Chapter 17
After school, Wei Zhuoning caught up with Chi Lin.
“Hey,” she said, “about the Cultural Festival… were you tricked into signing up? You didn’t volunteer, did you?”
“No, I didn’t,” Chi Lin replied.
“It was your annoying deskmate, wasn’t it?”
“Probably.”
Wei Zhuoning scoffed. “That bitch Liu Huixin is at it again.”
Noticing Chi Lin’s silence, she sensed an aura of… righteousness?
She decided to tone down her language.
“If you don’t want to perform, I can talk to Ms. Qi. We’ve all seen your… unique dancing style. Remember the freshman camp? You got drunk and went on a rampage, nearly kicking Ms. Qi’s head off. It took ten people to restrain you, and you ran off to the woods and continued dancing, dislocating the jaw of a couple making out. We call July 22nd ‘Class 6 Disaster Day.’ Seriously, your dancing was so bad I couldn’t even watch. No one could forget that humiliation. Why would you volunteer to dance again?”
Chi Lin was taken aback by this story.
So the original owner had some martial arts skills… or something resembling them.
Chi Lin’s memories of the original owner were fragmented and blurry.
She knew Liu Huixin harbored ill intentions and had likely signed her up to embarrass her.
But Chi Lin wasn’t afraid.
She had been in this era for several days, with no leads on the Empress’s reincarnation.
Perhaps performing the Empress’s favorite sword dance at the Cultural Festival would trigger her memories if she happened to be in the audience.
Chi Lin had considered the need for some level of fame to increase her chances of being noticed by the Empress.
The Cultural Festival was a good opportunity. Liu Huixin, unknowingly, had done her a favor.
She couldn’t reveal her true intentions to Wei Zhuoning.
“If I don’t dance,” she said, “Ms. Qi will have to find someone else. I know no one wants to perform. They just want to watch.”
Wei Zhuoning was surprised by her answer. “Why do you care what other people think? Stop playing the hero. You’re an idiot.”
She ran off to the bus stop and boarded a bus.
Chi Lin: “…”
People in this era were so quick to anger and insults.
With the Cultural Festival approaching, the performers were busy preparing.
Ms. Qi sent a message to Peng Ziyuan, informing her of Chi Lin’s participation.
Peng Ziyuan was surprised. “Really? Xiao Lin is performing? She didn’t tell me.”
Ms. Qi, aware of Chi Lin’s strained relationship with her mother due to the impending remarriage, explained gently, “Communication can be difficult at this age. But like any relationship, it requires effort from both sides. If you can make it, please come. She’ll be happy to see you there.”
Peng Ziyuan, on a business trip, couldn’t attend.
She had already asked Lou Mi for so many favors. She couldn’t ask for another. She apologized to Chi Lin via video call.
“It’s your first performance, and I’m so happy for you. I really wanted to be there. But I just found out, and I can’t get back in time. You won’t hate me, will you?”
Chi Lin, hearing the tremor in her voice, reassured her. “It’s okay. I’ll do my best, even if you’re not there. Don’t feel bad. Just focus on your work. That’s all I ask.”
Chi Lin’s own mother had died during childbirth. She had been raised by her aunts, who had cared for her well.
But aunts weren’t mothers.
This was the first time she had experienced true maternal love.
After the video call, Peng Ziyuan replayed the conversation in her mind. It was definitely her daughter, but her words and tone were so… motherly. She felt as if she had been the one being comforted.
Was Chi Lin trying to hide her disappointment?
Feeling guilty, she wanted to capture Chi Lin’s performance, even if she couldn’t be there in person.
She asked Lou Lixing to ask Lou Mi to film the performance.
“Don’t pressure her,” she said. “You know how Mimi and Xiao Lin get along. She’s already done so much for Xiao Lin. Don’t make her feel obligated.”
Lou Lixing knew his daughter’s temper better than anyone.
He always approached her with caution and gentle persuasion.
“Sure. What time tomorrow night?”
To his surprise, Lou Mi agreed without hesitation, before he even offered a bribe.
He had prepared a long, persuasive speech, now rendered useless.
“Is that all, Mimi? No other requests? This isn’t like you.”
“So you think I only do things for gifts?” Lou Mi retorted. “Fine, then I want a new car and a flying vehicle. Is that more like your daughter?”
Lou Lixing: “…”
He almost agreed before realizing it was a trap. If he indulged her, she might demand the entire futuristic transportation trifecta.
They chatted about family matters.
