Chapter 0210: Worse Than a Dog

In the most beautiful moments of life, the shadows of each of us actually flicker. Because memories are something that cannot be erased; all we can do is slowly pile them up, letting new memories bury the old ones. Let time take us to the gambling table of life and death, staking ourselves as the wager.

That day, Zhao Fusheng couldn't remember how much they drank in the end, because eventually the restaurant owner came up and said there was no more alcohol.

Fortunately, before losing his memory, Zhao Fusheng remembered to pay the bill.

Everyone was dead drunk, including Zhao Fusheng. In a daze, he seemed to roam between past and present life, with many people changing around him, many dishes changing on the table, and much homemade wine spilling in the cups.

That was the proudest we, the most romantic we, the most unrestrained we.

That was his proudest youth.

Beside him, there were the best friends and the revolving rings of time.

The stars shone brightly, striving to emit the brightest light. When night fell, those long waits, vigils, longings, and loneliness would all become unhesitating, worth cherishing for everyone.

There were once people who wept because they looked up to happiness, and in the end, they would also weep because of happiness.

"One day, I, Tan Kaixuan, will make my name known throughout the world!"

"One day, I, Wen Yu, will rise in the world!"

"One day, I, Wang Zhen, will stand out from the crowd!"

"One day, I, Zhao Fusheng, will become the world's richest man."

The four young men supported each other, shouting loudly at the sky as they walked.

Moonlight shone on them, stretching their shadows long and thin, gradually fading away until they disappeared...

...

To write a poem about something that can be said in one sentence is showing off. To write an article is bullying paper. To write a book is asking for death. But to say nothing at all is the silent smile of enlightenment.

No one knew how much time had passed before Zhao Fusheng half-awake opened his eyes. After his upward-facing gaze focused clearly on the dormitory ceiling, it took at least two or three seconds before he managed to sober up.

"Drank too much yesterday!"

This thought flashed through Zhao Fusheng's mind, and then he felt his head hurt so much he could die.

The air was thick with a strong smell of alcohol and sour stench. Lifting his head, Zhao Fusheng found a sock—whose bastard it was he didn't know—lying by his pillow.

Pinching the sock between two fingers and holding his breath, Zhao Fusheng casually tossed it toward the door. Whether the sock's owner would protest to him after waking up was not within his consideration.

With a splitting headache, Zhao Fusheng was now completely dizzy, his mind blank, and he even felt he had no strength to sit up.

He reached for his phone by the bed to check the time—for him, who didn't like wearing a watch, this was a habit. But after groping beside the bed several times, he didn't catch the expected object.

Somewhat dumbfounded, Zhao Fusheng finally sobered up. He propped himself up to sit, only to find that he wasn't wearing anything on his upper body, and the same below. More importantly, Zhao Fusheng discovered that his clothes were thrown on the floor by the bed.

Not only that, the entire dormitory floor was covered with clothes and pants.

Fortunately, before leaving yesterday, Wen Yu and Tan Kaixuan had cleaned up. It was said that school leaders would inspect the dormitories next week, so they simply tidied up ahead of time. Otherwise, given the previous state of hygiene, Zhao Fusheng estimated that his clothes would have been thrown away directly.

"Good, it seems I returned to the dorm after drinking too much," Zhao Fusheng thought thankfully. Since he had come back, he probably hadn't done anything like clapping for love after getting drunk.

Sometimes, after emotions have been suppressed for a long time, one really needs a release.

Looking left and right, his roommates were still sound asleep. Zhao Fusheng shook his head, got up, put on clothes, and took his toiletries to the washroom to freshen up. When he returned, these guys still showed no sign of getting up.

Throwing everyone's clothes onto the beds, Zhao Fusheng stepped out of the dormitory.

The weather was nice, suitable for a walk.

Today was the weekend, and there were quite a few people on campus, in groups of three or five, in pairs. Zhao Fusheng didn't go to the cafeteria but instead went to a bun shop, ordered three buns and a bowl of porridge, and sat there eating breakfast slowly and leisurely.

He enjoyed this kind of life. At least now, he didn't have to toil for a living as hard as he did in his previous life.

What is the saddest thing about poverty? It's that you always feel there's no other way but to shoulder everything with your life, because your life is cheaper than paper.

It's said that when a man reaches middle age, everything rests. Sometimes it's really exhausting, and you wish you could just sleep through it, because the moment you open your eyes, you are fuel, oil, rice, and salt—you are a father, a son, a husband, but never yourself.

The moment you open your eyes, your true self can only be placed in dreams. Even if you cry or crawl, you can only continue playing the role that others have placed high hopes on.

"Good, there's still a chance." Zhao Fusheng looked up at the azure sky and muttered to himself.

"Ring, ring, ring!"

A phone rang. Lowering his head, Zhao Fusheng glanced at the unfamiliar number and frowned. In this day and age, there shouldn't be telecom fraud schemes yet; if it wasn't someone he knew, they definitely wouldn't have his number.

"Hello, this is Zhao Fusheng." Pressing the answer button, Zhao Fusheng said politely.

"I know you're Zhao Fusheng."

Fan Baobao's displeased voice came through the phone: "Sobered up?"

"Huh?"

With just three words, Fan Baobao successfully jolted Zhao Fusheng's body from a state of complete relaxation into combat readiness: "What's going on?"

As he asked these four words, Zhao Fusheng's mind frantically recalled what he had done last night after getting drunk.

Judging by Fan Baobao's tone, it seemed he had called her last night.

"What's going on? Calling me in the middle of the night, rambling on about a bunch of nonsense. I should be asking you that," Fan Baobao snorted, saying to Zhao Fusheng, "Come on, explain to me: what do you mean by 'don't let anyone take advantage of you'? What do you mean by 'wait until I make money to shoot films for you'?"

"Cough, cough..." Zhao Fusheng coughed dryly, his face turning red. He never expected that after drinking too much, he would actually do something like this.

You see, these words were things he had thought about in his heart during his past life whenever he occasionally thought of Fan Baobao. And now, he had blurted them all out while drunk.

Hesitating, Zhao Fusheng asked cautiously: "Um, I didn't say anything else, did I?"

"Nothing else. I'm telling you, don't call me when you're drunk anymore, got it?" Fan Baobao said, then hung up with a click.

But Zhao Fusheng couldn't shake the feeling that the girl seemed a bit guilty.