BTMDY Chapter 123

After Lin Shen shut down the topic, Lu Chengxuan’s face first showed a flicker of confusion.

 

But in the next instant, he guessed why Lin Shen had said that.

 

His dark eyes quietly studied Lin Shen, expression calm as he said, “I mean… when I first met you, it was the first time in my life I actually started to care about people and things.”

 

“…”

 

The house had excellent soundproofing; the room was so quiet that not a single sound could be heard.

 

Lin Shen stared at the black-and-white piano keys before him, and his face suddenly heated up like wildfire. His blood pounded in his veins, a kind of urge surging inside him that made him want to lift the piano and smash it over Lu Chengxuan just to shut him up completely.

 

So being quiet and reserved… was actually that attractive.

 

He’d never realized it before, even thought Lu Chengxuan was too quiet at times.

 

Lin Shen’s mind, usually clogged with… well, ‘impure thoughts,’ was utterly flustered, and he had no idea how to respond. His fingers jabbed at the piano keys in fits and starts, stumbling out ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ notes, while he buried his head and pretended to be dead silent.

 

But Lu Chengxuan—always measured and tactful in dealing with others—insisted on pushing through that thin layer of hesitation, rudely prodding for answers.

 

“Is this… about natural instincts?” he asked.

 

Lin Shen was furious and embarrassed. With a loud ‘slam’, he closed the piano lid, throwing caution to the wind, and shouted, “I thought you were going to comment on… you know, sleeping with me! Who knew you’d go all innocent and pure? I’m not buying it, don’t play games with me!”

 

Lu Chengxuan watched his reddened ears and evasive eyes without blinking, calm as ever: “That counts too. Most of my feelings come from the mind, not the body. I can tell the difference.”

 

Lin Shen’s brain went into overdrive; his ears were buzzing.

 

Plainly put, they were both adults. Bed antics were one thing, but Lu Chengxuan talking about it like it was a research project? Unbearable.

 

It was like standing on the execution block while someone wildly fired a machine gun in your face.

 

What the hell was wrong with this guy?!

 

“I already said don’t!” Lin Shen fired back, listing off grievances so fast even he felt dizzy. “Sex is just… better than jerking off. I’m lonely, I have needs—don’t make a big deal out of it. Men think with their lower half, period. And don’t flatter yourself thinking you’re all rational!”

 

Lu Chengxuan said nothing, quietly enduring the tirade. Then, unhurried, he lowered his head and handed him the water he’d poured earlier.

 

“Don’t be mad.”

 

His earlier sincere reflection had been real.

 

But that didn’t stop Lin Shen’s naturally stubborn temper from exploding the moment the fuse was lit.

 

Hearing Lu Chengxuan say that made his anger flare instantly, yet he refused to admit it. So he laughed through the fury, trying to act calm by lowering his voice and slowing his speech.

 

“Mad? Me? Why would I be mad? I’m not mad at all, am I?”

 

“Then it was my misunderstanding. My fault,” Lu Chengxuan said, playing along, holding the cup a little closer: “The floor’s heated, it’s dry in here. Drink some water.”

 

To back up his words, he even casually turned on the humidifier.

 

The steps were laid out so naturally that Lin Shen, having trapped himself with his own actions, had no reason not to follow through.

 

“The floor’s heated… so that’s why. No wonder I’m sweating like crazy.”

 

Saying that, Lin Shen shrugged off his jacket, took the glass of water Lu Chengxuan handed him, and casually tossed the coat back at him. He rose from the piano bench and walked toward the desk, not forgetting to grumble on the way:

 

“What a crappy piano—can’t even play in tune.”

 

Lu Chengxuan didn’t point out that it was Lin Shen who’d played ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ wrong. He just nodded calmly.

 

“I’ll have someone tune it in a few days.”

 

Lin Shen took a slow sip of water, then sauntered to the desk and sat down, opening the computer while adjusting the chair height and sliding the keyboard closer.

 

“Got itchy hands… mind if I play games on your computer?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

Since Lu Chengxuan lived alone, the study had only the desk chair and the piano bench to sit on. Lu Chengxuan nodded from his spot by the piano, signaling it was fine.

 

The two of them were completely relaxed around each other, no defenses at all.

