The person who likes me is a yandere.

The person who likes me is a yandere.

Author: Starry Sky Evil

I have an older sister who later became a school idol, but she's a yandere (a person with delusions of grandeur).

My new friend is a rich, beautiful, and successful woman, but she's also a yandere (a person with obsessive-compulsive tendencies).

I found an injured girl by the roadside. She's my sister, but she's a yandere.

I met a famous game streamer online, but he's a yandere...

Qianyu, a nobleman, longs for an ordinary daily life.

Arriving in Japan, I thought I could finally live the life I had been looking forward to, but I found that all the girls around me were getting close to me, and my life was disrupted.

That's right! This is the chaotic daily life of youth!

Book One: A Song of Ice and Fire

You are but a stranger on my mortal path, and I am but a book you've forgotten with a smile.

Alone in early summer, amidst ten thousand trees, I admire the falling petals, recalling the glorious past, counting the few things worth remembering, and now bidding them farewell one by one.

—Epigraph

It has been over a month since I first encountered short literature. Although our time together is short, it has already left an indelible mark on my heart. Like a guiding light, it has gradually satisfied my love for literature. Its charm will forever remain in my heart.

I confided in it, and with the publication of one poem and diary entry after another, I, who had always written casually, became meticulous about my words. The article that influenced me the most signified to me that the best farewell is to cherish what you have.

Farewell is nothing more than parting from friends and family, at most evoking the sentiment of "a mother's thread in her hand, a traveler's clothes on his back" and the sorrow of "I urge you to drink another cup of wine, for beyond Yangguan there are no old friends." What I am parting from are these traditions, because literature needs innovation.

The line "The peacock flies southeast, pausing every five li" perfectly captures the woman's inability to let go of her obsession with the wealthy man. She would turn back to look at him every five li, unable to sever the ties that bound her heart. Ultimately, this led to the tragic story of her drowning herself in the clear pond and hanging herself from a tree in the southeast.

If a person is to make a firm decision, he must first let go of his ruthlessness. Once someone has left, there is no need to reminisce. Otherwise, it may lead to a terrible tragedy.

"If I were the Green Emperor in the future, I would grant the peach blossoms to bloom in one place." Whenever I think of Cao Xueqin's poem, this line fills my heart with immense sorrow. It reminds me of my first love. It was late spring, late summer, and because of the geographical environment, the area was filled with vibrant red peach blossoms, evoking the feeling of "The flowers of April have all faded in the human world, but the peach blossoms in the mountain temple are just beginning to bloom." We leaned against a peach tree, embracing each other, and I seemed to understand Tao Yuanming's reclusive sentiment: "Since I have let my heart be enslaved by my body, I know that the future is still within reach." I couldn't help but recite Tao Yuanming's "Returning Home," and she listened with great satisfaction. She said to me, "If I were the Green Emperor in the future, I would grant the peach blossoms to bloom in one place." After we broke up, whenever I heard this line, I couldn't help but smile wryly. I neglected my studies for her, but it's never too late to mend things. I bravely bid farewell to the past and began a new life.

Giving up signifies maturity; learning to give up means learning to gain. Say goodbye to the innocent excitement of youth and reap future success.

"Life is full of sorrows, yet the mountains remain, cradling the cold currents. Now, as we live in a time when the world is our home, the old fortress stands desolate amidst the autumn reeds." Standing alone atop Mount Tai, I personally experienced the magnificent beauty of "Nature's creation bestows its divine splendor, dividing day and night." Climbing the Yellow Crane Tower alone, I felt the profound meaning of "To see a thousand miles further, ascend another story." Finally, I climbed the Tengwang Pavilion alone, personally experiencing the profound beauty of "The setting sun and the lone wild goose fly together, the autumn water blends with the vast sky." This may be the last trip of my high school life, bidding farewell to travel and indulgence, and welcoming the daunting task of senior year, a year filled with dread and endless books and exercises.

