Author Archives: Thingyan

Ji Qingyan informed Lu Yao that the entire building above the parking garage was owned by the Shen Corporation.

The Shen family’s influence in Yaoguang City was evident.

After parking the car, they took the elevator up.

Situated in the city center, the commercial building itself was a rare and highly valuable location, and its grand, opulent interior reflected its prestige.

When they stepped off the elevator, the lobby was quiet in the afternoon, with only two receptionists diligently at work.

Lu Yao walked up to the desk. “Hello, we have an appointment with Mr. Shen Pingjin to discuss a collaboration.”

The receptionist looked up, first noticing Lu Yao, but then her gaze was drawn to the two people behind her.

Out of professional habit, Ji Zhixin and Ji Qingyan had prepared for their outing by researching Shen Corporation and its history, as well as changing into formal attire to project professionalism and confidence for the negotiations.

Both were tall and lean, dressed sharply in suits, and their imposing presence made Lu Yao, standing in the middle, appear like a fresh graduate.

Although Lu Yao had also dressed formally and applied light makeup, the two people behind her exuded such an overwhelming aura with their serious expressions that they overshadowed her entirely.

The receptionist blinked, momentarily stunned, before regaining her composure. “May I ask if you have an appointment?”

Lu Yao nodded and was about to respond when an elevator in the distance opened, and a man in a tailored suit stepped out.

His gaze swept the lobby and landed on Lu Yao. He immediately strode over. “Miss Lu.”

It was none other than Shen Pingjin.

Lu Yao greeted him. “Mr. Shen, we were just about to head upstairs.”

Shen Pingjin, exceedingly polite, exchanged a few pleasantries before explaining that he had come down specifically to escort them. The four of them then turned and entered the elevator together.

As the elevator doors closed, the receptionist, still in a daze, slowly came back to her senses.

What just happened?

The president himself came down to greet them—what’s the deal with that student-looking girl?

..

In the elevator, Shen Pingjin pressed the button for the 29th floor.

Inside the conference room on the 29th floor, three people were already seated: two young men around Shen Pingjin’s age and a woman in a white business suit.

The man in the ash-gray striped suit idly tapped the conference table. “This is rare. He actually remembered our little neglected game.”

The woman in the white suit smiled. “He even said he’s bringing in a collaboration and rushed to call people over. But where’s the supposed partner?”

The young man in the black hoodie set down his phone. “He even personally went downstairs to greet them. Seems like this partner must have some clout.”

The woman in white scoffed. “Who cares what clout they have? I’m not interested in collaborating. Honestly, that little neglected game of ours should have shut down long ago. Who still has time for it?”

The man in the black hoodie dramatically wailed, “Do you have to be so harsh on our precious baby? It’s bad enough we ignored it for years, but now you want to ‘kill’ it?”

These three were Shen Pingjin’s college friends. Coming from similar privileged backgrounds, they had founded their gaming company together during their university days.

After graduation, Shen Pingjin, the man in the ash-gray suit, and the woman in white had returned to their respective families to inherit their businesses, leaving the black-hoodie-clad friend to manage the game company.

For him, the game was a dream born in their student years, a relic of their youth. He couldn’t bring himself to let it shut down completely.

The conference room fell quiet for a moment until the man in the ash-gray suit suddenly spoke. “I wonder which company had the keen eye to unearth our baby from the depths of obscurity?”

The woman in white replied, “I heard they’re not looking to collaborate on our baby but are instead commissioning Shi Yan’s team to develop a new game.”

Shi Yan—the name of the young man in the black hoodie—sighed when he heard the conversation. “It’s hard enough to keep our ‘baby’ running. Where would we find the time to make a new game?”

The man in the ash-gray striped suit commented, “Maybe the other party’s intentions aren’t focused on the game.”

Shi Yan asked, “Then what are they focused on?”

The man shook his head. “I haven’t met the collaborators. How would I know? Since Old Shen set this up, he must have an idea.”

Shi Yan sighed. “Honestly, I didn’t expect you all to show up.”

For most of them, this collaboration wasn’t a priority. They were simply busy with their respective lives and hadn’t seen each other in a while. Since they all happened to be in Yaoguang City, it was a good excuse to meet an old friend.

