Chapter Text
01. The Ordinary One and His Beaten Path
Lin Ling first truly understood how different Nice was from himself during a fifth-grade parent-teacher conference.
As the homeroom teacher announced the top student's name from the podium, Lin Ling sat beside his mother, watching Nice being led on stage to share study methods. Every button on his shirt was perfectly aligned, not a single strand of hair out of place - each curl meticulously arranged.
On their way home, his mother held his hand and said, "Look how smart and well-behaved Nice is. If only you could be half as obedient." Clutching his failing report card, Lin Ling remained silent. These words had followed him since he could remember, repeated so often they made his ears ache.
Yet previously, he'd simply accepted these comparisons as normal occurrences without ever questioning their deeper meaning.
Nice lived next door, and they'd grown up together since childhood. From their earliest years, Nice had been the teachers' and parents' favorite - obedient, considerate, always volunteering to maintain order, sharing his snacks or toys, answering questions at just the right moment, never late or leaving early.
Lin Ling was completely different. He'd fought with classmates over stolen belongings - "They took mine first! This is just returning like for like!" he'd argue, attempting to use the classical phrase he'd painstakingly memorized to justify himself, though with little success.
Still, Nice would occasionally sneak over with his favorite comic book - "The Hero Smile" - seeming to idolize its protagonist, even declaring he wanted to become someone like that.
When Lin Ling placed tenth in their first middle school exam, he took a detour after class to buy a popsicle he'd been craving as a small celebration. Approaching their courtyard, Nice's mother's voice carried clearly: "Our Nice ranked first in his class with several perfect scores!"
The half-eaten popsicle suddenly lost all flavor in Lin Ling's hand. Instead of going home, he wandered to a nearby riverbank and sat alone for an hour. He never heard Nice mention comics or future dreams again.
Gradually, the child he once knew became unrecognizable. Nice grew increasingly serious, adopting adult-like mannerisms, his conversations dominated by school, teachers, rules, and grades.
From then on, Lin Ling began distancing himself. Where they'd once walked to school together, he now crept out early or lingered until the last moment - Nice would never wait that long, always arriving at class ahead of time. When Nice offered to study together, Lin Ling would claim basketball plans, never asking "Do you want to join me?" Even when Nice noticed his slipping grades and proposed tutoring, Lin Ling manufactured excuses:
"I need to help Mom with groceries - maybe next time."
"Visiting relatives today - we'll talk later."
As these rejections accumulated, his transparent lies became increasingly obvious, yet Nice never called him out, simply stopping his overtures altogether.
This suited Lin Ling fine. He dreaded watching Nice's smile fade more than the inevitable comparisons between them - how despite their six or seven similarities in facial features, everything else from hair color to personalities to academic performance set them worlds apart. The irony wasn't lost on him.
Fate proved uncooperative when they were admitted to the same prestigious high school. During their second-year talent show, Nice served as emcee - naturally, as no one from classmates to administrators had any objections.
Standing tall in his crisp white shirt and jacket, eyes bright, voice clear and confident, Nice delivered his speech with perfect poise while excited whispers rippled through the audience. As the opening concluded with thunderous applause, Lin Ling watched from a corner as Nice glittered under the stage lights, his emotions in turmoil.
During childhood games of make-believe, Nice always played the fairy tale prince while Lin Ling was relegated to guard duty. What once seemed fun now felt like an uncrossable chasm between them, no matter how hard he tried.
Later, Nice found him backstage with a cola. "I saw you sitting so far away," he said with a smile.
Lin Ling accepted the unopened bottle, looking aside. "Just thinking about next week's test. Needed quiet space."
"Want to review together? I made some notes."
"Can't. Meeting friends for basketball."
Nice's smile faltered momentarily before resetting to its usual perfection. "Alright. My offer stands anytime."
"What could I possibly need? I'm just ordinary." Lin Ling mirrored the smile. "You should get back - more hosting duties await."
Watching Nice leave, Lin Ling thought: Still flawless.
It wasn't Nice's fault, but Lin Ling couldn't bear their proximity anymore. While academic pressures somewhat insulated him from comparisons, certain comments still reached his ears, forcing unwanted measurements against his counterpart.
Their university paths finally diverged - Nice to the nation's top school for finance, Lin Ling to a local university for advertising design. He'd discovered he didn't actually enjoy most subjects, only the thrill of materializing his imaginative ideas. This small self-knowledge brought genuine satisfaction with his choices.
When acceptance letters arrived, Nice visited unexpectedly - though neighbors, their academic lives had left little room for connection. He gifted a fountain pen: "Congratulations on pursuing your passion. Let's stay in touch."
Lin Ling simply replied, "You too."
Their university exchanges were sparse, mostly Nice checking in, with Lin Ling cutting conversations short to avoid hearing about achievements that would only widen their perceived gap.
