After the Secrets of the Passerby Were Leaked, He Was Cherished by the Entire Family of Antagonists

Xiang Yang’s transfer came as a complete surprise.

Song Zhehan remembered it very clearly—it was an ordinary Sunday in May.

The day before, Xiang Yang had agreed to go out and walk the dog with Song Zhehan, but when Zhehan arrived at Xiang Yang’s house with the dog the next day, no one answered the door, no matter how much he knocked.

Xiang Yang’s father’s house was a large villa, and after they became friends, Xiang Yang would invite Zhehan over every now and then to hang out.

Song Zhehan was so familiar with the route that even his dog had relieved itself in front of their door a couple of times.

The weather that day was particularly nice, with a slight hint of summer heat.

Xiang Yang’s father had been in poor health for years, constantly alternating between home and the hospital.

Normally, when Xiang Yang went to school, there was always a live-in housekeeper to take care of him.

But today, even the housekeeper didn’t come to open the door for Zhehan.

Song Zhehan stood there, holding the dog, which was now itching to mark the same spot again at the front door.

Zhehan stopped the dog, waited for another ten minutes, and when it became clear the dog couldn’t hold it any longer, he finally left.

The next day, the short break ended, and students returned to school.

For the entire morning, Song Zhehan stayed in the classroom, waiting for Xiang Yang to come find him.

Xiang Yang had stood him up without any explanation, and Zhehan expected an answer.

In fact, Zhehan had already decided in his mind that he wouldn’t forgive Xiang Yang so easily this time. After all, if there was one thing Zhehan hated most, it was being stood up.

Unfortunately, the entire morning passed, and there was no sign of Xiang Yang.

The first period in the afternoon was PE, and Zhehan’s friends came over, asking if he wanted to join them for basketball.

Zhehan didn’t say a word, just glanced at them with a cold expression.

The group of boys was startled.

One of them, who was a bit closer to Zhehan, couldn’t help but ask, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Why the sour face?”

Zhehan kept his face grim and didn’t respond.

Truth be told, he didn’t even know himself. He was just in a particularly bad mood.

Suddenly, he stood up, threw out a curt “Not going,” and headed downstairs.

The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and Zhehan should have been heading to the track field to join the others.

But instead, he stood outside Class 1-5, where all the students had already taken their seats—except for Xiang Yang.

The teacher hadn’t arrived yet, so Zhehan leaned into the doorway and asked a boy in the first row, “Where’s Xiang Yang?”

The boy recognized Zhehan and answered, “I don’t know. He didn’t show up this morning. Aren’t you guys close? You don’t know either?”

Zhehan didn’t reply, simply turned around, and walked away.

After school that day, Zhehan went to Xiang Yang’s house again, but no one answered the door.

Back home, Zhehan took out his phone and called Xiang Yang.

The call connected, but no one picked up.

It wasn’t until a week later that Zhehan finally heard the news from a Class 1-5 student—Xiang Yang had transferred schools.

He hadn’t left a single word or message and disappeared from Song Zhehan’s life without a trace.

His departure was so sudden—just like when he had first transferred into their school.

For a long time after that, Zhehan was in a terrible mood.

Even his closest friends didn’t dare provoke him, and eventually, they started to drift away from him too.

One day, Zhehan overheard their whispered conversation by accident:

“I can’t stand Song Zhehan’s attitude anymore.”

“He acts like he’s so much better than us. I don’t know what happened to him, but every time we try to hang out, it feels like we’re begging him to play with us. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Well, I’m done. If he’s around, I’m not. I’m not playing ball with him anymore…”

Friendships between boys are far more fragile than one might think.

Zhehan didn’t listen any further. He just turned and left.

They were never meant to walk the same path—becoming strangers now wasn’t such a bad thing.

From then on, Zhehan kept to himself.

A month later, finals were approaching.

The day before the exams, Zhehan’s mother suddenly called out to him as he was about to leave the house. “Did Xiang Yang transfer schools?”

Zhehan didn’t turn around and continued heading out.

His mother furrowed her brows. “Zhehan?”

His expression was cold, but he couldn’t completely ignore his mother. With a sour look, he turned back. “What is it?”

His mother gazed at him for a long time before sighing inwardly. “I only heard about it a week ago. His father… passed away, and his mother took him away. Are you still in touch?”

Zhehan’s face turned even colder, and his lips tightened. He didn’t want to answer her and didn’t want to talk about Xiang Yang anymore.

But then, he caught a flash of concern in his mother’s eyes.

After a long silence, Zhehan finally lowered his gaze and replied in an indifferent tone, void of emotion, “No. We haven’t been in contact.”

His mother’s lips moved slightly, but in the end, she said nothing more.

That afternoon after school, Zhehan went to a mobile service store.

At that time, phone card management was very lax. As long as you had money, you could easily buy a brand-new SIM card.