As for the collaboration itself, all of them were seasoned negotiators. Any minor disagreement could serve as a graceful exit.

At that moment, the meeting room door opened. Shen Pingjin stood at the entrance, inviting Lu Yao and her group in.

The three already seated adjusted their previously casual postures and turned their attention to the newcomers.

When they saw the young woman leading the group, the trio exchanged a glance, silently assuming she was some romantic interest of Old Shen’s.

But then their gaze fell on the two people accompanying her. Both the woman in white and the man in the striped suit raised their eyebrows slightly.

After everyone was seated, Shen Pingjin briefly introduced both parties.

Lu Yao gestured for Ji Zhixin to take out the proposal. She gave a concise presentation of her ideas.

Shi Yan interrupted, “Why did your company choose ‘Time Traveler’?”

Time Traveler was the game Shen Pingjin, Shi Yan, and their two other friends had created during their university days.

It was an incredibly intricate travel adventure game combining elements of journeys, food, outfits, and gacha mechanics, packed with numerous features.

Different choices during the journey would lead to unique scenery and ultimately different endings.

Many of the game’s scenic spots had been based on real locations, with the realism and detail of the scenes being highly praised by players.

Having played the game herself, Lu Yao had been most impressed by its lifelike settings and the authentic yet unexpectedly mundane travel experiences it offered.

She had even speculated that the game’s creators must have visited these locations in real life.

The meticulous attention to detail deeply resonated with her.

Shi Yan hadn’t expected Lu Yao to have actually played their game, let alone speak so enthusiastically about its finer points.

…

Lu Yao’s preparation paid off. The meeting went smoothly, with the previously disinterested woman in white and the man in the striped suit remaining largely silent.

Shi Yan, meanwhile, became deeply engrossed in a heated discussion with Lu Yao and Ji Qingyan.

…

Lu Yao concluded, “The game’s setting will be based on the Floating World Continent, where the world is divided into six realms: humans, cultivators, demons, devils, spirits, and the underworld. The character classes will include humans, ghosts, celestials, spirits, demons, and devils.

The game will focus on multiplayer online battles, requiring at least six battle maps, as well as a community system.

For players who prefer less competitive gameplay, there will be life-simulation features like gacha and outfit customization. We’ve also gathered extensive resources for map and scene design…”

Shi Yan interrupted, “Aren’t there too many elements?”

Trying to incorporate everything runs the risk of losing focus and ending up with nothing substantial.

Lu Yao, her imagination running wild with possibilities, realized she was overextending and took a moment to calm down. “Apologies.”

Shen Pingjin had remained quiet throughout the discussion between Lu Yao and Shi Yan.

While Shi Yan was unaware that the park could turn illusions into reality, Shen Pingjin fully understood that these game scenes weren’t just for ordinary players—they were for enriching the gameplay in the park.

If Lu Yao’s ideas were implemented, the park’s NPCs and players would face brutal conflicts, making the park’s games even more terrifying in the future.

A sense of helplessness washed over Shen Pingjin.

He knew an earth-shattering secret, yet there was nothing he could do about it. Instead, he might even be unwittingly aiding Lu Yao in her plans.

As the meeting drew to a close, Lu Yao’s phone suddenly rang.

After taking the call, she seemed to encounter an urgent matter and left alone.

She left the follow-up discussions to Ji Zhixin and Ji Qingyan to handle.

The meeting ended, and the guests departed.

Shi Yan nudged the man in the ash-gray striped suit next to him. “Weren’t you the one saying we shouldn’t collaborate? Why didn’t you say a word just now?”

The man in the ash-gray suit glanced at him. “I saw you chatting more enthusiastically than anyone else!”

Shi Yan scratched his head and smiled innocently. “That proposal was actually pretty interesting, and they really did their homework. There was a ton of material—it’s clear they put in a lot of effort.”

The woman in the white suit was silent for a moment before turning to Shen Pingjin, seated across from her. “What’s Lu Yao’s background? Why does she have people from the Ji family with her?”

Those two weren’t just nobodies. One of them was the famous Ji Dashao from Ji family.

