[Audio] She’s a Passerby, But Can See the Protagonist’s Halo – CH131-140

Chapter 131

After returning from Xue Family Alley, though Yan wasn’t sure how He Xing’s conversation with her parents had gone, she could see that her senior had gradually begun to relax. Though they hadn’t known each other for long, compared to when He Xing first arrived at the dorm, she had seemed somewhat tense back then. Perhaps even she hadn’t noticed the slight furrow between her brows.

But over the past few days, He Xing had slowly unwound. When they ate breakfast together in the mornings, Yan could now see a faint smile on her face. That said, He Xing had become even stricter with herself. She returned to the dorm later and later after classes, almost rivaling Ding Ling’s schedule.

Life on campus carried on day after day, but for Yan and Zhu Jue, the biggest surprise of the week was the sudden appearance of their “god-daughter.”

Last semester, Lin Fan had made a name for himself in the department after an incident where he physically confronted someone. But he was already well-known for frequently posting about his wife and child on social media. Among their peers, Lin Fan was often referred to as “that guy in our department who has a kid—Lin Lu’s husband.”

So when Lin Anran showed up at Bin University as an auditor, trailing closely behind Lin Fan during lectures, her striking presence inevitably drew attention. Lin Fan, however, was completely unfazed. His daughter wanting to attend classes with him was a good thing—it meant he had to set a proper example, didn’t it?

He had always been serious about his studies, knowing he couldn’t compete with his classmates academically. Now that his daughter was auditing, she could even take exams. The two of them could study and review together. If she asked him a question he couldn’t answer, wouldn’t that be embarrassing?

He indulged in a brief fantasy of a heartwarming father-daughter study session, seeing it as a perfect opportunity to bond.

“Daughters grow up and do as they please,” he thought. No matter how much she scowled at him, what could he do? Just spoil her, of course!

Weeks passed, and Lin Anran gradually settled into life at Bin University. Many students added her on WeChat. University auditors typically needed an official letter of introduction to enroll, and they didn’t receive student IDs—meals and other necessities were entirely their own responsibility. But for Lin Anran, none of that was an issue. Her previously irregular sleep schedule was forcibly normalized now.

“An’an, have you gained a little weight recently?” Yan asked one day in the cafeteria, looking at Lin Anran across the table.

Lin Anran’s head snapped up. “Have I? I haven’t stepped on a scale lately.”

To keep tabs on that person, she hadn’t just returned to school—she also had to wake up early every day to exercise with him! She couldn’t understand why he insisted on working out outside when they had all the necessary equipment at home. But because of the daily workouts, her morning appetite had grown ravenous, and she was definitely eating more than before.

“You were so thin before, your face was practically skeletal. Putting on a little weight is good,” Lin Fan chimed in seriously.

His daughter’s chin had been sharp enough to poke someone before. A rounder, fuller face would be much better—eating well, exercising, studying hard, and staying healthy. Wasn’t that all any parent could ask for?

Since Lin Anran didn’t have a dorm on campus, she often stopped by Room 320 to rest during lunch breaks. Though someone was usually missing from the dorm at noon, she refused to climb onto any of her godmother’s roommates’ beds. Just being in someone else’s dorm was already an intrusion.

So, Yan’s dorm acquired a new essential item—a foldable cot. But after buying it, they barely used it for napping. Instead, they laid out yoga mats and cushions on the floor. Their dorm was full of high-energy people, and at noon, they’d play cards together, getting more and more lively as they went.

Lin Anran’s arrival was met with enthusiasm by Yan’s roommates. Due to differing class schedules and personal commitments, someone was always coming or going.

But once An’an showed up, she became their permanent card game partner—especially as a “newbie,” her luck was downright overpowering. With beginner’s luck on her side, whoever teamed up with her was guaranteed a win. She also formed a gaming squad with Chu Bingbing, and under Yi Zhi’s occasional leadership, they dominated in PUBG daily.

Though the daily workouts and classes were exhausting, she had a blast hanging out with her godmother’s roommates.

During this time, Lin Anran truly experienced what it meant to be “painfully happy.” As the only auditor in her classes, she quickly became memorable to the professors, who often called on her to answer questions.

From her observations on campus, that person had no female classmates around him. Everyone knew he was married with a child and kept their distance. His reputation among the students was excellent—known as a “show-off husband and dad” who would whip out his phone at any moment to brag about his family. Some even avoided him just to dodge another round of baby photos.

Lin Anran’s emotions were complicated. She knew all too well that the person loved her and loved her mother.

Everything in this world was different from before.

Yet the past still weighed heavily on her heart.

She wasn’t sure if it was because of her interference or because of her godparents, but that person hadn’t encountered any new “accidents” lately.

Every day, they went to school together, attended classes, played happily, then returned home to eat with her mother, coaxing her younger self to sleep. Life was peaceful and content, and even her temper toward that person had softened.

It was an indescribable feeling—the whole family taking turns soothing a fussy little Anran to sleep, exhausting themselves before sneaking into the dining room to quietly snack, stifling their laughter while keeping an eye on the baby monitor.

If she hadn’t come back, Lin Anran would never have known how difficult her one-and-a-half-year-old self could be.

On weekends, that person would read picture books to little Anran while she and her mother pretended to read on the sofa—though in reality, Lin Anran hid her phone inside a book, secretly scrolling.

It felt like the very embodiment of happiness.

A family’s happiness.

Occasionally, a fleeting moment would strike her heart, filling her with overwhelming emotion.

Lin Anran grew increasingly reluctant to disrupt any of it.

Everything she had missed in her past life seemed to be here now.

Every morning, she pinched herself hard—was this a dream? Did it hurt? Had she woken up?

If this was destined to be a long, beautiful dream, she almost wished she’d never wake from it.

By late March, spring had arrived, and as the Qingming Festival holiday approached, Ding Ling’s movements became increasingly elusive.

Online, netizens were once again collectively complaining about holiday schedule adjustments. The hashtag #QingmingHolidayAdjustment briefly topped the trending list before being overtaken by an official police statement in blue and white.

A month later, the cold case involving senior He Xing was solved.

Though the names of the victims were redacted in the report, the details were unmistakable to those familiar with the case. Like the Xie Family case before it, the reopening of this old investigation sparked widespread discussion.

Netizens quickly connected the dots—less than a month ago, a young dancer from the Xia National Dance Theater had been taken away by the police, and a performance had abruptly collapsed. Now, with this police announcement, everything made sense.

“I knew it! I just knew something was off with the understudy’s performance of The Goddess of the Luo River in Bin City that afternoon—either emotional distress or a breakup. Turns out, it wasn’t heartbreak. It was the mental breakdown of a criminal before arrest!”

“After reading the report, I’m stunned. Over a single opportunity, they ruined another genius’s entire family—parents gone, career destroyed.”

“I’m in tears. I heard the victim is working hard to return to the stage. I believe it won’t be long before we see her perform again.”

“He Xing—how unfortunate, yet how fortunate. It’s heartbreaking to learn about you this way, but I look forward to seeing you on stage.”

Since He Xing had already returned to school and resumed dance training for a month, some details inevitably leaked.

Aside from Yan and Ding Ling, everyone in Room 320—including temporary resident Lin Anran—did their best to act normal, careful not to reopen old wounds for He Xing.

Chu Bingbing cringed at the memory of her earlier gossip sessions in the dorm, especially when she had speculated about Fu Yao’s arrest. She wanted to strangle her past self.

She remembered… how Yan had deliberately changed the subject back then.

And those tickets to The Goddess of the Luo River in Bin City—she had given them to Yan and He Xing.

Chu Bingbing: “…”

If anyone told her Yan had nothing to do with this, she wouldn’t believe it!

From the overturned Xie Family case to He Xing’s situation, Chu Bingbing suspected Yan and the others had played a major role.

She wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Though Ding Ling had previously helped He Xing in a small way, she had no knowledge of personal matters.

After reading the report, she sighed inwardly.

The last time she introduced Li to He Xing, it was Yan who had facilitated it—meaning they must have known about He Xing’s ordeal all along.

Whether it was Lan Ruo’s situation or He Xing’s, they had pulled people from the brink of disaster.

Ding Ling recalled Zheng Yi’s visit to Bin City and easily connected the dots.

Everything had been arranged quietly, without a trace.

She wasn’t surprised by this anymore, though she couldn’t help but marvel.

Because Yan couldn’t interfere with karma, even helping He Xing reunite with her deceased parents had to be done through Ding Ling—saving the suffering, guiding them to peace.

As for He Xing herself, she carried a golden aura of accumulated merit, as if she had lived through multiple lifetimes. By all rights, she should have lived a life of peace and prosperity. Yet in this life, she had endured such hardship. Ding Ling wondered if this was the final trial before a virtuous soul achieved enlightenment.

Back in Xue Family Alley, when offering food to the wandering spirits, Ding Ling had subtly woven He Xing’s energy into the ritual—since the offerings had been purchased by her.

The merits of offering food to wandering spirits and dedicating virtuous deeds in gratitude should be quite noticeable for ordinary people, often bringing a short-term boost in luck. But for He Xing, such things were trivial at best.

For Yan, the police announcement wasn’t just a sign that the incident involving He Xing was nearly resolved—what mattered more was that Officer Zheng Yi had transferred the reward money!

Two separate bonuses arrived simultaneously, just breaching the mid-five-figure mark.

Though people jokingly referred to spies as “walking half-a-million,” the actual rewards ranged from the lowest tier of five thousand to the highest of five hundred thousand. As the saying went, unless you managed to lock an entire roomful of CIA operatives from the Asia division inside—along with a trove of classified intel—it was nearly impossible to claim the top-tier reward.

Yan did the math: after deducting the full payment for the custom-made peace lock for her goddaughter, she still had over thirty thousand left. Her little savings stash had suddenly grown plump again.

The peace lock was already finished, though neither she nor Zhu Jue had gone to pick it up yet. But staring at the freshly deposited cash, Yan couldn’t resist pulling out that ruby Lu Chen had given her from the cabinet.

She held it up with tweezers under the light, examining it closely, murmuring to herself, “I wonder how it’d look set in a ring with diamonds around it.”

This was the scene He Xing walked in on, her backpack slung over one shoulder. The moment she saw the gem—roughly the size of a fingernail—her gaze sharpened.

It looked familiar. Too familiar.

Especially because… the cultivation technique within her instinctively reacted with a pull of attraction.

That thing wasn’t a ruby. It had to be a treasure from the world tied to the cultivation method she’d acquired.

He Xing slowly sifted through her memories. Since she’d returned with a cultivation technique—and feared practicing it recklessly without full recollection—the memories of that world were meant to unlock gradually.

She hadn’t recalled everything yet, but she was certain: this was no artifact that belonged in the modern world.

Yan… where had she gotten this?

***

Chapter 132

He Xing watched as Yan carefully held something with a pair of tweezers, placing it into a small transparent box on the desk—clearly meant for storage. Noticing that her senior had returned, Yan greeted her without letting go of the tweezers, still gripping the ruby firmly.

“Senior, you’re back.”

“Do you think it’d be better to micro-set the gem on both sides for a ring, or should I encircle it with diamonds?”

With money to spare and an irresistible weakness for beautiful things, Yan was itching to indulge. The jade ring she and Jue Jue had snagged at a bargain under Yi Zhi’s guidance was lovely, but different outfits called for different accessories, after all.

Just holding the pigeon-blood ruby against the back of her fingers made her skin appear even fairer. A delicate diamond setting would make it dazzle—just imagining the bling was enough to delight her. He Xing was momentarily stunned by Yan’s words. Leaning closer, she examined the “ruby” more clearly, her certainty growing.

Was her junior really planning to set this into a ring? With diamonds?! What a waste of a treasure!

The thought flashed through her mind instantly.

“Ordinary melee diamonds wouldn’t do it justice,” He Xing remarked.

“Are you planning to make a pair—ruby and sapphire?” she asked.

He Xing’s words gave Yan pause. She was right. The ruby’s quality was absolutely top-tier; pairing it with small diamonds would be mismatched. And her senior had reminded her—red and blue were the ultimate couple’s combo. Yan rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Guess I’ll have to hunt down a sapphire for Jue Jue then.”

With that, she immediately sent Jue Jue a message. He Xing returned to her spot and set her things down. “Yan, I’m going to shower. Do you need the bathroom first?”

“I’m good, senior. Go ahead.” Yan didn’t even look up.

He Xing’s brow twitched slightly. She changed, slipped into her slippers, and stepped into the bathroom. Under the stream of warm water, He Xing closed her eyes, meticulously recalling the shape and color of that “ruby.”

The only cultivation technique she had brought back to the modern world was the most expensive item she had ever redeemed with her fast-transmigration points.

For one, her homeworld was a technology-dominated realm. While other worlds boasted high martial or magical prowess, even the sparse astral energy here made the technique immensely beneficial for ordinary people’s health.

Secondly, in that world of astral cultivation, not everyone could practice. Talent, awakening, and alignment with specific stars were required. But the Stellar Codex she brought back demanded neither exceptional talent nor a corresponding stellar awakening—it was foundational, universal.

Yet in that world, major sects had locked it away in their archives, disdained by star warriors and unknown to mortals. Before leaving that world, He Xing had spread the Stellar Codex among the mortal realm. Lately, He Xing had been returning to the dorm later and later because she needed to cultivate under the night sky. Though the city’s stars were sparse and spiritual energy thin, every bit helped.

