My Boyfriend is the Heartthrob, and I’m Just a Passerby.

The subway station was crowded in the morning.

Even though he had deliberately woken up early, Ye Jishu was still squeezed onto the subway along with most people.

Looking left and right, all he could see were people.

It was like being stuffed into a can.

The air was filled with various scents and mingled fragrances.

If he hadn’t been wearing a mask, it would have been unbearable.

Ye Jishu was pressed between people near the door.

[…I can’t even take out my phone.]

“……”

Why did he wake up at this hour again?

Thinking about it felt troublesome.

Under normal circumstances, there was no way Ye Jishu would be up before noon.

It was all because the gaming company’s representative said he needed to finalize the contract in person, preferably signing it on-site.

Otherwise, he would never have boarded the subway.

[I should’ve taken a taxi.]

It had been a long time since he last went out.

Ye Jishu had underestimated the morning rush hour, trapping himself in this predicament.

He stared out the window.

The subway moved fast, the scenery flashing past in an instant.

Even though he hadn’t interacted with people in a while, the blurred reflections of the passengers around him in the window held no interest for him at all.

Boring. Boring. Very boring.

—

So far, his life has always been this way.

Even though he attended a prestigious university, he majored in mathematics, which meant limited career opportunities after graduation.

Despite his excellent grades and receiving an offer from a research institute before graduating, he couldn’t handle the interpersonal complexities and ended up quitting.
Needing money to live, he eventually chose a profession he had never considered before.

Now, he was a gaming streamer—yjs.

Though famous online, his real-life self was unremarkable, just as dull as his life had been so far.

Even during university, which most people cherished, he lived like an NPC, ignored by  everyone, just passing through the world unnoticed.

Ye Jishu stared at the glass in front of him.

His own blurred face, reflected back at him, was so uninteresting that even he couldn’t find anything remarkable about it.

He was lost in thought.

He didn’t know how much time had passed until the subway jerked to a stop, and the station announcement played overhead.

As soon as the doors opened, the humid air from the station rushed in.

Ye Jishu noticed that most passengers were holding umbrellas,
leaving wet marks on the ground.

[Ah… is it raining outside?]

He was momentarily stunned.

A large crowd disembarked.

Ye Jishu, pushed forward by the people behind him, stepped out of the subway as well.

Pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt, he took out his phone.

For the past ten minutes, he had felt it vibrating in his pocket.

But being too tightly packed to retrieve it earlier, he hadn’t been able to respond.

As he lifted it, the screen lit up.

Two missed calls. Several messages.

The missed calls came from someone who had suddenly started calling him a few days ago.

Though their tone was serious, the content was so unexpected that it made him doubt whether he had been sleep-deprived.

The caller was a man named Lin Lin.

He claimed to be an employee of some Control Bureau.

Said that anomalies existed in this world, and that Ye Jishu was a “stabilizing anchor” for reality… or something like that.

Oh, right. Almost forgot.

Apparently, Lin Lin had also said that the anomaly index around him had been rising lately.

Out of safety concerns, it was time to tell him the truth.

Ye Jishu remained skeptical.

In all his years of life, he had never noticed anything strange about the world around him.
And for someone to suddenly call and say such things, it felt more like a scam, a pyramid scheme, or some kind of cult.

A normal person wouldn’t believe it.

Since becoming a streamer, Ye Jishu rarely went out.

Nothing had changed in his surroundings.
The only thing slightly different was that his neighbors seemed to have moved out, and someone new had moved in.

But to this day, they hadn’t run into each other in the hallway.

So, Lin Lin’s claim that “anomalies around him were increasing” was complete nonsense.

Still, Ye Jishu was too bored, and since the situation sounded straight out of a novel, his curiosity was piqued just enough that he didn’t block the caller.

Yet, despite his casual attitude, Lin Lin seemed extremely serious.

For the past few days, he had been calling constantly, urging Ye Jishu to be vigilant. He had repeatedly emphasized—”Do not interact with strangers.”

“I’ll report to Captain Chen and borrow some equipment to prove to you that this is all real.”

Lin Lin had said that over the phone.

—

Anyway, those two missed calls were probably his attempt to show some evidence.

Ye Jishu wasn’t planning to call back just yet.

His eyes moved to the unread messages.

[Are you here yet? Want me to pick you up?]

[I just bought a new car.]

[Wait, don’t tell me you got lost? (panic)]

…

So annoying.