There had been rumors last year that his leg had healed, but no matter how much the gossip spread, Ji Zhixin never made a public appearance. Later, some said the rumors were false.

The woman in white hadn’t expected to run into the eldest Ji in Yaoguang City.

As for Ji Qingyan, she had also seen her at a banquet once, accompanying Ji Feirong.

Shen Pingjin, looking profound, simply replied, “A fateful connection.”

The man in the ash-gray suit, the woman in white, and Shi Yan all looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Huh?”

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Flying out of the Internet Cafe, the sparrow demons led Lu Yao toward the sunny side of the mountain.

Baixian Mountain had one side facing the sun and the other shrouded in shadow.

The shadowed side, dense with tall grass and ancient trees, was often home to demons and small spirits. Yet the path downhill led to the sunny side, where Hengze Sect was located at the mountain’s base.

Hengze Sect was a small sect. In recent years, the senior disciple had taken many juniors out for training trips, leaving behind only a few young disciples with shallow foundations and the ailing Jiang Yan to guard the sect.

Even so, small demons and spirits rarely dared provoke Hengze Sect. Cultivators were known to show no mercy when slaying demons, and weaker beings usually avoided crossing paths with them.

However, Baixian Mountain was a quiet and ideal refuge. Its damp, shadowed side made it a favorite hiding spot for small spirits and demons. Hengze Sect never disturbed the creatures of the forest, maintaining a delicate balance of peace between the two.

That said, the sparrow demons were mischievous by nature and often bullied Jiang Yan and the young apprentices when they came to gather herbs.

…

Stepping out of the shaded forest, pale golden sunlight poured down, dispersing the morning mist.

Lu Yao’s shoes became damp with dew as she paused, stamping her feet and wondering if the sparrow demons were just trying to fool her.

The sparrow demons, however, seemed anxious. They landed on her shoulders, tugging at her hair with their beaks, urging her to continue.

The lead sparrow boldly perched on her head, pecking at her impatiently. “Coo, coo-gah!”

Lu Yao: “…”

She let herself be pushed along for a while, nearing the foot of the mountain, before stopping to demand an explanation.

“Eeeeng—”

A delicate, slightly sharp cry came from the bushes beside the path.

This path wasn’t man-made but rather a rugged trail worn down by frequent use.

The grass along its edges was tall and blade-like, tipped with dewdrops that gleamed in the morning light.

Lu Yao stepped onto a rock, peering into the dense thicket, but the undergrowth was too deep to see anything clearly.

Approaching summer, Lu Yao wasn’t afraid of much—except snakes.

She had no tolerance for the scaly, slithering creatures. Even the sight of one gave her chills.

If it were a demon, it wouldn’t be hiding in the grass. Just as she was about to leave, the cry came again.

“Eeeng eeeng—”

The sound was strangely familiar, stopping Lu Yao in her tracks. She felt like she’d heard it somewhere before.

“Eeeeng—”

The sparrow demons became visibly excited, tugging at her sleeves, trying to pull her toward the bushes.

Lu Yao stayed put, extending her hand to the lead sparrow. “Come here and explain.”

The sparrow landed in her palm, tilting its head and pretending to be cute.

Lu Yao frowned. “I’m not buying it. Speak properly.”

…

“Miss Lu?” A slightly surprised voice called out from ahead. “Heading down the mountain?”

Lu Yao looked up and saw Jiang Yan in his daoist robes.

Today, he wasn’t carrying a medicine basket or accompanied by the young apprentice. Instead, he leaned on a wooden staff, clearly not heading up the mountain to gather herbs.

The sparrow demons immediately flew off from Lu Yao’s palm, perching on grass blades far away, feigning an air of unfamiliarity with her.

Ignoring them, Lu Yao turned to Jiang Yan and said, “I just heard something from the bushes over there. Not sure if it’s a demon or a small animal of the forest.”

Jiang Yan leaned forward, glancing at the bushes with a slight frown. “Let me take a look.”

Although frail and with low-level spells, Jiang Yan had been gathering herbs with his master since the age of four or five, later joined by his senior sister.

After his master, senior brother, and sister left the mountain for their travels, Jiang Yan began venturing alone to collect herbs.

