MW CH23

Chapter 23: Didn’t Think It Could Get This Bad

Ming Zhuo and I—both guys, both gay—but miles apart.

He’s the type to rock wigs, makeup, even strut into bars in drag. I tagged along to a club once—dim, flashing lights, him in a miniskirt, fake boobs, slithering to the beat like a snake. Blew my mind, wild and new.

Turns out gay’s not one-size-fits-all. Some don’t dig women but love dudes in dresses. They’ve got this whole animal-coding thing—sorting by build, picking tribes.

Ming Zhuo grabbed my hand, fearless, yanked me into the real gay world—quirky souls, sure, but a cesspool of chaos too.

October in Beishi—not hot, not cold, just right for outings.

Teacher Liu, who led the Wilderness Survival course, was surnamed Liu—an ex-soldier, ace at fire-starting, fishing, tent-pitching, weather-reading, you name it.

Safety first in the wild—he capped each trip at twenty, splitting us into batches.

First round? Me and Mochuan.

That day, we’d knocked out a four-hour trek, pitched tents, lit a fire. Teacher Liu gave us thirty minutes’ rest—I dove into my tent, aching head to toe.

No sleep in half an hour—I pulled out my phone, poked at Zhao Chenyuan’s game.

“Quiz Island”—beta, sure, but slick as hell—mechanics, UI, all tight. Hard to believe some college kids cooked it up.

Still screamed Zhao Chenyuan, though.

Two parts: PK mode—solo, duo, trio. Not towers or last-man-standing—thirty Q&A questions each, highest score in time wins. Questions so broad, even two years post-gaokao, I’d blank out.

Win PK, rank up, snag points—points cash out for props in part two.

“My Home” portal drops you on your own island—build it your way. Nicer it gets, more tourists, more cash—cash loops back to PK buffs. Perfect cycle.

Fresh start—my island was a wasteland, no fishpond. Controlling my Q-avatar “Hard-to-Pronounce,” I dashed along the beach, scavenging trash for coins.

Then Ming Zhuo called—bored, whining for company.

His girly face made “no” tough in person—phone’s different. No matter how he pinched his voice, I held firm.

“Busy—class.”

“Class? Where?”

“Mountains.” I briefed him on the survival gig.

“Dirty, tiring—why pick that?” he griped, then pivoted. “Who’s with you?”

Rattled off names, paused. “Yan’s roommate too.”

“Oh—the tall Cenglu guy?”

“Yeah…” Mid-chat, tent flap flipped—Mochuan ducked in, ignored me, plopped down.

Loose white shirt, sleeves rolled to elbows—work heat showing off sleek forearms.

He dug out his water, chugged, said nothing—sat, then sprawled out.

“…I’ll come find you? No visitor bans, right?”

Mochuan’s legs loomed beside me—I glanced. Hate to admit it, but damn, they’re long—those extra inches all went there.

“Bai Yin?”

Phone pressed tighter. “Up to you—come if you want. I’ll send a pin—cab to the spot, ten-minute walk in.”

Tent split—I didn’t expect Teacher Liu to pair me with Mochuan out of ten guys. Post-split, he asked for objections—Mochuan didn’t blink.

He could deal; I couldn’t look like I cared. Opposite the crowd, gut screaming, I smiled, shook my head—told Teacher Liu it’s fine.

Hung up, sent Ming Zhuo the pin, back to the game—barely moved when someone yelled my name outside.

Dropped the phone, crawled to the flap. “What’s up?”

We’d hauled rice—rest of the grub, drinks, pre-ordered from local farmers. Needed a few guys to fetch.

“Teacher, I just sat down,” I groaned, dragging out.

Teacher Liu: “Look at you—won’t even sweat? Move it, no whining—go with them.”

Slugged along, hauled veggies back—Mochuan stood outside, scanning, my phone in hand.

Spotted me, strode over, handed it off. “Calls—lots.”

Frowned, dropped the bags—took it. Ming Zhuo, of course.

“What?” I stepped aside, picked up.

He giggled—sudden friend’s move, can’t come now, maybe tonight—don’t wait.

Noise behind him—guys, girls, out partying—didn’t care, said “got it,” hung up.

Night fell—Teacher Liu rallied us ‘round the fire. One guy spun a ghost tale—Ming Zhuo showed.

Squeezed next to me, glued close, listening—then whispered, pouty, “So scary—can’t go back alone tonight.”

His perfume choked me—I scooted, sipped my beer can. “Stay if you want—no showers, three to a tent.”

He pouted. “Three? Who else?”

Glanced at Mochuan chatting Teacher Liu up across the fire. “Cenglu guy.”

“Mochuan?” He paused—firelight danced in his eyes, grin spread. “He won’t mind.”

Past ten—some hit the tents, most stayed, boozing, talking. Ming Zhuo tugged my sleeve—needed to pee, wanna come?

His gaze flicked to the dark woods, brows dripping seduction.

Not dumb—he’s not asking me to piss side-by-side.

“No thanks.” I jiggled my can.

“Fine…” Disappointment bare, he let go, stomped off heavy.

Babyface, Ming Zhuo—they didn’t get my “try.”

Try’s just that—test feelings, fit, worth. Sex? Only if it works out first.

Ming Zhuo pushed it—hints, straight-up offers—screw first, love later. Made me question his game.

People peg me as a player, a jerk—but every fling, I’m serious. Serious about liking them, being a decent boyfriend.

So when Ming Zhuo’s “bathroom break” stretched way past normal, worry kicked in—I went looking.

Cool breeze hit my face, booze heating me up. Crunching twigs, I tracked his path—near a stream, faint voices.

“You’re… Bai Yin’s boyfriend, right?”

Mochuan?

My name—I held back, crept closer, quiet.

Beyond the trees—Mochuan, barefoot in clear water, moonlight bleaching his skin cold-white. Maybe washing up—top buttons undone, collar to collarbone.

Ming Zhuo—AWOL from his “pee”—kneeled on the bank, groveling like a dog, crawling into the stream.

“Him? All looks, no substance—not like you…” He waded over, face brushing Mochuan’s thigh. “Pinjia, god… pity me—I don’t need much, just let me lick you, kiss you, touch you…”

Leaning on a trunk, eyes wide—fake booze hallucination?

“I’m not Pinjia yet,” Mochuan said, staring down, calm fact.

Ming Zhuo laughed. “Even better—before Pinjia, try some fun. Don’t like guys? Pretend I’m a girl.”

Knew guys could be trash—didn’t think this trash.

Shock hit—I stepped, snapped a twig. Ming Zhuo, lust-drunk, missed it—Mochuan’s silvered eyes locked mine instantly.

He saw me—disgust, contempt, pity flickered. For me? Him? Us both?

Breath held, staring—blood rushed, face burned. His piercing look shredded me second by second in this freakshow.

Like he’s saying: See? I pegged you right—gays are disgusting.

Nails dug into bark—rage split between Ming Zhuo and Mochuan, hard to pick.

“I don’t like women, men—or used-up trash.” His gaze scraped me, landed back on Ming Zhuo—cutting words with a smile.

“Don’t say that,” Ming Zhuo whined, wet hands clawing Mochuan’s pants, tongue flicking like a snake, relentless. “My mouth’s barely used—try it, I’m good, really…”

His hand neared Mochuan’s crotch—I snapped. Shoved off the tree, charged, kicked him sideways into the water.“Done humping the air? Piss on a mirror—think he’d want you?” I glared at Mochuan, sneered. “Right, Your Divine Lordship?”