My Straight Girlfriend with Skin Hunger Syndrome - Chapter 39

Chapter 39

As soon as the audiovisual class ended, Yi Shanshan didn’t even bother grabbing her bag. Clutching her phone with both hands, she bolted out of the room.

Lin Feng hurriedly stuffed Yi Shanshan’s belongings into her sparkling pink bag, slung it over her shoulder, and chased after her.

“What’s got you so distracted?” Lin Feng glanced at Yi Shanshan’s phone, but Yi Shanshan tilted the screen away, the dark display sliding past too quickly to reveal anything.

“No peeking. It’s rude,” Yi Shanshan said, her eyes still glued to her phone, not giving Lin Feng a shred of attention.

Lin Feng stared at Yi Shanshan’s face for a long moment.

A sweet smile lingered at the corners of Yi Shanshan’s lips, her cheeks glowing with a delicate pink blush, more tender and vibrant than the newly blooming roses by the roadside.

“What’s got you so happy?” Lin Feng asked. “You were so gloomy just a few days ago. Ever since I got back, you’ve been wearing a long face, and you wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. Now that it’s all over and you’re happy again, you should tell me, right?”

Yi Shanshan finally looked up at her, her eyebrows lifting slightly. “Do I look happy?”

Lin Feng’s answer was unequivocal: “Very happy.”

Yi Shanshan suddenly burst into laughter, her eyes crinkling into crescents. “I didn’t realize I could be this happy either! But happiness is just happiness—does it really need a grand reason? The air feels so fresh today, the sun is shining so brightly, and… well, the flowers are blooming beautifully too.”

As she spoke, she glanced down at the phone clutched in her hand.

Lin Feng: “There must be a reason, even if you’re not consciously aware of it. You mentioned earlier that your usually obedient dog suddenly stopped listening. Is that dog back now? Are you messaging with it?”

Yi Shanshan froze, stopping in her tracks. She turned to Lin Feng, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

Lin Feng shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Yi Shanshan’s brow furrowed. “I find your way of speaking very unpleasant—so passive-aggressive and disrespectful. People are people, and dogs are dogs. How can you use a dog to refer to a person?”

Lin Feng: “……”

Yi Shanshan: “Everyone I’m messaging is a friend.”

Lin Feng: “Then why don’t you look at the friend right next to you and talk to her?”

Yi Shanshan’s phone vibrated. She immediately lowered her head to peek at it surreptitiously. “How can that be the same? It’s not the same at all.”

Lin Feng scoffed, idly stretching her arms behind her back and cracking her neck. “Old news gets boring, huh? New toys are always more fun. It’s a phase, like a colt munching on tender grass—just chasing the novelty.”

Yi Shanshan glanced at Ying Yuan’s reply, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. She tucked her phone back into her pocket, her face beaming with innocent charm. “New things are just tastier. What can I do?”

Looking at their chat history on her phone, Ying Yuan felt the dark cloud that had been hanging over her head finally dissipate, sunlight flooding in, and everything suddenly felt clear and bright.

Yi Shanshan had sent her the classroom recording from last night and chatted happily about trivial things. She ended by saying she was too busy today but would definitely want to continue their discussion on game development when she had time.

Their communication was perfectly normal—so normal it was like talking to any ordinary friend, exchanging updates on their lives and interests, without unnecessary meetups, without the unspoken pressure to achieve some goal, without any strange remarks or charged emotions that made Ying Yuan’s face burn with embarrassment.

Ying Yuan could handle this perfectly. It was like finally getting a test paper she was familiar with—she felt back in control.

That day, Ying Yuan went to class as usual, had her meals, and then went to the Activity Room to work.

Just as Yi Shanshan had predicted, she was indeed very busy, and they didn’t get a chance to talk during the day.

It wasn’t until Ying Yuan finished her work and emerged from the Activity Room that she saw the faint crescent moon hanging in the sky again.

She thought of Yi Shanshan, recalling their conversation from the previous night at this same time.

Ying Yuan opened her phone and looked at her WeChat chat with Yi Shanshan.

Her finger hovered over the input field, the cursor blinking steadily.

Suddenly, a new message popped up right where she was looking.

Yi Shanshan’s pink star avatar looked particularly lively and cute.

Hello, hello! Programmer Ying, are you off work yet?