He usually didn’t bother with the mountain’s demons or spirits, not out of fear but because he preferred to avoid unnecessary entanglements.

Jiang Yan used his staff to push aside the grass and cautiously stepped forward, his robes brushing against the vegetation.

The grass rustled as if something alive was moving within.

But despite combing through the area several times, Jiang Yan couldn’t catch the creature.

The sparrow demons perched on the grass blades, watching the scene unfold with amusement.

Under the soft morning light, Lu Yao noticed sweat glistening on Jiang Yan’s forehead. She was about to call him back and suggest giving up. After so much commotion, any alert creature should have fled by now.

Thud!

Suddenly, a black-and-white furry ball tumbled out of the grass from an angle and crashed directly into Lu Yao’s leg.

Lu Yao crouched down, clutching her shin in pain. She gritted her teeth.

Was that a rock? It felt like her leg bone had been cracked.

The creature seemed dazed from the collision as well. It curled into a ball, covering its head and staying perfectly still.

After a moment, it began to let out pitiful cries.

Lu Yao froze, finally recognizing the sound. She’d heard it before in a viral panda video—it was the soft, plaintive sound of those round, black-and-white creatures.

Judging by its size, this was likely a panda cub.

The sparrow demons flew over, perching on Lu Yao’s shoulders and head, chirping excitedly as if to say, “This is it! This is the one!”

Lu Yao called Jiang Yan back.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Jiang Yan approached and was surprised to see the ball of fluff huddled by Lu Yao’s feet. “I’ve never seen this iron-eating demon before.”

Lu Yao asked, “It’s a demon?”

Jiang Yan nodded. “It hasn’t taken on a humanoid form yet, but it has demonic energy. It’s undoubtedly a demon. Strange, though—I’ve never seen it around Baixian Mountain before.”

The sparrow demons impatiently pecked at Lu Yao’s head.

Lu Yao discreetly used her ability to hear their thoughts. The sparrow demons insisted it was a half-demon.

Blinking, Lu Yao whispered, “Are you sure?”

The lead sparrow puffed out its chest in assurance.

Lu Yao turned to Jiang Yan again. “How can you tell it’s new here?”

Jiang Yan scratched his head. “The mountain’s spirits and creatures are no different from the birds in the trees or fish in the streams—just living beings. I’ve climbed this mountain countless times over the years. I can recognize the regular ones easily.”

Since the Internet Cafe appeared, unfamiliar demons had begun frequenting Baixian Mountain, but they stayed on the shadowed side, and the barrier concealed their presence. Jiang Yan left them be.

Even if he wanted to intervene, his strength was limited.

Lu Yao nudged the furry ball with her hand. Like a stubborn puppy, it clung tightly to her leg and let out pitiful cries when pushed.

Jiang Yan asked, “What do you plan to do with it, Shopkeeper?”

What else could she do?

Lu Yao retrieved a spatial pouch from her storage and stuffed the wailing cub into it. The thing was too heavy for her to carry otherwise.

Jiang Yan gawked. “Are you taking it to the Internet Cafe?”

Lu Yao nodded. “This spot is too close to the foot of the mountain. If it accidentally wanders down, it could cause trouble. It’s better to bring it to the mountain’s summit. With so many demon customers at the cafe, it might even pick up some cultivation tips.”

Jiang Yan had always found Lu Yao’s demeanor and her treatment of demons and devils unlike that of ordinary people. Yet she truly had no cultivation herself.

The two of them headed back up the mountain together, with the sparrow demons scattering and flying off. Judging by their direction, they were likely heading to LiuXian City for work. On their way, they must have stumbled upon the panda demon and hurried back to inform Lu Yao.

With the matter settled, the sparrow demons left contentedly, planning to return in the evening to collect their reward.

Jiang Yan was currently the only human cultivator customer at the Internet Cafe. He didn’t visit frequently, usually stopping by once every three to five days.

He knew mingling with demons and devils was unwise. After each visit, he would regret his lack of discipline, but a few days later, he couldn’t resist returning to the mountain.

Sighing, Jiang Yan chastised himself for his weak resolve.

…

When they arrived at the Internet Cafe, Jiang Yan noticed a new shelf beside the snack counter, though it was still empty. The net manager on duty was someone he didn’t recognize.