 

Although Linhong’s company’s main computer held a ton of confidential files, Lu Chengxuan had been able to freely enter Lin Shen’s office and use his computer long ago.

 

Even though it was a home computer, Lu Chengxuan often used it for work, so naturally it had a password.

 

Lin Shen tried his phone’s lock screen password—it failed.

 

“What’s the password?”

 

“My full name, first letter capitalized, and four ones at the end.”

 

Lin Shen typed it as Lu Chengxuan spoke. When he reached the final ‘1111,’ he frowned slightly and asked with a raised eyebrow, “Why’d you put my son’s birthday in the password?”

 

“Coincidence,” Lu Chengxuan said. “I didn’t set it based on his birthday.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Lin Shen nodded. He knew this guy wouldn’t lie, so he didn’t press further.

 

After entering the password and hitting enter, the desktop loaded. Lin Shen noticed a bunch of work files linked to Sheng Tian and even the Lu family. He didn’t open a single one—overtime was not his thing. His eyes scanned for the browser to download a game, and then suddenly he spotted a familiar icon on the desktop.

 

[Heroes of Glory]

 

In an instant, an invisible force seemed to pluck at the strings of his heart.

 

A gentle, trembling note lingered in his nervous system, resonating without end.

 

Lin Shen couldn’t help but glance sideways. Lu Chengxuan sat at the piano with his back to him, head down, quietly flipping through sheet music.

 

Since the day they’d met, the number of times he’d played games with Lu Chengxuan could be counted on one hand—fifteen matches total, at most.

 

For him, gaming was just a way to relax.

 

After graduating and starting work, aside from the periods where he was swamped and barely had time to breathe, his gaming habits hadn’t slowed down much.

 

But Lu Chengxuan was never on his invite list.

 

The guy was clearly busy, and he never seemed to have much interest in games.

 

So whenever Lin Shen wanted to play, he usually called Lin Wangye or some of the rookies from the Phantom Wail’s training camp. He never once considered Lu Chengxuan.

 

Even when this man was sitting right next to him.

 

Double-clicking, he opened the game. After a quick update, ‘Heroes of Glory’ loaded up. The login screen still had the last account saved, and right there in the username box was Lu Chengxuan’s ID.

 

Lin Shen typed in his own username and password, hit enter, and logged in.

 

The first thing he did wasn’t queuing up for a match. Instead, he pulled up his friend list, found ‘Bright Moon Shine On Me,’ right-clicked, and checked the match history.

 

The results weren’t at all what he expected.

 

‘Bright Moon Shine On Me’ didn’t have a dusty old record like he’d assumed—the matches had been updated all along.

 

Sometimes every three to five days, a few rounds at a time.

 

Sometimes ten days or half a month apart.

 

Occasionally, more than a month.

 

Lin Shen clicked through the pages of [Bot Matches], one by one. He noticed there was a pattern in the heroes Lu Chengxuan chose.

 

If it was the same hero, he’d play many rounds in a row.

 

Simpler ones would only last two or three matches before he switched. But the tougher, more complex heroes? He stuck with them—five matches, even ten.

 

It was obvious he’d been practicing.

 

Lin Shen skipped ahead to the last page and easily found the matches they’d played together—only eleven total.

 

And the very first heroes Lu Chengxuan had practiced were exactly the ones he’d used when playing with him.

 

This man didn’t have much spare time.

 

Judging from the match dates, the gaps between games were usually long.

 

The only reason there was such a long history was because he hadn’t given up—squeezing in games whenever he could, little by little.

 

At first, Lin Shen felt a kind of surprise, even excitement. But now, a dull heaviness settled in his chest.

 

Not long ago, Lu Chengxuan had admitted he wasn’t interested in games.

 

So why was he doing all this?

 

The answer was obvious. Just like how he’d once tried to learn painting—something he had no interest in at all—just to please Vivian, here he was again, trying to please someone who happened to love games.

 

Lu Chengxuan didn’t know anyone else who loved playing games.

 

Clearly, that person was him.

 

But Lin Shen had no idea what Lu Chengxuan’s intention really was.

 

Was he doing all this to get closer to him? Or was it to make up for the version of himself that had died in another timeline?

 

Maybe it was both.

