Thousands Of People Thought Of Him - Chapter 14

Candied Hawthorn

Who?

A question mark slowly appeared above Ying Fusang’s head.

He really should just call the police.

Ignoring the expectant look in the little girl’s eyes—clearly waiting for some kind of reaction—he lowered his head and prepared to dial 110.

The silence was deafening.

“You mean you don’t know who my mommy is?!”
The little girl’s worldview collapsed on the spot. She stared wide-eyed and jumped to her feet in shock.

“I don’t,” Ying Fusang replied, entering the numbers on the dial screen, just about to press the call button.

At that moment—

“Yaoyao!”
A woman’s anxious voice called out from not far away.

The little girl immediately turned around with joy and waved excitedly:
“Mommy, I’m here!”

Ying Fusang’s finger froze mid-air. He looked toward the voice.

On the other side of the road stood a woman in a black dress. She took off her sunglasses and casually tossed them to the two bodyguards beside her. Holding her skirt in one hand, she walked quickly across the road in high heels.

“You little rascal, how did you end up here?”
Kneeling down in front of the girl, she looked her over from head to toe in a hurry.
“Are you hurt anywhere? Hm?”

Even though she was scolding her, her tone was filled with affection.

The little girl suddenly wrapped her arms around the woman’s neck and whined sweetly,
“Mommy, what took you so long?”

“I’m sorry, Mommy’s late.”
She gently patted the girl’s back to comfort her.

Noticing the candied hawthorn in her daughter’s hand, the woman’s expression changed.
“This kind of thing isn’t clean. I told you not to eat it. Don’t you know you’ll get an upset stomach?”

It was obvious the little girl had run off to secretly buy it. She may have already eaten one skewer. Frowning, the woman turned to the two bodyguards and instructed:
“Contact the hospital. Later, take Yaoyao for a full-body checkup.”

Hearing the word “hospital”, the little girl immediately panicked.

She squirmed out of her mother’s arms and pouted.
“I’m fine! I don’t wanna go to the hospital! Ask this big brother if you don’t believe me!”
She pointed directly at Ying Fusang.

Only then did the woman finally notice the young man sitting quietly nearby.

She stood up, quickly piecing together what had happened, and gave Ying Fusang a polite but distant smile.
“Hello, I’m her mother. Thank you for watching over her.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘watching over,’” Ying Fusang replied, shaking his head.

Her features were quite striking. Given her professional instincts and good memory, Qin Muci quickly recognized him as the person she had bumped into at the bookstore.

After a few polite words, she offered to give him some money to thank him. Ying Fusang felt it was unnecessary and declined.

Just then, the little girl let go of her mother’s hand and ran over to Ying Fusang.

Since her mother definitely wouldn’t let her eat it anymore, and it would be a shame to throw it away, she reluctantly held out the skewer of candied hawthorn and said,
“Big brother, you can have it.”

Qin Muci’s eyebrow twitched.

She had just said that thing was unsanitary, and her daughter turned right around and tried to give it to someone else.

Ying Fusang, however, suddenly went silent.

Red…

That color pulled him into a whirlpool of memories—memories that tumbled and spiraled downward.

He was seven the first time he ever tasted something sweet and sour like that.

It had felt novel back then. Maybe it was because he had never eaten anything so sweet. He immediately declared candied hawthorn as his favorite—the only food he liked.
Even though he never got a chance to eat it again after that.

When he was eight, after being brought back to the Ying family, they didn’t treat him poorly when it came to food. But Shi Suying always made a point to hand pocket money to his two older brothers right in front of him.

As if to remind him of his place.

Ying Chenglang soon had a new insult for him: “pauper.”
He also developed a new habit—throwing coins at Ying Fusang’s feet, lifting his chin mockingly like he was teasing a dog, and saying,
“Here. Pick it up.”

Ying Fusang didn’t quite understand why he did that, but it made him feel uncomfortable. So, he never picked the coins up.

Until one day, when Ying Chenglang seemed annoyed by his indifference and suddenly grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to pick them up.

Ying Fusang still didn’t understand, but he felt tired—so he gave in.

That day, he really wanted to eat candied hawthorn again.
So, after thinking it over, he took the coins and walked alone into town to buy some.

Maybe it was a subconscious urge to “save the best for last,” but he held the skewer all the way home, letting the sugar melt halfway down the stick.

When he opened the attic door, happy and expectant, the first thing he saw was Ying Chenglang sitting on his bed, bored.

The boy grinned,
“Oh, you’re back?”
“What are you hiding behind your back? Let me see!”

The candied hawthorn was snatched from his hands. After mocking it as dirty and worthless, Ying Chenglang dropped it on the ground and stomped on it.

The red food dye mixed with shattered sugar crystals looked just like bl00d dripping from a hand cut by broken glass.

“Ugh, now my shoes are dirty.”
After killing the candied hawthorn, Ying Chenglang shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away, grumbling.