“Grandma and Grandpa keep sending me messages, complaining that you’re always away on business trips. They miss their only son.”
“Tell them I’m sorry,” Lou Lixing said.
“I visited them a few days ago. They were happy to see me. They have a message for you.”
“What is it?”
“They said they might as well disown you. They only need me, their granddaughter.”
Lou Lixing: “…”
Wait, without me, there would be no granddaughter!
“They also want to see a traditional opera. They want you to get tickets.”
So they don’t actually want to disown me…
Lou Lixing sighed. “The operas they like aren’t performed anymore. Even if I could get tickets, there’s no show to see.”
“I have a solution,” Lou Mi said.
“I’m listening.”
“Learn to sing it yourself. It’ll make them happy.”
Lou Lixing: “…”
Every conversation with his daughter left him feeling drained.
Who did she inherit this sharp tongue from?
Her late mother, of course.
Their parents’ love for opera had been influenced by Lou Mi’s mother.
Remembering this, Lou Lixing asked his secretary to find some opera recordings.
“Since when are you interested in opera?” the secretary asked, surprised.
“I want to learn to sing it,” Lou Lixing replied.
The secretary, taken aback, looked at her boss with newfound respect.
After ending the call, Lou Mi massaged her swollen ankle.
“Mi-jie, you should go to the hospital. It looks like a pig’s trotter,” Xie Buyu said, sitting across from her, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Xie Buyu, the top healer in Nine Heavens, was a walking curse in real life. Yesterday, she had praised Lou Mi’s excellent form, and today, Lou Mi had injured herself.
And not during a practice match, but by tripping on her way out of the bathroom.
Besides her ankle, her butt also hurt, but she was too embarrassed to mention it.
Lou Mi applied a pain relief spray and tentatively moved her foot. It still hurt.
An injury to Lou Mi was a major event.
Everyone at the club, from the executives to the new trainees, had visited her office to express their concern. Already annoyed, Xie Buyu’s teasing pushed her over the edge. If they were in the game, she would have gladly impaled her with a sword.
“Can you not rub it in?” she snapped.
“Rub what in? I’m just concerned.”
“You’re practically beaming. Don’t lie.”
“Why would I be happy about your injury?”
“Because now you don’t have to practice so much,” Lou Mi said. “I’m out of commission, so you get a break.”
Xie Buyu’s in-game character was a typical healer, a cute, twin-tailed little girl.
In real life, however, she was far less polished. She only bothered with makeup and filters for livestreams and major tournaments.
Today, she was wearing a baseball cap, her hair clearly unwashed. Lou Mi suspected she hadn’t even bothered to wash her face.
Xie Buyu, called out, giggled. “You know me too well, Mi-jie.”
“Get out,” Lou Mi said.
“Mi-jie!” Pagoda burst into the room, looking panicked. “I heard you’re injured! Let me see! Oh… that looks bad. Does it hurt? Let me kiss it better!”
Lou Mi and Xie Buyu: “…”
Pagoda was always… dramatic.
Pagoda always played male characters, but she was female in real life. With short hair and no makeup, she had a somewhat androgynous look, but she was surprisingly fashionable. Her outfits were a barometer of current trends. She knew every trendy shop and restaurant, her knowledge surpassing even the most popular apps.
Pagoda and Xie Buyu, standing together, were the epitome of a modern lesbian couple.
“I’m fine,” Lou Mi said. “But Lan-jie wants me to rest for a couple of days before the Winter World Cup. So I won’t be coming to the club. But my spirit will be with you. Keep practicing. At least five hours a day.”
Xie Buyu’s eyes welled up. Lou Mi knew they weren’t tears of sympathy, but tears of joy.
Pagoda, in contrast, was far more subdued. She gave Lou Mi detailed instructions on how to care for her ankle, her eyes wide with concern. Her care was genuine, but she was also incredibly verbose…
Couldn’t these two balance each other out?
Despite her aching ankle, Lou Mi decided to attend the Cultural Festival.
She often argued with her dad, but they were close. He had worked tirelessly to provide for her after her mother’s death.
Though she missed her mother, her father had been alone for eight years. She couldn’t begrudge him a new relationship.
She understood he needed a partner, not just a daughter.
Her dad rarely asked for favors, and Peng Ziyuan even less so.
Peng Ziyuan’s conversations with Lou Mi consisted mostly of praise and apologies for Chi Lin’s misbehavior.
She would go. It had been years since she had experienced school life. It would be a chance to relive her youth.