Every farewell signifies spiritual growth and evolution. Therefore, when Heaven is about to place a great responsibility on someone, it first tests their resolve, strains their muscles and bones, starves their body, empties their resources, and frustrates their endeavors. Thus, we must cultivate patience and perseverance to overcome our limitations.

I believe that the growth I have experienced countless times will surely lead to future success.

Night, you touched my soul.

Night quietly descends upon Moonlight City. A silver curtain descends from the sky, slowly drawing back a dreamlike veil, inviting a ray of moonlight into its embrace, adorning the watery night sky. Night dons a silver brocade robe…

In the tranquil night sky, a shooting star silently streaks across the sea of ​​my heart, igniting the peaceful night. Through those slivers of silver light, some thoughts quietly peek out. It is the night that disturbs the tranquility of these thoughts, pulling out the soul hidden behind the moonlight. A slight pain is exposed under the silent moon. The soul, with nowhere to hide, is inadvertently stained with deep thoughts that rise to its brow. The azure past flows in my heart. Night, you have touched and hurt my soul.

The deepest longings in my soul aches unbearably. The gentle moonlight, with its compassionate gaze, caresses the unhealed wounds. As the curtain falls, the deepest thoughts sigh and ache in the night. A dreamlike veil holds memories of the past, wrapped in unhealed scars, each layer torn apart by the night to reveal new pain. The moon regrets illuminating the night's tranquility, bringing only the groans of the soul…

Stepping to the rhythm of dreams, I stroll through the city of moonlight, gently pulling on the blue folds, slowly drawing back and forth the curtains, concealing the faces of countless thoughts, a soft sigh murmured in the midnight.

Gently picking up the past, fragments of pain piece together a dreamlike picture. Breathing freely in the silence of the night, the tranquility carries a faint scent of longing, permeating every corner of the night. With the lightness of moonlight, I stroll with my soul along the path of love.

Countless sleepless nights have passed under the moon, countless reflections have faded, I am draped in your farewell gaze, embraced by deep affection, I tread lightly on the fragrant path, love intoxicating me alone in the deep night.

In the slightly tipsy night, leaning against the moonlight, I am lightly intoxicated by a poem. My eyes recall the past, and my fingertips whisper to the moon. I think of the deep and tender words in my heart. A shy veil covers my eyebrows and eyes, and my reddened eyelids are slightly pink, like a sip of fine wine, slightly drunk.

A drop of ink falls on two lines, expressing the heart's longing. The longing seeps into the veins of the leaves, and with deep affection in my eyes, I wander in the warm fragrance of words. I gently place it at the crossroads you pass by, only wanting my poem to accompany you. I knead a deep longing into the heart of my thoughts, and ask you to grant me a shallow joy and deep love, a shallow encounter and a deep treasure.

Tonight, the wind is gentle, the moon is warm, and a wisp of silver light falls softly on the windowsill. Quiet and beautiful flowers accompany the gentle breeze, exuding a delicate fragrance. Through the thin moonlight filtering through the window cracks, the deep thoughts between the brows are illuminated, driving away the loneliness of the night, and a touch of blue emotion stirs in the heart.

I gently count the rings of time, turning the pages again and again, laughing and crying, crying and laughing again. I gather a handful of longing, traversing the quiet night, imbuing it with tender feelings. You and I are separated by a window, gazing through the openwork window, calling your name.

If I could, I would want to transform into a teardrop, falling into your heart, merging into the still, deep waters, listening to the murmuring stream's whispers, lowering my gaze to deeply inhale a faint fragrance, storing a touch of poetic romance, tenderly embracing you like water, nourishing your burning desires, letting love melt into the water, releasing the pure beauty of life, and finding refuge in a dreamlike corner.

Invite a ray of moonlight into my embrace, gently embrace a dreamlike scene. Moonlight pours onto the waters and coastline, softly echoing the rhythm of time. Tears of longing fall unannounced, accidentally dripping into the sea of ​​my heart. My heart blossoms and splashes, staining my body with clarity. A pool of clear water overflows with love, warming the dreamlike feelings of affection. Love has dyed the emotions of romance, entering my heart, my thoughts, and the passage of time.

