"Do your classmates usually end up in bad situations?" Jiang Cheng asked.

He remembered Fatty mentioning that his former deskmate had died in a drunk driving accident, and the one after him had jumped off a building a couple of years ago after being cuckolded.

He had only ever heard of jinxing wives, but this was the first time he'd seen anything like Fatty jinxing his classmates.

"Doctor, don't say that," Fatty said, extending an arm from the quilt to scratch his head sheepishly before retracting it and tucking the quilt neatly around himself. "I've lost contact with some other classmates, so I'm not sure what's going on with them."

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment and said earnestly, "You should probably not contact them. If they die too, you won't be able to explain it."

Fatty: "......"

After doing a few sets of exercises, Jiang Cheng stood up, took off the thin shirt he was wearing, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it aside.

He was the type who looked thin in clothes but had a muscular physique underneath. His streamlined muscles were well-proportioned, unlike the explosive power of Western strongmen, making him more in line with Asian aesthetics.

Fatty's eyes widened as he watched, his heart filled with envy.

Jiang Cheng stood in front of the half-length mirror, looking himself up and down. He narrowed his eyes, then turned sideways, patted his firm buttocks, and, feeling the amplitude of the jiggle, revealed a mysterious smile.

The scene suddenly reminded Fatty of what the doctor had said when they were in the school instance, when he was lying on the bed, the harsh sunlight shining on his face.

"Fatty," the doctor had asked, squinting, "do I look like a lazy angel?"

Secretly swallowing, Fatty thought the doctor probably had some mental issues. He seemed particularly pleased with certain parts of his body.

A few minutes later, the doctor received a call. Fatty saw that he seemed very excited, nodding incessantly, his eyes practically glowing.

He rarely saw the doctor like this. Most of the time, he was rebellious and unruly. He was curious who was on the other end of the phone.

So far, he had only met one person who could keep the doctor in line.

The doctor's boss, the real owner of this psychological counseling room—Lin Wan'er.

In front of that qipao-wearing beauty, the doctor had no resistance, and even he himself had been taken care of, and she made off with his last few hundred yuan.

Could it be... could it really be her?

Just as Fatty was brainstorming, Jiang Cheng hung up the phone, and then, under the former's gaze, Jiang Cheng skipped to the desk, fumbled for a key, and opened the bottom drawer.

He took out a tightly wrapped package, then opened it in front of Fatty, and inside... Fatty's eyes widened suddenly.

It was a... uniform-style piece of clothing.

Pure white, very new, somewhat similar to the white doctor's uniform the doctor usually wore, but clearly superior in material and feel.

The upper body was relatively wide, with a waist-cinching design in the middle, but strangely, there were only two buttons going down from the collar.

The edges of the buttons were inlaid with silver, echoing the dazzling gold tassel trim at the shoulders. It would surely make quite the impression in the dim light of a dance floor or private room.

While buttoning the only two buttons, the doctor told the utterly dumbfounded Fatty, "I'm going out for a bit," he said cheerfully, "you stay and watch the house. I might be back late tonight."

"Beep! Beep!"

"Beep beep!"

The sound of urgent car horns came from outside the window.

Fatty couldn't explain why, but he actually heard a hint of impatience in the car horns.

Jiang Cheng, now changed, trotted to the door, opened it, and rushed out.

The next second, Fatty catapulted off the sofa, ran to the window, and peered out, standing on tiptoe.

A royal blue sports car was parked in front of the door, its streamlined body displaying a raw beauty. He happened to see the doctor grab the car door, then nimbly hop in and land smoothly in the passenger seat.

The gold tassels on his shoulders fluttered up and down, the movement very dashing.

It was a sports car whose brand Fatty didn't recognize, and... the license plate was covered with a black light-blocking board.

Besides the doctor, there were 4 girls, including the driver.

Three were crammed in the back, chatting enthusiastically with the newly arrived doctor amidst their delicate voices, one of them so bold she couldn't wait to press herself against him.

Then, with a roar of the engine, the royal blue sports car sped away.

Fatty stood blankly by the window, the doctor's words constantly flashing through his mind, the "buzzing" sound echoing in his head like a bell.

"I'm going to do something tonight, something very important."

"It has nothing to do with nightmares, it's my own business."

"I'm a model..."

"I work the night shift at a ktv... the top guy..."

"High-end, you know? I don't come out without an appointment. It's usually as hard as climbing to the sky for regular customers to see me..."

Fatty, snapping back to reality, blurted out, "Holy shit!"

So... what the doctor said was true, but no one believed him. They all thought the doctor had a problem in his head, or that it was just a disguise he used to divert attention.

He was the clown all along...

Fatty spent the night in extreme anxiety. As he spent more time with the doctor, he had once thought he saw through the pure heart beneath the man's tired disguise.

But reality slapped him hard in the face.

It also made him see the gap between himself and the doctor.

They were not in the same world at all, not even on the same dimension.

It wasn't until three-thirty in the morning that the doctor dragged his tired body home. When he opened the door and saw Fatty huddled alone on the sofa, wrapped in a quilt, he was clearly taken aback.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" the doctor asked, puzzled, reeking of a mix of alcohol and perfume. He looked around, continuing, "We shouldn't be entering a nightmare tonight, the frequency shouldn't be that high."

He seemed to have drunk a lot, but he was still relatively sober.

Because the lights were on, the lipstick marks on his cheeks were particularly glaring, and there seemed to be some unclear marks below his collarbone.

One of the buttons on his clothes was also missing, the broken thread still lingering there.

One could imagine how much fun he had had.

He seemed to be in a very good mood, coming over to sit down across from Fatty with a swagger, then, his face flushed, he reached into his clothes and pulled out a thick wad of bills.

In a matter of ten seconds, he pulled out more money from various places on his body and piled it up. The amount was considerable.

He counted while making indescribable laughing sounds, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Whew—, luckily the floor manager wasn't too strict today." He put the counted money together, saying with great relief.