GL My Goddess Best Friend’s Seduction (H) - Chapter 10

After hearing my conditions, Qi Zhengyu agreed immediately. As I turned to leave with the others, he reached for my arm, trying to stop me with slick, empty words. Si Jingnian stepped between us, blocking him. I raised an eyebrow, eyeing him with disdain.

“No need for games. Once I hear from my parents and yours, I’ll delete your video immediately.”

Stung by my glare and aware of his naked state, Qi Zhengyu stayed put. With a camera at the door, chasing us would have exposed him completely.

Outside, I breathed deeply in the fresh air, feeling a weight lift off me. The four of us climbed into Si Jingnian’s car. A few details still needed settling, so I turned from the passenger seat to ask, “What about the door lock we broke?”

Wu Fei was focused on her laptop, and Li Xian typed rapidly on his. Without looking up, he said, “Don’t worry. The lock’s only temporarily disabled. Closing the door resets it.”

I pressed further. “What about surveillance catching you picking the lock?”

Though I suspected it was covered, I wanted confirmation.

Li Xian replied, still typing, “That’s handled. No trace.”

Curious, I tried picturing Si Jingnian fixing circuits for someone, but the image wouldn’t form. After finalizing the video deletion plan, Si Jingnian ushered Li Xian and Wu Fei out of the car. Li Xian protested loudly, urging her to attend the next class reunion, then winked at me secretly.

My stomach tightened. I knew why he winked. Earlier, while Wu Fei played a video, he had slipped a note into my coat from the side of the seat. I hadn’t checked it yet, too nervous, and had tucked it into my right pocket without a word.

Si Jingnian and I started speaking at the same time.

“Are you really…” she began, while I said, “Does it hurt…”

We didn’t pause to say “you first,” as I usually took the lead.

“I’m okay,” I answered her question, my mind steady. Staring at her soft, pale hands on the steering wheel, I asked, “Did you really fix circuits for someone?”

She seemed surprised by the question. “Not really. Just once, during grad school in the U.S., I fixed old wiring in a friend’s apartment.”

She added, “Li Xian talks nonsense. Keep your distance from him.”

I imagined her in work clothes, tinkering with circuits, and thought it would be kind of cool.

“Which friend? Lan Yun?” I asked, tossing the name out casually.

She paused before answering. “Yes.”

Curiosity got the better of me. “Who is she?”

Si Jingnian said, “A grad school classmate.”

I dragged out a long, “Oh…”

Li Xian’s earlier reaction suggested Lan Yun was more than a classmate, but since Si Jingnian didn’t elaborate, I dropped it.

My “oh” must have sounded chilly, because she quickly added, “She was in my study group. Our rented house was over sixty years old with unsafe wiring, so she asked me to replace it.”

Her earnest explanation warmed me, but I teased, “Is that so?”

She slowed her reply. “Yes.”

I suddenly felt foolish for pushing. Why was I so nosy? What right did I have to question her, and from what standpoint? I rarely met her friends, so there was no need to dwell. At the time, I didn’t know I’d later face Lan Yun in a tense showdown.

Changing the subject, I remembered my promised Japan cherry blossom trip.

“Hey, we can plan that Japan trip now,” I said, pushing thoughts of Qi Zhengyu aside and growing excited. “When can you take a week off?”

Si Jingnian frowned, mentally reviewing her schedule.

“My project ends mid-next month. I can take five or six days off then, maybe two more with leave.”

I checked Japan’s cherry blossom schedule online.

“Mid to late April? We can see blossoms in Akita or Sapporo, Hokkaido. Confirm your project’s end date, and I’ll book flights. We’ll need hotels and an itinerary too.”

She nodded with a soft “hm.”

At home, while Si Jingnian showered, I slipped into my room and checked the note. It listed letters and numbers, likely a WeChat ID. As expected, Li Xian was probably drumming up business. Computer repairs could be handy for me, my friends, and colleagues, since we rely on computers. My laptop’s HDMI connection used to glitch, and Li Xian offered a discount. Tempting. But why had Si Jingnian stopped me from adding him? I decided to keep it from her and avoid engaging with his WeChat posts to stay discreet.

I entered the WeChat ID. The nickname appeared: [Jack of All Trades · Li Xian], with a goofy, grinning husky as the avatar. I sent a friend request, and he accepted instantly, messaging me.

Jack of All Trades · Li Xian: Hey, little sister Xiaoyu!

Peaceful New Year: Uh, just Xiaoyu is fine.

Jack of All Trades · Li Xian: Sure, Xiaoyu. Hahaha, you finally added me. My friends will be so jealous. Don’t tell Jingnian yet, okay?

His typing speed was unreal, clearly marking him as a computer science guy.

Peaceful New Year: Got it.

Jack of All Trades · Li Xian: Talk later, got a client.

Peaceful New Year: Cool.

I browsed his WeChat Moments. His latest post, from 30 minutes ago, read: [Big news: The boss’s little lover showed up.] He had replied to comments with rows of [Hahahahahahahaha]. Since I couldn’t see others’ comments, it looked like his solo celebration. Older posts included game shares, ads for his Jack of All Trades business, gripes about picky clients, and silly stories, like banging his head on a wall while grabbing a package, with the delivery guy saying, “D*mn, that’s badass.”

Overall, it gave a goofy vibe, clashing with his serious tech-nerd look in person.

The next day at noon, Qi Zhengyu’s mom, Li Xiaoqin, called, apologizing repeatedly.

“Our Zhengyu let you down, Xiaoyu. Can you forgive him?”

I expressed my apologies to Aunt Li but explained that reconciliation was not possible. I promised to return the engagement ring by mail and to visit them at a later time.

That afternoon, my parents called me on a video chat. Their expressions were somber.

“Xiaoyu, two years of a relationship gone. Is it worth it?” my mom asked. My dad seemed ready to speak but stayed quiet.

I said firmly, “Mom, should I spend my life with someone like him?”

My mom replied, “Zhengyu says he’ll change. He’ll beg until you forgive him.” Her face showed pity, hesitation, and a hint of disgust.

“Mom, think about Sister Yuan. She forgave her husband two years ago, and now it’s her fifth time,” I said sharply, knowing they understood but needed a push. “What if the other woman’s pregnant?”

My mom’s voice jumped. “Zhengyu got her pregnant?!”

I lowered my tone, resolute. “I don’t know, but I’m not taking him back.”

They told me to take it slow and promised new blind dates later. I ended the call feeling frustrated.

Monday morning, I packed the engagement ring, necklace, and trinkets, which included everything Qi Zhengyu had given me, and mailed them back. I messaged him on WeChat, saying the video was deleted, his stuff was sent, and he could handle my gifts to him since I didn’t want them. Then I blocked all his contacts and deleted every trace of him, including photos, WeChat Moments, and Weibo posts. There wasn’t much, fewer than ten posts about him. It sank in how little I’d cared about this relationship. I’d posted more rants about a British drama.

I shared a post on WeChat Moments and Weibo: [Closure: Single aristocrat again. No blind dates, I’m done with love.] I hid it from students’ parents, unfamiliar students, and relatives to avoid nagging from aunts and uncles about how I’m too old to skip dating.