Thoughts rise slowly with the moonlight, helpless emotions run wild like illusions, stretching the curtain of the sentimental night. A single sentence, "I miss you," torments countless hearts, warms countless cold nights, and the soul yearns deeply in the night.

Tonight, your name gently soothes my sleeplessness. Lying on it, thinking of you, our encounter softens my soul. A breeze, carrying deep longing through the moonlight, blows into your poems, into your dreams, warming the silent night of our meeting. In my eyes, your tears find their resting place, wetting my sleepless night of longing. Night, you have touched my soul...

Love without expectation, warmth that brings tears to the eyes

A gentle touch is best; that way, you'll always remain the way I remember you. May someone see through your bravado and offer you the warmest embrace. ---Epigraph

Even the most beautiful women cannot withstand the passage of time. The most romantic love is the simple companionship. To grow old together with your hair turned white is the most beautiful vow you gave me.

A wisp of moonlight, a thread of longing, is woven into the fabric of destiny, etched on the Stone of Three Lifetimes. A thousand years of waiting, a yearning carried on the wind. Promises remain unchanged, love is boundless, tears flow with longing, fallen petals carpet the ground. Amidst the entanglements of the mortal world, what remains in the most beautiful memory is those warm words of love.

My once vibrant youth, holding onto its innocence, now lies a heart overflowing with memories, yet I can find no trace of your warmth. I've searched the entire world, only to be left with tears, unable to see that familiar figure clearly. Does she still remember my earnestness? My emotions are too heavy; I long to paint a picture of scenery with you, a beauty unlike any other, but I am only captivated by the subtle fragrance of your presence. Love is too intense; a single glance is enough to make me bloom. My feelings are complex, whether understood or not, yet my love remains unwavering. Between my brows, love has transcended time and space. Even if fallen petals form a mound, and you have transformed into a misty rain, the fluttering memories remain serene.

The lush green scenery remains as enchanting as ever. I await a melody of misty rain, so that I may no longer feel lonely. When tears fall like withered petals, does the desolate mortal world also unfold in such a meandering way? It seems we have forgotten that love arises without knowing its origin. So why wait foolishly for a melancholy dream, pondering bitterly, yet unable to decipher what it means to find refuge?

Facing the sunlight, I gather all the indifference into my thoughts, piecing together my longings, hoping to give myself a chance to embrace the future. Though my steps are light, I still hesitate. Tears fall as I make mistakes, half the world has changed, I always thought that by not seeing you, I could forget the past. I drew a circle for myself, but you are not in it. The sea is still so blue, and the lonely longing remains vivid. Sitting in that half-dreaming, half-awake state, how much lingering affection remains? We seem to have forgotten there is a tomorrow, not reserving any time for ourselves. I planted half an acre of flowers, and my face is still there in my wistful memories, but you pretend not to see it. I've woken up, and butterflies still flutter in my memory. I'm waiting for a sunny day to string together my dreams, so that this feeling can last forever.

Deep affection, like a withered flower, lingered in the radiant sunlight. The passing years have become beautiful memories, leaving only unfulfilled longing and devotion. Upon waking, it's all a dream I can no longer recall. After days of rain, the sun finally shines today, yet I can't see the melancholy in your eyes. Perhaps it's a simplicity bordering on ethereal. Not all past events fade with the wind; some have simply been carelessly buried in a flower-covered grave. Even in its final bloom, if there's still a heart left, it's the ultimate expression of vicissitude, passing through your dreams. The sun is blazing, shadows fluttering like a spring breeze. I wave my hand to shield my eyes from the stirrings of emotion, afraid of scorching them again. When the autumn waters meet her beloved, whose initial intentions are scattered here?

Life is fleeting, and it seems I've learned to be silent, forgotten the joy of Ruoyu's embrace, yet the memory of our missed connection remains. The night is silent, and longing has lost its color. Promises, in the end, cannot cross that river, and I choose to retreat. Perhaps meeting you was a mistake; I only saw you in my dreams.

