A Different Version of Myself

After lunch, Liu Muye enjoyed a blissful nap in his room.

Half-asleep, he was jolted awake by his alarm. He got up, planning to splash some water on his face in the bathroom before grabbing his backpack and heading to class.

But the moment he stepped out of his room, he saw Nangong Ye sitting on the couch, clutching his stomach with a pained expression—though he was still stubbornly maintaining his "domineering CEO" posture.

Liu Muye took one look at him and felt his vision darken. "Are you having stomach trouble?"

Nangong Ye sighed weakly, forcing a smile. "Was it that obvious?"

"Uh, yeah?!" Liu Muye’s face twitched. "You’re literally clutching your stomach and grimacing. You might as well have ‘stomachache’ written across your forehead!"

Nangong Ye waved a hand dismissively. "It’s nothing, just a minor stomach issue. I get this whenever I eat something unclean. Don’t worry about it—I’m used to it. It’ll pass soon."

"Really?" Liu Muye stared at him skeptically. "You look like you’re in agony. Do you have any medicine in your room?"

Nangong Ye suddenly straightened up, declaring with utmost seriousness, "No. As the esteemed young master of the Nangong family, why would I keep medicine for something as trivial as a stomachache?"

"Enough with the CEO theatrics!" Liu Muye snapped. "If you don’t have medicine, I’m taking you to the campus clinic."

"No, I refuse!" Nangong Ye crossed his arms. "A mere stomachache isn’t worthy of my personal visit to the clinic. Stomachache, I command you to leave my body at once—mmph!"

"Shut. Up."

Liu Muye clamped a hand over Nangong Ye’s mouth and dragged him out of the dorm.

At the clinic, the doctor took one look at Nangong Ye’s pained expression and asked, "History of chronic stomach issues? What did you eat for lunch?"

Nangong Ye replied, "Lunch."

"..."

The doctor’s eye twitched. "What kind of lunch?"

"Western cuisine prepared by my personal chef. Beef, bread, vegetables—the usual."

"Do you normally eat these things?"

"Yes."

"And you’ve never had stomach pain after eating them before?"

"No. I usually only get stomachaches when I skip meals."

"That doesn’t make sense," the doctor muttered, frowning. "You shouldn’t suddenly develop pain. Did you eat anything else?"

Nangong Ye hesitated before shaking his head. "No…"

"Really?"

"...Fine, yes." Under the doctor’s piercing gaze, Nangong Ye caved. "I had a little bit of instant noodles."

"Wait, what?" Liu Muye, who had been sitting quietly beside him, gaped. "You ate the instant noodles on the table?"

"Just… a tiny bite," Nangong Ye admitted, turning away awkwardly.

The doctor sighed. "Spicy flavor, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you usually eat spicy food?"

"Almost never."

"Then it’s acute gastritis from the greasy, spicy food. I’ll prescribe some medicine—you’ll feel better soon."

As the doctor began preparing the medication, Liu Muye blinked in disbelief. "That’s it? Just a few questions and you already know the diagnosis?"

The doctor smirked. "Problem? Before I became a campus doctor, my specialist appointments at Shangjing City Hospital had a two-year waiting list. I’ve treated more illnesses than you’ve had hot meals."

Liu Muye had no rebuttal. He silently gave a thumbs-up.

After getting the medicine, Liu Muye poured Nangong Ye a glass of water, and the two sat in a quiet corner of the clinic until the pain subsided.

By the time Nangong Ye felt better, the first afternoon class was already half over. Since they’d already gotten permission from their advisor, Liu Muye figured they might as well skip and go straight to the next one.

After a long silence, Nangong Ye suddenly spoke.

"Do you think I’m weird?"

"Weird?" Liu Muye turned to him. "How so?"

Nangong Ye met his gaze. "I ate your instant noodles. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?"

"Why would it?"

"I’m Nangong Ye, the so-called ‘esteemed young master.’ I’ve always claimed to disdain ‘low-class’ food, yet I secretly ate the instant noodles you were going to throw away—and ended up with acute gastritis. Isn’t that ridiculous?"

"Instant noodles are delicious," Liu Muye said with a laugh. "Besides, food isn’t ‘high-class’ or ‘low-class.’ If it tastes good and you enjoy it, who cares? Hell, I’m the young master of the Liu family in Shangjing, and I love instant noodles too."

"..."

Nangong Ye felt something click into place.

He’d always looked down on instant noodles—not because he disliked the taste, but because he’d been conditioned to see them as "beneath him." That mental barrier had kept him from indulging in something he might’ve actually enjoyed.

Then, hesitantly, Nangong Ye asked, "Have you ever had fried chicken?"

"Of course."

"Is it good?" Nangong Ye smiled sheepishly. "It’s embarrassing, but… I’ve never tried it. Every time I pass a KFC or McDonald’s, I wonder what it tastes like."

"..."

Liu Muye was stunned.

Nangong Ye, the wealthiest protagonist he’d ever written, had never even tasted fried chicken. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

A skilled author could craft characters so vivid that readers truly immersed themselves in the story. But as a struggling writer, his own characters often felt flat—because some of their traits defied logic.

Only now did Liu Muye realize how illogical his own writing had been.

Seems like it’s not just the villainesses who need saving, he thought.

"Do you want to try fried chicken?" Liu Muye asked seriously. "I mean, do you want to break free from those mental barriers and finally try the things you’ve always wondered about?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

This time, Nangong Ye didn’t hesitate.

Liu Muye nodded. "Then go for it. Be a different version of yourself."

"A different version… of myself?"

Nangong Ye’s eyes lit up.

...