure their overtime pay is processed properly.”

The assistant had only been testing the waters. Relieved by that answer, he nodded quickly.

“Your father went to an engagement earlier,” he added.

He Ming’an didn’t care. He hadn’t come to see his father anyway. Seeing him would hardly be a blessing.

He sat down, reviewing documents the assistant had sorted.

Later, he picked up a call—it was He Senior himself, who had heard from the assistant that his son was at the office. He exchanged a few casual words, then reminded him of Old Master Nie’s eightieth birthday.

The invitation had come long ago, the gift already prepared. He Ming’an had nearly forgotten—it was tomorrow.

After hanging up, he thought of the day’s events, then dialed another number—pulled from the WanYin app.

It rang. Song Yixing answered.

“Hello,” He Ming’an said, voice smiling as always.

Song Yixing, clearly surprised, hesitated for several breaths before asking what he wanted.

“Nothing much. Tomorrow is Old Master Nie’s eightieth—Nie Ying’s grandfather.” He explained, in case the name didn’t register.

“Gu Yang will be there, too. So I’d like to invite you to come with me. How about it?”

As he spoke, his smile deepened, carrying an indescribable meaning.