She had once believed Earth was purely a technology-driven world. But after catching wind of Ding Ling’s unusual identity, doubts had crept in. A tech-based world shouldn’t have Ghost Kings, let alone official departments handling mystical affairs, right?

He Xing finished her shower quickly. As she blow-dried her hair, hot air swirling, her fingers combing through her strands stilled.

Skyfire Crystal? That tiny fragment—it had to be Skyfire Crystal. When stars fell to earth, they birthed various ores—flame-veined, adamantite, and others.

Skyfire Crystal was the core ore of a star, the origin of its veins, the rarest treasure in the astral cultivation world. For top-tier fire-aligned star warriors, it was the stuff of dreams.

Even without actively circulating her cultivation technique, her body instinctively yearned for such a supreme treasure.

He Xing exhaled slowly. Skyfire Crystal shouldn’t exist on Earth—the astral energy here couldn’t nurture something of that caliber.

So where the hell did it come from?! Because of her own circumstances, He Xing’s feelings toward Yan were complicated.

She had once suspected Yan was a Fate Master. After learning about Ding Ling’s identity, that suspicion had solidified. He Xing couldn’t see ghosts, but Yan interacted with them effortlessly, chatting without a hint of fear.

She had asked her fast-transmigration assistant before—her modern world was open to other retired transmigrators too. So, for a while, He Xing had even wondered if Yan was another retiree like herself.

At this moment, He Xing’s gaze sharpened slightly as she slowly pieced together two conjectures in her mind. What if Yan, her junior, was actually a retired “Fate Weaver” from a fast-transmigration world?

That seemed entirely plausible. It would explain the origin of the Skyfire Crystal—perhaps something Yan brought back after retiring from her missions. But then… a new question arose in He Xing’s heart.

When Yan deliberately took out the Skyfire Crystal earlier and asked her those questions, was she testing her?

Testing whether He Xing was also a transmigrator? Or trying to help her recover lost memories?
He Xing couldn’t be sure. Yan and her boyfriend seemed like perfectly ordinary college students, brimming with youthful energy.

Moreover, Yan’s boyfriend showed no unusual reaction to encountering ghosts—both of them acted as if it were completely normal. Could they both be retired transmigrators? Perhaps from a “Sweet Romance” department?

Because of Yan’s sudden reveal of the Skyfire Crystal, He Xing barely slept that night. Especially since Yan’s current demeanor was that of a lively young woman, yet at times, her eyes betrayed a weariness that spoke of countless lifetimes. He Xing couldn’t tell whether, if she were indeed a transmigrator, she had fully regained her memories.

The next day, He Xing followed her usual routine and went to the dance studio to practice. As a returning senior at the art college, she was already recognized by many underclassmen. After the police announcement, she noticed even more gazes filled with sympathy, pity, and tenderness directed her way.

She maintained her low-profile demeanor—attending classes, practicing dance, taking evening walks—and rarely interacted with her classmates. After her nighttime practice session, He Xing habitually wiped away her sweat and strolled leisurely through the campus, gazing at the starry sky as her body absorbed the celestial energy, storing it within.

Walking at night was nothing new to her. Three years ago, she had done the same, and the campus of Bin University was as familiar to her as the back of her hand. With half an hour left before curfew, He Xing walked at a relaxed pace.

“Senior.” A familiar voice called out—it was Ding Ling.

“Ling, heading back to the dorm together?” she asked.

Ding Ling nodded, her oversized black baseball jacket making her appear frail as paper. Ever since learning that Ding Ling was a ghost, He Xing had stopped questioning why her junior always returned just before curfew.

Of course a ghost would prefer staying out at night—that made perfect sense. With few people on the path at this hour and the rare chance to walk with Ding Ling, He Xing decided it was the perfect opportunity to probe for information about Yan’s true identity.

She began casually, “Ling, thank you—for everything before.”

“Officer Zheng Yi told me to ask Yan for help, and then you reached out to Cheng Li. I really owe you both.”

Ding Ling shook her head. “It was nothing.”

“I didn’t do much, and neither did Yan. Contacting Cheng Li was just sending a message—hardly any trouble.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. For a ghost, delivering a message through dreams was effortless.

“Maybe for you, but it meant everything to me.” He Xing’s lashes trembled slightly as she recalled the week she spent reuniting with her deceased parents in her dreams.

For someone who had lost loved ones, even a dream reunion was a gift beyond measure.

“By the way… what exactly are Yan and her boyfriend’s roles in your world? She can see ghosts, right? Why can’t she communicate with spirits like Cheng Li?” He Xing asked, feigning casual curiosity.

At this question, Ding Ling fell silent, unsure how to explain it to her senior.

“She can… but she doesn’t,” Ding Ling finally replied.

“The position is just a formality I arranged to simplify bureaucratic procedures.”

“She can, but doesn’t.” He Xing turned the words over in her mind. Did that mean Yan had the ability but chose not to act?

“A Fate Weaver?” she murmured softly.

Ding Ling’s head snapped toward He Xing, her expression revealing everything. Seeing Ding Ling’s reaction, He Xing already had her answer. Ding Ling was stunned. For He Xing to blurt out “Fate Weaver” so instinctively—where had she heard the term?

“Fate Weaver” was an eerily accurate description.

Someone who manipulated destiny, a master of defying heaven’s will—wasn’t that exactly what Yan was?

How had He Xing stumbled upon this knowledge?

Ding Ling’s eyes flickered over the astonishing aura of virtue surrounding her senior, the complex, layered scent of her soul lingering in the air. Had He Xing, in a past life, been helped by Yan and Zhu Jue? Was the impression so deep that even after reincarnation, she could recognize a Fate Weaver at a glance?

In that moment, Ding Ling felt a flash of understanding. Before, she had been puzzled by He Xing’s circumstances—how someone with such immense virtue could endure such suffering. The only explanation was that this life was a trial, a tribulation.

Now, she was almost certain: He Xing was the reincarnation of a many-lifetimes saint, undergoing her final test. The chaotic, multi-layered fragrance of her soul, the overwhelming aura of accumulated virtue—it all made sense.

No wonder Yan and Zhu Jue were subtly guiding He Xing through this life’s trials. So that was it.

It’s just unclear which reincarnation this is for Senior He Xing. In order to avoid direct involvement, Yan and the others have tried their best to distance themselves, leaving matters to others—from Zheng Yi to herself.

He Xing and Ding Ling seemed to exchange silent glances, sharing unspoken information between them. They returned to the dorm just before curfew, only to hear Yan wailing in despair.

“Ahhh, why is the lights-out so soon? Ka Ka just posted a new video, and I haven’t even watched it yet!”

On Yan’s tablet, Travel Ka Ka had uploaded their latest update:

[Travel Ka Ka]: “Blind Box Journey: Crossing 1,100 Miles from Sichuan to Answer a Millennial Echo.”

***

Chapter 133

Yan was contemplating whether to watch the video tomorrow or tonight. There were no early classes tomorrow, so staying up a little later wouldn’t be a problem. Well, that settles it!

With the desk lamp on, Yan put on her headphones. Watching Ka Ka’s video before bed would surely lead to a soothing, pleasant dream. The other roommates hadn’t gone to bed yet either, but everyone had instinctively lowered their voices. Senior He Xing and Ding Ling had just returned to the dorm and were changing clothes to wash up.

After sending a message to Jue Jue, Yan clicked on Ka Ka’s latest video. Qingming Festival was just around the corner, but Ka Ka had been “missing” for a long time.

Her most recent update on the platform was still the holiday announcement from the Lunar New Year, and it had been almost two months since her last travel video. Yan’s go-to comfort videos for meals and bedtime had been replayed so many times they were practically worn out!

Finally, finally, Ka Ka was back! The opening animation CG played, but it felt different from her usual style. Yan instinctively let out a soft, “Huh?”

Previous openings always featured a tiny Ka Ka setting off on various modes of transportation.

But this time, the scene was different. The tiny Ka Ka was still wearing the same red down jacket from last time, with a blue knit cap on her head and a large backpack strapped to her shoulders.

Was this… a continuation of the last trip to Mianyang?

Subtitles suddenly flashed on the screen.

[Traveler Ka Ka spent the Lunar New Year resting in Mianyang.]

Next, the animation showed Ka Ka squeezing through a packed food street, waiting in long lines, and sitting in a sold-out movie theater, clutching popcorn and a soda while engrossed in a film. Yan blinked. Ka Ka hadn’t gone home for the holidays? She’d stayed in Mianyang the whole time—no wonder the Mianyang rice noodles she’d mailed out were sent after the festival.

[Traveler Ka Ka met an extroverted “Kid Sis” at the mall, and then—]

The screen shifted to show tiny Ka Ka standing next to a girl with twin pigtails. The two sat on a couch in front of a large TV. Yan noticed they were holding game controllers, and a game was playing on the screen.

[We played It Takes Two together!]

A clock icon appeared in the top-left corner, its hands spinning rapidly.

[Three hours a day, and we finished it in five days!]

Yan watched as speech bubbles popped up above the two characters.

[Traveler Ka Ka]: To celebrate beating the game, I’ll treat you to a meal.

[Kid Sis]: No can do. I have tutoring tomorrow, and my teacher’s testing me on The Road to Shu. My mom said if I can’t recite Li Bai’s poem as a fellow hometown kid, she’ll make me regret it after the New Year.

[Traveler Ka Ka]: Shocked.jpg

[Traveler Ka Ka]: Wait, Li Bai’s hometown?

[Kid Sis]: My family’s from Jiangyou, the town under Mianyang—Li Bai’s birthplace.

A lightbulb suddenly lit up above tiny Ka Ka’s head. With a ding, a new subtitle appeared.

[Traveler Ka Ka unlocks new map—Jiangyou!]

The video abruptly transitioned from animation to live footage.

It was the same rented car as before, with tiny Ka Ka driving at the bottom of the screen and the destination marked: [Li Bai’s Hometown].

What especially caught Yan’s attention was that this time, Ka Ka hadn’t revealed the blind travel destination upfront.

The subtitle at the top read: [New Map Unlocked: Jiangyou Qinglian Town].

Even now, they still didn’t know the final stop.

A small town in Sichuan—it had to be Qinglian Town in Jiangyou. But what about the 1,100 li distance marked in the title? Where could that be?

Yan resisted the urge to search for answers. She’d wait patiently for the big reveal.

Ka Ka kept her eyes on the road as she spoke to the audience in her natural voice.

“Today’s the ninth day of the Lunar New Year. The reason I stayed in Mianyang was partly because train tickets were impossible to get during the holiday rush. Plus, my family didn’t prepare much for the New Year, so going back would’ve been more hassle than it’s worth. Staying at a hotel meant everything was provided, so I just lounged around here.”

“I played games with Kid Sis for a few days, and she mentioned Li Bai’s hometown was here. I was genuinely surprised—I always thought his poems referenced Longxi as his hometown. But after checking, I found out Jiangyou is where the poet was born, complete with museums and landmarks. So I figured I’d check it out.”

“This is just a casual recording. I wasn’t even sure if I’d post it.”

Hearing this, Yan raised an eyebrow. So this wasn’t part of Ka Ka’s original blind travel plan? Had something unexpected happened along the way?

An hour’s worth of loading time passed in a blink, and Ka Ka arrived at her destination. The place was called Jiangyou Qinglian Poetry Town, with the specific scenic area named Li Bai’s Hometown. Entry cost 40 yuan, and the separate Li Bai Cultural Museum was another 40.

“Don’t they have a ‘recite poetry for free entry’ deal here?” Ka Ka asked someone.

“Only during special events.”

“Well, since I’m already here, I guess I’m spending 80 yuan,” Ka Ka said, a little disappointed. She remembered famous landmarks like Yueyang Tower and Yellow Crane Tower offered free entry for reciting poetry.

The ticket price wasn’t exorbitant, but letting visitors earn free entry by reciting The Road to Shu would’ve added a fun challenge and sense of achievement.

Blind travel was all about spontaneity, and Ka Ka was technically still on vacation.

[Traveler Ka Ka buys tickets. Money -80.]

At the entrance stood a massive statue of Li Bai. Ka Ka stared at it for a long moment before turning to the camera.

“What do you think—is Master Taibai sitting on a rock or riding a horse here?”

She couldn’t quite tell.

“Probably a rock?” someone nearby chimed in.

“But the part under his hand looks like a horse, Mom,” a little girl said, tilting her head up at the statue.

Ka Ka glanced over and saw a family of three.

“Miss, did you buy tickets yet? Have you been inside? How is it?” the father asked.

Ka Ka was momentarily taken aback.

“Yeah, but I haven’t gone in yet. Why?”

“We wanted to bring our kid for some cultural enrichment, but a local friend told us on the phone that this place is all newly built, privately run, and tiny. The real museum is free—it’s in the city center.”

“What’re you saying that for? She already bought her ticket. Besides, ‘you’re here, might as well,’” the mother cut in, shooting her husband a sharp look before apologizing to Ka Ka with a slight accent.

“Miss, since you’re here, just enjoy yourself. He’s such a downer.”

“No worries,” Ka Ka waved it off. If not for this family, she wouldn’t have known—she hadn’t researched much beforehand.

With an easygoing shrug, she said, “I’m just here to wander around casually.”

She hadn’t held much expectation to begin with. After all, the Tang Dynasty was over a thousand years ago—wars had raged, dynasties had risen and fallen—what could possibly remain? It was just a modern tourist site built by later generations. Because of the child’s father’s remarks, Ka Ka lowered her expectations even further.

