Thousands Of People Thought Of Him - Chapter 5
A Sin
“Cough, cough.”
Maybe it was the seasonal change—Ying Fusang had only just recovered from his last cold when he caught another one.
Left with no choice, he swallowed two cold pills and, still feeling sick, put on a mask and headed to school.
Although it was the stressful senior year, the school still gave them one PE class per week. Today was their final PE class before the break.
“If everyone’s here, go ahead and move freely.”
With a whistle from the teacher, the students scattered off in small groups.
Ying Fusang’s body had never been very good at handling physical activity. So, as usual, he brought a book and sat quietly under a tree, peacefully reading away most of the class.
The early spring breeze carried a hint of chill as it rustled the willow trees across the river, and soon after blew a few sparrows to his feet.
Hearing their faint chirps, Ying Fusang lifted his eyes from the page, for no particular reason, and began to carefully observe their appearance and movements.
Before long, a sudden strong gust swept through, startling the peaceful sparrows and sending them flying off again.
His gaze followed their path. But in the direction they had flown, a figure suddenly appeared—this one walking toward him.
“Hi there, do you have a moment?”
Ying Fusang didn’t recognize the person—probably not from his class. He nodded, waiting for the other to explain.
The boy looked pleased. He stepped forward and handed Ying Fusang a basketball. “Would you mind holding this for me for a bit? I need to run to the teacher’s office, but the equipment room is closed until class ends, and I don’t want to take it back.”
Very few people ever spoke to Ying Fusang, let alone asked him for help. He found it a bit novel, but there were also a lot of holes in the guy’s story.
Still, the boy looked earnest. Weighing his options, Ying Fusang decided to agree.
The boy thanked him repeatedly, then added before leaving, “If class ends and I’m still not back, can I trouble you to return it for me?”
Once he left, Ying Fusang set the ball aside and went back to reading.
Not long after, the bell rang for the end of class.
Ying Fusang closed his book and glanced around. There was no sign of the boy.
Their PE class didn’t require them to line up after dismissal—they could head back to class freely. Ying Fusang checked the time on his watch and decided to wait a few more minutes.
More and more students left the field in groups, their laughter fading. Break time was nearly over.
Ying Fusang thought for a moment, then finally picked up his book and the basketball, and headed to the equipment room.
By this point, even the students returning gear were gone. He entered alone, walked inside, and returned the basketball to the shelf without issue.
But just as he turned to leave, he realized—the door to the equipment room had been closed at some point.
Ying Fusang quickly walked to the entrance—only to find it had been locked from the outside.
Just then, he heard voices outside the door.
“Don’t worry, teacher, I already checked the equipment. People? Nope, no one’s inside, I made sure. Go ahead, I’ll be heading back to class now.”
That voice was unmistakable—one of the few people Ying Fusang could recognize instantly. It was their class’s PE monitor, Sun Wenhao.
Outside the door, the person deliberately patted the lock a few times, seemingly to get his attention.
With his back to the surveillance camera, Sun Wenhao said in a cheery tone loud enough for Ying Fusang to hear from inside:
“You seemed to like being locked in the bathroom stall, so I gave you a new spot this time. How is it? Like it?”
Ying Fusang, surprisingly calm, asked the same question he had asked before:
“…Why?”
His logic always seemed to break down in moments like this—like he was trapped in a maze. And when he finally found what seemed to be the way out, it would always turn out to be a dead end.
Sun Wenhao gave a dramatic sigh.
“Hey, it’s not like we’ve got it out for you. Blame Second Young Master for not liking you. I mean, seriously—who’d you have to piss off? Now you’ve even gone and messed with the person he protects. We’re just following orders, that’s all.”
…Ying Chenglang and Fang Baiyu?
Ying Fusang wasn’t the type to believe whatever people said. He didn’t reply.
Apparently bored by the lack of reaction, and with the class bell ringing again, Sun Wenhao faked a regretful tone:
“Ah, well, I can’t keep you company any longer. Don’t worry—I’ll tell the teacher you went to the bathroom.”
With that, he started to whistle cheerfully as he walked away.
The light switch was outside. Ying Fusang now realized that the equipment room had no windows—it was pitch black.
“…”
If no one came, he’d likely be stuck here until morning.
Ying Fusang sighed. While he had grown used to this kind of environment, the thought of wasting so much time still left him deeply uncomfortable.
In the darkness, time became harder to track. It was easy to let the mind wander, to recall useless memories that served no purpose.
It seemed like Ying Fusang’s tendency to attract hate had been set in stone since childhood.
When he was six, still living in the orphanage, he had no friends and no one to talk to. Eventually, the other kids simply decided he was mute.
The most popular boy at the time seemed to dislike him, too—he forbade others from speaking to him, and often played cruel pranks on him.
One day, that boy and a few others suddenly came to find Ying Fusang, claiming they were going to watch a movie and needed him to act as lookout.
They had somehow gotten a DVD and snuck into the room with a TV. Ying Fusang thought he was just standing guard, but instead, they pulled him inside.
The movie began—it was a classic horror film. One by one, the other kids got scared and left.
But before the last one left, he gripped Ying Fusang’s shoulder and said,
“Don’t you dare leave. You have to watch it all and tell us what happens at the end!”
Ying Fusang nodded obediently.
So when the caretaker angrily burst into the room, she only saw Ying Fusang sitting there alone. Without asking anything, she decided he was the one who stole money to buy the DVD—and also the room key.
After being dragged out of that dark room, Ying Fusang was thrown into another one: solitary confinement.
His legs now sore from standing too long, Ying Fusang sat down on the floor of the equipment room to rest.
It felt like the dead-end maze had finally opened up—only to lead straight back into that same dark room.
Maybe the darkness was heightening his senses, but out of nowhere, Ying Fusang seemed to hear his own heartbeat.
It pounded faster and faster, thudding loudly like it was about to burst out of his chest.
Along with it came a wave of dizziness.
With no light to anchor him, he couldn’t tell if his vision was going black. Gasping for air, he clutched at his collar like a drowning man grasping for driftwood.
Before he could think, consciousness slipped away completely.
…
“Kids these days are really in bad shape.”
His eyelids felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. Ying Fusang forced them open—above him was a plain white ceiling, and nearby, someone was speaking.
He tried to move. The creak of the bed finally alerted the person next to him.
“Awake?”
The school nurse turned, walking over with hands stuffed in the pockets of a white coat.
“How do you feel? Any lingering discomfort?”
Ying Fusang sat up, his foggy mind gradually clearing. One look at the surroundings, and he realized he was in the infirmary.
His heart no longer felt off, and the irregular rhythm had returned to normal. He shook his head.
The nurse nodded, unconcerned.
“Seen a lot of cases like yours—classic low bl00d sugar. Probably irregular sleep, skipping meals, right? Terrible physical condition!”
Saying that, she handed him a bottle of glucose.
“Drink this, then get back to class. Don’t take up a bed for nothing.”
Ying Fusang accepted it with a quiet “thank you,” then asked:
“Excuse me… who brought me here?”
The nurse thought for a moment.
“Seemed to be a teacher who happened to pass by.”
Before leaving, Ying Fusang checked the time. It was already 4:00 p.m. Only an hour had passed since he’d been locked in the equipment room.
This time, luck was unusually on his side.
It was still class time. The tree-lined path back to the building was quiet.
“You’re alright now?”
Another breeze swept through, sending a flurry of bamboo leaves fluttering down. A voice carried on the wind, slightly distorted.
Ying Fusang turned. Through the falling leaves, a figure slowly became clear.
Surprised, he asked,
**“Why