Chapter 82: Compression (9)

82 – Compression (9)

Lin Xun truthfully told Butterfly Madam.

Butterfly Madam: How unspeakable is it? Let me see.

Lin Xun steeled himself and sent his Weibo ID to Madam.

If the contents of this Weibo account were made public, it would be tantamount to social death for him.

They would discover this was a sour grape, constantly whining about things like “Why does everyone have a cat except me?” or “What on earth is Lo?”—all kinds of jealous mutterings.

They would also find out this was a simp. Day in and day out, he howled things like “Glax is number one in the world,” “Dong Jun is number one in the world,” “My idol’s code is the most beautiful.” Sometimes, led astray by fan culture, he would even post “Hubby is just too amazing”—this kind of content made up ninety percent of his feed.

They might even stumble upon the late-night rants of a programmer.

“Still can’t get it to run. I’m tired.”

“Submitted a paper. Feels bad. I’ve produced another piece of academic trash.”

“The Jef algorithm works well.”

And then, there were the trivial daily snippets.

“This restaurant still uses handwritten orders. I safely ordered mushrooms, then changed my mind and commented them out. Ended up with eleven plates.”

Of course, there were also some genuine insights, even popular science articles about computers and mathematics, but they were buried in an ocean of garbage. Lin Xun skimmed through his own Weibo, puzzled by how much he had to say to himself.

Recalling why he started this account in the first place—all his social media accounts were known to classmates and friends, and anything he posted would attract attention, including from persistent admirers—so he stopped posting.

But there were still things he wanted to say, things he wanted someone to hear. Maybe he was a little lonely, or perhaps the mental pressure was just too much.

Never mind.

After a while.

Madam replied.

Butterfly Madam: You’re so adorable hahahahahahahahaha.

Butterfly Madam: pinches your ears.

A Happy Zhi Zhen: .

A Happy Zhi Zhen: Is it too late for me to start a side account?

Butterfly Madam: Side accounts lack sincerity. What you have now is just fine.

Butterfly Madam: Kid.

A Happy Zhi Zhen: qwq

Butterfly Madam: You really do like Dong Jun, huh.

A Happy Zhi Zhen: Actually, I just happened to stumble upon the real deal.

But Butterfly Madam’s words made him think of something.

A Happy Zhi Zhen: How about this, Madam—can you post it a bit later?

After discussing it with Madam, the topic finally shifted.

Butterfly Madam: This area hasn’t been peaceful lately. A large-scale demonic creature is likely to appear.

It seemed the cultivation world had also noticed this issue.

Butterfly Madam: You’re still in the Foundation Establishment stage. It’s best not to get involved.

A Happy Zhi Zhen: Actually, I think I’m about to break through.

Butterfly Madam: ?

Butterfly Madam: ??

Lin Xun sent an innocent head-scratching emoji.

Butterfly Madam: I’ve never seen a child cultivate this fast.

Lin Xun started sending cute cat emojis.

He was actually quite experienced with this kind of situation—and richly so.

After all, throughout his academic life, teachers had always treated him with astonishment, saying things like “I’ve never seen a child learn this fast.” After the initial shock, they would gradually calm down, get used to it, and eventually treat it as normal. The elders in the cultivation world weren’t used to it yet, but he figured they’d come to accept it soon enough.

The only thing troubling Lin Xun was how to explain his strange keyboard-attack method to the elders—it was completely beyond their conventional understanding.

Beneath Lin Xun’s expression, Butterfly Madam did not delve deeper into his realm but shifted the topic instead: “I’ve dealt with the mortals here and now need to investigate this district, so I can’t return for now. However, I’ve asked Gushan Jun from the Southern Sea to check on the child who turned into a fish. Don’t leave yet.”

A Happy Zhi Zhen: “Okay, thank you, Madam.”

Qi Yun floated on the water’s surface, clutching a lifebuoy, his hair dripping wet. His entire being seemed to have “helpless” written on his left cheek and “despair” on his right.

Qi Yun: “So I have to stay in the pool the whole time?”

Lin Xun: “Yes.”

Qi Yun: “Even when I sleep?”

Lin Xun: “Sleep however fish sleep.”

Qi Yun: “What if I slip out of the lifebuoy in the middle of the night?”

Lin Xun: “You’ll wake up if you start drowning.”

Qi Yun: “Then I’ll drown to death.”

Lin Xun: “The bathtub welcomes you.”

Qi Yun fell silent, seemingly lost in thought.

After a long while, he lifted his face, flapped his tail a few times with effort, and wore an expression as if mourning his parents’ death: “Then I can’t go to the company anymore, can’t post videos. We were supposed to debut as a group—what do I do now? I’m not human anymore. I can’t be an idol.”

Lin Xun sat leisurely on a lounge chair by the pool, holding a cat: “Actually, you’ve turned misfortune into fortune.”