It was all so perfectly timed, like someone had dug a small hole in her heart and planted a plump seed right in it.

Ying Yuan’s fingers danced lightly across the screen as she replied: Just got off.

Great! Today I dug up my old Steam account, which I hadn’t used in ages, and played a bunch of different games. I think I’m starting to understand what you meant about game mechanics~

Hmm, tell me your thoughts.

Yi Shanshan: Typing is a bit of a hassle, so I’m sending voice notes instead!

Ying Yuan: Okay.

Soon, a flurry of voice notes from Yi Shanshan flooded in—some just over ten seconds long, others stretching to nearly a minute.

Ying Yuan instinctively reached to tap and listen, but remembering Yi Shanshan was waiting for her reply, she opted to convert them to text for a quicker read.

Just like the day before, their conversation flowed smoothly.

Although Yi Shanshan had no prior experience in game development, her sharp mind quickly grasped key concepts and excelled at applying them creatively. By day’s end, she was even brainstorming innovative gameplay mechanics independently.

This exhilarated Ying Yuan. That thrill of exchanging ideas in work and passion, sparking inspiration, was the safest, most positive, and most energizing kind of excitement.

It allowed her to fully immerse herself without reservation.

“Can I jot down some of your ideas? I find many of them remarkably fresh and inspiring.”

“Of course! If my rambling nonsense can actually be useful, then it’ll finally serve its purpose!”

Besides, Yi Shanshan was an exceptionally generous and delightful sharer.

That night, they chatted until after lights-out.

When their conversation ended, Yi Shanshan said goodnight. Ying Yuan, clinging to the self-reassuring thought that “maybe some details are lost in translation,” grabbed her headphones from the bedside table and put them on.

Today, she had a mountain of voice messages to listen to.

Yi Shanshan’s voice rose and fell, by turns cheerful, thoughtful, passionate, and exuberant… Her drawn-out vowels, her laughter-tinged tone, the casual quirks of her speech, and her adorably cute verbal tics… They were all so fascinating.

Ying Yuan slept soundly that night.

Throughout the following week, Ying Yuan and Yi Shanshan maintained these brief but deeply meaningful chats.

They talked about everything from programming to game development, from vocal lessons to the education system. Each conversation felt like climbing another step, and at the top of the staircase stood the complete, authentic, objective yet vividly alive versions of Yi Shanshan and Ying Yuan.

On Friday evening, Ying Yuan was busy in the Activity Room when Qi Hongyue suddenly appeared beside her. She stared at Ying Yuan’s computer screen for a moment, then turned to stare at her face.

“What’s wrong?” Ying Yuan asked, touching her cheek.

Qi Hongyue: “I wanted to talk to you.”

This was a rare occurrence. Normally, if Qi Hongyue needed to discuss something with Ying Yuan, she would simply dive straight in without any preamble.

Ying Yuan swiveled her chair and looked up. “Senior, what’s this about?”

Qi Hongyue patted the back of her chair, signaling her to follow. “It’s a few things. Let’s find a better spot to talk.”

“Oh.” Ying Yuan turned back to her computer, quickly saving her work. “Just a sec.”

Qi Hongyue left the Activity Room, and Ying Yuan hurried after her. The dim hallway lights cast an eerie glow on the worn terrazzo floor, evoking a unique dreamlike nostalgia specific to the memories of Chinese students.

Qi Hongyue led her to the courtyard: towering palm trees framing a small patch of sky where a crescent moon hung like a silver hook.

Qi Hongyue sat down on the peeling orange bench. When Ying Yuan followed suit, she asked, “You’ve been here for a while now. How are you settling in?”

“It’s great!” Ying Yuan replied without hesitation. “I really like our project team. I’m having a lot of fun.”

“What specifically do you enjoy about it?” Qi Hongyue pressed.

It felt like a second interview. Ying Yuan straightened her posture and succinctly summarized:

“First, I genuinely love our game itself. It’s incredibly fun, rich in content, distinctive, and thought-provoking. I’m confident it will resonate with many players. I have high hopes for it.

Second, I cherish the atmosphere within our Project Team. We’re open, inclusive, and have a clear objective. Everyone knows their roles, but we all pull together, focusing our energy on making the game as good as it can be.