At the entrance of the Li Bai Cultural Museum stood another statue, but what caught Ka Ka’s attention more was the undulating scroll-like display above it, inscribed with lines of the great poet’s verses.

As Ka Ka’s camera panned, Yan’s video feed suddenly filled with colorful subtitles of Li Bai’s poetry.

[“The road to Shu is harder than climbing to the sky!”]

[“Halfway up, I see the sun and sea; high above, I hear the heavenly rooster crow.”]

She wasn’t the only one entering the museum at this time—many families with children had come here.

Ka Ka couldn’t see the comments that would appear after uploading the video, but she could already hear voices around her reciting the poems aloud.

Since she was filming, Ka Ka didn’t hire a tour guide. This so-called “cultural museum” mostly consisted of exhibition boards and digital screens displaying information.

Ka Ka quickly walked through and showcased different sections of the museum, staying silent the entire time. The only thing on screen was a small animated version of her holding a sign that read: [“Observe quietly, maintain silence.”]

It wasn’t until she reached the souvenir area near the exit that she finally spoke.

“So many people here.”

Curious if there was anything special, she stepped closer and realized they were stamping souvenir booklets.

By the time Ka Ka left, Yan noticed comments flooding in: [“Wasted 40 bucks.”]

[“Totally not worth 40 yuan—that guy was right, this museum has no real artifacts.”]

[“True, but hey, Ka Ka’s already here :)”].

Yan thought about it—official museums were usually free to enter, while paid exhibitions often featured borrowed artifacts from abroad.

During winter break, they had taken Chu Shen to the Forbidden City, where off-season tickets cost only 40 yuan! Even the Treasure Gallery, filled with priceless artifacts, charged just 10 yuan.

Of course, it was understandable for a private museum to charge an entry fee.

Leaving the museum, Ka Ka entered the “Li Bai’s Hometown” scenic area, where she heard even more recitations of poetry, accompanied by earnest parental lectures.

As she passed by, watching children recite verses in front of statues under their parents’ orders, she couldn’t help but feel like she was witnessing a “performance.” A faint, amused smile tugged at her lips.

Li Bai’s former residence, the Taibai Forest of Steles—everywhere she looked, there were poems by the legendary poet, walls lined with verses.

Despite the cold weather, Ka Ka bought a cultural-themed ice cream.

On screen, Ka Ka stood before the Moon-Inviting Pavilion, holding up her ice cream—a chubby, cartoonish version of Li Bai raising a wine cup.

“The Poet Immortal raises his cup; I raise the Poet Immortal,” Ka Ka teased.

Behind her stood a massive stone carving of Li Bai mid-toast, with a crescent moon crafted from jade looming in the background.

“Raising my cup, I invite the moon”—hence the name Moon-Inviting Pavilion.

The camera’s perspective rose higher and higher, widening into a panoramic view as she launched a drone to capture the scenery.

“Too bad it’s not nighttime,” Ka Ka suddenly mused.

Though this was a reconstructed tourist site, everything here, steeped in the legacy of the Poet Immortal, filled her with a fervent longing—to drink beneath the moon just as he once did.

“How long has the moon graced the heavens? Pausing my cup, I ask this question,” Ka Ka recited a line from her favorite poem, “Drinking Alone Under the Moon.”

Then, out of nowhere, a line of system text floated before her eyes:

[Traveler Ka Ka has randomly triggered a blind-box travel destination—Li Bai Special.]

Ka Ka froze. She was still on vacation—how could this trigger on its own?

Several unknown travel blind boxes suddenly appeared in front of her. She randomly picked one and opened it.

Seeing the destination, she was momentarily bewildered. Why this place?

What connection did it have with Li Bai?

***

Chapter 134

The moment Ka Ka saw these travel mystery boxes, her first thought was of Chang’an. The glorious capital of the Tang Dynasty, where the imperial concubine ground ink and the powerful eunuch removed boots.

Earlier, at the Li Bai Cultural Museum, Ka Ka had also learned that the great poet Li Bai once married, raised a family, and lived for ten years in Anlu City. His tomb is located in Dangtu County, Ma’anshan.

So when she saw the travel mystery boxes, Ka Ka thought of Chang’an, Anlu, Dangtu, Baidi City… all places deeply intertwined with Li Bai’s life. She even considered Du Fu’s Thatched Cottage in Jinguan City—surely it couldn’t be somewhere as far as Central Asia, could it?

But the actual destination revealed by the box left Ka Ka utterly astonished. The opened “mystery box” existed only in Ka Ka’s own vision.

[Shaoshan—Swan Mountain]

On the system’s positioning map, Swan Mountain was the nearest landmark to the mystery travel destination. Shaoshan—Ka Ka knew it as the hometown of a great leader.

But Swan Mountain? Where on earth was that? Some obscure corner? A minor hill in Shaoshan?

Though Ka Ka wasn’t entirely clear on the specifics, she smiled and addressed the camera.

“After exploring Li Bai’s hometown, I’m revealing our next mystery travel destination in advance—Swan Mountain.”

“It’s a bit of a shame, though. I brought something special today but couldn’t give it away.”

Ka Ka showed a small bottle tucked into the side pocket of her backpack. It was a tiny bottle of fruit wine.

“I couldn’t leave it in front of the statue, and there were too many kids around. I was worried someone might drink it.”

Before leaving Mianyang for Jiangyou, she had specifically bought this portable bottle of fruit wine.

“Well then, goodbye, Jiangyou.”

Ka Ka bit into her Li Bai-themed ice cream as she descended the mountain and drove back. The footage of her driving transitioned into an animated sequence through montage. The animated red-clad Ka Ka drove her car, then boarded a high-speed train, with the destination marked by a whimsical illustration of a swan and a mountain, drawing smiles from viewers.

[Swan Mountain? That name sounds like something you’d find all over the country—probably just a mountain shaped like a swan.]

[Quietly asking—are there actual swans on Swan Mountain?]

[Ka Ka’s drawing of Swan Mountain is killing me with laughter!]

After a three-second transition, Ka Ka reappeared on screen, now in a completely different setting.

The sign for [Shaoshan South Station] appeared, and Yan saw the barrage of comments explode with “Huh? Huh? Huh?”

This Swan Mountain was actually in Shaoshan.

“My red down jacket matches the vibe here perfectly,” Ka Ka remarked as she stepped out of the station.

“From the hometown of Li Bai to the birthplace of a great leader.”

Ka Ka carried her backpack and a handheld action camera. On the way, she had already looked up Swan Mountain—it was a large scenic area housing the leader’s memorial hall and other red tourism sites, all conveniently close to the train station.

But the red dot marking her mystery travel destination, visible only to her, wasn’t pointing to any of these landmarks. Similarly, cross-referencing her phone’s navigation yielded no results.

The answer would have to wait until she arrived. Shaoshan was small, and renting a car wasn’t practical, so Ka Ka took a taxi straight to Swan Mountain.

Unable to specify the exact destination, the driver dropped her off at the entrance to the martyrs’ cemetery. With her phone, camera, and backpack, Ka Ka traveled light, having shipped her suitcase home from the hotel.

[Is Ka Ka heading to the leader’s former residence? It’s too late now, isn’t it? It’s already dark.]

[Visiting a martyrs’ cemetery at night feels eerie, but it’s not too late yet. Ka Ka isn’t scared! There’s no gloom here—only solemn reverence.]

And indeed, Ka Ka wasn’t afraid. The resting place of those who fought for their country felt dignified even in the darkness.

“Before coming, I read up on Swan Mountain,” she said softly.

“This martyrs’ cemetery was originally built to honor the leader’s family and over 1,700 revolutionary martyrs from Shaoshan. In recent years, more than a hundred additional heroes have been laid to rest here.”

“Loyal souls rest among green mountains—there’s nothing to fear.”

Amid the gentle rustling of trees and the quiet night, Ka Ka didn’t fly her drone. She simply walked up the hill, bowed in respect, then descended, following the system’s map toward her destination.

[Where is Ka Ka going now? Is she lost?]

[Is it hard to get a ride in a small city at night? Ka Ka’s still walking.]

With her flashlight in hand, Ka Ka followed the road at the mountain’s base. Before long, she spotted what looked like buildings nestled in the valley.

And there, marked by the system’s red dot, was her destination. Found it! Ka Ka’s heart leaped.

A house in the mountains—was it the caretaker’s residence? Or another former home of the leader?

As she drew closer, her flashlight became unnecessary. The area was already illuminated by lights and dotted with surveillance cameras. Watching the footage, Yan gasped.

The building was a mix of gray and white, with dark-gray bricks and stark white latticework framing the entrance. The camera paused on the large characters above the white lattice, revealing the site’s identity to Ka Ka and all her viewers.

[Shaoshan Backup Storage Base for Lunar Samples from the Chang’e-5 Mission]

Ka Ka felt her heart skip a beat. The camera panned up to the bright moon hanging in the night sky. Now she understood why this place had been chosen as Li Bai’s mystery travel destination. Because here, there was the moon.

“It just came back to me—I think I saw this in the news,” Ka Ka murmured.

“The lunar soil brought back by Chang’e-5 is stored here.”

“Because the great leader once said, ‘We can bring down the moon from the ninth heaven and catch turtles in the five seas.’”

Yan listened as Ka Ka continued.

“Over 1,300 years ago, the poet Li Bai wrote, ‘Men cannot climb to the moon, yet the moon walks with them.’”

“To the ancients, the moon was an unattainable dream. But now, we’ve brought back soil from its surface.”

Just then, a system notification floated into Ka Ka’s view.

“Congratulations, player, for unlocking the [Millennium Moon] achievement.”

[Achievement: Millennium Moon]

[The ancients never saw today’s moon, but today’s people behold the moon of ages past. Not only do we see it—we reach for it. You’ve journeyed 1,100 miles, from Qinglian to Shaoshan. Once, Chang’e flew to the moon; now, we retrieve lunar soil and bring it home, reporting to our forebears in Shaoshan.]

A rustling sound filled the video as Ka Ka rummaged through her backpack. Slowly, she pulled out the small bottle of fruit wine she hadn’t been able to give away earlier. She unscrewed the cap, tilted the bottle toward the camera, and invited the moonlight into this moment.

“A toast to the moon.”

To the moon Li Bai once toasted with wine, and to the moon humanity now walks upon. A wish across a thousand years, finally answered.

***

Chapter 135

Since it was already late at night and the darkness was deep, Ka Ka didn’t linger for too long. After all, this was the lunar soil storage base, with countless surveillance cameras around. Ka Ka even began to suspect she might already be under surveillance—appearing here in the dead of night, filming with a large backpack on her shoulders, while drinking some suspicious-looking liquid.

After some thought, Ka Ka quietly decided to retreat. It wouldn’t be good if she were mistaken for a spy. That night, Ka Ka checked into the local Shaoshan Hotel, which had old-fashioned decor but spacious rooms.

This blind box trip had come to an end, but for Ka Ka, it was particularly special. Though she had unlocked hidden achievements before, blind box trips were usually system-generated task options—Ka Ka simply opened the blind boxes.

This time, however, a new side quest had been triggered based on her daily activities. Now, lying on the hotel bed, Ka Ka stared at the game interface before her.

[Journey Through Literature—Li Bai Special]

The locations “Qinglian” and “Shaoshan” were illuminated, while the rest of the map remained shrouded in mist, unclear. Ka Ka contacted the game’s customer service online.

“Customer service, is this a new feature? Or an update?”

“The Traveler character contains multiple gameplay modes, unlocked upon player activation. Currently, Traveler Ka Ka has unlocked the ‘Journey Through Literature’ mode.”

“Journey Through Literature?” Ka Ka keenly grasped the implication.

“So, do I keep opening blind boxes? Or do I need to explore and unlock them myself? If I visit Du Fu’s Thatched Cottage, can I trigger a Du Fu special?”

“Please explore on your own,” the customer service replied, refusing to budge.

After dropping that line, the online support vanished. Ka Ka stared at the interface, lost in thought. Without any hints, if she wanted to illuminate every part of this Li Bai special, she’d have to try them one by one through trial and error.

Completing the entire “Journey Through Literature” map would likely take a long time, but Ka Ka’s competitive spirit was already ignited. As a completionist and achievement hunter, she was itching to get started.

Meanwhile, Yan, who was watching this episode, had no idea Ka Ka was preparing for a new challenge. Her tablet screen paused on the shot of Ka Ka raising a toast to the moon. Yan had assumed the video would end there, but in the blink of an eye, a tiny animated Ka Ka dashed across the screen holding a giant “Easter egg.”

There was an Easter egg?! The footage was slightly shaky, and the background noise was chaotic. What appeared on screen was a massive cylindrical object, with a label beneath it:

[Shenzhou-10 Return Capsule]

Behind the capsule, a blue backdrop displayed bold yellow characters:

“Reach for the moon, dive for treasures in the sea.”

“This is the Great Man Memorial Hall in Shaoshan, currently exhibiting the Shenzhou-10 return capsule and lunar basalt samples brought back from the moon.”

“The lunar soil storage base isn’t open to the public. However, I just found out that the Photon Technology Research Institute in Youxian District, Mianyang—where I started my trip—has lunar soil on display for visitors.”

“Don’t go to the wrong place if you want to see lunar soil! Some national science museums and aerospace exhibitions also have displays—search for the nearest one.”

“Until next time, happy travels!”