And she was curious about Chi Lin’s performance.
Chi Lin, the clumsiest person she knew, was performing? She couldn’t imagine it.
…
The next day, after not seeing Chi Lin all day, Lou Mi, wearing a mask, limped to her car and drove to South Lake Third High School.
She had been to the school a few times before, but only to the gate. The campus was surprisingly large.
The Cultural Festival was held in the school auditorium. As she approached, she heard music and saw parents excitedly anticipating their children’s performances.
She found her seat, front row center, a prime viewing spot.
The auditorium was large, seating over a thousand people.
It was almost full.
She was in the VIP section, the rows behind her and the balcony filled with students.
Before the show started, the audience chatted amongst themselves.
Lou Mi overheard two mothers discussing the program.
They were surprised to see Chi Lin’s name on the list.
Mother A: “Chi Lin? That Chi Lin is performing?”
Mother B: “Who’s Chi Lin?”
“Her family used to live in my neighborhood. She took piano lessons with my son. Her fingers were like stiff boards. She couldn’t play at all. After a few lessons, she gave up. Then her mother enrolled her in dance classes. I even helped her find a teacher. But she was hopeless, two left feet. She tripped over herself constantly. After being mocked by her classmates, she quit.”
So everyone knows about her clumsiness, Lou Mi thought.
The mothers continued their conversation.
“How can anyone be so uncoordinated?”
“I know, right? Then she tried calligraphy, painting… nothing worked. She’s a lost cause. No talent whatsoever, but a terrible temper. Always causing trouble.”
Mother B chuckled. “Well, some kids are talented, some aren’t. Oh, your son is playing a piano solo tonight? How impressive!”
Mother A beamed, praising her son’s talent and mentioning his renowned piano teacher, Xiao Bo, who had apparently predicted a bright future for him.
Mother B gasped. “Xiao Bo? The Xiao Bo who played at the Spring Festival Gala?”
“Yes, that’s him,” Mother A said proudly.
Lou Mi adjusted her mask, thinking about Xiao Bo, whom she also knew. He was Xie Buyu’s cousin’s brother-in-law.
He seemed respectable on television, but in private, he was a creepy middle-aged man. He had once touched Xie Buyu’s leg, earning himself a face full of hot pot broth. Xie Buyu still refused to watch the Spring Festival Gala or any program featuring Xiao Bo.
She wondered what this mother would think if she knew about Xiao Bo’s true character.
The Cultural Festival began. Two student emcees, surprisingly polished and professional, introduced the first act, a large-scale dance performance, followed by magic tricks and solo singing. The overall quality was good, entertaining and engaging.
Lou Mi browsed the gaming forums while waiting for Chi Lin’s performance.
Her phone was ready to record.
Finally, the second to last act. The emcees announced:
“Next, please enjoy a solo dance performance by Chi Lin from Class 6, Grade 10: ‘White Dew Unsettled.’”
A smattering of applause.
Mother A: “Here she is. Let’s see what kind of dance she’s come up with.”
The lights dimmed, and the stagehands set up the backdrop.
A spotlight appeared, illuminating Chi Lin standing amidst a painted landscape of green mountains.
She wore a flowing, aqua-colored traditional dress with a bright yellow sash, her long black hair tied back, a gleaming sword in her hand.
The audience gasped, noticing the realistic-looking sword.
“What’s she planning to do?”
Lou Mi, starting to record, was also surprised. A sword dance?
That little brat is full of surprises. From delinquent to ancient warrior?
Chi Lin looked ethereal yet fierce, her movements precise and powerful, revealing a surprising level of martial arts skill.
With a flash of her sword, she spun gracefully, landing in a perfect lunge, earning a few gasps and cheers from the audience.
Her sword dance was fluid and elegant, with a touch of acrobatics.
It was both beautiful and practical, as if she could actually wield the sword in combat.
The audience was mesmerized, transported to another time as Chi Lin danced to the ancient melody.
The performance was far beyond Lou Mi’s expectations.
Since when did that clumsy brat know how to wield a sword?
When had she learned this?
Had her recent exercises in the courtyard been preparation for this?
That was some serious dedication…
“White Dew Unsettled.” Lou Mi recognized the title from the Classic of Poetry. It suited the dance perfectly.
Though she couldn’t fully grasp the meaning of the music and dance, she felt a sense of melancholy and longing.
She sensed a deep loneliness emanating from Chi Lin.
The music ended, and Chi Lin seemed to return from a trance.