Curious, he asked, “What happened to the previous net manager?”

Ji Feichen, on his first day at work, was already a bit nervous. Hearing Jiang Yan’s question, he didn’t think much of it and answered truthfully, “He’s on leave for a few days and will be back soon.”

Jiang Yan then asked, “What’s that row of new shelves for?”

Ji Feichen, upright and honest by nature, earnestly explained the Internet Cafe’s upcoming online shopping service.

Jiang Yan pulled a coin pouch from his belt and looked up. “Online shopping?”

…

Meanwhile, Lu Yao returned straight to the lounge, taking out the spatial pouch and releasing the little panda cub.

It had cried like it was being slaughtered when stuffed into the bag, but now it lay completely still. For a moment, Lu Yao thought it might have suffocated. She poked and prodded it, but it didn’t respond.

Only when she noticed the rise and fall of its tiny belly did she realize it had fallen asleep.

The little thing was deceptively large.

Lu Yao wasn’t entirely certain about the sparrow demons’ judgment and decided to wait for Jiao Niang in the afternoon to confirm.

Seeing it sleeping soundly and covered in dirt, she took out a cleaning talisman and stuck it on the cub.

A warm breeze swirled, brushing away the grass and dust from its fur, revealing a clean, refreshed panda cub.

Lu Yao fetched a blanket, wrapped the cub snugly, and stepped out of the lounge.

As the door closed, the panda cub, which had been sleeping deeply, slowly opened its bright, beady eyes.

The black circles around its eyes made them appear sharp and alert, a stark contrast to the timid, clumsy act it had put on earlier.

It waited warily for a while, ensuring the human wasn’t coming back immediately. Then it kicked off the blanket, clumsily climbed off the sofa, and began sniffing around.

The lounge had recently been expanded, adding a storage room behind the employee area for supplies.

Boxes of instant noodles in various flavors were stacked high, along with stashes of gelatin sausages, jelly, marshmallows, chocolates, drinks, and assorted snacks that covered half a wall.

The panda cub waddled into the storage room, its little eyes blinking with delight. Sitting down, it casually grabbed a pack of snacks and tore it open with its claws. The sweet aroma of candy wafted out.

It sniffed the contents, cautiously bit into one, and—!!!

So sweet! So tasty!!!

The cub devoured the entire pack of candy in seconds, even chewing on the wrapper, only to spit it out when it found it unpleasant. It then clambered onto a box, rummaging noisily until a pile of candy spilled onto the floor.

Outside the lounge, Lu Yao was still unaware of the panda cub’s antics. She was talking to Ji Feichen. “There’s a panda cub in the lounge right now—it’s asleep. I’ll be out this afternoon, so keep an eye on it for me.”

Ji Feichen, already uneasy about the shopkeeper, now felt a mix of confusion and resignation. He tried to follow along. “…A panda cub?”

Lu Yao nodded. “I just brought it back. The sparrow demons say it’s a half-demon. Jiao Niang will confirm later.”

Oh, so it’s a bear demon. That’s fine.

Ji Feichen quietly exhaled in relief.

Both Ji Feichen and Ji Feiming were alike in their upright and principled nature. Neither was one for subtlety or tricks.

Watching Ji Feichen fumble nervously, trying to fit into the Internet Cafe’s unique atmosphere, Lu Yao couldn’t help but recall Ji Feiming’s early days.

On his first day, the divine emissary had shown up in a tailored suit, driving a luxury car to this rundown street in the middle of nowhere. Like an old-fashioned gentleman, he had politely knocked on the shopkeeper’s door.

A year had passed, and now Ji Feiming had found his rhythm. While he remained upright and meticulous in his work, the awkwardness from before was no longer present.

He still occasionally wore formal suits and adorned himself with expensive, finely crafted accessories, looking as though he were cosplaying on this run-down street.

His younger colleagues often teased him as being an “uncle-tier heartthrob.” Though initially baffled, he eventually couldn’t help but chuckle shyly along with them.

Time, in its subtle way, changes all things.

Adaptation is a process. Lu Yao hesitated for a moment but ultimately decided not to comment further. Instead, she asked, “Has anything happened while I was away?”