The tiny Ka Ka waved from the center of the screen, then turned and boarded a moon boat, sailing away. As the video’s progress bar reached the end, Yan gave it a triple-like.

This blind box trip of Ka Ka’s lacked the usual struggles of navigation or dramatic twists and turns.

But after closing her tablet, Yan couldn’t help but step onto her dorm balcony to gaze at the moon.

The same moon connects us across time and space.

Now, we can bring back soil from the moon—landing there ourselves can’t be far off.

With Qingming Festival approaching, Yan and Jue Jue made a trip to the antique street to pick up the custom-made peace lock they’d ordered for their goddaughter. Passing by Zhuo Si’s shop, they noticed another “Owner Away for a Week” sign—no one knew where he’d gone off to this time.

The peace lock was paid for and collected, but the formal godparent ceremony with the Lin family hadn’t taken place yet.

First, holding it near Qingming Festival felt inauspicious.

Second, the “godfathers” of Dorm 414—especially Yuan Ye—protested, insisting their gifts weren’t ready yet.

In Dorm 414, while Lin Fan was away, Yuan Ye and Chu Shen pressured Zhu Jue into showing them the photos of the peace locks on his phone.

“Gold-inlaid jade—it’s beautiful,” Yuan Ye remarked.

“But I have a question,” Chu Shen raised his hand.

“Speak,” Zhu Jue glanced at him.

“Why are there two peace locks?” Chu Shen pointed at the photo of the gift box, which clearly showed two locks, both engraved with the character “An.”

Zhu Jue coughed. “Two were discounted. Also, Yan’s cousin has been staying with them lately, so she suggested buying two.”

“After knowing each other for so long, giving just one might make the other feel left out.”

Xiao Qingnang pondered his answer, while Yuan Ye studied Zhu Jue—something felt off.

Of course, everyone in the dorm knew about the “cousin” staying with Lin Fan and Lin Lu. She’d been auditing classes at Bin University for a month now and constantly clashed with her brother-in-law, yet Lin Fan never lost his temper.

But Zhu Jue kept referring to her as a “child”—was he really talking about Lin Anning, who was practically their age? It sounded more like he was already embracing the godfather role!

Yuan Ye sensed there was more to it but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Still, if this couple had prepared two gifts—one for the cousin—then he’d have to step up his game too.

After showing off their custom-made gifts, Zhu Jue turned the tables and asked to see theirs. The others immediately dodged, insisting on secrecy.

Zhu Jue could only shake his head in resignation. Fine, keep it a secret—they’d find out eventually.

Ye Ping’an also stared at the photo of the gold-inlaid jade peace lock for a long time, wondering whether it came from the interstellar world or modern society—and whether it had any special functions.

Being adopted as a goddaughter by this futuristic couple—was it a blessing or a curse for Little An An?

On Qingming Festival, Ding Ling returned to the dorm in the evening with two large bags of takeout boxes.

Chu Bingbing gaped at the spread on the table—premium dishes from Bin City’s most famous restaurants and time-honored brands.

“Little Ding, where did all this come from?”

“My… relatives asked me to bring it back,” Ding Ling replied flatly.

“Not the best day for it, huh? I get it—they came to Bin City for tomb-sweeping and ordered these meals while they were here,” Chu Bingbing supplied her own explanation.

Ding Ling gave a noncommittal hum. He Xing stayed silent but glanced at Yan.

She had a feeling this might just be Ding Ling’s Qingming Festival bonus.

Yi Zhi didn’t think much of it. At the start of the previous semester, she had learned that Ding Ling had relatives in Bin City who sometimes invited her over for meals and even packed food for her to bring back—what nice relatives they were.

Ding Ling answered another call just then, her face scrunching up as she said, “I’ll be right down.”

Yan watched her with concern. It was Qingming Festival, after all—could there be some otherworldly trouble again?

A moment later, Ding Ling returned carrying a transparent square box, inside which was a bell-shaped birthday cake, clearly visible from the outside.

“Ling Ling, is it your birthday today? Wait, I thought your ID said it wasn’t on Qingming,” Chu Bingbing blurted out.

“My relatives are leaving soon, so they’re making it up to me. Let’s eat,” Ding Ling murmured, lowering her head.

The birthday on her ID had been randomly written by the team leader when processing her documents, based on whatever date he glanced at.

As for her actual birthdate, it had long faded from memory.

Ding Ling had been unearthed by an archaeological team last year on Qingming Festival.

Qingming was the day of her rebirth.

These offerings were both memorial tributes and a celebration of her new life.

“We have to finish the cake today, or it’ll go bad. Same with the food—I’m counting on you, Zhi Zhi,” Ding Ling said.

During the meal, the cake was already unpacked and placed on the table. Yan assembled the birthday hat and placed it on Ding Ling’s head.

“Since the bakery gave it to us, we might as well use it. No point wasting it—let’s light the candles,” Yan said. He Xing inserted the candles and lit them with a scented lighter.

Yan ran to the door to turn off the lights and lock it. “Let’s make it special—sing ‘Happy Birthday.’”

In the dimly lit dorm room, only the faint flicker of candlelight remained, making their faces barely visible. Ding Ling listened as her roommates clapped and sang the birthday song.

The birthday hat was uncomfortable on her head, but she didn’t take it off.

“Make a wish, Ling Ling,” Gu Jiasui said gently.

“Let’s all make one together.”

Ding Ling hesitated before clasping her hands together—was this how living people made birthday wishes?

She closed her eyes, then opened them again, blowing out all the candles in one breath under her friends’ expectant gazes.

“You blew them all out in one go—Ling Ling, you’re amazing!” Chu Bingbing exclaimed.

The dorm lights flickered back on. “Cut the cake, cut the cake,” Yan urged.

The yellow bell-shaped cake had a lemon mousse flavor, fresh and refreshing—even He Xing, the senior, took an extra bite.

Ding Ling stole a glance at Yan, who was quietly eating her cake.

When Yan celebrated this “birthday” for her… did she know that Ding Ling had awakened on this very day last year?

***

Chapter 136

In April, another wonderful thing happened for Yan and the others. Thanks to Brother Xiao and Sui Sui’s persistent, hands-on care, the little cat Pengpeng’s recovery was progressing remarkably well.

Pengpeng’s two front legs had regained mobility, and with support for its hind legs, it was now undergoing quadrupedal rehabilitation training!

On Saturday, a rare weekend when Gu Jiasui wasn’t away filming, the little cat Pengpeng became the center of attention for four people in the Bin University Campus Pet Association office. Yan crouched on the floor, cupping her face in her hands, with her and Jue Jue keeping a slight distance, while Brother Xiao and Sui Sui stayed closer.

The now exceptionally beautiful calico cat was carefully learning to walk again, its two small hind legs dragging slightly as it relied on its front legs to propel itself forward, eventually dashing right up to Brother Xiao and Sui Sui. Pengpeng’s big, round eyes darted between Yan and Zhu Jue’s direction.

“This is wonderful,” Yan murmured, her eyes sparkling.

“It’ll be fully recovered soon.”

They had witnessed Pengpeng’s gradual recovery step by step. Counting from last year until now, half a year had passed, and already two of its legs had regained function. According to Brother Xiao, Pengpeng’s hind legs were showing increasing responsiveness to stimuli. For this little cat, who had never been able to walk or run properly since birth, the day when all four legs would carry it freely might not be far off. Watching Pengpeng nuzzle affectionately against the two, Yan and Jue Jue quietly slipped away, feeling it was better to leave them alone for now.

“Us ordinary folks are really happy today,” Yan hummed cheerfully, unable to resist singing a little tune.

She had just shared a video of Pengpeng in their group chat, and everyone was thrilled. After Yan and Zhu Jue left the Campus Pet Association office, only Gu Jiasui and Xiao Qingnang remained inside. Despite only having full use of its front legs, Pengpeng still managed to wiggle excitedly around the two.

Gu Jiasui crouched down as the little cat licked her fingers repeatedly. Xiao Qingnang stood up, glanced around, and fetched two seat cushions from the chairs, stacking them to make it more comfortable for her to sit. Gu Jiasui looked up, observing his actions.

“One for each of us,” she said.

“I don’t need it,” Xiao Qingnang replied softly, gently stroking Pengpeng’s head.

She sat while he half-knelt, both leaning forward with their heads close enough to hear each other’s quiet breaths, their fingertips occasionally brushing. Pengpeng reveled in the affection from both sides, its eyes half-closed as it glanced between them. Suddenly, Pengpeng scooted backward, surprising them both.

The little cat then made its way toward its bed, dragging its hind legs as it scrambled forward with all its might. Xiao Qingnang and Gu Jiasui stood up just in time to see Pengpeng gripping the edge of its square bed with its teeth, using every ounce of strength to tug it forward.

With its front legs and head working in tandem, the little cat clumsily pushed its bed closer and closer to them.

Until… Pengpeng finally managed to drag its bed right in front of them. Instead of settling in, it nudged the bed toward Xiao Qingnang with its nose and mouth. The big, round eyes of the little cat gazed up at him, and the tall young man felt his heart melt instantly.

“Pengpeng,” he murmured, his usually clear voice now thick with emotion.

“Daddy’s pants are dirty, no need for your bed.”

“You’re the best little cat in the whole world.”

Gu Jiasui listened as his voice softened into a cooing tone, her eyes warm with amusement. Truly, how could there be such an incredible little cat? Xiao Qingnang picked Pengpeng up and placed it back in its bed. After both of them showered it with pets, the little cat finally closed its eyes contentedly.

Once it fell asleep, other association members arrived to take over, freeing the two to head to the cafeteria. Their eating habits aligned perfectly—light, health-conscious, and avoiding cold foods. At the cafeteria table, Xiao Qingnang first wiped the table with a disinfectant wipe, then dried it with a tissue before sanitizing his hands again. Sitting across from each other, he glanced at the steamed yam with skin still on her plate and asked softly,

“Should I peel the yam for you?”

Gu Jiasui had just taken a sip of soup. She shook her head dismissively.

“No need.”

“I’m not some delicate noble.”

Yam skin was perfectly edible—overly refined diets weren’t necessarily healthier, and in traditional medicine, yam skin even held significant medicinal value. His offer to peel it surprised her slightly.

“In my heart, you are delicate and noble,” he said matter-of-factly.

Gu Jiasui choked on her soup, coughing lightly. Meeting his gaze as he instinctively reached out, she calmly shifted the topic.

“Has the date for the formal family recognition ceremony been set yet?”

At this, Xiao Qingnang’s brows furrowed slightly.

“There’s something I need to discuss with you about that.”

Gu Jiasui’s pulse quickened for a moment before she relaxed upon hearing him mention the gifts Yan and Zhu Jue had prepared.

“So, they’ve prepared a pair of identical peace locks—one for Lin Fan’s daughter and one for his cousin, Lin Anning?” she clarified.

Xiao Qingnang nodded. “I feel like there’s some unspoken significance behind it.”

“Sounds like gifts meant for a pair of girls,” Gu Jiasui mused.

“Originally, I hadn’t planned to prepare anything for Lin Anning—it felt somewhat inappropriate,” Xiao Qingnang admitted, rubbing his temples.

“But Lin Fan’s cousin does seem to hold a unique place in his life.”

Gu Jiasui considered this. Lin Anning had become a frequent visitor to their dorm over the past two months, growing close to all of them. She took a sip of warm floral tea. “Even if we don’t fully understand the reasoning, following their lead should be fine.”

“Just prepare two identical gifts like Yan and Zhu Jue did.”

Gu Jiasui’s eyes flickered thoughtfully. If the concern was merely Lin Anning feeling left out, Yan and Zhu Jue wouldn’t have gone so far as to prepare nearly identical gifts.

Moreover, the young couple was close in age to Lin Anning. Giving equally weighted gifts wasn’t typical among peers—it resembled more of an elder’s gesture toward a junior. A faint suspicion formed in Gu Jiasui’s mind, though it seemed almost too far-fetched.

“Either way, doing as they do won’t lead you wrong,” she said firmly.

Xiao Qingnang gave a soft “Mm,” sipping his tea before setting the cup down with a light clink. His gaze held hers as he replied, “I’ll listen to you.”

Gu Jiasui couldn’t help but shoot him a glare. This man—lately, he’d become increasingly bold and unrestrained. She wondered what had gotten into him today. Since April began, the weather had grown steadily warmer, though intermittent drizzles and overcast skies persisted. The humid “returning south” season left Yan and Jue Jue miserable.

In the north where they lived, spring didn’t arrive until April, and people might still be wearing their thermal underwear by then. On this, local Chu Shen remarked, “Just wait till June or July when the rainy season hits. You two will see.”

“I feel like my dry skin is turning neutral. It’s true what they say—different places nurture different people. I wonder if I’ll gradually adapt over these four years,” Yan mused, touching her cheek.

When choosing universities, she and Jue Jue had considered the regional and climate differences, but that wasn’t enough reason to skip higher education altogether. With their grades, aside from Ning University, Bin University was their only other option.

For Yan and Zhu Jue, life in their second semester was much calmer than the first. Perhaps it was because they’d grown more familiar with their roommates, and everyone’s routines had settled into a stable rhythm. People often disappeared to tend to their own affairs, which meant fewer unexpected encounters between the two of them.

Of course, Yan suspected that in places she and Jue Jue weren’t privy to—like Gu Jiasui’s filming sets or wherever Ding Ling vanished to for her missions—there were probably plenty of surprises. But those scenes didn’t include them as spectators.

