end in my third year of university, seven years older than me.
I heard his hometown was a remote mountainous area and he didn’t have a lot of money, but he was especially good to me.
He would say good morning and good night, and would take me out to eat good food.”

The little celebrity: “Ah?”

The little young master added, “Although I was the one who paid for all of those meals.”

The little celebrity: “Huh??”

The little young master: “At that time I even wanted to live with him for the rest of my life, and finally came out of the closet to my family.
Daddy said I wasn’t allowed to come back home until I broke up with him.
After that, I saw his true colors and broke up with him, but I haven’t had the face to go home again.”

It was indeed very miserable, the little celebrity comforted him, “At least you can still go back home if you want to, my parents saw me being scolded on the internet and didn’t even say a word in my defense, they simply left me to die outside.”

The little young master thought, “At least you still have money.
After I broke up with my boyfriend, I took up various odd jobs.
It was difficult enough to save a little money to rent a place, but it all got stolen.”

The little celebrity: “Ha? I have money? I did have a little money, then a good friend said they wanted to open a store asked me to lend them everything I owned, then proceeded to tell me that he had lost all his money.
He didn’t even give me an IOU!”

The little young master actually rose to a strange competitive spirit, “When I was ready to start over, a college classmate told me they’d introduce me to a job, I was tricked into a pyramid scheme outside the province, and I stayed there for three months before I finally managed to escape.”

The little celebrity was unwilling to lose, “Ever since I was exposed that I was being kept as a sugar baby, they began to say that I was deliberately making up a miserable persona, aiming for a higher position, that I had acting skills but was too scheming, and that my next step was to pretend to be depressed.”

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The little celebrity crossed his legs.
“Why don’t I know that I have acting skills? I must have been blind!”

The moon rose from the east and set in the west, and the two people sat on the river bank and talked to each other until their mouths were dry, committed to picking out every miserable point that should not be overlooked.

The little young master: “I ran away from the pyramid scheme and went to a western restaurant to play the piano part-time, then a pretentious piece of sh*t ran over, threw me a card, and said he wanted to take me as his mistress, how could that happen?”

The little celebrity came up with a killer, “This is nothing, after the breakup, my manager even took me to a cocktail party to pimp me out.”

That man with a fat head and pig ears was drunk and wanted to feel up his hand, saying that since the little celebrity could get together with someone else, why not him.

The little young master listened nervously.
“Your face was scratched by him?”

The little celebrity waved his hand.
“If he scratched my face, I can still blame the world for being unfair, but it was me who dodged in a hurry and anxiously threw down a wine bottle, then couldn’t find my footing and fell forward.”


The little young master: “An aesthetician should be able to remove scars like that, right?”

The little celebrity: “Yes, but didn’t I just say I lost all the money I lent to that friend?”


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The little young master earnestly lamented, “Then you really are more miserable, too miserable.”


Although it was baffling as to why they were comparing who was more miserable in the first place, the little celebrity who’d finally won ran happily over to a convenience store to buy two cans of beer and generously treated the young master.

Dawn came.

No one had succeeded in dying.

When the first car horn sounded, the little celebrity, who was immersed in verbally bashing the scumbag, suddenly remembered something and panicked.
He shook the little young master by his shoulders.
“What should I do, I’m going to die!”

The little young master: “?”

The little celebrity: “I haven’t canceled the timed suicide post on Weibo, fuck!”

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Translator’s Notes:

Chinese: 被包养.
Can be translated as being provided for/adopted/kept as a mistress/sugar baby.
We’ll translate it differently depending on the context but keep in mind it’s the same thing when you see those.
This phrase, paired with the phrase in note #2, is kind of the running joke/main theme of this short story. Chinese: 金主.
Direct translation: gold master.
Formal translation: financial backer.
Informal: sugar daddy. The same melon as 吃瓜, basically he’s giving insider info/gossip.

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