Ch 9: My Disabled Virtual Lover’s Healing Diary

The Imperial Capital weather forecast had warned of a blizzard by evening. By midday, the drop in temperature was already obvious. When Cen Han left the academy gates, the weather had changed completely. Clouds churned above, heavy and oppressive, while the cutting wind raged unchecked. Snowflakes, swept sideways, lashed about wildly. Trees along the roadside bent under the weight.

Afternoon classes had been canceled, and students hurried home. For once, Cen Han left the campus in peace, free from sneers or taunts.

His fingers were chapped and swollen with frostbite. His threadbare coat let the wind in. The pants he’d worn for three years were too short now, exposing bony ankles that the cold gnawed at until his teeth chattered.

He only wanted to get home quickly, crawl beneath his blanket, and hide in the dark. But the wind seemed set against him.

His frozen hands gripped the wheels stiffly. The gale roared head-on, whipping dust and grit from the slum’s dirt road. Forced to a halt, he turned his face aside, eyes squeezed shut, unable to move.

At last, a hoarse, broken growl tore from his throat.

The road was empty. The houses along the way all had doors shut tight. By the time he reached his home, he was exhausted, his limbs red and itchy from the cold.

This time, the bitterness and rage inside refused to be beaten down. He bit his lip nearly to bleeding as he fumbled with the key.

Click.

Soft, pale light spilled into his pitch-black eyes. Behind him, the storm howled louder, but Cen Han sat frozen in the doorway, stunned.

The fury and despair that had almost driven him to smash everything stilled, his very heartbeat caught.

There on the desk was a steaming bowl of noodles. Its spicy fragrance curled into the room, greeting him with warmth.

And there—finally visible—was the silent presence that had haunted him.

Glowing, half-transparent, round-faced with a silly smile.

It should have been eerie, terrifying. Yet Cen Han felt no fear.

It was… a little ghost.

The little ghost ran to him, pushed his wheelchair inside, and shut the heavy door. The storm was shut out; the room was quiet again.

It moved its mouth at him—words he couldn’t hear. Then it nudged the bowl closer, placed chopsticks in his hand.

Its touch wasn’t cold, but gentle, even warm.

He parted his lips to speak, but his throat was dry, his voice lost. His gaze dropped instead to the fragrant noodles.

Golden strands floated in red broth, dotted with vegetables and beef.

Before he could think, his throat bobbed.

The last time he had noodles was three years ago, before radiation struck the Capital. Back then, real food wasn’t so expensive. Since then, all he had was vile, low-grade nutrient fluid.

The steam stung his eyes, surreal and absurd. Yet for a moment, it pulled him out of the mire.

Color returned faintly to his lips. Hoarsely, he asked, “…Who are you?”

The ghost tilted its head, mouth moving, but still he heard nothing.

It was the second time he asked.

The first time, he’d believed it was hallucination, and despaired.

This time, he doubted himself. Perhaps this ghost really wasn’t just his mind’s invention.

…

Qian Yuan, chin in hand, smiled as she watched his mood meter creep upward.

Communication wasn’t unlocked yet, but after failing to get answers, Cen Han quietly lowered his head and began to eat. From her perch on the bed, she watched his brows pinch from the spice, his bun-round cheeks puffing as he chewed.

…Cute!

She clasped her face, overwhelmed.

The diary spat updates: 【Cen Han is conflicted】, 【Cen Han is confused】. After eating, he turned, a question mark hovering over his head.

“Why are you helping me?”
“Are you a ghost?”
“—Can’t you talk to me?”

His dark eyes fixed on her, fingers twisting nervously. He looked desperate for an answer.

…Ghost? Her avatar was clearly a cute dumpling!

Biting her lip, Qian Yuan gave in. She pulled a book and pen from his cabinet and scrawled: 【I am NOT a ghost!】

He frowned. “Can’t read it.”

She tried sign language gestures. 【Hey, hello~】

He blinked blankly.

She snapped a photo of one of his books to run through translation—failed.

At last, she simply nodded.

“…You can’t speak,” he said.

She nodded.

“You’re real.”

She nodded.

“You’re… helping me?”

She bobbed her head like a pecking chick.

The wind battered the window. The room was cold, but after that bowl of noodles, warmth lingered.

Though his reason still doubted, his softer feelings yielded. “…Oh.”

He turned away coolly, sat at the desk, opened a book, muttered stiffly: “Do what you want.”

【Cen Han doesn’t turn a page.】
【Cen Han pretends to read but sneaks glances at you.】

Qian Yuan: “—!”

Oh my god. Too cute!

After nearly spitting blood at the devs for making her scavenge trash, she finally tasted joy. She poked his cheek.

He jerked around, stunned, ears reddening. “…Don’t touch me.” His voice rasped, trying to sound calm, but his eyes dodged, flustered.

But the little ghost ignored him. She poked his cheeks, pinched his ears, patted his head, treating him like a doll.

The blush spread, up his cheeks and down his neck. He tried to escape, but the heavy chair betrayed him.

Finally, cornered, he covered his face and whispered, “Stop touching me…”

Satisfied, Qian Yuan pulled back and checked the diary. She gasped.

【Mood +】
【Mood +】
【Mood +】

【Current Mood: 80/100】

She stared at the bright green record.

…So her cub was the classic tsundere—his mouth said no, but his heart was happy.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