Everyone had their own lives and stories, and they were no exception. Lately, it had been drizzling nonstop. Though the rain was light, it was still annoying. On weekends, Yan and Jue Jue couldn’t be bothered to go out, afraid of getting caught in a downpour.

But today, despite staying on campus, the weather cleared up beautifully. After lunch, the two strolled around, soaking in the rare midday sunshine.

“I need to dry out this dampness. Hang on, let me ask who’s in the dorm so I can take my quilt downstairs to air out,” Yan said, sending a message in the group chat tagging everyone. Yi Zhi replied quickly, saying she was around and could help with the quilts.

Yan tilted her head back, gazing at the sky—a clear blue with only a few scattered clouds.

“Heaven and earth, hear my plea—no rain today, or at least wait till we’ve brought the quilts back in,” Zhu Jue chanted solemnly, hands pressed together as if performing a ritual. Yan burst out laughing.

“Great Sage Zhu works his magic, praying for the sun god to linger a little longer,” Zhu Jue declared with mock gravity.

Yan mimicked a martial arts salute. “Ritual power activated—politely declining the rain god.”

The two dissolved into giggles, but Yan’s phone suddenly rang. The caller ID showed it was Lin Anran.

It was Saturday—shouldn’t their family of four be together? Why was she calling out of the blue?

As soon as Yan answered, Lin Anran’s excited voice spilled through the speaker.

“I heard a celebrity came to our school today—Ling Hong!”

“Huh? A celebrity? I didn’t hear about that,” Yan said, bewildered, though the name did ring a faint bell. Wasn’t he some male idol?

“They’re filming at the Foreign Languages Building this weekend. I saw leaked photos online. They’ll probably shoot in other spots too. I’m heading back now to try and get an autograph!” Lin Anran’s voice vibrated with excitement.

After hanging up, Yan tilted her head at Jue Jue. “Is Ling Hong some future A-lister? Lin Anran’s so hyped she’s rushing back.”

Zhu Jue pondered. “By the time she’s an adult, he’d be in his forties… maybe an award-winning actor by then?”

“Alright, let’s go scout a good spot for her. At least outsiders can’t just waltz onto campus.”

Their aimless wandering instantly turned into a mission to the Foreign Languages Building to spectate. The star’s pull was undeniable—even on a Saturday noon, students were flocking toward the building, some even breaking into a run. One after another, Yan and Jue Jue exchanged a glance and reluctantly joined the jogging crowd.

The students on campus were orderly, crowding around just to catch a glimpse. Yan and Zhu Jue stood hand in hand for a while, straining to spot the celebrity.

“Where is he?”

“He’s coming out now!”

“What’s the show about? Some campus drama?”

The curious onlookers tossed questions back and forth, but no one seemed to know.

“Ahhh! Ling Hong is so handsome!”

Yan listened to the squeals around her, expressionless. From this distance, all she could see was a tiny head—how could anyone tell he was “so handsome” from that?

Their position happened to be along the path leading away from the building. Less than a minute later, Yan and Jue Jue finally got a clear view of the male star named Ling Hong walking toward them. Students leaned out of the building’s windows, cheering and calling his name.

“Pretty fair-skinned,” Yan remarked honestly. To avoid inciting fury, she kept to herself the thought: Wonder what foundation shade he’s wearing.

“He’s the pretty-boy type! During New Year’s, he played the imperial son-in-law in that cultural show—so dreamy!” a nearby student chimed in.

The comment made Yan and Jue Jue freeze.

“You mean Treasures Through Time?” Yan asked.

“Yeah, the one with Gu Jiasui from our school! She played the princess.”

“I watched it! Honestly, the son-in-law didn’t quite match the princess.”

“Are you kidding? They were everything!”

The chatter around them jogged Yan’s memory—Ling Hong had played Sui Sui’s on-screen husband in Treasures Through Time. They’d even briefly mentioned him during a hotpot night at home.

Ling Hong’s appearance matched the public consensus: a classic pretty boy—tall, slender, fair-skinned, with above-average features. But overall, his looks didn’t strike Yan as particularly breathtaking.

As Ling Hong and his entourage of assistants and security moved past, the cheers and waves intensified. Some thrust out notebooks and pens for autographs, but Ling Hong waved them off.

“Thank you, everyone, but we’re still filming.”

“Really feeling the love from the students here!”

Yan checked the time. Lin Anran still hadn’t arrived, and Ling Hong was about to leave. She and Jue Jue prepared to go too.

“How’s your experience at Bin University so far?” someone in the crowd called out.

“Amazing—the kind of place I’d never get into,” Ling Hong joked.

“Too bad we’re only here briefly for filming. I wish I could stay longer. And I didn’t even run into our beloved princess.”

“The son-in-law longs for his princess, yet fate keeps them apart!”

Yan and Jue Jue in the crowd: Huh?

Ohhh boy. Seriously, dude, you don’t have a halo over your head—what kind of drama are you stirring up?

***

Chapter 137

As Ling Hong’s words rang out, the crowd erupted with a collective “Ohhhh—!”

“Did you hear that? Did you hear that? My ship might actually be real!”

“Is Gu Jiasui even on campus right now? I’m so excited!”

Yan was doing her best to keep her expression neutral, while she and Jue Jue frantically typed out messages on their phones. Every single student at the scene had their phones out, recording—Jiasui, where are you?!

Yan sighed inwardly. What was this? The magnetic pull of someone with star power?

Gu Jiasui wasn’t even there, yet drama still found its way to her.

By the time Ling Hong left the campus with the film crew and Yan and Jue Jue returned to their dorms, the latest trending topics had already blown up online.

#LingHongCallsOutGuJiasui

#TheConsortWantsToSeeThePrincess

#LingHongFilmingAtBinUniversity

Yan entered the dorm, set down her bag, and after a quick glance around, locked the door. Seeing Gu Jiasui inside, she let out a sigh of relief.

“Jiasui, thank goodness you’re here.”

Otherwise, no matter where she was on campus, some busybody would’ve undoubtedly approached her with questions.

“I’m fine.” Gu Jiasui frowned slightly, reassuring the visibly shaken Yan.

Meanwhile, their dorm group chat was exploding with messages.

[Chu Bingbing]: What the hell?! Is he insane? What kind of audacity is this?! Jiasui, are you okay?

[Yi Zhi]: I’m downstairs, be right there.

[Ding Ling]: Same.

Chu Bingbing had gone back to her place to sort through clothes, but within two minutes, the sound of keys jingled as Yi Zhi and Ding Ling returned together, followed shortly after by senior He Xing. At this moment, Dorm 320 was on high alert, as if bracing for a repeat of last semester’s incident when Lu Jianian had come looking for trouble. He Xing didn’t know the full details, but seeing her juniors so tense made her uneasy too.

“What’s the deal with that celebrity?” she asked.

All eyes turned to Gu Jiasui—was this a romantic pursuit, or just a nuisance?

Gu Jiasui rubbed her temples. “We only worked together once and exchanged contact info. After the show aired, his agent reached out to mine, hoping for further collaboration.”

“Recently, because of the buzz around related videos, they’ve contacted me and my agent a few more times.”

She phrased it diplomatically, but everyone immediately understood.

“So he’s just trying to force a fake relationship!” Chu Bingbing declared confidently over the video call.

“Doesn’t his current project have a female lead? Why drag Jiasui into this?” Yi Zhi couldn’t wrap her head around it.

“I know a bit about this,” Chu Bingbing chimed in, raising her hand on-screen.

“The thing he’s filming on campus is probably just a promotional shoot—only two days, not a full series. Otherwise, they wouldn’t let so many students watch.”

“Ling Hong’s last historical romance drama, which aired during winter break, was supposed to be an S-tier production but flopped hard. Plus, he had a messy fallout with the female lead. Their promotional appearances were more awkward than a divorced couple—no way to milk that ship anymore.” She gestured animatedly, dishing out the industry gossip.

“So after the show bombed, he’s desperate to claw back some clout and set his sights on Jiasui?” Yan mused, stroking her chin.

“Probably. Ever since Jiasui appeared on that New Year’s show, I’ve been seeing videos about Princess Jianing everywhere,” Chu Bingbing said.

Ding Ling raised her hand. “I’ve seen them too.”

“See? Even Little Ding Ling’s getting them. Let me check—there are multiple fan-edited shipping videos on a certain site with over a million views each. Not sure if it’s organic or paid promotion, but the hashtags on Weibo were definitely prepped. This was planned.” Chu Bingbing spoke with certainty.

Yan scrolled through Weibo, where the trending topics were flooded with gossip and shippers hyping things up. Netizens loved drama, and some were even tagging Jiasui directly under the videos.

“OMGGGG, is this a confession?! Am I witnessing real love?! Princess and Consort CP is REAL!!”

“@GuJiasui Your Highness, we need a response!!”

“PLEASE give us a second collaboration, they’re so perfect together!!”

“Rumor has it Ling Hong specifically chose Bin University for filming just to ‘accidentally’ run into the Princess—I CAN’T EVEN!!”

“If you don’t stan the Princess x Consort CP, you’re missing out. Come join us in rewatching the god-tier fan edits—THEY’RE SO GOOD!!”

“Your Highness, come see your Consort already—he’s literally falling apart without you.”

Yan: Speechless.

She had a feeling Xiao Qingnang from the boys’ dorm might be the one actually falling apart.

“The hype’s only getting worse,” Yi Zhi murmured, watching the hashtag climb higher.

Gu Jiasui stepped into the bathroom to take a call, likely discussing the situation with her agent.

“Not even that famous, but loves to cling to clout,” Chu Bingbing rolled her eyes on-screen.

“He clearly had a strategy—prepared hashtags, hired bots, made ambiguous remarks that toe the line. Whether she responds or not, it’s a problem.”

As a seasoned gossip connoisseur, Chu Bingbing laid out the analysis.

“So what do we do? Netizens love fueling drama,” Yi Zhi asked.

“Just reject him outright?” Ding Ling suggested.

Yan rested her chin on her hands. “They’re in the same industry. That’d be a direct slap in the face, and his fans might go rabid and attack Jiasui online.”

Ding Ling puffed her cheeks. “But we can’t just let him have his way. Otherwise…” She shot Yan a series of exaggerated winks, tapped her head, then closed her eyes dramatically.

Yan blinked, lost. What was that supposed to mean? Was Ding Ling suggesting… physical violence?

“Honestly, if she just ignores it, the buzz will die down fast. The real issue is if he keeps pushing it,” Yan said. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the safest route.

“I think the odds of him clinging to this are pretty high. Shipping isn’t illegal, but if he keeps stirring the pot, it’ll be like a fly buzzing nonstop. Unless Jiasui’s family steps in.”

Yan suspected that Gu Jiasui’s natural charisma and public appeal were exactly why Ling Hong was so eager to latch onto her.

Most actresses might hesitate to shut things down to avoid drama, but Gu Jiasui had no such concerns.

And knowing Jiasui—outwardly easygoing, but sharp as a blade, with unshakable principles—she wouldn’t let anyone take advantage of her.

While Dorm 320 was deep in discussion, the same scene was unfolding in Boys’ Dorm 414 across campus—minus Lin Fan, who was home taking care of his kid.

“Who even is this guy? Some pretty-boy actor? Doesn’t even look as fair-skinned as Yuan Ye. Yuan Ye could debut too,” Chu Shen remarked.

Yuan Ye shot him a deadpan look. “Chu Shen, I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

Even though he knew Chu Shen’s EQ was below sea level, being friends with him still came with the occasional verbal jab.

“A toad lusting after swan meat,” Chu Shen muttered, sneaking a glance at Xiao Qingnang and exchanging meaningful looks with Zhu Jue.

Xiao Qingnang sat silently at his desk, eyes fixed on his phone, not saying a word. The quiet was… unsettling.

The person hasn’t even been successfully pursued yet, and halfway through, a “Cheng Yaojin” barges in—a big celebrity publicly making a declaration. Who wouldn’t be annoyed by that?

Looking at Xiao Qingnang, he appeared calm and composed at the moment, but it was hard to tell whether it was genuine or just an act. Was he truly unshaken or merely pretending?

The four guys exchanged glances, silently debating whether to speak up or not.

Finally, after a silent round of rock-paper-scissors, the loser, Ye Ping’an, hesitantly spoke up, “Old Xiao, you okay?”

Many things didn’t need to be spelled out for everyone to sense. Xiao Qingnang had been leaving early and returning late every day, brewing brown sugar ginger tea or chrysanthemum and lily drinks in the dorm. After all this time, the guys in the dorm weren’t stupid—they could all tell what was going on.

Only then did Xiao Qingnang turn to look at them, his tone as calm and steady as ever. “I’m fine.”

“You’re really okay?” Chu Shen still wasn’t convinced.

He took a couple of steps forward, his sharp eyes darting to Xiao Qingnang’s phone screen—clearly displaying a Weibo page!

Hah! Men will stay stubborn till the very end!

“This guy just wants to ride the CP hype, leech off the popularity, and cozy up to a rich woman,” Yuan Ye summarized, pulling his swivel chair closer.

Xiao Qingnang gave a faint “Mm” in agreement.

“Don’t you have any thoughts about this?” Ye Ping’an couldn’t hold back either.

“Are you planning to stay silent and let things unfold?” Zhu Jue chimed in. After all, this was someone else’s romantic affair, and neither he nor Yan knew exactly how far things had progressed between the two in private.

