TCWSITD – Chapter 73 (Extra Chapter 1)

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Chapter 73 (Extra Chapter 1) – He Gu’s Extra 1

He Gu only learned about it the day after Lin Jiang made his relationship public.

He was in the middle of annotating a contract revision—just a few simple words—but no matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t type them correctly. His fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, unable to press the keys in the right order.

“President He, there’s a typo,” his assistant reminded him.

Clutching the contract, he suddenly stood up, dizzy, his mind blank as he forgot what he had been about to say. “You… all go out first.”

No one dared to make a sound. His assistant closed the door behind him as he left, and the spacious office instantly became so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

He opened the floor-to-ceiling window, and cold wind rushed in relentlessly. In his ears, Lin Jiang’s voice echoed again: “Why didn’t you come to watch my match again? If I retire, you’ll have fewer and fewer chances to see me play.”

Back then, he had always assumed Lin Jiang played so many matches that missing one or two didn’t matter. Looking back now, he had missed so many, he hadn’t even attended Lin Jiang’s second championship.

How… could it have turned out like this?

He had always thought that he loved Lin Jiang very much, but in the end, it was just like this.

Maybe Lin Jiang had been right all along—he simply didn’t have the ability to love anyone.

After all, a monster can only raise another monster.¹怪物教出来的，只能是怪物 (Guàiwù jiào chūlái de, zhǐ néng shì guàiwù.) – figurative expression implying that one’s nature or upbringing determines their capacity for love or emotion.

He Gu lit a cigarette, and before he knew it, night had fallen. He canceled all his work and walked to Lin Jiang’s apartment on foot, each step bringing back memories of their past.

Lin Jiang had always been the one to take initiative. He would invite him to his birthday parties, give him gifts, pick out ties for him, and even decorate the apartment to his liking.

“He Gu, look. This tie really suits you.”

“Stop wearing black all the time. Try some other colors. It’ll make you look younger.”

“Ah, I changed all the curtains to blue. Isn’t someone here super particular? II changed them to your favorite color. Whenever you have time, you’re welcome to come over and visit the apartment.”

In the end, he never kept his promise.

Lin Jiang didn’t say anything, and never mentioned it again.

Then one day, after work, he suddenly remembered and drove to Lin Jiang’s apartment.

He had imagined a hundred different scenarios of how their reunion might go, but when the door opened, he was met with a haze of smoke. Old Mao and the others were sprawled on the couch, watching a match livestream, smoking, laughing in a chaotic mess.

He Gu had a thing about cleanliness—he hated the smell of smoke on Lin Jiang. Whenever they were alone together, he never allowed a single cigarette.

But Old Mao wasn’t him; he could easily lead Lin Jiang astray.

That day, Lin Jiang had run over excitedly and asked, “You came? Why didn’t you tell me in advance?”

He instinctively frowned. “I didn’t know you had friends over. I’ll come another time.”

The room fell instantly silent, leaving only the sound of the live broadcast on TV. Old Mao and the others glanced over cautiously, not daring to make a sound.

Lin Jiang must have had so much he wanted to say. He stared at him, emotions flickering across his face, words rising to his lips only to be swallowed back. “Then … drive safely on your way back.”

“…Hm”
He Gu couldn’t remember what he had been thinking at that moment. Maybe he had been waiting for Lin Jiang to compromise, or maybe he had wanted Lin Jiang to cut off all those messy relationships and care only for him.

But Lin Jiang wanted to do too many things. He was the complete opposite of himself. In his heart, there were far too many things more important than He Gu.

He Gu couldn’t accept it. He wanted to be the most important person in Lin Jiang’s heart. Everything else—Old Mao, Zeng Yuan, the matches, the live broadcasts—he wished could be secondary to him.

Perhaps this is how the cracks had begun to form, little by little.

He Gu had also thought about making amends. He took the initiative to suggest going to Lin Jiang’s place to watch the match.

That day, Lin Jiang was very happy. He tidied up the room, arranged He Gu’s favorite white roses in a vase, and even made sure the curtains were blue.

Everything was exactly how he liked it. But when he sat down on the sofa, it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn’t the first person to sit there—Old Mao had sat in that very spot that day.

A wave of discomfort washed over him. He could almost smell the lingering smoke, hear the chaotic noise of the match broadcast echoing in his ears.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly. He didn’t pay attention to what Lin Jiang was saying and endured sitting for ten minutes before finally getting up and leaving the apartment.

What was Lin Jiang doing in that moment?

He Gu couldn’t quite remember.

