The Cannon Fodder’s Survival Guide at the Noble Academy - Chapter 8

◎No feelings for men or women◎

An Tang blinked, staring in disbelief at the person before him, wondering if he was dreaming.
“Huh?”

“Come on, if we don’t eat now, we’ll be late.”

He stood there for several seconds, his brain rusted still, his feet unable to move. Frowning slightly, An Tang sank into thought.

“Weren’t you the one who said you wanted to have lunch with me?” Pei Chengrui looked amused, releasing his hand to prop his face up, leaning lazily across the table and blocking all escape.

With that pressure, even the light dimmed, setting off An Tang’s pale little face, watery eyes, and ears tinged with a faint blush.

A reckless impulse rose in him. Unconsciously, Pei Chengrui reached out and pinched that fair cheek. He hadn’t used much strength, but when he released it, a distinct red mark appeared. And looking closer, An Tang’s eyes were brimming with moisture.

His hand froze, a sudden panic rising.

“Eh, hey, hey— You’re not a little girl, why are you crying?”

An Tang pursed his lips, glaring at him with no real bite.

“Winking at me, what for?”

Tears rolled down at once, and with clenched teeth he snapped viciously:

“Blind.”

“You want shrimp? Just say so, why cry over it?” Pei Chengrui, startled by the crystalline tear, fumbled anxiously through An Tang’s desk. “Where do you keep your tissues?”

An Tang slapped his hand away angrily, yanking his dirty hand out of his desk drawer. Tossing it aside, he reached in again and pulled out a tissue himself.

He pressed it to his eyes, dabbing, leaving his eyelids reddened.

Even by the time he was brought to the dining table, that redness stubbornly lingered, brazenly declaring itself—a look so pitiful it tugged at anyone’s heart.

Especially at the culprit—Pei Chengrui—who felt a guilty itch just looking at him.

“Alright, I only pinched you once, the mark’s already faded.”

An Tang said nothing. He felt humiliated, unwilling to explain why he’d cried.

The sudden tears were a condensation of days of irritation, of uneasy fear of the future, and of being unable to accept his own weakness.

None of it could be admitted out loud.

Yet Pei Chengrui kept asking and asking. If the guy wasn’t still useful, An Tang really wanted to slap him awake.

“You shouldn’t have used so much force,” he snapped petulantly, shoving all the blame on the other. “And who told you to always scare me?” Online or in real life.

Getting that answer—being scolded for nothing—actually gave Pei Chengrui an odd sense of relief. Sitting back calmly, he used the communal chopsticks to drop a few shrimps into An Tang’s bowl.

“That’s all? My temper’s just like that. You can’t nitpick if you want to be my little brother.”

“Eat shrimp. Didn’t you say you wanted some? Stop gnawing those sad green veggies.”

“I don’t like shrimp,” An Tang shook his head. He disliked peeling shells, and these boiled shrimp weren’t good eaten whole. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off: “Could you peel them for me? I don’t have the hands for it right now, I need to nap soon.”

He’d read a forum post about testing what “type” of boyfriend someone was. The top test was—peeling shrimp or zongzi for you.

But he’d forgotten the other options. Holding his breath, he waited for the answer, ready to memorize it for later matching. Once he knew the type, finding the right path would be a breeze.

Genius!

Pei Chengrui paused, drawling lazily, “And who are you, that I should peel for you?”

“I’m your little brother, aren’t I? Didn’t you say you’d let me eat and drink well? Unless…” An Tang’s wide eyes fixed on him, pink tongue flicking across glossy lips.

Fvck. Pei Chengrui cursed inwardly, shifting in his seat. If he gave in this easily, he wouldn’t be Pei Chengrui.

“Call me big bro.”

“Big bro,” An Tang obediently chirped.

Pei Chengrui stiffened, remembering that An Tang had already called him “boss” yesterday. That wasn’t humiliating at all. So he upped the ante: “Call me little master.”

What a drama queen, so many conditions! An Tang could barely keep up. But he was sure this wasn’t one of the poll’s answers. When would the real test come?

Looking up from his bowl, he noticed Pei Chengrui’s fluffy pink curls. Like a little lamb. With those big eyes, even more lamb-like.

“Oh! Little lamb.” He muttered the last two words so lightly that in Pei Chengrui’s ears, they sounded like “little master.”

Pei Chengrui squirmed, unable to think of a new way to humiliate him. Hardly anyone called him “boss,” let alone such a self-indulgent nickname. Did this guy have no shame?

Watching the little lamb gnawing vegetables with complete focus, Pei Chengrui sighed heavily. Pulling on gloves, he resigned himself to peeling shrimp.

A bet’s a bet—he could at least act magnanimous.

After peeling the pile into An Tang’s bowl, he removed his gloves, chin propped in hand, watching. At first, An Tang ate two bites per shrimp, then one bite per shrimp, then crammed three at once.