Was Xiao Qingnang’s current state one of confident certainty, or was he biding his time for a silent victory?

“So you’re saying I should do something?” Xiao Qingnang glanced at his roommates.

“Old Xiao, here’s the thing—if my love rival pulled something like this, I’d take it as a direct challenge. I’d curse him a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand times. Hypothetically, of course,” Ye Ping’an added.

“So if you’re upset about anything, you can vent to us. We’ll curse that idiot together. Or we can go roast him for you—what are brothers for if not to step up now?” Yuan Ye said.

“Take this chance to plant a few seeds of doubt in Gu Jiasui’s mind! A crisis is also an opportunity!” Chu Shen egged him on.

Xiao Qingnang then turned to Zhu Jue. “Zhu Jue, what do you think?”

Zhu Jue studied his composed demeanor, his gaze flickering slightly before he replied, “No opinion. It’s up to you.”

Xiao Qingnang nodded. After a moment of thought, he spoke. “Here’s how I see it.”

“What happens between her and me doesn’t involve anyone else. That’s our business.”

“As for this… Ling Hong, his intentions are obvious. It’s her place to handle it, not mine. I have no right or reason to interfere. Overstepping would backfire.”

Was Xiao Qingnang anxious? Of course he was. His mind would occasionally flare up with anger, but he wasn’t like other young men his age.

Perhaps due to algorithm-driven recommendations, he’d been bombarded with “Princess X Consort” videos lately, including interviews where this male celebrity mentioned looking forward to collaborating with “Her Highness” again.

He sensed something off immediately.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been pushing boundaries more boldly around her lately, testing her limits.

She allowed some of his advances, and Xiao Qingnang naturally seized every opportunity—testing, inching closer, slowly weaving his net around her, drawing her in bit by bit.

Xiao Qingnang wasn’t sure if this was what modern people called the “ambiguous phase.” The term alone made his skin crawl.

All he knew was that every tiny step closer filled him with indescribable joy.

In a way, he wasn’t in a hurry.

Because he knew, better than anyone, that aside from Zhu Jue and Yan’s relationship, he and Gu Jiasui were the two people who understood each other most deeply in this world—bound by shared secrets.

As for “official status” or going public, given her current career, exposure, and public image, Xiao Qingnang wasn’t desperate for it. He was willing to take it slow, with endless patience.

Hearing Xiao Qingnang’s words, Chu Shen was dumbfounded. He raised a hand.

“Wait, let me process this. I still feel a bit lost—it’s kinda convoluted.”

Ye Ping’an raised his hand. “I get it. Old Xiao, you’re saying that what’s between you and Gu Jiasui is one thing, and this male celebrity is another. They’re separate issues that need to be analyzed independently.”

“But if it were me—to put it bluntly—if a guy I liked got publicly pursued by someone else, I wouldn’t think it has nothing to do with me. Doing nothing feels too passive,” he voiced his opinion.

“Xiao Qingnang isn’t doing nothing,” Zhu Jue interjected.

“Right now, by not acting, he’s already winning.”

The moment Zhu Jue said this, all the roommates turned to him.

“Please enlighten us, oh master of long-term relationships,” Yuan Ye asked humbly.

Zhu Jue cleared his throat. “First, you guys might only see this male celebrity’s fame and influence, but as far as I know, he’s only worked with Gu Jiasui once. They have no private interactions—he’s just a former co-star at best.”

“Second, if he wanted Gu Jiasui to make a cameo in the drama he’s filming at our school, reaching out to her directly would be faster than making a public declaration. Why the grand gesture? Because she’s ignoring him, so he’s resorting to this to force a response, especially with the online hype growing. It’s basically holding public opinion hostage.”

“Or let me put it this way—if a guy publicly confesses to a girl who clearly isn’t interested, and the crowd eggs them on to pair up, how would the girl feel?” Zhu Jue gestured for them to answer.

“Like he’s a massive idiot,” Chu Shen said.

“A self-absorbed, world-class dumbass,” Ye Ping’an added.

“I get it now,” Yuan Ye nodded.

Zhu Jue continued, “What does riding the CP hype get him? Popularity, clout, shared fanbase benefits—which of these does Gu Jiasui lack?”

All three shook their heads. Gu Jiasui lacked none of those. Most celebrities, even if they enroll in university, spend most of their time filming or doing variety shows, only returning for exams.

But Gu Jiasui? Her main identity wasn’t “actress”—it was “student.” She only acted during holidays and weekends.

Zhu Jue snapped his fingers. “She doesn’t need any of that, so she’d never agree to be tied to him. In fact, she’d probably resent him for it.”

“And…” Zhu Jue paused.

“Choosing the ‘Princess and Consort’ CP is especially dumb. Historically, princesses and consorts didn’t get along, and consorts even had concubines,” he remarked.

Considering Gu Jiasui’s true background, Zhu Jue didn’t dare imagine how furious she must be right now.

Chu Shen, Yuan Ye, and Ye Ping’an had an epiphany. Looking at Xiao Qingnang again, they realized—Old Xiao truly was Old Xiao.

But Chu Shen raised his hand again. “Master, one more question.”

“If that’s the case, shouldn’t Brother Xiao take this opportunity to score some points? Wouldn’t it be perfect to clarify things by going public with the relationship now?”

Zhu Jue coughed lightly—he didn’t know the answer to that question.

“Let me answer that myself.”

“First of all, we’re not in a relationship. It’s just me openly having feelings for her. Secondly, doing something like that would feel like taking advantage of the situation. I don’t want her to feel pressured by outside forces into making a decision she wouldn’t normally make.” Xiao Qingnang spoke with a serious expression.

“Brother Xiao, you’re really… such a good guy.” Chu Shen opened his mouth but struggled to find the right words to describe him.

Xiao Qingnang neither confirmed nor denied it. “Maybe.”

Faced with Xiao Qingnang’s response, Zhu Jue’s eyes flickered with emotion.

A true gentleman—this was the epitome of one.

The title of “Divine Physician” wasn’t just earned through exceptional medical skills.

A healer’s compassionate heart required both the actions to save lives and the integrity of a noble-minded scholar.

After their brief conversation, the boys in Dorm 414 went about their own business. Zhu Jue exchanged messages with Yan.

[Zhu Jue]: Brother Xiao is a true gentleman.

When Yan received Jue Jue’s message, her eyes curved into a smile. Reading Xiao Qingnang’s words, she didn’t seem the least bit surprised.

They were all such good people.

Still, Yan rubbed her chin thoughtfully—should she show this to Gu Jiasui? Should she play matchmaker, or just stay out of it?

Huh? Gu Jiasui just posted on Weibo!

Seeing the notification from her special follow, Yan immediately clicked through.

The moment she saw the post, she nearly burst out laughing and quickly forwarded it to Jue Jue.

[Gu Jiasui V]: [Goodbye emoji] [Image of historical text]

Gu Jiasui had posted a standard Weibo “goodbye” emoji—a little cartoon figure waving—but in internet slang, it carried the connotation of “politely declining” or “hard pass.”

Below it was an image of a historical text, with underlined passages documenting how Princess Jianing and her consort had a strained marriage, lived separately, and how the consort kept a mistress outside the palace. The text even noted that the consort was not buried in the princess’s tomb.

To those unaware of Gu Jiasui’s other identity, the post might just seem like a witty, sarcastic jab.

Not a single word of text, just an emoji and an image—yet it said everything without saying anything at all.

Far more devastating than an outright rejection, every line screamed, “Stay away.” If any delusional shippers or Ling Hong’s fans tried to attack Gu Jiasui over this, they’d only make fools of themselves. After all, she was just quoting historical records—what did that have to do with them? Were they so eager to claim the role of the disgraced consort?

And with the historical text blatantly stating the couple’s discord and the consort’s infidelity, shipping them as a couple was downright toxic! Who in their right mind could still romanticize that?

Within two minutes of Gu Jiasui’s post going live—thanks to the ongoing hot search—Yan refreshed to find a flood of comments.

“As a certified chaos enjoyer, I’m wheezing—Gu Jiasui might as well have just typed out ‘GET LOST’ in all caps, LOL!”

“Anyone who knows even a little about this historical couple knows they were NOT in love. How can people still ship them? Our brilliant, legendary Princess Jianing deserves better than being paired with that deadbeat consort.”

“Teacher Gu is too considerate—she even included a translation under the historical text. I’m dying. She really made sure no one missed the part where Princess Jianing and her consort couldn’t stand each other, not even sharing a grave in death. What was that male celebrity thinking, trying to force this ship? Did he think public pressure would make her cave?”

“Princess Jianing: lying in coffin The audacity! I’ve been dead for centuries and still can’t escape being tied to that useless consort? Who dug this up??”

Yan nodded approvingly at the comments—plenty of sensible people out there.

Though, Princess Jianing wasn’t lying in a coffin these days. She was in her dorm room.

Turning around, Yan noticed Gu Jiasui wasn’t at her desk. She hadn’t left the dorm either—the bathroom light was on. Another phone call?

Inside the bathroom, Gu Jiasui had just finished discussing matters with her team via headphones. Spotting an incoming WeChat video call from Xiao Qingnang, she accidentally tapped it, switching to video.

The two locked eyes, their cramped bathroom shower curtains visible in the background.

Gu Jiasui cleared her throat. “Misclick. What’s up?”

On the screen, Xiao Qingnang’s face was closer than usual, his sharp features and earnest gaze almost piercing through the screen.

“Nothing,” he murmured, lips pressing together briefly.

“Just wanted to ask what time you’re visiting Pengpeng tomorrow. I’ll adjust my schedule to avoid overlap.”

Gu Jiasui raised an eyebrow. “Why avoid it?”

Xiao Qingnang faltered, lowering his eyes. “With all the busybodies following you lately, it wouldn’t be convenient if they caught me with you.”

“Doesn’t bother me,” she said flatly.

His eyes brightened instantly.

Then, as Gu Jiasui added, “We’ve already trended together before,” his expression dimmed again.

Xiao Qingnang gave a quiet “Mm,” tilting his face slightly away. “Is the hot search under control now?”

“Yeah. If they keep pushing this ship, we might need a different approach.” She adjusted her phone.

“What approach?” he couldn’t help asking.

Casually, Gu Jiasui replied, “Publicly rejecting the forced pairing outright. Backup plan: announce a contractual relationship to scare off any male celebrities from getting close in the future.”

His breath audibly hitched. On screen, Xiao Qingnang turned back fully, jaw tight but voice steady as he asked, “Have you settled on the backup plan?”

“I turned it down.” Gu Jiasui picked at her nail.

“Using someone else for personal gain feels disrespectful.”

His voice came through softly: “I don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind you using me,” Xiao Qingnang repeated.

“I do.” Her sharp reply sent a chill through him.

“Matters of the heart may not be fair, but they should be honest and sincere. My response to your feelings shouldn’t be tangled up in this.”

“It wouldn’t be proper. It wouldn’t be right.”

***

Chapter 138

At this moment, Xiao Qingnang experienced the highs and lows of life in an instant. His face flushed almost immediately, his ears turning so red they stood out vividly on the video call.

He seemed to float on air, unable to suppress the upward curve of his lips, his entire expression brimming with joy as his bright eyes gazed through the screen. Stammering slightly, his voice trembled with barely contained excitement: “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.”

“With Zhu Jue,” he added.

Gu Jiasui responded with a faint “Mm,” followed by, “See you tomorrow.”

“See you in the morning,” Xiao Qingnang emphasized.

Yet even after the words were spoken, neither of them moved to end the call.

Though separated by distance, the intensity of their locked gazes through the screen seemed to make the air grow warmer. Sometimes, silence speaks volumes. The heat in his eyes felt as though it could pierce through the screen and wrap around her. Gu Jiasui tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, inadvertently revealing the flushed pink of her earlobe.

“I’ve been in the bathroom too long. They’re waiting for me,” she said.

“I’ll wait for you to hang up first,” he replied.

Finally, Gu Jiasui pressed the red end-call button. Staring at her reflection—her cheeks still burning—she splashed cold water on her face, but it did little to cool her down.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she was met with He Xing giving her a thumbs-up.

“Precision strike,” Yi Zhi remarked.

Clearly, they had all seen Gu Jiasui’s latest Weibo post.

“Suisui’s face is red with anger,” Ding Ling chimed in.

Yan, however, seemed thoughtful. Just moments ago, Jue had messaged that Xiao Qingnang had also been holed up in the dorm bathroom for a long time. Meanwhile, in the boys’ dormitory, Room 414…

Zhu Jue watched as Xiao Qingnang emerged from the bathroom. The usually composed “Master Xiao” now seemed unable to resist breaking into a light jog.

Before anyone could react, Master Xiao yanked the door open and bolted out of the dorm, leaving the entire room in stunned silence.

“What the—?”

“What’s up with Master Xiao?”

“Where’d he go?”

Chu Shen flung the door open, but Xiao Qingnang was already gone. From the balcony, Zhu Jue spotted him sprinting across the courtyard below.

“He’s already downstairs,” he reported in real time.

“What’s going on? Did that male celebrity show up, or is Gu Jiasui here?” Ye Ping’an and the others rushed to the balcony.

“No one’s there,” Chu Shen muttered.

“Did something set him off?” Yuan Ye wondered aloud.

The sudden sight of their most level-headed roommate charging out like an Olympic sprinter was nothing short of shocking.

“His face was bright red when he left,” Zhu Jue noted.