Ying Fusang quietly cleaned up the mess.

That day, actually… was his birthday.

The chaotic thoughts faded as the sound of the bus braking brought him back to the present.

Ying Fusang shook his head and said to the little girl:
“Thank you, but I really don’t like this stuff.”

Hearing his blunt rejection, the girl’s worldview crumbled again.

Someone… doesn’t like candied hawthorn?

Qin Muci, on the other hand, was secretly relieved.

She hadn’t looked closely last time, but now that they were face-to-face, she suddenly felt there was something familiar about his features… a resemblance to that person…

She frowned slightly and asked,
“If it’s not too much trouble, could you tell me your name…?”

No one got on at this stop, and only a few people were getting off. The bus would be leaving soon.

Ying Fusang didn’t respond to her question. He simply said,
“Sorry, I have to go.”

Qin Muci was caught off guard but didn’t press. She returned to her polite, distant smile and said,
“Well then, goodbye.”

Though in truth, it was unlikely they would ever meet again.

…

The short midterm exams ended quickly, and students were soon back to the usual dull rhythm of school life.

Ignoring the monotonous morning reading echoing in the background, the pen in Ying Fusang’s hand had been idle so long it had left a large ink blot on his paper.

His mind was elsewhere.

If everything had continued in its predictable rhythm, then the biggest change for Ying Fusang—aside from those three boys no longer bothering him—was that…

Qi Xingwen hadn’t shown up in an entire week.

At first, Ying Fusang worried maybe his injuries were worse than he’d let on.

Then he wondered if Qi Xingwen had other responsibilities. After all, immortals were probably very busy.

Later, he kept replaying the details of their last meeting in his head—wondering if he’d misheard something.

Had Qi Xingwen said he wouldn’t come tomorrow, or he wouldn’t come anymore?

Between the two, Ying Fusang found it easier to accept that Qi Xingwen simply didn’t want to see him anymore.

He glanced again at the now-empty windowsill, his gaze lingering briefly before he looked away. Then he ripped the ink-stained page from his notebook, crumpled it up, and threw it in the trash.

Despite being emotionally numb and detached from most things, there was one absolute bottom line Ying Fusang didn’t fully understand himself:

Deception.

Whether it was malicious or so-called “well-intentioned,” any act that resulted in deception filled him with deep, visceral disgust. In severe cases, it even made him feel physically sick.

“SPLASH——”

The sound of running water covered the noise of his dry heaving.

Staring at the clean sink, he realized there was nothing to throw up. He reached out and turned off the tap.

His emotions seemed to settle.

Ying Fusang wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, so he told himself this reaction was unnecessary—even stupid.

Footsteps came from behind him. Assuming someone else had come to wash their hands, he instinctively stepped aside.

At that moment, a few clean tissues were handed to him.

Ying Fusang didn’t take them. Instead, he followed the hand upward to look at the person.

Fang Baiyu gave him a friendly smile and asked,
“Xiao Sang, are you feeling unwell?”

Fang Baiyu was a strange one. His behavior didn’t follow any consistent logic.

After the school anniversary, he had suddenly gone back to acting friendly toward Ying Fusang, often seeking him out for no apparent reason.
Sometimes he would even ask weird questions, like whether Ying Fusang had any other “friends.”

As if fishing for information.

Despite how tirelessly Fang Baiyu clung to him, Ying Fusang never fully trusted him.

He ignored the offered tissue and the question. Without a word, he brushed past him and walked back to class.

Watching his retreating figure, Fang Baiyu didn’t seem upset or annoyed.
Instead, he smiled faintly—as if in a good mood.

…

A week passed.
Then half a month.
Then a full month.

With the intensity of senior-year study, the concept of “time” had become hazy.

The cherry blossoms outside the window had gone from full bloom to withering, and then were replaced entirely by green leaves.
The change felt like it happened in the blink of an eye.

If it weren’t for the fact that something still tugged at his heart, Ying Fusang would’ve felt that time was flying by.

With the college entrance exams approaching, he pulled his gaze away from the window, gripped his pen, and returned to focusing on the problems before him.

Everything else… was in the past.

Now, he only occasionally wondered—

Was Qi Xingwen ever real in the first place?

They say senior year is full of pressure.
If that’s true, then maybe all of this was just his mind breaking under stress.
Maybe he hallucinated, fabricated it all.

If that’s not true, then maybe he had been mentally ill all along.

Maybe his illness had started back when he was seven, sitting alone outside that amusement park.
And because it had never been treated, it had only gotten worse.

Just like those whispers behind his back had once said—

Ying Fusang has delusions. He talks to thin air, sometimes even laughs out of nowhere. It’s creepy.

Now, perhaps he had to admit it—

That he had created a friend for himself.

A friend who was his only one.
A friend who felt real.
But wasn’t real at all.