Memories, replays, recall, stir up the memories of that year, and it seems I can still see myself standing in the July wind, so serene, without a trace of longing. In the mortal world, I ponder, not speaking of sorrow; though we are close, we are worlds apart, separated only by a stretch of mountains and rivers.

At midnight, the moonlight was so bright, illuminating faded memories. Stars, trailing long tails, swept away the traces in my eyes, scooping up a blanket of white light, saying it was the moonlight's glow. Longing slowly faded from sight, until you were no longer in my shadow. Perhaps I've grown accustomed to silence, preferring stillness, so there will be no more estrangement. Gathering and parting are merely processes; near and far, they only take away joy, making me cherish even more the burning affection that remains.

There is a kind of love in this world that asks for nothing, that has no right or wrong, and that doesn't blame the shallowness of fate or the depth of affection. Looking at each other, they understand one another; turning away, they have no regrets. Silently, they cherish the memories of gatherings and separations, finding solace only in the fragrance of a season's flowers, warming them to tears.

Fleeting years, dreams return to the shifting sands

The night wind blows by, like the flowing years, silent and still. Along the way, footprints, some deep, some shallow, lie scattered and unsteady; a faltering figure walks cautiously. Looking back, it's always been a journey of stops and starts, pausing to admire fleeting, glimpsed scenery, or perhaps searching for a simple corner to settle dreams.

The answer is unknown.

The footprints, some deep and some shallow, write a crooked line of words: Did dreams stagnate youth, or did youth waste dreams? And what fills the footprints is not glistening sweat, but crystal clear memories and daunting years.

Like sand in an hourglass, memories are washed away bit by bit by the years without you even realizing it. When you smile and say you'll always remember, that may be the beginning of forgetting. When some memories feel like they were just yesterday, they flutter away from your world at an imperceptible speed. When you look back and find that your memories are blurred as if veiled by mist, those innocent faces that once vowed to remember that day, that person, that group of people, seem a little ironic, a little laughable.

That wasn't your fault; it was the cruel mistake made by the affectionate years.

Time is always like this; not everything remains peacefully immersed in the long river of time. Some things, uneven and incomplete, reveal a frightening unfamiliarity. Years pass, and one year, you unexpectedly meet again on a bustling street corner. When the corners of your mouth slightly turn up, a smile tinged with detachment perfectly interprets the vast distance between you, a distance as vast as the ends of the earth. In an instant, the fleeting years of prosperity wither, and the entire summer becomes desolate.

Those memories, dusted with fine particles, are like mercury, seeping into the depths of the heart, always penetrating every crevice. Then they stubbornly clog the very surface of the brain. These elusive memories will occasionally leave you bewildered, despite you imagining a thousand different scenarios and times for their appearance: in the courtyard at dawn, at the ferry crossing where the sun is setting, on a deserted path at midnight. They always strike you unexpectedly.

Everything was submerged in the vast ocean of memory.

It's like walking in a vast, boundless desert, where everything becomes both scorching and desolate, hazy and secluded.

Those bygone youthful years, heavy lines outlining those moon-like bright eyes, or intoxicating smiles, or lost in thought, or slightly furrowed brows, in the ever-flowing years, like mirages, fleeting clouds, or veiled mists. Transparent memories have always been like this.

Fleeting youth, fragile years, never allow you to discern the words left behind by the long trail of footprints. Nor do you ever answer the question of the relationship between dreams and youth. Even when the last vestiges of your fleeting youth, squandered recklessly, are almost gone, you're still pondering it.

The answer may or may not be found.

Time flies by in the most youthful years of your life, and you calmly say: None of this matters anymore. You ask, bewildered and confused: Then what is important? You answer with relief and certainty: Nothing matters anymore. You say, without hesitation: Forget it, let it go.

No matter how unwilling or deliberate you are to remember or forget, in a moment of clarity, you will understand the gentleness of the sunshine and the tranquility of life.

I remember May, that lingering drizzle.