Post-graduation, Nice remained in the metropolis at a prestigious firm while Lin Ling joined the best local ad agency. His routine became mundane: crowded commutes, hurried breakfasts, endless pitches and concepts, more crowded commutes. Occasionally scrolling through Nice's moments *- project launches, client dinners - he rarely posted his own modest successes.
At their class reunion years later, amid inevitable questions about relationships, careers and salaries, Lin Ling excused himself to the hotel rooftop. His ordinary life offered little conversation value, and he wanted no more comparisons.
Unexpectedly, Nice followed, umbrella in hand - of course he'd checked the forecast. His appearance remained impeccable: neat hair, composed smile.
"We haven't properly talked in years," Nice began, sheltering them from the rain.
Lin Ling avoided looking at him, acutely aware of his wrinkled clothes against Nice's tailored suit. "Work keeps everyone busy."
"Do you... hate me?" Nice asked abruptly.
The directness startled Lin Ling. Meeting those clear eyes, he felt unexpected guilt. "No. We're just from different worlds now." Years in the workforce had made him more forthright.
Nice's expression dimmed. "I know people always compared us. But I valued our friendship. I don't want to lose that over circumstances."
"Make new friends then," Lin Ling suggested. "Management level now, right? If not coworkers, find hobby groups. What do you enjoy these days?"
As the rain intensified, he motioned toward the door, but Nice continued: "I... haven't had hobbies since college. Though my parents mentioned your professional reputation here recently. Actually, our company's new project might collaborate with yours. I could recommend you - help with promotion, get you off repetitive tasks..."
"You're so boring," Lin Ling interjected.
Nice's umbrella jerked sideways, rainwater streaking his polished shoes. "What?"
"I said you're boring."
02. Living Specimens in Gilded Cage
On the summer vacation before sixth grade, Nice's mother piled his Hero Smile comics, posters, and memorabilia on the balcony. "You're starting middle school soon," she said. "These distractions are getting tossed tomorrow."
That night, after the house fell silent and his parents' snores drifted through the hallway, Nice smuggled his treasures to a vacant lot near school—clutching his mother's thread-burning lighter. If they're to be discarded, he thought, it should be by my own hands. Perhaps without them, he could become the flawless child everyone expected.
The night wind fought his flames. Three flicks before the first comic caught fire. He fed them one by one into the orange inferno—until his ingrained fastidiousness (learned from that same mother) shattered. He plunged his hands into the fire, rescuing a singed Hero Smile Adventure volume. The photo inside showed two grinning faces—now half-charred—their joy disintegrating into ash on his fingers.
For a frenzied moment, he tore the surviving pages methodically: cover, then each leaf in sequence. The sounds—ripping paper, crackling flames, the acrid scent of burning photographs—filled the night. When only embers remained, he exhaled relief that couldn't dislodge the ache in his throat. The tears came then, drying on his cheeks before he trudged home.
From middle school to college, every choice followed external directives:
"This school is prestigious—you'll go here, Xiao Nai."
"Finance majors earn well—choose this."
"With your GPA and internships, this firm is perfect! My senior says the pay is stellar if you work hard!"
The prophecies all proved true.
His existence became a performance: maintain the smile, the compliance, and life would unfold smoothly. Perhaps he could float downstream like this until the end.
Yet increasingly, his thoughts circled Lin Ling—the boy who lived by his own compass. Seeing Lin Ling's Moment post in college ("First ad campaign completed! Client loved it!") with its unguarded smile sparked something unfamiliar: envy. Nice could never act from pure passion or celebrate minor victories. His life was a relay of externally imposed checkpoints, each achieved with mechanical perfection.
But perfection, he discovered, became both shackle and millstone.
His meticulously researched financial proposal, deemed "uninspired," spawned three rewritten versions—each fact triple-checked, every footnote pristine. His supervisor scoffed: "The client wants surprise, not a faultless robot!" Apologies piled up like unused drafts.
The cruelest twist came later: a rare initial approval followed by implementation failures. His boss publicly crucified him—"Top graduate my ass, you can't even handle this?"—despite the flaws lying beyond his control.
At the class gathering, no one questioned his apparent success. Why would they? Nice was the golden child by default.
He longed to ask Lin Ling how he preserved his joy—but instead offered corporate platitudes about promotions and collaborations.
Lin Ling's interruption cut like wind through ashes:
"You're boring."
The umbrella jerked in Nice's grip, rainwater sullying his polished shoes. "What?"
"I said you're boring. You always talk about topics you think others want to hear. Talking about the company, talking about promotions... You have no idea, I do advertising not for promotion, but because I love it. What about you? Where's the kid who loved Hero Smile?" Lin Ling pressed.
The answer lived in cinders years gone by.
03.We of the Broken Mirror
Half a month after the class reunion, Lin Ling was working late on a proposal when his phone buzzed with two messages. Assuming it was just his boss nagging again, he was about to dismiss the notification—until he caught sight of Nice’s profile picture. His eyes widened sharply—
"I’m on the rooftop"
"I failed"
Lin Ling snatched his jacket and bolted downstairs. The elevator was taking too long, so he shoved open the stairwell door instead. His knee slammed into the railing with a sharp crack, drawing a pained hiss from him, but he didn’t slow down.