The auditorium erupted in applause, the loudest yet. She bowed and quickly exited the stage.
Wei Zhuoning, watching from the balcony, was stunned.
Was that Chi Lin? That graceful figure was Chi Lin?
She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.
She had initially dreaded Chi Lin’s sword dance, anticipating a cringe-worthy performance.
But it wasn’t cringe-worthy at all.
The audience was captivated.
Even Wei Zhuoning, who had mocked Chi Lin for over a year, felt a surge of excitement.
The students of Class 6 cheered wildly, their hands red from clapping.
Liu Huixin, seething with anger, left early, fearing a heart attack.
Wei Zhuoning overheard the excited chatter behind her.
“That was amazing! Chi Lin can actually wield a sword? And those spins!”
“She’s a natural.”
“So she did have some talent all along. We just didn’t appreciate it.”
Several students agreed.
Wei Zhuoning almost choked on her laughter.
This was too good. She quickly jotted down notes on her phone, inspiration striking.
Chi Lin was a goldmine of plot ideas.
In her novel, the character A Lin had been freed and was now performing a sword dance before the emperor…(Here, the general title is Emperor, although it changes depending on the context, specifically to Empress.)
Wei Zhuoning typed furiously.
Lin Xiaozhi, appearing behind her, leaned over her shoulder, reading aloud:
“A Lin’s graceful dance captivated the emperor, his gaze softening. He hadn’t realized she possessed such hidden talents…”
Wei Zhuoning: “?!”
She whipped around, her forehead colliding with Lin Xiaozhi’s. The sound echoed through the auditorium.
They clutched their heads in pain, too stunned to speak.
“Are you insane…?” Wei Zhuoning muttered, rubbing her forehead.
Lin Xiaozhi, tears welling in her eyes, smiled mischievously.
“So you’re writing about your classmates? How romantic.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Wei Zhuoning hissed.
“I saw the name ‘A Lin.’”
Wei Zhuoning’s face turned even redder. She stood up abruptly, pushing past the other students, and fled the auditorium.
As the show ended, small screens on the armrests lit up, prompting the audience to vote for their favorite performance.
Lou Mi voted for “White Dew Unsettled” and headed backstage to find Chi Lin.
She had sent Chi Lin a message, but there was no reply.
That little brat is ignoring me? She would confront her directly.
As the audience filed out, Lou Mi overheard two girls from Chi Lin’s class.
“So annoying… she stole the show. How does that poor, tasteless loser have so many tricks up her sleeve?”
“It must have been a body double. There’s no way she can dance like that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Huixin said she’s from a poor, single-parent family. If Huixin hadn’t been feeding her, she would have starved. What’s gotten into her? Just a new hairstyle, and suddenly everyone’s obsessed! I was hoping to see her embarrass herself… but no, now she has even more admirers. Disgusting!”
Lou Mi listened silently, her hands in her pockets.
She had encountered this type before, people with nothing better to do than gossip and criticize.
Ten years later, and nothing had changed.
The girls continued their conversation.
“I heard she has a ‘sworn sister.’”
“Seriously? People still do that?”
“Who knows? We don’t understand the world of losers. I wonder what kind of person would be her ‘sister.’ Probably another loser.”
What?
Lou Mi grabbed them by the back of their necks, lifting them off their feet.
“Didn’t your parents teach you not to talk about people behind their backs?”
Her height, the mask covering her face, and her stern tone intimidated the girls.
They squeaked and ran away.
As Chi Lin walked through the backstage area, she felt the weight of numerous gazes.
She was analyzing these gazes, wondering if her Empress was among them.
The “White Dew Unsettled” sword dance had been choreographed by the Empress and Chi Lin together. It was the Empress’s favorite.
Chi Lin had only performed a small portion of the dance, omitting the more complex movements to avoid revealing too much.
But the section she had performed contained the Empress’s favorite parts. If the Empress’s reincarnation saw it, it might trigger her memories.
If only she could see…
During the dance, memories of the Empress had flooded Chi Lin’s mind.
The Empress’s trust and support had propelled Chi Lin to a high position at a young age.
The “Kaihe Era” of prosperity during the Shenghuo reign had been their joint achievement, countless sleepless nights spent strategizing and planning.
It was Dayuan’s proudest era.
These memories were still vivid, but now she was in a strange new time.
Her homeland, everything she had been proud of, had been erased from history.
A profound loneliness had washed over her during the dance, and afterward, every conversation felt superficial, failing to reach her.