Ye Jishu sighed.

Without checking the sender, he already knew it was [Bo Zhehan.]

His former university classmate.

And someone who claimed to be in the same math department as him… but Ye Jishu had never paid attention.

Bo Zhehan talked too much.

Ye Jishu never really listened to him.

—

Long story short,

Bo Zhehan was a huge fan of yjs’ gaming streams.
And since he was also the son of the owner of a gaming platform, he used his privilege to become yjs’ official manager after taking over the platform.

This contract Ye Jishu was supposed to sign today?

That was Bo Zhehan’s idea too.

He insisted it would help yjs become an even bigger streamer.

At first, Ye Jishu refused outright.
But after being pestered endlessly, he gave in.

[…But that wasn’t the main reason.]

A message flashed through his mind.

A company document from a few days ago.

[Game event: Collaboration with a non-streamer guest.]

In short—they wanted yjs to team up with an outsider for a live-streamed event, to generate viral interactions that would trend online.

Ye Jishu didn’t care about that kind of thing.

A long time ago, back in university, he had fake-dated another streamer named “Bai Feng” for clout.

The only thing that caught his attention this time…

Was the guest’s name.

On the company’s event list, he saw the name and information of the non-streamer guest.

[Yan Mei.]

Just seeing this name alone—

He could feel the buzzing sound of cicadas in the summer, inexplicably vibrating within his chest.

At the same time, his mind flashed back to those days when he inadvertently caught a glimpse of that person’s profile under the shade of the trees.

In truth, Ye Jishu didn’t “know” Yan Mei.

At least—

Not in that sense.

He had only heard the name before.

They had attended the same university.

Unlike him, a mere passerby, Yan Mei was an extremely well-known figure at the university.

Whenever someone mentioned his name, their tone would always carry an unmistakable sense of admiration.

Meeting someone like that and not liking him would seem strange—just like how humans cannot live without breathing.

During Ye Jishu’s graduation year, a saying even spread across campus—”If you don’t confess to Yan Mei before graduation, your life will have no meaning.”

[Is the meaning of life really that easy to define?]

Because he had stayed up all night gaming, Ye Jishu had overslept that day and missed the opening ceremony, earning him a harsh scolding from his advisor.

He never got the chance to hear Yan Mei’s speech, nor did he ever have a proper opportunity to see his face.

However, it was impossible to say they had never crossed paths at all.

Since he often hid away to play games, he frequently stumbled upon scenes where Yan Mei was being confessed to.

Each time, he would feel like he had come at the wrong moment.

But he never interrupted.

The only thought that would cross his mind was—”Maybe I should pick a better place to play games.”

So, the next time he accidentally came across another confession scene, Ye Jishu put away his phone, got up from the bench he was sitting on, and left quietly under the swaying summer tree shade, without disturbing anyone.

Day after day.

Summer passed, then winter. Then another summer.

The leaves on the branches fell, then grew again.

Before he knew it, university life had quietly come to an end.

The campus was large, with four separate areas.

Since they were in different majors and their academic buildings were far apart, the chances of running into each other were slim.

He never saw Yan Mei again.

Ye Jishu graduated smoothly.

On the day of the graduation photos, he didn’t go.

He felt there was nothing worth holding onto, so he used the excuse of an internship to skip it.

His advisor never came looking for him afterward.

After four years together, they had probably already given up on lecturing him about discipline.

They say that in modern society, the average lifespan is close to eighty years.

[A quarter of my life is already over.]

And yet, nothing feels any different.

Sometimes, late at night before falling asleep, Ye Jishu would suddenly space out, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, and an absurd thought would cross his mind— “Am I only feeling this bored with life because I never got to meet Yan Mei?”

That rumor was terrifying.

It left such a deep impression that even years after graduating, it would suddenly resurface in his thoughts.

Just because he had never confessed to a classmate he didn’t even know, his life was now completely meaningless…

Wasn’t that an exaggeration? Just an excuse to project frustration onto some arbitrary target?

Yan Mei must have had a hard time.

But then again…

Wasn’t it a bit meddlesome for him to feel sorry for someone he had never even spoken to?

Occasionally, he would recall that name.

And so, when he saw that the game project’s arranged “ordinary player” was Yan Mei, a strange feeling suddenly arose within him.

[Finally.]

That rumor he had thought about for so long—At last, he had the chance to verify it.