 

Lin Shen’s mind was a mess, tangled up in complicated thoughts.

 

He didn’t even know how to ask, so he distractedly started a game. But his focus was all over the place, and he played like he was just skimming through it. Before long, his opponent was mercilessly beating him.

 

When the enemy started typing taunts in the chat, Lin Shen’s temper flared instantly. Anger surged up like a wave.

 

Lu Chengxuan didn’t play with him often, but he watched him a lot.

 

When Lin Shen’s keystrokes got heavier and faster, it wasn’t about competing in the game—it was him unleashing a storm of furious online insults.

 

Seeing Lin Shen’s face grow darker and his fingers blur across the keyboard, Lu Chengxuan flipped through the sheet music a few times and placed it on the stand.

 

His fingers danced nimbly across the keys, and the melody of ‘Croatian Rhapsody’ leapt out smoothly.

 

The music instantly amplified the mood, making it impossible for Lin Shen not to notice. He knew Lu Chengxuan was doing it on purpose. During a pause in his typing, Lin Shen glanced up at him angrily—but worried he wouldn’t be able to out-shout his opponent, he quickly returned his gaze to the screen to continue ‘greeting’ the enemy’s family.

 

With only one person listed in the household registration, Lin Shen quickly gained the upper hand.

 

Their fingers flew simultaneously over the keyboard and piano keys. The clicking and the music were so fast, yet perfectly synchronized, blending seamlessly instead of clashing.

 

Thanks to the tight rhythm of ‘Croatian Rhapsody’, the intensity of the game and Lin Shen’s typing pace surged without him even realizing it.

 

Normal gameplay was basically impossible during this heated trash talk.

 

Yet, despite being the weaker player, Lin Shen skillfully controlled one of the enemy’s main characters 1v1. After a few 4v4 skirmishes, he even managed to turn the tide.

 

By the time the player Lin Shen had been trash-talking—and the one who was AFK farming—realized what was happening, it was already too late.

 

In the end, Lin Shen won the match.

 

Seeing the chat in the game’s results lobby filled with ‘***’ in place of all the insults, Lin Shen calmly typed a final message: ‘Don’t shout,’ and cheerfully exited.

 

Once he returned to the game lobby, the piano music shifted abruptly.

 

The fiery, passionate ‘Croatian Rhapsody’ gave way to the lively, gentle tones of ‘Summer of Kikujiro’.

 

Lin Shen slid the keyboard closer, took a sip of water, swiveled his chair toward the piano, rested one hand lightly on the armrest tapping a rhythm with his fingertips, while his other hand supported his chin, eyes fixed on the figure seated at the piano.

 

What did it even matter why he was doing all this?

 

Either way, it was all for me.

 

To hell with it—who cares anyway.

 

As the song ended, Lin Shen clapped in sync with the melody.

 

“Mr. Lu, you really are talented. But I have to ask… have you figured out how to play ‘Heroes of Glory’ yet?”

 

Lu Chengxuan wasn’t surprised that Lin Shen had noticed. He turned from the piano bench to face him, expression calm.

 

“I haven’t tried it in real matches, so I can’t promise anything. You won’t let me queue.”

 

Lin Shen casually set the water down and explained seriously: “I’m not stopping you from queuing because I’m afraid you’ll play badly. I just don’t want anyone insulting you. Who do they think they are, calling you names? Later, I’ll invite a few pro players for a five-stack. You can just play freely, win or lose—it doesn’t matter.”

 

Saying that, Lin Shen leaned back in his chair, stretched lazily, raised an eyebrow, and curled a finger at him, full of implication.

 

Lu Chengxuan didn’t know exactly what he had in mind, but he still got up and walked over. As soon as he got close, Lin Shen grabbed the collar of his shirt, forcing him to lean down. To keep his balance and not crash onto him, he had no choice but to brace himself on the chair’s armrests.

 

After an unspoken glance, they kissed without restraint.

 

Their breaths were chaotic, yet somehow inseparable.

 

*

 

Yang Qingsen: Mr. Lu, have you considered joining the Phatom Wail’s team for practice matches?

 

Lin Shen: Go away, idiot! Are you trying to make him play? You’re basically inviting the god of money over!

 

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