When Disaster Strikes (Literally)
653 Words
The livestream crew, thoroughly roasted, slunk away like wet cats. By the lakeside, only An Nuo and Yuan Shenglin remained.
An Nuo fiddled with her dress hem, inching toward him like a moth drawn to a sarcastic flame. For a certified hermit with a PhD in Social Anxiety, this was her Olympic moment. She’d spent the entire car ride chanting, “You’ve got this! You’re a strong, independent heiress who doesn’t need emotional stability!” But now, with Yuan’s raised eyebrow laser-targeted at her, her courage was evaporating faster than her dignity.
How do I even talk to him?!
In the span of three seconds, her brain generated a PowerPoint of terrible ideas:
Plan A: “Hey hot stuff, wanna hang out?”Problem: Too forward. She was a billionaire’s daughter, not a t****k thirst-trapper.
Plan B: Dramatically collapse. “Sir, your girlfriend just fell… for you!”Problem: Cringe. She’d rather swallow a live eel than pull that rom-com nonsense.
Plan C: Pretend to care about fishing.Ah, perfect! “So… got any big catches?” she’d ask, segueing smoothly into swapping WeChat IDs. Flawless.
Smug, she opened her mouth—
THUD.
An Nuo face-planted into the grass, executing a flawless “dog-eats-mud” maneuver.
Yuan froze. Was this a scam? Performance art? Had he accidentally wandered into a K-drama? He glanced at the black sedan nearby, where An Nuo’s stone-faced** (housekeeper) observed the chaos like a judge at a toddler ballet recital.
They stood (and lay) in silence.
Finally, Yuan crouched. “Uh… you alive?”
“......”
An Nuo’s face burned hotter than a SpaceX launch. Just bury me here. With the worms. Forever.
“You look… unwell. Should I take you to the infirmary?”
She nodded imperceptibly.
Yuan sighed. Rich people. Always either fainting or starting cults. “Just so we’re clear,” he muttered, hoisting her up, “I’m not a creep. Don’t sue me later.”
An Nuo kept her eyes shut, mentally drafting her resignation from the human race. God, turn me into a rock. A very small, unremarkable rock.
Infirmary: Where Dignity Goes to Die
The sterile smell of disinfectant hit her nostrils. “She passed out,” Yuan told the nurse. “No idea where she lives. Good luck.”
As he bolted, An Nuo peeked one eye open.
(He’s gone… thank every deity ever.)(But… he was kinda gentle? Most guys would’ve yeeted me into the lake.)(Ugh, An Nuo! WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!)
An hour later, she sat up, red-faced.
“Feeling better?” the nurse asked.
“YES. THANKS. BYE.”
An Nuo wobbled out in her $2,000 heels, looking like a newborn giraffe on ice. Her**, leaning against the Rolls-Royce with a cigarette, smirked. “Progress, Miss?”
“...Disaster,” An Nuo mumbled into a pillow. “Dad was right. I’m useless. Without our money, I’d be living in a sewer.”
Housekeeper raised an eyebrow. “Why him, though? He’s just… some guy.”
“You wouldn’t get it.”
“I’m 40. I’ve seen everything.”
An Nuo stared at her reflection in the rain-streaked window. Beautiful face, fragile ego. A lifetime of hiding, flunking social interactions, and mastering the art of Existential Panic™. The system had given her a second chance—but why did Yuan matter?
“I just… want to change,” she whispered.
Yuan’s Hellscape (AKA Dorm Life)
Meanwhile, Yuan braved his dorm—a biohazard zone masquerading as a living space.
Pop culture lied. Male dorms weren’t bromantic utopias. They were Thunderdomes.
Exhibit A: Midnight “concerts” featuring a roommate’s symphony of toilet flushes, chip-crunching, and questionable moans.Exhibit B: Daytime tyranny. “Bro, I’m napping! No AC! No breathing!”Exhibit C: A trash volcano erupting with moldy takeout and… were those socks?
Yuan gagged. His roommates—human dumpster fires—were nowhere in sight.
- Writer