Since both he and Yan were keeping tabs on the situation, Zhu Jue had caught the details the moment Xiao Qingnang stepped out.

“Should we call him?” Chu Shen asked, concerned.

“He probably just needs to cool off,” Zhu Jue reasoned.

The four of them huddled by the balcony, peering down. Sure enough, before long, Master Xiao reappeared, hauling a shopping bag.

“Is that from the supermarket? Did he just run out to buy something? Since when does shopping require a sprint?” Ye Ping’an mused.

“Lao Xiao didn’t even grab a jacket,” Yuan Ye pointed out.

“So his brain was too fried to think about clothes. You don’t think he confessed in the bathroom, do you?” Chu Shen speculated.

The other three turned to stare at him.

“A bathroom confession? No way. Master Xiao’s EQ isn’t that low,” Ye Ping’an scoffed.

“No idea what he bought, but it looks heavy,” Zhu Jue observed keenly.

As Xiao Qingnang headed back toward the dorm, the four scattered from the balcony, pretending to be engrossed in their phones or shows, coughing awkwardly to cover their tracks.

The door swung open, and Xiao Qingnang strode in, a deep blue hoodie over his shoulders and the shopping bag in hand. He shut the door behind him.

“What’d you get?” Chu Shen craned his neck to peek inside.

“Beer.” Xiao Qingnang pulled out a six-pack of canned beer.

“But we still have some,” Ye Ping’an said, glancing at their stockpile in Lin Fan’s corner—a crate of beer and soda.

Xiao Qingnang tore open the plastic wrap, wiped each can with an alcohol wipe, and handed them out.

The moment Yuan Ye took his, he nearly jumped.

“It’s ice-cold? Lao Xiao, you bought cold beer? You didn’t grab the wrong one, did you?”

April wasn’t exactly warm, especially with eight out of ten days drizzling rain. Add to that their dorm’s collective “health-conscious” habits—thanks largely to Xiao Qingnang’s influence—and icy drinks were a rarity.

Yet here was Master Xiao, the epitome of restraint, suddenly handing out frosty beers. It was like the sun rising in the west—unheard of!

Chu Shen stepped forward and pressed a hand to Xiao Qingnang’s forehead.

“No fever!”

“No mistake, no fever,” Xiao Qingnang confirmed, popping open his can and raising it for a toast.

Baffled but obliging, the other three clinked their cans with his—all except Zhu Jue—and watched as Master Xiao took a long swig.

“Don’t overdo it. You’re not used to cold drinks. Your stomach might rebel,” Zhu Jue warned.

“I’m fine. Just indulging a little,” Xiao Qingnang said.

“I’m… really, really happy,” he added, lifting his beer again.

“Zhu Jue, I’m coming with you tomorrow morning.” His eyes shone brighter than ever.

The words clicked instantly.

“Wahhh!!!” Chu Shen was the first to erupt.

“Oho~ Can’t wait to pick someone up, huh?” Ye Ping’an grinned.

“Well, well~ Persistence pays off,” Yuan Ye chimed in, raising his can.

“Alright, let’s get Brother Fan on the line,” Zhu Jue said, sending Lin Fan a quick message to check if he was free. Once confirmed—no risk of waking the baby—he initiated the video call.

Lin Fan’s face appeared, taking in the scene of his roommates holding beers while Chu Shen whooped, “Brother Fan, you’re the only one missing! Another one of our dorm’s bachelors is off the market. We’re celebrating Master Xiao!”

Lin Fan blinked, then grinned, giving Xiao Qingnang a double thumbs-up. “Legend.”

He’d been at home with his wife, keeping up with the drama surrounding that male celebrity’s remarks at Bin University, and had been worried for his friend.

Now, all that was left was to celebrate.

“Hold on, we don’t have beer or liquor, but there’s probably wine. Let me ask my wife.”

A moment later, he returned, raising a glass of red wine toward the camera for a virtual toast.

“Just one’s enough, Brother Fan. You’ve got the kid,” Xiao Qingnang said.

“Eh, I’m not big on this stuff anyway. I’ll save it for later when the little one’s asleep and have a bit with your sister-in-law. No point wasting it now,” Lin Fan replied, already heading to the kitchen to rinse his glass.

“Old Xiao, have you officially gained status now? Is this the perfect time for Teacher Gu to go public?” Chu Shen asked with gossipy enthusiasm, suddenly addressing Gu Jiasui with respectful honorifics.

Xiao Qingnang shook his head, leaving everyone momentarily stunned.

What was going on then? Celebrating halfway through the game?

His face lit up with a smile, his nose and cheeks flushed red as he repeated his beloved’s words, radiating sheer delight from head to toe.

Yuan Ye nearly dropped his beer, clutching his chest with one hand.

“Oh my god.”

“You two are really…” Ye Ping’an was at a loss for words.

“Sniff, so touching,” Chu Shen mumbled, his lips pressed together. His roommate’s love story was just too beautiful.

Out of the six guys in their dorm, two were already “married off,” and another was practically spoken for—just lacking official recognition.

Imagining the gorgeous woman saying those words and seeing Xiao Qingnang now, blooming like an old tree in spring, unable to hide his giddiness—it was all just too much.

At this moment, Yuan Ye felt he could finally understand everything.

“You two are a perfect match.”

After living together for over half a year, they’d come to know Xiao Qingnang well—a somewhat old-fashioned, reserved guy. The nickname “Old Man Xiao” didn’t come out of nowhere.

Like during a casual discussion earlier, Xiao Qingnang’s personal perspective had left three of them utterly shocked.

Pure sincerity, genuine devotion—this relationship was a two-way street of heartfelt emotion and mutual respect, making it all the more moving.

The next day was Sunday. Yan and Jiasui walked downstairs together, where two towering young men, both over six feet tall, were already waiting.

“Jiasui, what’s your plan for today?” Yan asked.

Last night, the hashtag #GuJiasuiPosts had skyrocketed to the top of trending topics and was still hanging there.

If Jiasui stepped out like this now, she’d be an open target! There were bound to be nosy people snapping photos of her today and spinning some eye-catching gossip.

Right now, Yan’s face mask was practically welded on. Random strangers wouldn’t care about their own image rights—posting things online only invited a bunch of idiots to nitpick and judge.

“No plans,” Gu Jiasui replied.

“Unless the blue planet explodes, life goes on as usual.”

Yan let out an “Oh.” For now, she and Jiasui walked ahead, with Jue and Xiao following behind, all heading to the campus pet association office.

They hadn’t recorded footage of Pangpang yesterday. Though there were surveillance cameras, high-definition phone footage was still better. Today, she and Jue were going to help with the filming.

The four of them entered the office. Before they could even open the child gate at the entrance, they found the kitten Pangpang already waiting there, its heterochromatic eyes fixed on them, meowing softly.

Clearly, it had been anticipating their arrival.

Gu Jiasui gently scooped up the little kitten, while Xiao checked the food and water situation.

After the routine daily inspection came another round of acupuncture. Watching Pangpang sit obediently through the treatment, Yan couldn’t help but marvel.

Animals were highly sensitive and held grudges—like dogs bolting from vet clinics or cats cursing out the doctor who neutered them. Even the sight of a pet carrier could send them into a frenzy of resistance.

Acupuncture was undoubtedly painful for a kitten, yet after all this time, from its initial helplessness to now regaining some mobility, Pangpang still showed no resistance toward Xiao during the sessions.

Once filming wrapped up, Yan received an unexpected call.

From Ning City—Xu Jiaojiao.

***

Chapter 139

The last time Yan saw Xu Jiaojiao was during winter break. They had originally planned to go shopping for clothes together, but it fell through. They didn’t meet again until just before Yan and Jue Jue returned to school after the break.

Separated by thousands of miles and with Xu Jiaojiao being unusually “busy,” Yan sometimes had to rely on social media updates to gauge how she was doing.

“Yan…” Hearing Xu Jiaojiao’s voice over the phone, Yan immediately sensed something was off.

Unless it was urgent, Xu Jiaojiao rarely called her.

Had those male suitors done something again?

“Jiaojiao, what’s wrong?” Yan asked softly.

“Nothing, I just missed you.” Xu Jiaojiao’s voice came through the phone, accompanied by the faint sound of wind.

“I miss you too.” Yan’s expression softened as she handed her bag to Jue Jue.

“I’m outside. The weather in Bin City is amazing today—finally a weekend without rain. How’s Ning City? Let me switch to video and show you.”

As she spoke, Yan tapped to switch to video call. Her phone’s front-facing camera captured her face in the small preview window, while Xu Jiaojiao’s screen showed a gloomy, overcast sky.

“The weather here isn’t great today, a bit hazy,” Xu Jiaojiao said.

Yan studied the screen. “It is, but still better than the springs we had a couple of years ago.”

She kept her eyes fixed on the video. “Lower your phone—where are you? On campus?”

“Yeah.” Xu Jiaojiao gave a vague response but didn’t specify her exact location. She lowered her phone, finally letting Yan see her face clearly.

Yan noticed that Xu Jiaojiao was wearing an unusually loose gray hoodie under a cropped leather jacket. Her usually sleek long hair was tied up in a high ponytail, and her face was completely free of makeup.

Even those familiar with Xu Jiaojiao might not recognize her at first glance with this drastic change in style.

Yan’s gaze lingered on the background behind Xu Jiaojiao, quickly analyzing it in her mind without letting her expression shift. As she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, she silently mouthed a message to Jue Jue.

“You look great,” Yan said sincerely.

“Are you two going out today?” Xu Jiaojiao asked.

“Not really. We just filmed a video of the kittens and are heading to the cafeteria now,” Yan replied cheerfully.

“May Day is next month—do you want to come visit?” Yan extended the invitation.

But Xu Jiaojiao hesitated before answering. “I want to see the fjords.”

Yan’s pupils constricted at those words.

“Recently, without my knowledge, Wen Yu submitted my documents for an exchange program at Manchester University,” Xu Jiaojiao said, a trace of displeasure in her voice.

“What?” Yan nearly jumped in place.

“He claims it’s for my own good, but the truth is, he’s going to Cambridge for his junior year.” Xu Jiaojiao’s bare face carried a faint chill.

“I told the other two idiots about it, so things should quiet down for a few days.”

Xu Jiaojiao spoke calmly. At this point, nothing these four did could surprise her anymore.

They were like dogs fighting among themselves—first, they’d sent Liang Ruichi abroad, and now Wen Yu would be leaving in the second half of the year. The two remaining in the country, though not as present, still found ways to annoy her endlessly.

Maybe her temper had grown sharper after her rebirth, but lately, she was growing increasingly impatient with this whole charade.

Yan waited for Xu Jiaojiao to continue. If Jiaojiao decided to go abroad, it certainly wouldn’t be because those men had arranged it.

“Yan, I need your help.”

Through the video, Xu Jiaojiao looked at her best friend, confident that Yan would understand.

She was tired. Over three years had passed since her rebirth, and even though she knew these scumbags inside out, the weariness in her heart had only deepened.

Especially after realizing that the four of them had also “reborn,” the variables had multiplied, and maintaining control wasn’t as easy as before.

Since the beginning of the year, Xu Jiaojiao had been planning her exit strategy.

She could leave cleanly—she had no attachment to these men whatsoever.

But where to go afterward and whether she could truly cut ties for good were the real challenges.

As long as she stayed in Ning City, her life would never know peace.

To sever everything completely, she couldn’t do it alone—she needed help from certain connections and methods.

“I understand,” Yan said, meeting her gaze.

“Remember that communication app we made in high school?”

Xu Jiaojiao nodded faintly. Right now, Yan was the only person she could trust.

“In half an hour, come down from the rooftop you’re on. Someone will pick you up.”

Xu Jiaojiao’s expression faltered slightly. Her nose twitched.

When had Yan figured it out?

“Don’t worry. We’ve got you, okay?” Yan’s reassuring tone washed over her.

It felt just like high school, when she’d faced all those hardships—the water bucket balanced on the restroom door, the clothes cut up in the locker room, the wine glass hurled at her during a party, the foot deliberately stuck out to trip her on the stairs…

In every difficult moment, Yan had always been the first to comfort her: “Don’t worry, I’m here.”

Hearing those words had always made the weight in her heart settle, bringing her an indescribable sense of security.

After the call ended, Xu Jiaojiao stood on the rooftop, hands in her pockets, gazing back at the panoramic bathtub visible through the glass window.

How foolish could a person be to think that hurting themselves would make someone else feel remorse or love?

From beginning to end, the only one who ever got hurt was herself.

She glanced down at her wrist, where no scar existed in this life. Rebirth couldn’t change one’s intelligence, but it could redirect the path of fate.

……

By mid-April, Yan and Zhu Jue visited the dimensional convenience store again.

This time, Lu Chen looked much better. Whether he’d used some special remedy or not, the month apart had restored much of his former demeanor.

Inside the familiar store, nothing had changed—the counter was the same as before.

“Boss Lu, you’re looking well,” Yan remarked.

Compared to his haggard state last month, Lu Chen’s hair, though still not fully regrown, now fell just above his neck. His face had filled out, and his energy seemed revitalized.

“You’re here,” Lu Chen greeted them.

“Really? That good?”

Zhu Jue nodded. “Feels like you’re 80% back.”

Hearing this, Lu Chen relaxed.

Due to his condition, he hadn’t opened shop for a month. The loss in revenue pained him, but showing up in his previous state would’ve shattered the carefully cultivated image of the enigmatic proprietor.