Standing by the trash can outside the store, Zhehan tossed his old SIM card into the air, catching it in his palm.

Once, twice… on the third toss, the old SIM card didn’t land back in his hand as expected—it fell into the trash can.

Zhehan stared at the trash can for a moment, then turned and walked home.

The first year of middle school passed in the blink of an eye, and soon he was entering the third year—his first major turning point in life.

Those friends who had once been close to him never reconciled, and Zhehan didn’t bother making any new friends either. He remained a solitary figure in the class.

At the graduation party, as the event was winding down, the PE monitor approached him and said, “Song Zhehan, honestly… I’ve always liked you, but your personality… why have you changed so much?”

Zhehan stared coldly at the monitor until his face turned bright red with embarrassment. Only then did Zhehan speak in a frosty tone, “Isn’t it possible that this has always been my real personality?”

The PE monitor froze.

Without another glance, Zhehan turned and walked away.

Life is filled with people who pass through, none of them worth a second glance from Zhehan.

But why did he suddenly think of Xiang Yang at that moment?

Before he met Xiang Yang, Zhehan had always kept up appearances. In fact, you could even say he was quite good at it.

So good that everyone around him, except for his parents, believed that he was a gentle and easy-going person.

But why was it that after meeting Xiang Yang, Zhehan suddenly didn’t feel like pretending anymore?

That evening, after coming home, Zhehan thought about it seriously, and suddenly recalled a conversation he had with Xiang Yang during a break at school.

By that time, Zhehan had fully accepted Xiang Yang as his friend, so he would occasionally listen to him talk about all kinds of little things that were bothering him.

That day, Xiang Yang was feeling particularly down, and he tugged on Zhehan’s sleeve, asking in a small voice, “Song Zhehan, what do you think of me?”

Hearing such a typical question, which young people loved to ask, Zhehan’s expression didn’t change. He just gave Xiang Yang a look as if he were a fool, clearly unwilling to discuss something he found meaningless.

Xiang Yang understood Zhehan’s silent answer, but he continued anyway. “I feel like… I’m not a good person. I’m fat… and shy. I feel like most people in our class don’t want to talk to me…”

“Ugh, it’s all my fault for having such a bad personality. If I had a better one, would I have more friends?”

“I’ve thought about mustering up the courage to make friends with them, but…”

Just as Xiang Yang said, he didn’t have many friends.

That’s probably why he hadn’t had anyone to talk to for a long time, and why he kept rambling in Zhehan’s ear.

Zhehan, being someone with little patience, finally got tired of listening and said, “If you used the same stubbornness you had when you clung to me, how could you not have any friends?”

Xiang Yang’s eyes widened. “You… you think I was clingy?”

Zhehan never put on airs

 in front of Xiang Yang, so he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Weren’t you?”

Xiang Yang’s eyes turned red instantly, and his voice choked. “No… I just… I just thought you were really nice. And you helped me… I didn’t have any other friends, so… wuh…”

He couldn’t continue. The two of them sat down on the grass, and Xiang Yang sat beside Zhehan, tears starting to spill from his eyes.

Normally, Zhehan couldn’t stand it when people cried, especially those who burst into tears while talking.

But every time Xiang Yang cried in front of him, Zhehan didn’t feel irritated. In fact, he even found it quite amusing.

Back then, Zhehan didn’t realize that this was part of his strange fascination. He simply enjoyed the dopamine rush it gave him.

When Xiang Yang’s sobs turned into hiccups, Zhehan finally, leisurely, pulled out a clean tissue and, with an air of superiority, wiped the tears from Xiang Yang’s face. “Stop crying. I was wrong.”

Xiang Yang paused his crying. Instead of blaming Zhehan, he reflected on himself. “I… I didn’t blame you… it’s just that I cry too easily…”

“Yeah,” Zhehan nodded, “you’re a crybaby.”

Xiang Yang’s face flushed slightly. “I’m not…”

But the crying had finally stopped.

The tissue in Zhehan’s hand was now crumpled in Xiang Yang’s grasp. His face still bore traces of his tears, and he sat there, hugging his knees with his head bowed.

Song Zhehan watched Xiang Yang closely, quickly realizing that despite having stopped crying, Xiang Yang was still in a bad mood.

But why?

Song Zhehan rarely paid attention to other people’s emotional shifts, but now he couldn’t help thinking—why was Xiang Yang still upset, even after stopping his tears?

It didn’t take long for Song Zhehan to recall his earlier comment.

“Are you still mad?” Song Zhehan asked.

Xiang Yang looked at him in surprise and, after a moment, stammered, “N-no, I’m not.”

“You’re lying,” Song Zhehan replied flatly.

Xiang Yang lowered his head, and after a long pause, he whispered, “I… I must have bothered you a lot back then, right? When I clung to you…”

So it really was because of that.