May, a poetic season. May's rainy days hold memories of the past, and lingering affections. There are tender moments of romance, and also the blurring of vision caused by the fading of prosperity. Smiles and tears, joy and sorrow, have enriched the heartstrings of that time. In this season, leaning on words, I let my thoughts linger, let my emotions settle, and bask in the post-rain sunshine, letting my heart be moved by this tender journey.

—To the one I love most

Time flows over the water's edge, years wash away the passing years, and deep longing flutters in the season with you, faintly revealing your figure from that year—gentle, light, and radiant. A wisp of affection, a touch of love, overflows between the lines, letting unspoken longing gently intoxicate the depths of my heart, letting unwavering devotion bloom for a hundred years amidst the fragrant blossoms. Hand in hand, let's use a romantic moment of love and beauty to create a warm, poetic, and tender embrace…

The wind stirred my hair, dried my tears, ruffled my longing, disturbed my heart, and scattered that heartwarming encounter from that year, that month, that time. Even though we are now separated by vast distances, I believe I can still follow the lingering scent of ink, recalling the familiar warmth that drifted in the wind that season, and feel the tender affection in the gentle breeze and drizzle.

We promised to experience the romance of the purple daylily rain together, to walk hand in hand through the fleeting years, and to write our love and cherished destiny into the most beautiful memory of our time. Now, the purple daylily blooms, but I can no longer find your figure in the sea of ​​people. Those promises have long since dried up in the winds of time, withered into fragments scattered on the ground, impossible to piece together back into the original perfect union.

We promised to grow old together in love, never to be apart. While the echoes of our words still lingered in the night air, we were already separated by two shores. Your heartless turn, your departure as swift as a dream, left me with nothing but sorrow. I loved you deeply, yet all I received was separation. Who mocked my persistence? Who extinguished my true love?

Counting the fallen leaves under the moonlight, listening to the raindrops outside the window, I can't count the countless traces of the past, deep and shallow. Two years have passed, neither far nor long, and the lingering tenderness in those memories will eventually succumb to the passage of time. Perhaps, no matter how hard we try, we can never go back to the past, never hear the whispers of love again. The rain lingers, the dreams remain, the only difference is in our hearts.

Those warm words still linger gently in my ears, while that familiar figure has long since faded into the distance, disappearing from our sight. I've grown accustomed to entrusting my chaotic thoughts and sorrows to words and music during sleepless nights, hoping to find solace. Yet, still, tears well up in my eyes at certain familiar words or at a poignant melody.

The days we spent together were so beautiful; the wind was gentle, the rain was warm, the flowers were beautiful in bloom, and their falling was intoxicating. The years remained serene, and time stood still. But we can never go back to those days, never see your graceful figure again, never feel your gentle embrace, and there is no longer the tender romance of love and life.

Listening to the rain through the window, a touch of longing arises. The fine raindrops, mingling with the gentle breeze and drizzle of yearning, flow slowly in the fading midnight. Gently, I enter your dreams, light a red candle, purple butterflies flutter around the curtains, and I rest my head on the delicate fragrance of roses, filling the air with intoxicating tenderness. Rain falls on my brow, silencing the night of longing. The drizzle, the falling petals, caress that long-lost romance…

Nights filled only with cigarettes and memories, my thoughts linger in the lonely rainy season, soaking those heartwarming conversations. I once planted hope in the years, but now I reap sorrow. Even if I hear nothing of you in my life anymore, the warmth of our companionship, the true affection of mutual understanding and cherishing, are enough to brighten our past love. Your well-being is my wish.

I only wish you well from now on.

Unrequited love is a form of self-cultivation.

Volume Two: On the Self-Cultivation of a Scumbag

Prologue: The Child of the Elves

"what happened to you?"

When Luo Xi was six years old, she met a strange little girl under a patch of azaleas.

The location was in the courtyard of the Yulijian Community Center. It was a chance encounter while attending the funeral of my mother's friend.

Hearing the call, the little girl timidly raised her head, her eyes filled with tears as she looked back at Luo Xi.

The other person had black twin ponytails and wore a gothic-style dress. She was a cute little girl, but Luo Xi found her eyes a bit strange—they were actually clocks!

"………………I……"