Without his signature long hair, his once-frizzy mane had finally smoothed out, now resting just above his shoulders.

Lu Chen had been quietly recovering from his injuries this month, and every time he looked in the mirror, he wasn’t entirely sure how much progress he’d made.

“There hasn’t been much new stock lately, so you can stay as long as you like,” Lu Chen said.

Because of the lingering psychological trauma, he hadn’t yet decided whether to take a little more time off before setting out again.

“We don’t really have anything to buy right now,” Yan remarked.

“But we’d like to ask you for a favor,” Zhu Jue added.

Hearing this, Lu Chen was momentarily stunned—asking him for help?

“Could we borrow the door of your convenience store for a bit?” Yan asked somewhat sheepishly.

“No problem,” Lu Chen agreed without hesitation.

When these two VIP customers made their request, he didn’t even think before saying yes, nor did he question what they meant by it.

These were the people who had saved his life! Borrowing the door might be against the rules, but he was the dimension master—what he said went!

Maybe the two were just feeling lazy and wanted to use his door to cross back to their dimension.

Lu Chen’s quick agreement left Yan and Zhu Jue momentarily speechless.

He’d agreed just like that? Had Boss Lu undergone some profound enlightenment after his brush with death, becoming suddenly open-minded?

In the past, whenever they’d asked to borrow the door, he’d always looked terribly conflicted. Even when he’d bent the rules once to help them send something back to school, it had taken a lot of convincing.

This time, the two added Lu Chen’s private WeChat.

Throughout April, Yan and Zhu Jue’s campus life continued as usual. If there was anything different from before, it was that Sui Sui and Brother Xiao were dragging them into spending even more time together.

Yan and Gu Jiasui were in the same department and class, as were Zhu Jue and Xiao Qingnang. When they met up in the cafeteria, it became a group of four—two pairs shining brightly as each other’s third wheels.

For the sake of their roommates’ love lives, Yan and Jue Jue were practically wearing themselves out.

Meanwhile, the ceremony to formally recognize Little An An, Lin Fan’s child, as their goddaughter kept getting postponed. They needed to find a time when everyone was free, and they also wanted an auspicious date. After repeated delays, it was finally scheduled for the May Day holiday.

In anticipation of this, Chu Shen unapologetically posted a “Closed for Business” notice on the door ahead of time.

Of course, the ceremony couldn’t be held at Chu’s little diner—not because they looked down on the place.

For one, the space was too small. Secondly, once the May Day holiday started, even if the diner wasn’t open, people might still show up to take photos outside. If anyone noticed people inside, customers might try to barge in.

On April 30th, while still in class, Yan and Zhu Jue’s phones were bombarded with relentless calls from unknown numbers.

Her phone was on silent, so she didn’t answer a single one.

At the same time, both of their WeChat accounts received multiple friend requests from unfamiliar users.

Wary of scams, they ignored them all.

It wasn’t until after class that Yan finally returned one of the calls.

“Hello, who is this?”

“Yan, it’s Ji Mingyan,” came a trembling voice on the other end.

“Jiaojiao is missing. We can’t find her anywhere.”

“What are you talking about?” Yan’s voice shot up an octave, her tone dripping with disbelief.

“Ji Mingyan, what do you mean?”

“I know you might not believe me right now. But I can’t find Jiaojiao—none of us can.” His breathing was ragged.

“Do you have any idea where she might be? Anywhere she’d go alone?”

“What exactly happened? Ji Mingyan, explain this properly—what’s going on?!” Yan demanded sharply.

Over the phone, Ji Mingyan’s voice was frantic and lost.

“I don’t know. My head’s a mess right now.”

“Jiaojiao… it’s like she just vanished into thin air. None of us can find her.”

***

Chapter 140

Ji Mingyan was still in a daze as he spoke to Yan over the phone. He couldn’t comprehend how any of this had happened. How? How could Jiaojiao just vanish like this?

Neither he, Wen Yu, nor Shen Jingchen could reach her. Her phone was unreachable, showing as an invalid number. WeChat displayed that they were no longer connected as friends—messages couldn’t even be sent.

All of them had been blocked. Just the day before, Jiaojiao had been texting normally. It was as if everything had changed overnight.

Even now, he felt like he was trapped in a dream. If he could just wake up, Jiaojiao would return, reappearing by his side. At this moment, every word Ji Mingyan forced out felt like an unbearable struggle.

He didn’t know how to explain it, nor could he articulate it clearly. Even he, in Ning City, couldn’t make sense of it—how could he possibly convey this to Yan, who was all the way in Bin City? It all sounded so feeble.

“Have you reported it to the police?” Yan asked urgently.

“No, we… we can’t involve the police,” Ji Mingyan mumbled incoherently.

“She’s missing, and you’re not calling the police? Have you lost your mind?” Yan snapped over the phone.

“If you won’t do it, I will.” Furious, Yan abruptly hung up.

Listening to the sudden dial tone, Ji Mingyan slumped to the ground in panic. His phone rang again.

It was Wen Yu. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t bother answering that scheming bastard’s call. But right now, they were temporary allies.

“Hello? Any news?” Ji Mingyan asked anxiously.

“Nothing. Because of what happened before, the teachers at Ning Normal University refuse to speak to me.”

“This is all your damn fault!” Ji Mingyan couldn’t hold back his anger.

If Wen Yu hadn’t tampered with Jiaojiao’s exchange program without permission, she wouldn’t have blocked all of them, cutting off contact entirely. At first, Ji Mingyan had assumed Jiaojiao was just angry and taking it out on him—that she’d calm down in a few days.

When he’d been removed from her blocklist, he’d been overjoyed. But just as quickly, before he could even enjoy it, he was blocked again, and Jiaojiao seemed to have vanished into thin air.

“My fault?” Wen Yu sneered over the phone.

“Don’t act like the rest of you are innocent.”

“Instead of blaming me, why don’t you figure out what resources you can use?”

If they were going to point fingers, no one was blameless.

The call ended on an equally sour note.

—

Elsewhere in Ning City, in the high-rise of a corporate building, Shen Jingchen listened to his assistant’s report.

“As of noon today, there are no records of Ms. Xu’s travel via national railways or airlines.”

“According to Mr. Qin’s investigation of Ms. Xu’s residence, there are no signs of forced removal. All her personal belongings remain in place.”

“We currently have no way of tracking Ms. Xu’s private assets.”

“I see. Keep searching.” Shen Jingchen set down his pen, and the assistant took the cue to leave.

“Jiaojiao wouldn’t leave.”

Alone in the vast office, Shen Jingchen’s voice was eerily calm.

Just like before, when she was upset, she’d throw a tantrum—but she had never truly left him. She always came back.

A pet cat raised indoors might run away, but it wouldn’t last long on its own.

If she left without taking anything, she’d learn her lesson soon enough and return.

All traces of her online presence had vanished. Shen Jingchen stared at the graduation page of Wenli High School on his computer.

In last year’s graduation photo, Xu Jiaojiao’s image was completely gone.

Her social media accounts, photos across different platforms—now, searching for “Xu Jiaojiao” only yielded results of other people sharing the same name.

How could someone’s entire digital footprint disappear overnight?

Shen Jingchen’s eyes darkened. He sensed deliberate intent behind this.

If Jiaojiao wanted to play hide-and-seek, he was more than willing to oblige. But in this game, once she was found, there would be consequences. She wouldn’t have a say anymore.

“I should’ve stopped waiting,” Shen Jingchen murmured.

He disliked forcing people, but if he hadn’t held back, waiting for his little wife to willingly accept him, none of this would have happened.

As for the others—they had never been real competition in his eyes.

When he found her, he wouldn’t give her another chance to see anyone else. There would be no more opportunities for her to slip away.

He would make sure she came back, married him properly, and stayed quietly by his side.

Having lived a second life, his control over the corporation was firmer than ever. He had foresight, plans laid in advance—everything was under his command.

—

By the time Ji Mingyan finally got through to Yan again, he was met with an impatient voice.

“I’ve already reported it to the police. You’re all useless.”

Ji Mingyan stayed silent, offering no retort. “What did the police say?”

“Are you stupid? You call 110 and get transferred to the local station for investigation,” Yan barked, fury evident in every word.

“Shen Jingchen is already checking the transportation systems, but there’s no record of Jiaojiao leaving. Yan, think quickly—where else could she have gone?” he said.

Yan let out a cold laugh. “Then you handle your end, and I’ll handle mine. If someone goes missing and you’re not reporting it to the police, it must mean you’ve got something to hide.”

She hung up again and immediately blocked the number.

Report it to the police? Of course she had—just not through conventional channels. Yan reached out directly to Officer Zheng Yi via WeChat, updating her on the latest developments.

Figuring out how to help Xu Jiaojiao cleanly escape this situation had required multiple revisions of their plan.

To minimize the use of public resources and avoid a large-scale missing-person search, Yan and her team had racked their brains.

In an era of big data and surveillance networks, where everyone’s phone had a camera, making Jiaojiao vanish seamlessly from Ning City without supernatural intervention was nearly impossible.

Flights, high-speed trains, regular trains—all were digitally tracked. Flight information, in particular, was notoriously easy to leak, given how often scams involved fake “flight cancellations.”

Driving would take too long, and there was always the risk of random ID checks along the way.

In the end, after careful consideration, Yan and Zhu Jue decided to use the “Dimensional Convenience Store” as a transit point.

After all, Xu Jiaojiao herself was a reincarnated protagonist with supernatural elements in her life—so encountering a dimensional shop wouldn’t be too shocking, right?

But the more people involved in the plan, the higher the risk of exposure.

So, in every meticulously arranged step, Yan and Zhu Jue ensured that each contact was kept on a need-to-know basis, with no cross-communication between parties.

Private bodyguards Da Bao and Xiao Bao were tasked with extracting Jiaojiao and erasing all traces of her real-life existence.

Professionals handled the liquidation of her assets—luxury goods, properties—while she carried only essential documents, necessities, and easily convertible high-end jewelry.

Originally, Yan’s plan wasn’t for Jiaojiao to disappear entirely, but to make it seem like “a fleeting dream.”

She wanted to erase all traces of Jiaojiao’s existence, making it as if she had never existed—confusing the memories of the four scumbags who’d wronged her, making them believe her rebirth had just been a figment of their imagination.

But Jiaojiao had already spent over half a year at Ning Normal University, and her high school classmates still remembered her. Even the members of the extreme sports team from that desert inn recalled her.

To alter memories or rewrite the past, they’d need everyone to either corroborate a false narrative or forget entirely—an impossibly difficult task. So, the idea was scrapped.

Still, they went ahead with wiping Jiaojiao’s digital footprint from the internet.

With Da Bao and Xiao Bao’s help, it was effortless.

Xu Jiaojiao was transported from Ning City to Bin City, then boarded the Xie family’s private jet to Hong Kong before smoothly transferring abroad.

With the dimensional store’s portal as a transit point, moving from Ning City to Bin City—or even crossing dimensions—was as simple as opening and closing a door. Leaving the country became a breeze.

The only hitch was ensuring proper immigration records, so the flight from Bin City had to follow official procedures.

In truth, this part of the plan was the easiest.

The real challenge was getting Jiaojiao to quietly complete her withdrawal from Ning Normal University without alerting classmates or leaking information.

Dropping out after over half a year of study would inevitably spark gossip and speculation.

In the grand scheme of Jiaojiao’s escape, Tan Dabao and Tan Xiaobao handled information security and encrypted communications. Boss Lu from the dimensional store opened the portal twice on command. Lan Ruo arranged the private jet’s flight path and lent the plane.

Yan and Zhu Jue oversaw everything, remotely coordinating each step.

Officer Zheng Yi handled the final cleanup.

For most people, if someone suddenly vanished without a trace, the first instinct would be to call the police.

So why hadn’t they?

Was it habit—relying on their own means to solve problems?

Three sentences were all it took to get someone’s full travel history and real-time whereabouts.

Yan had a feeling Officer Zheng Yi would uncover quite a few surprises.

And indeed, Zheng Yi, stationed in Ning City, did stumble upon some surprises.

Just as she received intel from her confidential informant, the cold case reactivation task popped up on her screen again.

She had another case on her hands!

By early May, Yan and Jue Jue received confirmation that Xu Jiaojiao had settled in safely.

In a Nordic country bathed in the glow of the auroras, winter had passed, and the days now stretched to 18 hours of sunlight—the best time of the year was just beginning.

Xu Jiaojiao would spend the next three months traveling before awaiting her university offer in the fall.

Everything—from the language and cultural customs to the climate—felt utterly unfamiliar to her here, yet Xu Jiaojiao didn’t feel the slightest discomfort. A new life meant starting over from scratch, didn’t it?

Besides, Jiaojiao knew there was always a door left open for her, ready to welcome her home anytime.

Even now, recalling the moment she witnessed a door suddenly materialize in her room, she still found it unbelievable.

Beyond that wooden door lay a space straight out of a fantasy world, and its owner hadn’t asked a single question. With the simple act of closing and reopening the door—as if traversing dimensions—she had crossed half of Xia Country and arrived in Bin City.

For a moment, she almost believed she’d become the protagonist of a fantasy comic.

Deep down, Jiaojiao carried a secret no one else knew.

In her past life, also at Wenli High School, there had been no classmates named Yan or Zhu Jue in her class.

But whoever they were, whatever secrets they held—they were her dearest friends, and she would forever keep their mysteries safe.

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