Her mind had drifted until a voice brought her back.
“Chi Lin.”
The familiar tone… it sounded like…
The Empress!
Chi Lin turned excitedly and saw Lou Mi waving at her from the end of the hallway.
People brushed past her, but Lou Mi stood out in the crowd.
Seeing Chi Lin’s hesitation, Lou Mi frowned slightly and tilted her head.
“Let’s go.”
It wasn’t the Empress, but…
In this unfamiliar time, someone was waiting for her.
Chi Lin returned her costume and followed Lou Mi to the parking lot.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
The streets were relatively empty. Lou Mi removed her mask.
“I didn’t want to come, okay? I’m busy. Your mom begged my dad, my dad begged me, and I reluctantly agreed to film your performance.”
Chi Lin, now understanding Lou Mi’s way with words, didn’t call her out on her lie.
As they walked, she noticed Lou Mi’s limp.
“What happened to your foot?”
“I twisted it during practice.”
“And you’re still walking around?”
“I told you, your mom begged me.”
Chi Lin stopped her, pointing at a nearby bench.
“What?”
“Sit.”
Lou Mi’s ankle throbbed. She gratefully sat down.
“So?” she asked.
Chi Lin crouched in front of her. “Let me see. Roll up your pant leg.”
“It’s fine,” Lou Mi said, aware of how swollen her ankle was.
“Roll it up.”
Chi Lin was insistent.
Why is she so assertive tonight?
Lou Mi, realizing further resistance would be pointless, rolled up her pant leg, revealing her swollen ankle.
Chi Lin examined it, then gently grasped her ankle.
“Hey!”
“I’ll massage it. It’ll hurt a bit, but it’ll help with the swelling. Just bear with it.”
Without waiting for a response, Chi Lin began to massage her ankle.
The initial pain was intense. Lou Mi’s forehead beaded with sweat, but she had to maintain her composure. She couldn’t cry out in pain in front of Chi Lin. It would ruin her image.
Gradually, the pain subsided, replaced by a dull ache, even as Chi Lin increased the pressure.
It actually felt… good.
Lou Mi glanced at Chi Lin.
Her massage technique was both forceful and skillful. Chi Lin’s face was flushed from exertion.
“The swelling has gone down,” Chi Lin said. “Try moving it.”
Lou Mi stood up and hopped a few times.
Chi Lin: “…”
So reckless. No wonder she injured herself.
Lou Mi winced, but it was a significant improvement. Earlier, she could barely put weight on it.
“What kind of magic is this?” Lou Mi asked. “Where did you learn that?”
“A family secret,” Chi Lin replied.
“What kind of family secret?”
“The kind you can’t talk about. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a secret.”
Chi Lin continued walking towards the parking lot. Her evasiveness piqued Lou Mi’s curiosity, but she refrained from asking further questions, respecting Chi Lin’s “elder” status.
As they got into the car, Lou Mi said, “Hanging upside down from trees, sword dancing, massage therapy… you’re full of surprises. Whatever you’re up to, just one request: stay out of trouble with the police.”
“Don’t worry,” Chi Lin replied, her words concise and clipped. She fell silent, lost in thought.
Lou Mi looked at her. “Stressed?”
“A little,” Chi Lin admitted.
“I have a solution for that. Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Lou Mi set the navigation and sped off.
Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the “ENIAC Holographic Gaming Center.”
Chi Lin recognized the name from her first day in this era.
“It’s an internet cafe owned by our club,” Lou Mi explained. “But it’s more than just a cafe. It has all kinds of games.”
As Lou Mi entered, she noticed Chi Lin hesitating.
“I’m underage. I can’t go in,” Chi Lin said.
“I’m your guardian. Let’s go,” Lou Mi said, pulling Chi Lin inside.
Guardian… She had been denying her “sister” role earlier.
As Lou Mi scanned her face at the self-service kiosk to activate a card, a staff member passing by recognized her.
“HighTowerMiyuki!” she exclaimed, her voice barely audible above the noise of the arcade machines.
Realizing her outburst, she quickly lowered her head, embarrassed.
Lou Mi gave her an awkward smile and registered Chi Lin using Peng Ziyuan’s ID and password, which she had been given for emergencies.
She never imagined using it to bring Chi Lin to an internet cafe.
As a VIP member, Lou Mi had free access to all ENIAC facilities and two guest passes.
She had never used the guest passes before, as her friends and teammates also had free access.