Third, I admire you. You embody the kind of leader I personally value: rational, composed, decisive, broadly knowledgeable, and possessing your own unwavering style, unaffected by external pressures. I’ve learned a great deal from you, and I still have much more to learn.”

Ying Yuan smiled at Qi Hongyue. “Those three reasons should be enough, right?”

“Mm-hmm, enough.” Qi Hongyue returned the smile, but it quickly faded.

“As long as those three reasons remain unchanged,” she asked, “you’ll stay here indefinitely?”

“I believe so. I’m determined to see our game through to completion. Minor setbacks or conflicts won’t shake my resolve to achieve our goals.”

Ying Yuan’s reply remained steadfast: “For me, completing such a long and arduous journey is inherently fascinating.”

Qi Hongyue pressed, “What about emotionally?”

Ying Yuan frowned, unable to grasp Qi Hongyue’s meaning. Qi Hongyue was the least sentimental person she knew, almost a work machine devoid of emotion.

“Senior, I will continue to learn from you in this area,” Ying Yuan replied after a moment’s thought. “If you notice any issues with how I handle emotions, please let me know. I don’t want personal feelings to interfere with our work.”

Qi Hongyue stared at her for a long time without speaking.

Under Qi Hongyue’s gaze, Ying Yuan felt no anxiety or discomfort, as if being scanned by a machine. She simply waited for the scan to finish and deliver its verdict.

When the scan concluded, Qi Hongyue said, “I admire you greatly too.”

“Eh?” Ying Yuan hadn’t expected praise from Qi Hongyue.

“You’re remarkably in sync with me, making communication effortless. Your work ethic is strong, and you’re passionate,” Qi Hongyue patted Ying Yuan’s shoulder. “It’s rare to find someone like you.”

“Wow!” Ying Yuan beamed.

Those few words had made her genuinely happy. She knew Qi Hongyue never spoke falsehoods, empty platitudes, or polite pleasantries.

Qi Hongyue always spoke the blunt, unvarnished truth.

If Qi Hongyue praised her, it meant she truly was exceptional!

Ying Yuan stared wide-eyed at Qi Hongyue. “How rare is it?”

Qi Hongyue paused, then said, “Since this project began, you’ve been our most capable programmer.”

“Whoa!” Ying Yuan leaped to her feet, bowing deeply at a ninety-degree angle. “Thank you, Senior!”

The conversation ended on a high note. Back in the Activity Room, Ying Yuan worked with renewed energy, her keyboard clattering furiously.

As she walked home after work, her lingering joy bubbled in her mind, urging her to share it with someone.

Yi Shanshan was the obvious choice.

This was their usual chat time, and they often discussed game-related topics. Ying Yuan could practically imagine Yi Shanshan’s enthusiastic cheers when she shared her excitement, envisioning her friend prancing around like a joyful pink pony!

Yet Yi Shanshan was also the worst possible choice.

This was about the project, about Qi Hongyue. Ying Yuan wasn’t foolish enough to forget what had happened during their interview. A heated argument had erupted between the three of them, with Yi Shanshan firing sharp barbs at Qi Hongyue, who had flatly rejected Yi Shanshan’s application to join the Project Team.

Ying Yuan slumped, suddenly regretting not having spoken up sooner.

In the past, she had been terrible at communication, handling conflicts by either running away or cutting ties completely.

The consequence of such actions was more misunderstandings and resentment, leaving everyone unhappy.

The chat window with Yi Shanshan was quiet but full of unspoken thoughts.

Ying Yuan pulled out her phone, determined to try a new approach and do things differently.

She spent considerable time crafting a message, explaining that neither she nor Qi Hongyue had meant any harm during the interview and genuinely admired Yi Shanshan’s talent. However, the project simply wasn’t at the stage where music could be considered yet, which was why they couldn’t offer Yi Shanshan a place on the team. She hoped Yi Shanshan wouldn’t mind or be upset.

Yi Shanshan’s reply popped up almost immediately: I don’t mind at all!

Ying Yuan: Really?

Yi Shanshan sent a voice message: I’m super happy right now!!!

Holding the phone to her ear, Ying Yuan listened to that single word: happy.

Yi Shanshan’s voice was crisp, sincere, and infectious—truly like a cheerful little pink pony.

“That’s wonderful!” Ying Yuan smiled, feeling utterly relieved and comforted.