He racked his brain trying to recall, remembering how Lin Jiang had knelt in front of the TV that day, smiling as he adjusted the livestream for him. When He Gu said he was leaving, Lin Jiang froze for a long moment before looking up at him for a while. “Then… shall I see you off?”

Neither of them spoke. The elevator was eerily silent. When He Gu left, he glanced back at Lin Jiang, standing under the shade of a tree outside the building, untouched by the streetlights, his figure blurred.

He Gu always believed Lin Jiang would forgive him. No matter what he was like, Lin Jiang would always forgive him.

But in the end, he realized everything had just been his own wishes imposed on Lin Jiang. Lin Jiang didn’t like this kind of relationship. Everything was already over.

A hopeless thought struck him: maybe even without his mother, even without his family standing in the way, he and Lin Jiang still wouldn’t have made it to the end.

Because the cracks had long since formed…

After leaving the apartment, He Gu went to a bar.

He drank heavily, numbing himself until he could finally summon the courage to tell Lin Jiang what he truly felt.

That night, he sent countless messages, barely aware of what he was saying, only pouring out his emotions. The next morning, he woke up to see his screen filled with regret and apologies.

In fact, he had regretted it a long time ago.

Always regretted it.

Yet it was only now that he dared to admit it…

How could he have fallen so low?

Every message he sent came back with a red exclamation mark. Then he remembered that day at Lin Jiang’s apartment—he had smashed two of Lin Jiang’s cups, got slapped, and Lin Jiang had already blocked his number.

Slumping to his feet, he realized he had spent the night on the streets of the plaza, disheveled and unkempt. Even through the glass, he felt every bit like a wandering beggar.

A grain of sand had gotten into his eye, and no matter how much he rubbed, it wouldn’t come out.

He Gu was someone who couldn’t tolerate even a speck of dust in his eye, yet now he had no choice but to endure it.

Around him, he heard children playing by the fountain in the plaza, tossing coins into the jar of a goddess statue. “If it goes in, your wish will come true,” they said.

Would it… really make wishes come true?

He Gu walked to the wishing fountain and picked up a coin that had slipped into a crack on the ground. If there were truly gods in this world, he thought, let me go back and undo everything I’ve done.

As he tossed the coin, water from the fountain surged upward, scattering prisms of color in the sunlight.

He Gu felt somewhat dazed. It seemed as though he saw the coin enter the narrow mouth of a bottle, and in an instant, a blinding white light enveloped him entirely.

People around were talking. “Alike has been signed, and Lin Jiang has renewed his contract. Will Lin Jiang still be the starter afterward?”

The white light faded, and time seemed to stretch as long as a century. So long that many memories began to blur and disappear.

Finally, He Gu saw the scene before him clearly. This was his office abroad, and the voice of the KUG manager came through his Bluetooth earpiece. “Young Master He? What do you think?”

A sudden ringing filled He Hu’s ears. Something tugged at his memory, something he had forgotten, but he couldn’t grasp it. He tapped on the keyboard, keeping it strictly professional. “Has Alike’s contract been finalized?”

“Yes, it’s done. Lin Jiang’s signing price was very low this time as well. During the transfer window, KUG has made a huge profit.”

The ringing returned, a pressure in his mind that made him uncomfortable. He Gu felt as though he had forgotten something important, something he needed to do, but he just couldn’t remember.

Had he just had a dream?

It seemed like he dreamed that Lin Jiang hadn’t renewed his contract and had left him. But he couldn’t remember anything else after that.

His heart pounded incessantly, making him uneasy. He Gu dialed another call just to be sure. “Did Lin Jiang really renew? Send me his contract so I can see it for myself.”

The contract was quickly sent over. The more he looked at it, the deeper his frown became. “Who drafted this?”

“Manager Chen, he’s responsible for this year’s renewals.”

“This price doesn’t seem right. Alike is almost ten times this amount.”

“Exactly, that’s why we say Manager Chen did a great job this time—securing the biggest gain at the lowest cost. Young Master He, should we give him a bonus?”

That uncomfortable feeling returned, as if trying to remind him of something. He Gu rubbed his eyes. There was no wind, so why did it feel like sand had gotten into them?

The meeting time was approaching, leaving him no room to dwell on other thoughts. He stood up, picked up the documents on the desk, and notified the KUG manager. “That’s settled. Have them take turns playing. Don’t let Lin Jiang know about Alike’s matter yet.”

“Understood, Young Master He. Rest assured, we’ll handle their relationship properly.”

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  怪物教出来的，只能是怪物 (Guàiwù jiào chūlái de, zhǐ néng shì guàiwù.) – figurative expression implying that one’s nature or upbringing determines their capacity for love or emotion.