Song Zhehan found it amusing, and he laughed. He was already good-looking, and now, with his narrow eyes slightly squinting, he gazed at Xiang Yang teasingly. “You cried over that?”

Xiang Yang stared at him in a daze, and for some reason, his face suddenly flushed. “I… no, that’s not it…”

He fumbled, trying to explain, but the more he spoke, the redder his face grew—eventually, even his neck was tinged with a rosy hue.

Xiang Yang had pale skin, so every bit of redness was particularly noticeable.

Song Zhehan’s gaze settled on his eyes, and only then did he realize something new: when Xiang Yang got embarrassed, even the corners of his eyes turned red.

No wonder he cried so easily.

Song Zhehan leaned back slightly, propping his arm on the grass behind him, reclining in a relaxed position. “If I really didn’t like you, do you think you’d still be sitting here?”

Xiang Yang was still racking his brain, trying to come up with an explanation, but when he heard that comment, he froze.

He stared at Song Zhehan, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing. Instead, his face just turned redder and redder.

Song Zhehan didn’t wait for an answer. He simply continued, “And you should stop blaming yourself so much. Be more like me.”

Xiang Yang blinked. “Be like you how?”

“Learn to blame others,” Song Zhehan said with a slight raise of his eyebrow. He looked at Xiang Yang’s teary eyes, and for some reason, he felt a sudden urge to ruffle his hair. So, he did, gently messing up his hair. “Your name is Xiang Yang. You should live up to your name, facing the sun. Stop walking around with your head down all the time—be more confident.”

The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and Song Zhehan waved his hand at Xiang Yang and left first.

After that day, whether it was because of Song Zhehan’s words or something else, Xiang Yang really did change.

He no longer walked around with his head down all the time. He began cautiously lifting his head, sneaking quick glances at the people around him, and when he saw that no one was giving him strange looks, he would let out a big sigh of relief and even smile a little.

It was very interesting.

It seemed that around this time, Song Zhehan also changed.

He stopped hiding his true personality, no longer worrying about being considerate of others. He began, alongside Xiang Yang, to accept who he really was and started being himself.

But unfortunately, Xiang Yang ran away first, leaving Song Zhehan alone, stuck in place.

So when high school started, Song Zhehan stopped being himself again.

Maybe it was because he was tired of the way things ended in middle school, or maybe he just wanted to spite Xiang Yang. For his three years of high school, Song Zhehan put his mask back on and blended into school life with ease.

But after the high school graduation party, when Song Zhehan had finally dropped off all his drunk friends at their homes and was exhausted, barely able to stand and desperate to collapse on the ground and sleep, a sudden question popped into his mind.

Why had he gone back to being his old self?

Was it because he lacked friends?

No, if it were about lacking friends, he should have felt immense pain when his friendships started drifting apart during his third year of middle school. But he didn’t.

In fact, back then, part of him regretted not distancing himself from them sooner.

So why?

Was it because he enjoyed socializing? Did he like having someone to share his life with, or having a friend to eat with, or someone to call up for basketball or gaming?

No, none of that.

Song Zhehan didn’t like socializing. He didn’t have much of a desire to share, and most of the time, he just enjoyed being snarky.

As for basketball and gaming, he could always go to the gym for the former, and for the latter, he was already a top player. There were always plenty of people begging him to carry them.

But if none of those reasons were true, then why?

Why did he, after becoming so comfortable being himself, decide to put the mask back on?

Song Zhehan couldn’t figure it out.

After his college entrance exams, during the summer vacation, his parents wanted to take him on a trip, but Zhehan politely declined.

He spent the entire summer holed up at home playing games, rejecting every invitation from his high school friends without hesitation.

Many of them were surprised by his blunt refusals, but they quickly got the message and stopped bothering him—except for one girl.

To this day, Song Zhehan couldn’t remember her name or face. All he remembered was that she was a loud, outgoing girl.

She sent him messages on WeChat for a week straight, persistently trying to get him to meet up.

Finally, Zhehan couldn’t take it anymore and asked, “Do you like me?”

Normally, she replied to messages almost instantly, but for some reason, this time, the typing indicator kept showing on the chat for a long while without a response.

Zhehan already knew the answer.

So he sent her a blunt reply: “Don’t waste your time. I don’t like you.”

After that, the typing indicator disappeared, and she didn’t send another message.

Zhehan deleted her from his contacts.

Throughout middle and high school, there were countless people who confessed to Song Zhehan.

As a result, Zhehan had become very skilled at handling these situations.

First, he’d reject them. Then, he’d delete them from his contacts.

He wouldn’t leave anyone with any hope, just like when he’d thrown away that old SIM card.

Thinking of this, a shiver ran down Zhehan’s spine.

Why had he suddenly thought of that?

Was there a connection between changing his SIM card and deleting contacts?