They continued chatting as they walked back to the dormitory, Ying Yuan’s smile still radiant as they entered the room.

Mao Mao stared at Ying Yuan for a few seconds, then nudged Xiaohan’s arm. “I can’t hold it in anymore. I’m going to ask.”

Xiaohan: “Go ahead. My curiosity has reached its peak too.”

Mao Mao suddenly leaped in front of Ying Yuan and shouted into her ear, “Who’s on your phone?! You’ve been grinning like an idiot every day!”

Ying Yuan flinched violently, instinctively shoving her phone back into her pocket.

Mao Mao: “……”

Xiaohan: “……”

Mao Mao: “Don’t blame me for spreading rumors, Yuan’er. You’ve been acting so weird these past few days. First you were miserable for ages, then you suddenly became obsessed with being everyone’s workhorse. Now even slaving away makes you grin at your phone every night… What’s so funny?!”

Ying Yuan opened her mouth to retort, just as she had done countless times before.

Whenever her roommate caught a glimpse of her connection with Yi Shanshan, Ying Yuan would scramble to come up with excuses and justifications to smooth things over.

She even invented a “Rich Lady” persona for Yi Shanshan, leading to numerous comical misunderstandings.

But now, her brain stopped her mouth. Everything had changed.

Yi Shanshan already knew her roommate, and there were no longer any secrets between them. As long as Ying Yuan kept her personal feelings suppressed, she and Yi Shanshan could maintain a perfectly normal friendship.

“Have you guys… uh…” Ying Yuan paused, feeling awkward and flustered as she mentioned Yi Shanshan’s name aloud for the first time in front of outsiders. “Have you… seen Shanshan lately?”

Her voice dropped so low on the last two words that Mao Mao didn’t catch them. “What was that?”

Ying Yuan lifted her chin, her face flushing slightly, but she straightened her back and declared loudly, “Shanshan! Yi Shanshan.”

“Ah.” Mao Mao froze, stunned.

Xiaohan leaned forward excitedly. “Why are you suddenly talking about Shanshan? We haven’t seen her lately, though she occasionally texts Mao Mao.”

Ying Yuan pulled out her phone again, gripped it tightly, and waved it casually. “I’ve been texting Shanshan too.”

Mao Mao: “????”

Xiaohan: “!!!!”

Mao Mao: “Is it today? Or yesterday? Or have you been texting her every day?”

A fiery heat surged in Ying Yuan’s chest. “…Yeah, every day.”

Xiaohan: “Aaaaaaah!!! I still have to ship my own CP! Aaaaaaah!!!”

Mao Mao: “Waaah, I’m so jealous! How come you talk to Shanshan more than I do? Have you two been meeting in secret again?”

Ying Yuan immediately denied it. “No, that hasn’t happened.”

Mao Mao darted to the table, snatched her phone, and sent a voice message to Yi Shanshan: “Shanshan, Shanshan! You’ve been talking to Ying Yuan every day, and we didn’t even know! Waaaah, I miss you~”

Ding! Yi Shanshan’s reply came back—another voice message. Mao Mao tapped it open and generously put it on speaker.

“Because Ying Yuan and I have important things to do, darling~” Yi Shanshan’s voice was sweet, tinged with cheerful smugness. “I’ve been learning programming from her lately! What, did you miss me?”

The original message had been sent privately, but Shanshan’s reply went to the group.

Xiaohan and Mao Mao, as if synchronized by some invisible button, shouted in unison, “We! Miss! You!!!”

Ying Yuan shuddered, her heart pounding with lingering fear. She dreaded that after her roommates’ shout, Yi Shanshan would reappear in their dorm, insisting on sleeping with her again.

Ying Yuan didn’t want to rewind.

But Yi Shanshan’s voice soon came through again:

“Mmm~~ I miss you guys too~” Her tone was gentle and smiling, with a hint of everyday worries. “But I’ve been so busy with my own stuff lately~ We’ll meet up soon, babes! Next time for sure!”

With Yi Shanshan’s rejection, Ying Yuan’s heart sank peacefully into soft cotton.

Suddenly, she no longer dreaded seeing Yi Shanshan. She even found herself imagining what unexpected scenario might unfold the next time they met.

Then, the unexpected happened with startling speed.