Forced Duo Invitation, Dr. Tang's Tears

The apartment was in disarray—whether it was the table, the floor, or even the couch where Ye Cheng and Tang Yuyao had just "battled." Of course, this "battle" carried no nefarious connotations; it was simply the most straightforward, primal, and physical form of conflict: an offline octagon cage match!

The contestants, as always, were Ye Cheng and Tang Yuyao. Unfortunately, Ye Cheng was putting on an act—way too dramatic—and once again found himself pinned to the ground by Tang Yuyao’s signature "finishing move." This time, however, his "injuries" were far more severe.

"Dr. Tang, let’s be reasonable here. You asked me what I liked to drink, right? I said I liked red tea—nothing wrong with that, yeah? Isn’t Master Kong a big brand? I’ve drunk more iced tea than you’ve had water in your life..."

Ye Cheng was laying out his case with logic and emotion, but Tang Yuyao remained silent. If she made any sound at all, it was just incoherent mumbling.

The reason was simple: Tang Yuyao was currently gnawing on Ye Cheng’s head.

Yes, literally.

Gnawing.

On his head.

His scalp ached.

They’d been locked in this position for nearly half an hour, a clear sign that Tang Yuyao was genuinely furious—so furious she’d lost all rationality. Her only thought was to destroy Ye Cheng.

Pure hatred.

What really broke her was that Ye Cheng’s argument was flawless. From the initial question about drinks to his detailed tasting notes, everything was technically correct. The "tea" he’d described wasn’t wrong—it was just iced tea.

If anyone was to blame, it was her for watching too many brain-dead TV dramas and letting her imagination run wild.

Ye Cheng was innocent.

But… Tang Yuyao would never admit that. She was mad, and she wanted to bite someone!!!

Seeing that persuasion was futile, Ye Cheng resigned himself to fate. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through mind-numbingly stupid videos to soothe his frayed nerves.

"Frequent airplane buyers know how troublesome it can be to own too many planes. That’s where a private airport comes in handy, solving all your headaches. So, the question is—how much does a private airport cost?"

The familiar synthetic AI voice, paired with juvenile, nonsensical narration and a chaotic collage of visuals, delivered the exact brand of idiocy Ye Cheng loved to indulge in after a long day of being a "forklift driver."

Beautiful. Absolutely riveting.

Ye Cheng was engrossed, as was Tang Yuyao, who was still locked onto his scalp in a chokehold.

But Tang Yuyao lacked Ye Cheng’s ironclad mental fortitude. After a few seconds, she couldn’t take it anymore—listening any longer would turn her brain to mush.

"Ugh, what kind of garbage are you watching? This isn’t even human content!"

Finally releasing her teeth from Ye Cheng’s skull, Tang Yuyao’s voice dripped with disgust and confusion.

Suddenly "pardoned," Ye Cheng took a moment to adjust before pocketing his phone—but not before saving the half-watched video for later enjoyment.

"It’s getting late, Dr. Tang. If I don’t head back to the dorm soon, I’ll get penalized again. One more strike from the dorm president, and I’ll be standing on the rooftop, marveling at how strong the wind is up there."

Ye Cheng’s tone was dripping with melancholy. Tang Yuyao blinked.

His "alive-but-might-as-well-be-dead" mental state was oddly… relatable. It reminded her of her own post-runaway slump, a period of utter listlessness she’d barely clawed her way out of.

With a dismissive huff, Tang Yuyao let him go.

"Hmph. You little brat, this isn’t over. Just you wait!"

Standing up, she grabbed tissues from the table to wipe her mouth and clothes—though most of the iced tea she’d spat out had landed squarely on Ye Cheng.

Not content with that, she’d "invited" him to a forced "duo session," smearing the tea evenly across his body.

Remembering this now, Tang Yuyao’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. Tossing the tissues at Ye Cheng, she added another icy "Hmph!" for good measure.

"No need, Dr. Tang. This towel of yours absorbs pretty well—just a bit small." Ye Cheng remarked offhandedly.

Towel?

What towel? Since when was there a towel in the living room? Towels belonged in the bathroom.

Tang Yuyao froze, her gaze blank as it landed on the "towel" in Ye Cheng’s hand.

Black. Lightweight. Excellent absorption…

Her brain short-circuited.

Ye Cheng, sensing danger, glanced down and finally recognized the "towel’s" true identity.

Oh.

No wonder it felt small. It was…

Slap!

——

Outside the apartment building.

"Bye, Dr. Tang! Next time, remember to stock up on iced tea!" Ye Cheng called up cheerfully, his face still rosy from recent events, as he waved goodbye to Tang Yuyao’s window.

With that, he vanished into the night.

Back inside, Tang Yuyao curled up on the couch, eyes red and puffy like she’d been crying. Sniffling to keep her nose from running, she’d removed her fogged-up gold-rimmed glasses and set them on the coffee table.

"Wuwuwu… Why am I so unlucky…?"

Her muttering dissolved into sobs, each word amplifying her misery. Her little bun hairstyle bobbed with each hiccup, adding an unintentional touch of cuteness.

What stung most was knowing she’d been the unreasonable one—yet she was the one who’d ended up smacking Ye Cheng. The guilt twisted her insides.

At the other end of the couch lay the other "culprit" of tonight’s debacle. A faint white tag peeked out, bearing the words:

"Ladies’ lightweight lace..."