Can We Get Married First?  15

Chapter 15

“Is your hand injured?”

Wei Zhuoning’s sudden appearance behind Chi Lin after school startled her.

Chi Lin had been engrossed in researching “past lives” on her phone, her attention focused on the search results. Wei Zhuoning’s voice made her jump.

Wei Zhuoning, not realizing she had been so quiet, smirked. The idiot had actually been startled.

Chi Lin quickly locked her phone screen. “It’s nothing, just a small cut.”

“What about your tablet? What did Ms. Qi say?”

“She said it’ll cost 2,000 yuan to replace it.”

“Oh, good. Here.”

Wei Zhuoning tossed her a first-aid kit.

“I don’t like owing favors to idiots,” she said, hurrying past Chi Lin.

Chi Lin examined the kit. It was similar to the one Lou Mi had given her.

People in this era seemed averse to being indebted to others.

But their eagerness to repay even small kindnesses was endearing.

Chi Lin took a taxi home and treated her wound.

It was deeper than she had thought. This body was not as resilient as her own, the skin delicate and easily broken. Even with her knowledge of pressure points, the physical fragility remained.

The first-aid kit contained a printed instruction sheet, unlike Lou Mi’s kit, which had an animated guide on a small screen.

After disinfecting, applying ointment, and bandaging the wound, Chi Lin resumed her research on her phone.

Even in this technologically advanced era, the concept of past lives remained in the realm of fantasy, with no concrete evidence or logical framework.

Some even outright denied their existence.

As the taxi carried her home, crossing the overwater highway, Chi Lin gazed at the serene sea, aware of the hidden depths beneath its surface.

Like the vast world and its long history, the sea held countless secrets.

She had devoured every history book in the house these past few days, but there was still no mention of “Yuan.”

A dynasty that had thrived for over a century had vanished without a trace, from both official and unofficial records.

Dayuan, once a powerful empire, had been erased from history.

Why? Had someone deliberately removed all traces of its existence?

Even with her vast knowledge, Chi Lin couldn’t comprehend it.

The taxi reached Changjun Gardens. Chi Lin entered, her face recognized by the system.

“Good afternoon, Chi Lin. What would you like for dinner?”

Feeling listless, Chi Lin forced a smile. “I’m not hungry yet. Thank you, Teacher.”

“Alright, I’ll ask again in thirty minutes.”

Inside, Chi Lin found Lou Mi struggling to move the mattress.

Lou Mi was surprisingly strong, managing to lift the heavy mattress upright, but maneuvering it through the hallway to her bedroom was proving difficult.

Lou Mi was confident in her physical strength. As a professional esports athlete, she maintained peak physical condition, essential for optimal performance in the immersive gaming environment.

But the mattress was heavier than she anticipated.

She couldn’t push it across the floor due to friction. She figured lifting it upright would reduce the friction, making it easier to move.

She tried, but it wouldn’t budge.

This is ridiculous…

All I want is a new mattress…

She should have supported Peng Ziyuan’s suggestion of a household AI assistant.

As she prepared for another attempt, the mattress suddenly moved.

Chi Lin had entered the house and joined her efforts.

Without a word, they pushed the mattress together, their movements synchronized as they navigated the hallway, turning corners with surprising coordination.

They placed the mattress on Lou Mi’s bed. Chi Lin was slightly out of breath.

This body was truly weak. She needed to increase her exercise regimen. Even if she couldn’t replicate her former strength, she shouldn’t be winded after such minimal exertion.

Lou Mi noticed the bandage on Chi Lin’s hand. “What happened to your hand?”

“I cut it,” Chi Lin replied.

“Fighting at school?”

“No.”

Lou Mi was puzzled. It wasn’t the era of sharpening pencils with knives. How could one cut their hand at school?

Seeing Chi Lin’s reluctance to elaborate, she didn’t press further.

Chi Lin left without another word.

Lou Mi had taken the afternoon off and returned from the club early.

Days of sleep deprivation and intense practice, coupled with an early morning, had left her feeling dizzy.

Zhuo Jinglan had sent her home to rest. Building a new team took time.

“Don’t overwork yourself to death,” she had warned.

“Don’t jinx me,” Lou Mi had retorted. “If I die, I’ll haunt you forever.”

But she knew Zhuo Jinglan was right. She needed rest. She skipped lunch and slept until Chi Lin returned from school.

Refreshed, she remembered the mattress.

With the mattress finally in place, Lou Mi sat at her gaming station, put on the access crystals, and turned on her computer.

She had a livestream tonight, a face-cam stream, requiring her special “eyes-open gaming” technique.

She could play with her eyes closed, but her facial expressions during gameplay were… questionable. With her eyes open, she looked more intense.

Despite some fans’ objections, she preferred looking intense to looking suggestive.

She gripped the stress ball, the camera focused on her face, and started the livestream, her eyes fixed on the screen as she entered the world of “Return to Jianghu.”

…

Chi Lin sat at her desk, quickly finishing her Chinese and history homework.

Math and geography were a struggle, but she was making progress with English, having mastered the alphabet and basic vocabulary with the help of online tutorials.

After finishing her homework around 10 pm, she resumed her research with the system’s assistance, searching for information on past lives and any historical clues related to Dayuan.

Finally, she found something.

In the public access section of the National Digital Library, she found a scanned image of a stone tablet inscription. Few modern people could decipher the ancient script, and the archive lacked a translation, but Chi Lin recognized it instantly.

It was the common script of Dayuan!

