Qiu Wuji was happy, but Chu Ge was anything but. Others went on dates with girls and even brought them home—what wonderful things could happen? He hadn't done anything, yet he'd gotten into a fight and gotten stabbed, and when he got home, the girl had run away, and run a long way.
Chu Ge sat there with his hands in his pockets, a durian on his head, staring blankly at the roses on the coffee table. He didn't even know if he could take a shower with this injury, especially in this sweltering heat…
Speaking of which, those hideous roses that had caused Qiu Wuji to leave early, after a while, they actually became quite beautiful…
On the wall was a calligraphy scroll depicting Zhuangzi's dream of a butterfly, pasted up unframed.
The brushstrokes were fluid and elegant, the content sophist