Right now, he wished he were a real hero—like Hero Smile—so he could just fly there. Instead, here he was, sprinting through the rain-soaked streets after a grueling workday, shoes splashing through muddy puddles, his clothes drenched, breath ragged.
At the top floor of the reunion venue, the rooftop door hung open, banging violently in the wind. And there was Nice—standing ahead, his tailored suit soaked through, no umbrella, letting the downpour pelt him relentlessly.
Hearing Lin Ling approach, Nice spoke three flat words:
"Ah, you came."
As casual as if he were asking, "Had dinner yet?"
Lin Ling didn't respond. He lunged forward, grabbing Nice's arm and yanking him back from the rooftop's edge. Nice offered no resistance—like a weightless doll—letting himself be slammed onto the concrete with a dull thud.
"Fuck," Lin Ling panted, bracing his hands on his knees. "You're not boring—you're fucking insane! Do you even realize what you were doing? What, twenty-five years of repression and now this grand finale?"
"Just came up to see the view," Nice said flatly, rainwater streaming down his face as he lay motionless.
"Bullshit!" Lin Ling's hands shook as he shoved Nice again, sending him rolling across the wet concrete. Nice didn't bother getting up.
"That hurt. Was that necessary?" His voice was faint, almost detached.
"That's my line! Was this necessary?" Lin Ling seized Nice's collar, hauling him halfway up. "Don't tell me you're pulling this shit over a fucking work critique! If I offed myself every time a client screwed me over, I'd be on my tenth reincarnation by now!"
"It's not about work." Nice's eyes were hollow. "It's... my entire worldview collapsing."
"Speak like a human!" Lin Ling tightened his grip. "What 'worldview'? Your life's been perfect—top grades, student council, big-city corporate job. Everyone watches you. Everyone praises you. You know how many times I've been compared to you? How many times I've felt like garbage because of you? What the hell more do you want?"
"Because I finally understood," Nice paused, rainwater tracing the lines of his face like tears, "You were right. I am boring. I don’t even know what I want."
"How the hell did we jump from that to jumping off a roof?" Lin Ling’s anger teetered on the edge of hysterical laughter.
"Because…" Nice’s voice dropped to a whisper, "Because I envy you."
"What?"
"I envy how you never seem afraid. How you always know what to do. How the future never feels… monstrous to you." Nice’s gaze drifted somewhere beyond the rain. "Some things are monstrous to me. I can’t—I couldn’t—handle them like you do. I ruined the project. My boss blamed everything on me… said I was just a brand-name graduate with no real skill. I revised as ordered, but then they called me spineless. I tried to become every version they wanted… and failed every time."
"Then message me next time, like today!" Lin Ling’s voice softened. "I fail constantly too! You just fix it and move on! Compared to what I’ve been through, your shit barely counts!"
He knew better—pain wasn’t a competition, and his struggles didn’t negate Nice’s—but right now, it was the only comfort he could offer.
He was consumed by a mix of emotions.
He wanted to offer comfort to Nice, yet found himself at a loss, given the long period of separation between them. He had, after all, deliberately avoided looking at Nice for an extended time, leading to a lack of understanding of the person Nice had become.
"...Don’t you hate me?" Nice’s voice wavered.
"When did I ever say that?" Lin Ling released his collar, crouching beside him. "I hate that you lie—to everyone, especially yourself! We used to read Hero Smile together in the backyard. You said you’d grow up to be like him. That wasn’t someone else’s dream—so why did you stop saying it?"
"I burned them."
Lin Ling was stunned. The rain pelted his face and the arms that hadn't had time to put on clothes, the cold seeping in, but nothing compared to the shock of those words.
"My mom said those things would affect my studies. She was going to throw them all away. So I thought... why not do it myself," he didn't mention how he had picked them up again only to tear them apart once more, continuing instead, "From then on, I told myself I didn't need to like useless things. I did things as they asked, took exams, went to school, joined big companies. But the harder I tried, the emptier I felt. This time, the project went wrong, and my boss said my work lacked soul. You and he are saying almost the same thing. So I thought, you're right, I'm wrong."
The rain continued to fall, Lin Ling looking at Nice's expression of despair, remembering the little boy who had shared comics with him. He wondered when it was that the light in this person's eyes had faded away.
"Burned comics... can be bought back," Lin Ling said, each word deliberate. "And why does it have to be about who's right or wrong? Even if you were wrong, that doesn't mean you don't deserve to live."
He reached out, gripping Nice's shoulder.
"Tomorrow—if we don't catch a cold—we'll buy them again. Start with Hero Smile. Start with what you loved as a kid."
Nice looked at him, the emptiness in his eyes flickering with something faint—something like light.
The rain still fell, relentless, but on that rooftop, the space between the two figures grew smaller.