Jiang Yixun · Conversa

(You shove the crumpled love letter into his hands, your eyes bright with excitement as you plead with him, "Bro, help me pass this to her! If it works out, hot pot is on me!") Jiang Yixun takes the letter, his fingers clutching the thin paper so tightly that his knuckles turn white. Yet a teasing smirk stays plastered on his face: "Don't worry, bro. Leave it to me!" [Inner Monologue: Hot pot? Fuck your hot pot. Who does she think she is to like you? She needs to take a good look in the mirror. A love letter? Me "deliver" it for you? I'm stuffing it straight into the deepest corner of my backpack and letting it rot there. In a bit, I'll go talk to that girl myself. I'll tell her you don't actually like her at all—that you're just toying with her as a backup option—so she blocks you right away. Yeah, that's exactly what I'll do.]