Thousands Of People Thought Of Him - Chapter 3

Your Guardian Spirit

Ying Fusang didn’t know what the strange feeling that flashed through his heart was. Over the past seventeen years, he had often experienced these moments—but he could never grasp the answer behind them.

After a collective gasp, nearly everyone turned to look at him.

The strange feeling quickly faded. Ying Fusang used his own logic to seriously assess the current situation.

Ying Chenglang clearly wanted to force him to drop the mask and show his true colors. He deliberately smiled and asked, “So? How does the cake taste?”

Not far away, Ying Deqing had also seen everything unfold. He could hear the guests whispering among themselves, and anger began to rise within him—his chest heaving from rapid breathing.

“This is the good son you raised? Truly a disgrace to the Ying family!” he said in a low voice, barely concealing his fury.

Shi Suying had also witnessed the entire incident. Though she maintained a composed smile, her back molars were clenched tight.

How could Chenglang be so reckless?!

On the other side, Ying Shouchuan had walked over to Fang Baiyu. He had only exchanged a few words with him when he glanced over and saw the commotion. Instinctively, he assumed Ying Fusang had caused trouble again.

Annoyance clouded his face as he sneered, “Tch, always so desperate to be the center of attention?”

“Oh no, how did this happen?” Fang Baiyu looked on, surprised, concern showing clearly in his expression.

Ying Shouchuan turned to look at Fang Baiyu and, for some reason he couldn’t explain, felt a sharp pang of jealousy rise within him.

Everyone held their breath, watching the scene unfold.

Whether close or far, all saw Ying Fusang first lower his head, then calmly raise a hand to wipe some cream from the corner of his lips—then—

He tasted it.

And it didn’t end there. Ying Fusang looked up at Ying Chenglang, and—like a freshly manufactured robot trying its best to understand human behavior—he slowly pieced together a sentence:

“It tastes good. Thank you?”

The absurdity of the moment instantly drew laughter from the crowd.

“President Ying, was this performance between your sons part of the program?” someone in the crowd asked, clearly enjoying the drama.

Ying Deqing could only force a smile. “Haha… Yes, of course.”

Now it was Ying Chenglang who stood stunned on stage.

This felt like punching into cotton.

He still hadn’t forgotten how Ying Fusang had embarrassed Fang Baiyu last time—or that unsettling look in his eyes. He had even bribed the waiter today, planned everything meticulously…

And yet Ying Fusang still wore that calm, detached expression like nothing had happened?!

Ying Chenglang was now convinced: Either this freak was genuinely mentally off, or he was extremely good at pretending.

…

After the birthday banquet, Ying Fusang finally got some peace and quiet.

That day, Ying Chenglang had walked out of the study looking completely deflated, like a frostbitten eggplant. Yet whenever he saw Ying Fusang, the hatred in his eyes only grew deeper.

After the mock exams, the school immediately followed up with final exams. Once those were done, it was winter break.

Ying Fusang’s vacation life was simple: eat, sleep, and study. Thanks to the new neighbor Fang Baiyu, his two older brothers finally stopped focusing all their attention on him.

As the New Year approached, red lanterns were hung in the streets. Under Shi Suying’s supervision, the servants at the Ying residence pasted festive window decorations and couplets—creating a lively atmosphere.

On New Year’s Eve, the entire Ying family was expected to return to the ancestral home. Even Ying Chenglang woke up early that day. But these moments of family reunion never included Ying Fusang.

The year he was brought home at age eight, he had stood quietly to the side while the others chatted comfortably on the sofa—never once trying to keep their voices down around him.

Thirteen-year-old Ying Shouchuan had scowled and complained, “Dad, it’s bad enough you brought him home. But even Grandpa doesn’t want to see him—why bring him to the ancestral house during New Year?”

Nine-year-old Ying Chenglang was wailing loudly as Shi Suying comforted him, all while agreeing with what Shouchuan had said.

Ying Deqing had a headache from it all. After glancing at the mute, unresponsive Ying Fusang, he eventually agreed to Shouchuan’s proposal.

…

On New Year’s morning, Ying Fusang sat by the window reading and just so happened to see the four of them drive away.

They would be staying at the ancestral home for a few days. On their way out, they would also give all the villa’s staff time off for the holiday.

Ying Fusang closed his book and decided to go out for some fresh air.

After all, he was the only one left. No one would be bothered by his presence.

He stepped outside the villa and sat down on the front steps, staring blankly into space.

It was an overcast day. The sky was dull gray, snowflakes drifting gently down. There wasn’t even a single passerby in sight.

Ying Fusang found himself spacing out, memories of the orphanage drifting back into his mind.

…

As a child abandoned at the orphanage’s doorstep at birth, Ying Fusang hadn’t been treated unfairly.

His hair had been white since birth, and his eyes were unusually light in color. After medical checks, it was confirmed he didn’t have albinism.

The orphanage director had once comforted him: “This is a special gift from the heavens.”

But this “gift” had brought Ying Fusang no good fortune.

For as long as he could remember, children his age avoided him. If he approached, they’d burst into laughter.

So Ying Fusang learned to play alone.

One New Year’s Eve, when he was seven, the orphanage organized a trip to an amusement park. Ying Fusang was among the kids brought along.

There weren’t many people that day, but somehow—just while throwing away some trash—Ying Fusang got separated from the group.