She eagerly read the inscription. It consisted of three passages, describing the events of a short-lived dynasty that followed Dayuan, including the assassination of the emperor during the Shenghuo era.

Shenghuo was the reign title of the Empress at the time of her death!

According to the inscription, after the Shenghuo Emperor’s assassination, a new dynasty quickly emerged, replacing Dayuan. Though short-lived, it had indeed supplanted her kingdom.

Chi Lin quickly scanned the rest of the inscription, but there was no further mention of Dayuan or Shenghuo.

She searched the entire archive, but found nothing else.

A chill ran down her spine as she leaned back in her chair.

Dayuan had fallen shortly after her departure.

There was no record of the Empress’s cause of death.

Who had killed her? Even this era held no answers.

Did this mean she had failed to find the Empress’s reincarnation and obtain the crucial information? Otherwise, Dayuan’s demise wouldn’t have been recorded.

The thought filled her with despair, and she wept silently.

…

Lou Mi hadn’t streamed in days, and her fans were restless, flooding the team’s website with pleas for her return.

“The world is incomplete without Lou-jie!”

“ENIAC, stop preventing us from giving Lou-jie our money!”

Lou Mi’s fans were a force to be reckoned with, their collective voice reaching the highest levels of the club.

The CEO approached Zhuo Jinglan, asking when Lou Mi would stream again. Her fans were going crazy.

“Livestreams are good for engagement and revenue. Some of her wealthy fans donate tens of thousands of yuan. And the club needs that money to support the trainees. We couldn’t agree on daily streams, but twice a week should be manageable, right? Otherwise, her fans will leave.”

Zhuo Jinglan almost laughed.

Everyone knew Lou Mi’s fans were the most loyal, having followed her since her early, less successful days.

Her beauty, skill, and captivating personality had earned her both adoring fans and dedicated gamers.

In the current esports landscape, even among the top female players, Lou Mi was unmatched in every aspect, from looks and charisma to gameplay.

Her fans weren’t going anywhere.

But Lou Mi, confident and somewhat stubborn, disliked streaming, finding it strenuous on her eyes. She streamed as infrequently as possible.

However, livestreaming was part of the job. With the CEO’s request, Zhuo Jinglan had to persuade Lou Mi.

But tonight, no persuasion was needed. Lou Mi was streaming on her own.

Not for the club’s benefit, but for her own enjoyment. Well-rested, with her new mattress in place, she felt content and decided to play a few games before bed.

Xie Buyu was absent tonight. She teamed up with Pagoda and some trainees, battling their way through the snowy peak dungeon. The stream ended around midnight.

Over 3 million viewers were still online, and she topped the donation charts.

Fans had gifted hundreds of “Great Swords,” each worth ten thousand yuan, and countless other virtual items.

“Everyone go to bed. See you next time,” Lou Mi said, blinking her tired eyes.

The chat exploded with questions about her next stream.

“Lou-jie, look at me! I hope your next stream is tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow +10,000!”

Great Sword x5, Great Sword x5…

“20 Great Swords for Lou-jie’s breakfast! Please stream tomorrow and play the Snowy Peak dungeon again! Can we see you conquer the third level?”

“Yes! We want to see you play the Snowy Peak dungeon!”

Lou Mi was baffled by her fans’ obsession with the Snowy Peak dungeon.

It stemmed from the time she and A Bao had set a national record in that dungeon, a record still unbroken. And the infamous incident when A Bao had confessed her feelings for Lou Mi mid-game.

Lou Mi hadn’t returned to the Snowy Peak dungeon since.

Even after A Bao left the team, the rumors persisted.

Lou Mi, initially considering streaming again tomorrow due to popular demand, saw the words “Snowy Peak dungeon” and immediately ended the stream.

She was parched.

The thought of A Bao, the traitor, fueled her anger. She went to the kitchen for a drink, hoping to cool down.

Passing by the study, she noticed the light was on. Was Chi Lin still reading at this hour?

She had been glued to books lately, but it was almost 1 am. Didn’t she have school tomorrow?

Intending to scold her, Lou Mi approached the study and heard… crying.

Chi Lin’s eyelashes were wet with tears, her eyes red and swollen. She wept silently, tears falling onto the pages of the book as she continued to read, searching for something.

A wave of sadness permeated the room, touching even Lou Mi.

She knocked softly. Chi Lin, startled, quickly lowered her head.

“Does your hand hurt that much?” Lou Mi asked. “Why are you crying? Stay there.”

She returned a minute later with a first-aid kit.

“Let me see your hand.” There was only one chair in the study, occupied by Chi Lin. Lou Mi sat on the floor.

Chi Lin, given no opportunity to refuse, extended her hand.

Lou Mi unwrapped the bandage. The wound was far worse than she had imagined.

A deep gash, painful to look at.

Chi Lin stared blankly ahead, lost in thought.

Lou Mi winced. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” she asked, a mixture of concern and annoyance in her voice.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Chi Lin replied.

Lou Mi: “…”

She had told Chi Lin not to bother her.

And Chi Lin had taken it to heart, even with such a serious injury.

Lou Mi was exasperated.

“Don’t cause trouble,” she said, carefully cleaning and re-bandaging the wound. “But if you’re hurt, you can tell me. Understand?”

Chi Lin blinked, tears rolling down her cheeks, landing on Lou Mi’s hand.

Lou Mi paused for a moment, then continued bandaging.

Chi Lin noticed her clumsy movements.

In this peaceful era, without war, it was understandable that she lacked medical skills.

Chi Lin didn’t interfere.

The slight sting of the antiseptic momentarily distracted her from her sadness.