Yes, there was.

Both actions meant cutting off all contact.

It was at that moment that Zhehan realized, with a sudden clarity, that he had never truly let go of that incident.

No wonder.

No wonder he had been so angry when Xiang Yang stood him up that day.

No wonder he had kept sneaking glances at his phone during class back then.

No wonder, when his mother told him that Xiang Yang had transferred schools, he had gone and changed his SIM card in a fit of anger.

Song Zhehan knew that Xiang Yang’s family had been going through a crisis and that he probably couldn’t contact him right away.

But why, after a whole month had passed, had Xiang Yang still not reached out?

Song Zhehan had always been a petty, vindictive person.

At that time, with no way of contacting Xiang Yang, the only form of revenge he could think of was to sever the only remaining connection between them—the SIM card.

Did Song Zhehan regret it?

Yes, he did.

If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have chosen to put his mask back on when he started high school.

August weather was unpredictable—one moment, the sky was clear, and the next, dark clouds were gathering.

Eighteen-year-old Song Zhehan dropped the game console he had been holding and left his room.

The house was empty. He stood on the balcony as a gust of wind blew in, and it seemed like something had gotten into his eyes.

The dog barked frantically behind him.

Zhehan glanced back at it and warned, “Quiet, stupid dog.”

The dog kept barking.

Song Zhehan shut the window and said coldly, “It’s going to rain. You can’t go out.”

The dog seemed to understand, looking up at him with a pitiful expression.

Zhehan stared into its eyes for a long time, then walked over and ruffled its head. He crouched down and gazed into its eyes, as if trying to see something through them.

Finally, Zhehan muttered, “No, I’m stupid too. I never realized how much I liked him back then…”

He had spent four years stubbornly holding a grudge against someone who had long since moved on.

Yet, this little secret was something he couldn’t share with anyone.

In fact, it wasn’t until four years later that Zhehan finally realized he had been holding a grudge all this time.

“That heartless little chubby guy probably forgot all about me,” Zhehan muttered, squeezing the dog’s face.

The dog whimpered, not caring what Zhehan was thinking—it just wanted to go outside and play.

Zhehan

 tugged on its floppy cheeks. “You’re just as heartless!”

The dog barked again, as if protesting.

Zhehan suddenly smiled.

After four years, he still didn’t know why he had liked Xiang Yang back then, and he wasn’t sure if there had been other emotions mixed in with that liking.

But now, he finally understood one thing—

He was gay. He liked men.

So that night, when his parents returned from work and they were sitting around the dinner table, Zhehan casually said, “I like guys.”

His father had been sharing a funny story from the lab with his mother, and they were both laughing. Suddenly hearing this random statement, they both froze for a moment. “What?”

Zhehan glanced at them coolly. When it came to his parents, the people who knew him best, he never bothered to hold back his sharp tongue. “You’re not old enough to be hard of hearing yet.”

His mother, embarrassed and angry, slapped him lightly on the arm.

It wasn’t painful, just a light smack, and then she said, “You brat! Can’t you speak nicely for once?”

Zhehan looked at her. “It’s been eighteen years, Mom. If I could change, I would have by now.”

His mother clutched her chest dramatically. “Forget it, forget it!”

His father chuckled, then asked, “So, if you’ve realized you like guys, does that mean you have someone you like?”

The table went silent for a moment, and then both of his parents leaned in eagerly, asking in unison, “Who is it?”

His mother added, “Are you two together?”

His father chimed in, “When are you bringing him home?”

Zhehan’s forehead throbbed as he stared at them for a while, then coldly spat out a name.

His father’s eyebrows furrowed instantly. “Is he… a foreigner?”

His mother was even more shocked. “Wait, is this an online relationship?”

Zhehan replied coldly, “No, it’s one-sided. I have a crush on him.”

His parents blinked in confusion.

Zhehan continued, “I saw him in a show.”

With that, Zhehan flashed them a mysterious smile and got up from the table.

His parents immediately huddled together, typing the name into their phones’ search engines. Moments later, the browser pulled up a bio of a foreign actor.

His mother couldn’t help but shout, “Song Zhehan! You little brat, you tricked us again—”

Inside the house, Song Zhehan smirked, feeling a little more relaxed.

No matter what, the past was the past.

Even if that long-buried feeling had only now been recognized, Zhehan had begun to let it go.

When college started, Song Zhehan no longer wore a mask. He went back to being his true self.

In the blink of an eye, another four years passed.

Zhehan majored in computer science, and after graduating, he received numerous job offers from big companies. But none of them interested him.

It wasn’t until the day he returned to campus to pick up his diploma that his agent handed him a business card.

After a year of training, Zhehan once again put on the mask he had become so skilled at wearing and stepped into the public eye.

Nine years later, Zhang Qiran, under a new name, finally saw Song Zhehan again.