It didn’t occur to him to ask anyone for help. So he simply stayed in place and waited.

From sunrise until sunset, he waited. Not until a loudspeaker announced the park’s closing time did Ying Fusang finally get up and walk to the park entrance, sitting down on the steps.

People tried speaking to him, but he ignored them. The teachers had said not to talk to strangers.

The sun sank low, the sky darkened, and the snowfall grew heavier.

No one knew how long he sat there—long enough for his eyelids to droop with exhaustion—when suddenly,

a black umbrella appeared above his head.

Ying Fusang looked up slightly.

The figure wore a black dress shirt and trousers under a crimson outer robe embroidered with cloud patterns. A jade pendant hung at his waist. His posture was tall and graceful.

Looking further up…

“Do I look nice?”

Jet-black hair like flowing ink. Exquisite bone structure. Handsome to the point of surreal—yet not feminine. He leaned slightly forward, a playful smile in his long, narrow eyes.

Ying Fusang didn’t answer. His attention was fixed on the red string and ancient coin earring dangling from the man’s right ear.

“…”

He suddenly thought of horror movies where beautiful characters like this only ever appeared as—

“Are you a ghost?” Ying Fusang asked seriously, face stern.

The man raised a brow, amused, and reached out to ruffle the child’s fluffy head. “Nope. I’m a god…”

Ying Fusang stood at the ready, prepared to bolt the moment he said something weird.

But the man paused, then said with a smile, “No need to be scared.”

“…But besides being your guardian god, I do have another role.”

Seven-year-olds are naturally curious. Ying Fusang pricked up his ears. “What role?”

The man raised his left wrist, which was wrapped in red thread. “God of Marriage.”

Ying Fusang nodded solemnly. He didn’t really know what that meant, but it sounded important.

To prove his identity, the man crouched to Ying Fusang’s level and held out his palm.

Then, activating a small amount of divine power—

Tiny fireworks suddenly burst from his hand.

Ying Fusang’s eyes went wide. His mouth formed an “O” as the lights exploded in his pupils.

“Do you believe me now?”

Ying Fusang nodded.

The man stood up, held out his hand, and said, “Little Sangsang, you look bored. Want to go on an adventure with me?”

“You know my name?”

There was something hypnotic about his gaze. Ying Fusang instinctively reached out—

Halfway there, he hesitated. His little face scrunched up. “Wait, this is exactly what teacher said kidnappers do…”

Before he could pull back, the man quickly grabbed his hand.

He gently tugged, helping Ying Fusang to his feet.

Holding the umbrella over them, he smiled, “Let’s go.”

And just like that, on that snowy evening, this man—who claimed to be Ying Fusang’s personal guardian god—led him down the lively street.

…

When they passed a candied hawthorn stand, Ying Fusang paused for a moment longer than usual.

The man noticed, but said nothing.

He knew if he asked, Ying Fusang would shake his head.

So instead, he simply stopped, and the next thing Ying Fusang knew, his arms were filled with skewers of candied fruit.

All kinds of fruit.

Ying Fusang: !

Seeing his stunned face, the man chuckled and ruffled his hair again. “Go ahead, eat. I’ve checked—very hygienic.”

“…Thank you,” Ying Fusang looked down at the skewers, not sure what to do.

…

That night, besides tasting candied fruit for the first time, he also received a gift.

“I have to go now, Sangsang. Is there anything you really want?” the man bent down and asked.

He expected another shake of the head.

But to his surprise, Ying Fusang thought hard, tugged on his sleeve, and pointed at a nearby bookstore.

“You want a book?” the man asked, a little surprised—but it made sense.

They went inside, and Ying Fusang browsed seriously for a while before his attention landed on a colorful, exaggeratedly drawn children’s fairytale book.

A single glance was enough for the man to understand.

Ying Fusang hugged the book tightly as they exited. They sat together in a nearby pavilion.

“Nothing else you want?”

Ying Fusang shook his head. Then nodded.

“Could you… write something here?” He pointed at the blank front page, nervously asking.

The man placed his hand on the book. With a pulse of divine power, he absorbed its entire contents.

Looking at the child—someone even a century of life hadn’t prepared him for—he felt a complex wave of emotion.

Finally, he wrote:

“Sangsang, just being alive is not enough. One must also have sunshine, freedom, and a little bit of flower fragrance.”

Ying Fusang whispered the line twice to himself, then looked up and smiled, “Thank you, Great Immortal.”

The man froze for a moment.

Before night fully fell, he brought Ying Fusang back to the orphanage. Before leaving, he made sure to erase all traces of their path.

In Ying Fusang’s memory, beneath the falling snow, the man bent down, handed him the umbrella, and said with a soft smile:

“Sangsang, we’ll meet again.”

…

That day, Ying Fusang finally believed what the orphanage director had once told him:

He really had been given a special gift from the heavens.

…

Back in the present, Ying Fusang stared at the steps beneath him, lost in thought.

“Sangsang.”

Ten years later, hearing that voice again felt completely familiar.

He snapped his head up—but no one was there.

He stood and looked around. Everything was quiet. Only the wind, the snow, and his own breathing.

“…”

He knew it was just a hallucination.

After a brief silence, he sat back down on the steps and lowered his head again.

Then—

An umbrella appeared above him once more.