Chapter 5 Breakfast Interrupted
"Morning, Wen Shuangyang. Come eat breakfast—it's almost eleven already."
I had just closed my eyes, hoping to steal a few more minutes of sleep, when Auntie’s voice called out.
She was exactly like my mom—calling six o'clock breakfast at eight, then rushing me downstairs in two minutes flat.
But Mom had been gone so long. Moments like this felt rare and precious.
I hurried through washing up, treasuring every second I could spend with her.
The dining table trembled from loud banging outside the door.
Bowls and chopsticks clinked against each other with each vibration.
Then came the voice I knew too well.
"Open the door, Wen Shuangyang."
"You had the guts to steal my mom, now have the guts to open up. Don't hide in there pretending you're not home—I know you are."
"Open the door! Open it! Open itttt!"
By the end Jiang Song was practically singing, each shout climbing higher in pitch.
Auntie pressed her forehead, helpless. "My silly son is here."
"Wen Shuangyang, be a dear and check on him? Seeing him just blocks my eyes, my heart, my liver, my lungs, my blood vessels."
I nodded. She stood up briskly.
"If I listen any longer my blood vessels will explode like fireworks."
I was worried the neighbors would complain too.
I rushed to open the door.
Jiang Song stood there with an "I knew it" expression.
He spread his hands.
"Give me my mom back already."
What do you mean your mom? In my house, she's my dear Auntie.
I placed my hand in his palm. "I can reluctantly be your mom for one day."
His fingers trembled slightly.
He stared at me in disbelief, dragging out the words.
"You're so mean, Wen Shuangyang."
"Last night's Wen Shuangyang was so fierce, so scary."
"Like she was going to eat someone alive. So harsh to poor sick me."
Even as he complained, his tone curled with laughter. He closed his fingers around mine.
I stayed unmoved and called him out. "You're not sick. Your knee just got scraped."
"Auntie is an adult. She can go wherever she wants. You don't get to control her."
Jiang Song gave my hand a gentle squeeze. His eyes and brows were all smiles. "You're so bad, Wen Shuangyang."
"Yeah, yeah, get going already."
Caught off guard, he stumbled back when I pushed him.
I shut the door behind me. "Keep acting crazy at the door and I'll record it and post it on Weibo."
Silence outside for a moment.
Then his soft chuckle.
"You're really too much, Wen Shuangyang."
"You've broken my heart."
I knew he loved to perform, but it still stung a little.
I stood there until I heard his footsteps fade away.
"Is he gone?" The moment it quieted, Auntie poked her head out.
"Gone. Let's finish breakfast."
I pushed those thoughts down.
While my mind spun in circles, I asked casually,
"By the way, Auntie, it's Jiang Song's birthday today. Do you want to go back and see him?"
Auntie glanced up at me. "Oh? Yeah. It's fine. He's used to it."
"His dad and I were always busy with work before. His birthdays were simple. He never cared much about them—from childhood on. Only after being with you did he start paying attention to his own birthday."
She waved her hand carelessly. "It's nothing."
I swallowed a mouthful of hot porridge. It was cooked too thick, and my chest felt just as clogged.
Was my choice really right?
The doubt lingered, but soon I realized I was overthinking.
Jiang Song was doing perfectly fine—more than fine.
Thanks to him, the last trending topic hadn't even dropped yet, and here I was trending again.
Jiang Song V: Wanted to listen to sad songs, didn't expect I was the sad one. I kept you in my pocket, you kicked me into the ditch, stole my mom and still roast me. Hate you.
The comments were full of hahaha:
"Dying laughing, health and wealth incoming, may all wishes come true. Is this a soap opera?"
"Laughed so hard I rolled off the bed. My mom told me to roll out."
"Other people forget mom after getting a wife—this guy lost both when the wife left."
"This is more entertaining than Spring Festival Gala. I'm hooked."
"Suddenly Jiang Song doesn't seem so bad. Mom is hilarious."
…
I was annoyed and amused at the same time.
My hand moved on its own—I switched to my alt account and slipped into the Super Topic I followed.
"Congrats Jiang Song on going single, ascend soon. Repost this Weibo, draw three 188."
"What's going on? Still posting like crazy after the breakup. If his brain stays this foggy I'm really going to curse. Jiang Song, who are you letting down? Without us could you have made it this far?"
"Wen Shuangyang is probably under the covers grinning like an idiot. Obscure for twenty-something years and finally rides the wave. Vampire nature exposed."
"Ride-along sis, living up to the name (thumbs up). A detailed list of ride-along sis's little schemes over the years. (pics 1–9)"
Each picture was long, timelines clearly marked, highlighted notes in bright colors. At a glance they looked solid and convincing.
If I weren't the so-called "ride-along sis" herself, I might have believed them too.
They poured their passion into him, treated him like faith. Every word and action dissected a thousand times, chewed to fragments, spat out, interpreted over and over.
They did data to prove Trending Searches rankings, spent money on endorsements and merch to show insane buying power, tirelessly fought anti-fans. Things that seemed troublesome and trivial to me—they stuck with for years.
It was hard not to be moved by that kind of pure devotion.
But sometimes I wondered: were they in love with the person, or with the feeling they projected onto him?
If it was the person, why couldn't they respect his choices?
There had to be distance between idol and fan.
The person they loved so fiercely had a girlfriend like me—ordinary, nothing special. I could understand why they hated me.
As Jiang Song's birthday approached, I scrolled through a lot on my alt, noting details I hadn't known before. Until I saw a post from someone whose username was "Wen Shuangyang Dead Today?":
Really running out of patience. Three years and three more years—how many three-years does life have?
Jiang Song, I've followed you since debut.
Even in high school I begged my mom for her phone to refresh your data, saved allowance money for your endorsements.
Now you're famous and your brain's muddled.
Do you know how many people are laughing at us?
Do you remember saying you'd run toward us too?
I don't oppose you dating, but why Wen Shuangyang?
Are you blind? She's been riding your popularity the whole time, don't you know?
I clicked into her profile. Bio: Click profile = Wen Shuangyang default dead, hehe.
That was the day I learned this malicious Super Topic existed. Inside it I saw myself photoshopped into funeral portraits, my head pasted onto various gruesome corpses—even Jiang Song's.
In their words, I deserved it, he had strayed, and they wanted him back on the right path—so extreme measures were justified.