After a pause, Pei Chengrui picked the gloves back up.

An Tang ate happily, especially with the endless supply of shrimp. He’d never tasted shrimp so sweet and springy, firm flesh that didn’t even need dipping sauce.

He glanced up suspiciously. Pei Chengrui was bent over, peeling away, the corners of his lips lifted in an oddly pleasant curve. Working so hard for someone else, and still smiling? An Tang didn’t get it. In his head, he slapped the label: “The silly rich son of a landlord’s family.”

After the meal, An Tang thanked him seriously and took his leave. Pei Chengrui’s expression was a little strange.

An Tang pretended not to notice. He skipped his nap, returning to class to work on practice tests. A-class students treated study like a career—their grades as performance, and performance determined rewards. Everyone pushed to compete.

As he reached into his desk for papers, his hand brushed something hard. A phone.

He stared at the black screen for two seconds before realizing—he’d forgotten to reply to Fu Jieyu!!

What had the other sent? Clicking into the chat, An Tang stared at the message. If at first it stirred some emotion, now—well fed—he only felt sleepy. He’d already accepted that Fu Jieyu was straight as an arrow, and not the one meant for him.

But what should he reply? If he pushed too hard, he might get blocked. He didn’t have another spare number.

Act cute? Would that work? Be blunt?

He shot upright. Yes, blunt! Straight guys didn’t understand love anyway—of course blunt was best!

Excited, he typed:
【Brother! I’m chasing you, okay? How could you say something so cold and heartbreaking?】

Sending it, An Tang clutched his chest, taking two deep breaths. Any more of this, and he’d really need workplace injury compensation.

He set the phone aside. After finishing review, he finally picked it up again.

Fu Jieyu had replied:
【No feelings for men or women.】

An Tang froze. Scratched his head, then typed:
【That’s perfect, brother! I’m a boy.】

【Fu Jieyu: I find men even more repulsive.】

【Brother! I can be your puppy.】

【Bestiality deserves death.】

All strength drained out of him. Fingers too limp to type even one word.

Yeah, yeah, sure. Brain-dead beast-lover.

Rolling his eyes, he flipped the phone face-down.

As the sun sank west, his full stomach kept hunger away until night. He skipped the cafeteria and went straight to his dorm.

Here, at least, was his tiny private den.

Everything he did here felt safer, bolder.

After a shower, buoyed by the day’s encouragement, An Tang energetically cycled through outfits. Skirts couldn’t get any shorter, but shorts disguised as skirts could work.

A tight tank top, waist slim as a handspan, collarbone peeking from thin straps—his figure looked lean and delicate.

He had new props too: a wig and colorful accessories.

Clothes without accessories looked too plain. Mimicking online pics, he clipped on a pink choker. Still odd. Kneeling on the floor, he rummaged through boxes until he found a sheer light-blue overshirt.

Much better.

But then his eyes fell on his reddened knees.

His den was spotless—he cleaned daily—but the concrete floor was unforgiving. Just a few minutes kneeling had left his knees raw.

He hesitated two seconds, then waved it off.

Exposing half his body, he snapped photos in the mirror. The sunset filtered through, pixelated camera lending a dreamy glow. Not crisp, but everything that should be shown, was shown.

Curling his lips, he looked over them. Barely passable. Whatever, the guys hadn’t even replied—why stress?

Oh, and that self-absorbed waterlily who claimed to like no one, too.

He glanced out the window. The sun was still on this side. Later pics would all have this glow anyway. He decided to sit back down and wait.

But first—send the pics out.

Pei Chengrui’s words that morning still stung. Opening his photo app, he eyed the untouched originals. “This fake?” he muttered.

Stubborn by nature, he insisted on re-editing. After P-ing again, he looked and dialed it back a little.

Please. He was right under Pei Chengrui’s nose every day. Betting on untouched raw photos? He wasn’t a lunatic gambler.

Who cared if they liked it? He liked it. Who could prove otherwise? Cheating—anyone could do it.

【Brother, this is what I really look like~ I don’t know if you’ll like it~ Don’t slander me anymore!】

He clicked over to Fu Jieyu’s chat. Every single message of his had been denied.

Would he get blocked?

That was what he was most curious about.

Time to test.

He picked the freshly snapped photo and hit send.

The little circle spun—sent successfully!

But before he could even be happy, he realized—he’d sent the unedited one. In the gallery, thumbnails shrank side by side. He always saved multiple versions step by step.

Ahhh! Withdraw, withdraw!!

Thankfully, messages under two minutes could be recalled.

Surely… he hadn’t seen it yet. Fu Jieyu didn’t check his phone much. Surely not.

But the next second, the notification tone chimed like a devil’s laughter, reverberating in his tiny den.

【Fu Jieyu: Send it again.】