Qi Yun: “How so?”

Lin Xun: “Madam used illusion magic to alter those people’s memories, making them think they just witnessed a fantasy film shoot. But videos have already been posted online, and there’s even a trending topic. Everyone has seen your mermaid look, which really can’t be explained away.”

Qi Yun’s tail drooped stiffly.

Lin Xun: “Madam had no choice but to assign you a mermaid role from a drama her studio is currently filming. That way, it makes sense—mermaids are basically the same as sirens, right?”

Qi Yun’s tail suddenly curled up.

“Really?” He swam a good distance toward the edge. “Don’t mess with me.”

Lin Xun: “I’m not. The studio will release a statement soon.”

Qi Yun let out an excited cry, leaned back abruptly, and nearly tumbled into the pool again.

He exclaimed: “Am I about to go viral?”

Lin Xun: “Wake up. That role only has a few minutes of screen time.”

Qi Yun: “But it’s enough to showcase my handsomeness.”

Lin Xun found his attitude utterly grating.

He said, “When other mermaids cry, their tears turn into pearls. Can you do that?”

Upon hearing this, Qi Yun actually lowered his head, pouted, and seemed to try forcing himself to cry.

However, two minutes passed. His expression shifted repeatedly, twisting to extremes, but no tears came—it even looked like he was smiling.

Qi Yun finally ended this failed attempt with a laugh.

“Three minutes ago, I could’ve cried,” he laughed wildly. “But not now.”

Just then, Gushan Jun arrived in a tailored suit. Lin Xun knew his mortal identity was a successful naturalist, but he was also a Zhenren from the Southern Sea Sword Sect. He was famous for his move “The Lone Mountain Is Not Alone,” but at the same time, he was well-read, proficient in all sorts of esoteric arts, and a master of mystical techniques in the immortal path.

Gushan Jun arrived quickly.

Gushan Jun became perplexed just as quickly.

“Truly unheard of,” Gushan Jun commented, looking at Qi Yun in the swimming pool.

He used his Spiritual Power to draw Qi Yun over and carefully examined his tail: “The personal will of a swordsman truly has its unique aspects. The water ghost failed to devour him and was instead counter-devoured, taking over its body, but due to the deep demonic Qi, it transformed into a fishtail. If all the demonic Qi can be expelled, perhaps he can regain his human form.”

As he spoke, he looked at Chang Ji: “Young Master Chang Ji is a Buddhist disciple, most effective against demonic beings. If you perform exorcisms for him daily, it should be feasible.”

Chang Ji lowered his gaze, showing no extra expression: “Alright.”

A moment later, he said calmly: “I have a single dormitory with a private bathroom, but no bathtub.”

Without further ado, Buddhist disciples are compassionate—if there isn’t one, buy one.

Since Qi Yun couldn’t go out easily, Lin Xun and Chang Ji went out to buy a retro wooden bathtub—a large basin made to look like an ancient wooden tub—and carried it to the senior brother’s dormitory.

A doctoral student’s dormitory was indeed different from an undergraduate’s: a bright, well-equipped single room. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the tidy space. A plain-colored bed was draped with white curtains, bookshelves were filled with Buddhist scriptures, and a laptop on the desk displayed an electronic literature database. The air carried a faint scent of sandalwood, lending the place an immediate sense of tranquility.

After setting up the bathtub, they drove to pick up Qi Yun, parked the car downstairs, wrapped the merman in a kasaya robe, and seized a moment when few people were around to quickly carry him upstairs.

—Even with such caution, they still drew a few extra glances from a doctoral student next door who happened to step out. His scrutinizing gaze seemed to ponder whether the two were disposing of a corpse, given that doctoral students were notorious for being capable of just about anything.

Fortunately, the neighbor only glanced and didn’t cause further trouble. Qi Yun was safely placed into the bathtub, filled with water, and given a phone. Finally, he quieted down and began scrolling through videos, accompanied by a small plastic yellow duck—a gift from the bathtub seller. When silent, the creature was quite pleasing to the eye.

With the merman settled, Lin Xun prepared to leave—as for how Qi Yun would get along with Brother Chang Ji, that would depend on his attitude. Lin Xun had a feeling Qi Yun might be cured of his nonsensical talk under the senior brother’s discipline.

Before leaving, the senior brother brewed him tea, but Lin Xun’s mind was unsettled, and he couldn’t taste anything.

—After a long day, it was already evening, but Dong Jun still hadn’t replied.

Just as he was about to return to his place, his phone let out a “meow”—the notification sound he’d set for Dong Jun, mimicking Zhi Zhen’s call.

It was a phone call.

Lin Xun put on his earphones and answered.

Dong Jun’s cool, clear voice came through the receiver: “Where are you?”

Lin Xun: “At P University, with a senior brother.”

