Chapter Twenty-Two: Heartfelt Confessions

Yan Xue and Gao Yang had no objections. After all, though they stood on different sides, they shared one thing in common: neither of them had come here specifically for the meal itself.

After they sat down, even though Kang Ge had chosen the fastest dishes to be served, there was still a wait, so the three inevitably began to chat. This, in fact, was Gao Yang’s real reason for staying to eat.

He had expected Kang Ge to get straight to the point and ask about Xu Wenrui, but to his surprise, after pouring tea and handing it to Gao Yang, Kang Ge began with small talk.

“How many courses do you have left this semester? I remember you mentioning an internship—does that mean you’re almost done with your credits?” he asked.

Gao Yang was taken aback by the casual topic and nodded gloomily. “Yeah, I don’t have many classes left this term. It’s just finding an internship now. But my university isn’t as renowned as K University, so it might be a bit tough.”

“Are you planning to find something local, or do you want to try your luck elsewhere?”

“I’m not that ambitious. I just hope to secure a spot here in W City. If that doesn’t work out, I’ll consider other places.”

“You’re a local, right? If you’re looking for an internship here, have you thought about asking your parents to pull some strings? It’s always easier if you have some connections rather than starting from scratch,” Kang Ge suggested warmly.

“There’s really no need…” Gao Yang was caught off guard, then shook his head with a wry smile.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s probably not a good idea to get parents involved in things like this,” Kang Ge scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Thinking back to when I was about to graduate, it was the same for me! I didn’t know where I’d end up—whether I should stay close to home or venture out. What kind of job I’d get, what position—it was all up in the air, too many uncertainties.

“Ah, those days… you can’t imagine how anxious I was every day. My head felt like it was going to explode!”

He smiled at Gao Yang. “I mean no offense, really—it’s just a feeling I had. That day at the police station, we had only a brief interaction with your mom, but for a moment, it was like seeing my own mother!

“My mom, well, tell me if this sounds familiar: she’s not a bad person, but she’s a bit of a nag, always going on and on. She’s ambitious, competitive, and because she pushes herself, she expects her husband and her child to be just as strong. When I was about to graduate, I was already at my wit’s end, and she was just as anxious as I was, hoping I’d choose the right path and do well. But her methods, honestly, were suffocating!

“She’d call me countless times a day, constantly bombarding me with her opinions—what would happen if I worked at the local station, what were the pros and cons of going elsewhere, how her friends’ and classmates’ sons hadn’t even started interning yet and were already being fought over by multiple companies, with brighter prospects, less stress, better pay! Oh, what a headache!”

As he spoke, he pressed his temples with a pained expression, as if recalling those days still gave him a migraine.

Gao Yang couldn’t help but nod along as he listened, a look of resignation replacing his earlier blankness.

“So your mom’s like that too? I thought mine was the only one driving me crazy.” He sighed, mocking himself. “These past few days, she’s been on my case non-stop. If Xu Wenrui were still alive, she says, he’d surely have a bright future—unlike me, who can’t do anything right and still has no decent plan. Honestly, it’s embarrassing, but sometimes I think Xu Wenrui shouldn’t have died—he should’ve lived to make the family proud. Maybe I should’ve been the one to die instead.”

Although Gao Yang’s words were tinged with despair, his whole demeanor visibly relaxed, as if the pressure from his mother was something he’d always been ashamed to admit. Realizing that others shared the same experience suddenly lifted a weight from his shoulders.

“Don’t say things like that! Xu Wenrui shouldn’t have died, but there’s no reason you should take anyone’s place. Every life is precious! You’re only in your early twenties—the prime of your youth, full of energy, with every reason to be confident and carefree!” Kang Ge shook his head in disapproval.

“That’s right. It’s only natural to feel down after something like this happens to a childhood friend, we get that. But you can’t talk so negatively!” Yan Xue chimed in.

Gao Yang pressed his lips together in silence, fingers intertwined on the edge of the table, his thumbs nervously digging into the back of his hand.

“To be honest, I wouldn’t dare say this to anyone but you,” he said after a pause, as if wrestling with himself before he finally spoke. “I don’t know what you’ll think of me, but if I don’t get this off my chest, I’ll lose my mind.”

“That’s fine. We get along well. No matter how much you help our investigation, let’s just talk honestly tonight,” Kang Ge said, welcoming his candor.

“Please don’t think I’m heartless,” Gao Yang sighed. “When Xu Wenrui died so suddenly, I was surprised and felt a strange emptiness, but I can’t say I was truly sad. For me, the first thought was: ‘It’s good he’s dead. Death ends everything—no more stress, relief from all the burdens others put on you. How wonderful.’

“And then I felt a deep sense of defeat. While he was alive, I was always living in his shadow, but now that he’s gone, it feels like I’ve lost completely, with no chance of turning things around.”

“How do you mean? Your mother always compared you to Xu Wenrui, which made you feel pressured. Now that he’s gone, shouldn’t that problem be solved?” Kang Ge asked.

Gao Yang gave a pained smile, one that looked more wretched than tears. “Haven’t you heard the saying? You can beat a living man, but you can never beat a dead one.

“If Xu Wenrui hadn’t died, things would still be manageable. Life takes its turns—a top university today doesn’t guarantee success tomorrow. Maybe he’d get into a graduate program, graduate, and ten or twenty years down the line, who knows where he’d be? I graduated from a third-rate university, but if I worked hard, built up my skills, and after a decade or two, even if I didn’t surpass him, as long as I didn’t fall too far behind, I could at least tell myself: he might’ve done better in the exams, but now we’re more or less the same, so I haven’t really lost.

“But now that he’s dead, all the what-ifs about his future are just conjecture, and they’re based on his achievements so far—top university, a shot at grad school. People will always say, ‘If Xu Wenrui were still alive, maybe he’d be making millions by now! Maybe he’d be at the top of his field!’ And with that, not only can I never surpass him, I can’t even catch up. I’ve lost, utterly and completely.”

“I don’t understand. Why does your own success have to be measured against Xu Wenrui? Sure, people say you should just be yourself and not compare, but I know that’s hard. Still… why did it have to be Xu Wenrui?” Yan Xue asked, puzzled.

“Because of my mother,” Gao Yang replied, sighing weakly. “From the moment I was born, she tied me to Xu Wenrui. His mother did the same to him.”