And now, she was using one for Chi Lin. Her first registered guest was Chi Lin…
Two weeks ago, this would have been unthinkable.
The place was more like a city than a “center.”
Chi Lin had initially believed the access crystals were a form of magic, transporting people to different dimensions.
After seeing countless holographic game advertisements and livestreams, she realized how naive she had been.
It wasn’t magic, just a form of entertainment enabled by advanced technology.
Despite understanding the basic principles, she hadn’t played any holographic games since her involuntary first experience.
Lou Mi, instead of starting with holographic games, led her to the classic arcade machines.
The simple act of button-mashing was surprisingly therapeutic.
They played until their hands were sore and their eyes blurry, their characters merging into an indistinguishable mess on the screen. Chi Lin mashed buttons randomly.
Lou Mi, a gaming god, played with one hand, intending to let Chi Lin win.
But Chi Lin’s chaotic button-mashing resulted in an unexpected victory.
Lou Mi: “??”
Chi Lin, pointing at Lou Mi’s defeated character on the screen, laughed triumphantly.
After the arcade games, they moved on to the dance machine.
A true champion excelled in all areas, and Lou Mi was no exception.
However, after the arcade game upset, she was more cautious, teaching Chi Lin the basics before observing her performance.
After three songs, Chi Lin had mastered the rhythm, her movements fluid and precise.
“I think I’m ready for a harder song,” she said.
Such confidence!
Lou Mi selected a high-difficulty song to humble her.
Chi Lin, focused and determined, matched Lou Mi’s score, almost surpassing her.
Lou Mi, eyes glued to the screen, barely managed to win by a narrow margin.
“That was my first time,” Chi Lin said.
“It’s been a while for me,” Lou Mi retorted. “And I have an injured ankle.”
“Let’s play again when your ankle heals,” Chi Lin challenged.
Lou Mi: “…We’ll see.”
Lou Mi led her through a tour of gaming history, from clunky sixty-year-old arcade machines to the latest holographic games.
Entering the holographic game world again, Chi Lin marveled at its realism.
Except for the floating translucent menus with their incomprehensible numbers and options, it felt like a real world.
“Let’s create a character and choose an outfit,” Lou Mi said, guiding her through the character creation process in “Return to Jianghu.”
Chi Lin saw a figure her height, dressed in a plain, long dress, its hair unstyled.
A large screen to her right displayed countless eyes, each staring at her, making her uncomfortable.
She selected a pair of attractive eyes, and the character’s eyes changed instantly. Chi Lin’s face paled.
“Having trouble? I’ll help,” Lou Mi said, expertly crafting a character that resembled Chi Lin.
“Does it look like you?” she asked proudly.
“Do I… look that good?” Chi Lin stared at the character, recognizing her features, but… greatly enhanced.
“I think it’s a good likeness. Come on, choose a tank class. You can draw the monsters’ attention while I attack.”
“Tank? Draw attention?”
“Just choose a class. I’ll explain later.”
Chi Lin felt like she was being set up.
As they entered the game, the scenery felt familiar, reminiscent of her first experience.
So she had been chased through the streets in “Return to Jianghu”?
Lou Mi was a formidable force in the game. Chi Lin quickly realized the “tank” class was indeed a punching bag.
Lou Mi instructed her to provoke the monsters while she waited for an opportunity to strike.
Chi Lin ran for her life, pursued by monsters, while Lou Mi, wielding a sword, fought with dazzling skill, earning cheers from other players.
“Lou-jie is amazing! Carrying a noob through the Snow Demon fight.”
Noob? Chi Lin wondered. Is that me?
Chi Lin, a quick learner, adapted to the game, and together, they defeated five Snow Demons, collecting a pile of glittering treasures.
Chi Lin, her eyes wide with wonder, picked up a heavy broadsword.
“Can I have this?”
“Sure,” Lou Mi said. “It’s junk. Too low-level for me.”
Chi Lin: “…”
Player A, watching nearby: “Lou-jie seems a bit… exasperated.”
Player B: “That’s why she’s still single.”
With the new equipment, Chi Lin’s combat abilities improved significantly.
They fought until they were sweating, both in the game and in real life.
The physical exertion was invigorating.
Leaving the gaming center, Chi Lin collapsed in the car, gulping down water.
Lou Mi smiled. “Feeling better?”
“Much better. Thank you, Sister,” Chi Lin replied, looking at the city lights. She wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, but it felt right.
“Let’s go home.”
Lou Mi set the navigation.
“Home,” Chi Lin repeated softly.
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