Dong Jun: “Didn’t you graduate from the neighboring school?”

Lin Xun: “Just visiting.”

To dispel any suspicion of shady dealings, he added: “The senior brother practices Buddhism, he’s a monk.”

There seemed to be a faint laugh on the other end, but the tone remained one that made Lin Xun’s heart flutter uneasily: “You have friends from all walks of life.”

Alright.

Dong Jun must have seen the trending topics.

Lin Xun casually checked and saw netizens’ comments increasingly leaning toward “the little vase stepping on several boats.”

Lin Xun avoided the main issue: “I’m about to head back. Where are you?”

“I’m nearby,” Dong Jun said. “Send me the address.”

Over there, Qi Yun had already started playing games and was beginning to curse at his teammates.

Chang Ji slightly furrowed his brows, and finally, as if unable to bear it any longer, pushed open the bathroom door.

Meanwhile, Lin Xun put on his mask and went downstairs. Not long after, Dong Jun’s car stopped in front of him.

Once inside the car, he didn’t speak, and Zhi Zhen didn’t make a sound either.

Dong Jun, however, seemed as normal as ever and asked, “What would you like to eat tonight?”

Lin Xun replied, “Anything is fine.”

The car slowly started moving.

It was like any ordinary evening, heading out for an ordinary dinner.

But the more ordinary it felt, the more uneasy Lin Xun became.

Finally, halfway through the drive, he said, “Have you seen the news online?”

Dong Jun’s tone was indifferent. “I have.”

Lin Xun whispered, “It’s not true. It’s a misunderstanding. Qi Yun and I are barely even friends. We had some issues before—I played a trick on him. That talent show—I went with a neighbor, and I happened to see him there. I didn’t know he was in that industry, so it felt like a coincidence, and I just…”

He trailed off because Dong Jun stepped on the brakes.

Not gradually, but a sudden stop.

Dong Jun turned to him.

Dong Jun took off his glasses.

His slender fingers adjusted the frames before setting them aside.

Those eyes—beautifully shaped, ink-black—usually held a gentle glow when they met yours. But without that glow, you’d notice their shape: slightly upturned at the corners, somewhat narrow and elongated. They were undeniably beautiful, but also carried a certain intensity.

—Especially when he was looking at you.

Lin Xun lowered his gaze. “So it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“I know. I’m handling it,” Dong Jun said.

Lin Xun was slightly taken aback. He looked up and saw Dong Jun’s familiar, gentle demeanor again, as if he had two distinct states—black and white.

Dong Jun looked at him. “But sometimes, I have a bad temper.”

Lin Xun: “Huh?”

Dong Jun leaned closer, his presence suddenly near. Though he appeared normal at this moment, Lin Xun still sensed a hint of danger. In fact, a day earlier, when he had called Xue Xin and Dong Jun hadn’t allowed him to say a word, he had vaguely realized that his idol was not exactly harmless in certain aspects.

He gently grasped Dong Jun’s arm.

“I’ll try to control myself,” Dong Jun said, his hand pressing on Lin Xun’s shoulder, his voice low by his ear. “So don’t bring it up again.”

Lin Xun asked, “Are you angry, then?”

“No.”

Lin Xun said, “But I think you are. I can explain clearly. Qi Yun and I are completely…”

The hand on his shoulder tightened, and Lin Xun felt a slight pain.

Oh no, he’s switched states again.

So what triggered it? Was it because he mentioned Qi Yun’s name?

Lin Xun fell silent.

In this position, he gently kissed Dong Jun’s neck, then nuzzled his cheek with the bridge of his nose, speaking softly, “I won’t mention it anymore. Don’t be upset.”

Dong Jun hugged him.

Lin Xun leaned in and gave him a light, soothing kiss, then glanced at the time out of the corner of his eye.

“Wait,” he pulled away from Dong Jun’s embrace, picked up his phone, and opened a link sent by his mother.

Butterfly Madam: @A Happy Lemon Spirit, @Qi Yun and His Sword, the bond between martial brothers is as strong as ever. These two kids are both martial brothers and good friends. I hope everyone won’t overthink things, otherwise the parents of our little ones might get upset, haha.

The comments below shifted in tone again. The first comment was also from an acquaintance—Suan Cai Yu.

Suan Cai Yu: Even Sister Butterfly has shown up, so can someone tell me what this kid’s background really is??

He raised his phone to show Dong Jun: “Look.”

Dong Jun glanced at him.

Lin Xun withdrew his hand as if shocked: “Sorry, not this one.”

He clicked into his own profile from this mention.

ID: A Happy Lemon Spirit.

Bio: Another day of liking Dong Jun.

He pushed the phone toward Dong Jun again, his voice tinged with a hint of a nasal tone: “Here, look, but you’re not allowed to laugh.”