Ji Feichen thought back. To his surprise, things had gone better than expected. Despite the cafe’s clientele being primarily demons and beast demons, they had all been well-behaved. There was nothing noteworthy to report.

At that moment, Jiang Yan approached the counter. “Shopkeeper,” he said, “I heard the net manager teaches customers how to play games?”

Jiang Yan had arrived late, leaving only a spot near Wen Rong and the others, who were still glued to their seats, fully engrossed in their team games.

The four had become addicted to their squad matches and hadn’t left their computers.

Jiang Yan sat down beside them and, as usual, logged into a video site to watch exercise routines.

But the excitement from the adjacent demons and devils, with their periodic shouting and cheering, was impossible to ignore—even with headphones.

Frustrated, Jiang Yan politely asked them to keep it down. That’s when he overheard their conversation about making money through gaming.

Lu Yao asked, “Are you thinking about power leveling too?”

Jiang Yan had been wanting to buy some of the fitness equipment he’d seen online but wasn’t sure where to get it.

After hearing about online shopping while setting up his computer, and then learning about power leveling, he quickly connected the two ideas.

Following the spider demon’s guidance, he searched the shopping platform and found the equipment he wanted.

The spider demon checked the prices for him, commenting that they weren’t cheap.

That was when Jiang Yan started considering learning to play games.

Lu Yao suggested, “…Why don’t you try applying for an account first?”

But when Jiang Yan heard that creating a game account cost ten premium-grade spirit stones, he immediately froze.

Hengze Sect was poor, and Baixian Town wasn’t much better off.

Despite diligently crafting pills, Jiang Yan mostly produced low-grade ones, which sold for little. He barely made enough spirit stones to scrape by, let alone afford ten premium-grade ones.

Lu Yao, recalling something, offered, “How about this—if you help me with something, I’ll gift you accounts for three games once it’s done.”

Jiang Yan: “!!!”

..

At 2 p.m., Lu Yao, Ji Zhixin, and Ji Qingyan set out to discuss the game collaboration.

On the way, Ji Zhixin updated Lu Yao. He had contacted the artist Mei Xue and the modeler Liu Yixi earlier that morning. Both had responded promptly.

They mentioned that Yu Shu had already informed them, and they were interested in the positions offered by the shopping street. However, they both preferred to meet in person.

Lu Yao thought for a moment. “I’m free tomorrow morning. Let them know.”

With that, the car turned onto a side road and entered the underground parking lot of the Shen Corporation’s office building.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Yu Shu caressed the small celadon bottle in her hand and noticed something off about Lu Yao’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

Lu Yao put down her phone and smiled faintly. “I just saw a contact who happens to be a former customer of mine.”

Yu Shu was surprised. “A customer? Are you saying one of these contacts is also your customer?”

Lu Yao nodded. “Yes, it was last year.”

Curious, Lu Yao later searched online but didn’t find much information. However, through the internal network and the amusement park’s database, she accessed the life records of that customer.

Any amusement park player who entered through a Phantom Ring would have their life records archived in the park’s system.

The customer who bought a ring from her last year turned out to own several media-related businesses and was also the CEO of a gaming company.

He had started the company with his classmates during college and developed a game that had been running ever since. While the game wasn’t mainstream, it was highly praised within its niche community, particularly for its art style and design.

Yu Shu’s connections in Yaoguang City were extensive. Among the contacts she shared with Lu Yao were investors, top industry professionals in gaming, and even a renowned artist who had recently left a major company.

Lu Yao looked up the last artist’s portfolio on a popular forum. The style was intricate, whimsical, and strikingly beautiful—both detailed and dazzling.

There was some gossip online about why the artist, known by her alias “Meixue,” had resigned, but Lu Yao only skimmed the rumors before closing the page.

She decided to reach out to Meixue. Lu Yao admired her work, though she wasn’t sure someone of such renown would be interested in her small operation.

As for Bai Lu’s interest in contributing as an artist, Lu Yao kept it in mind.

She didn’t doubt Bai Lu’s talent but recognized that Bai Lu was a recent graduate and lacked experience. It would be ideal to have seasoned professionals in the team to maintain industry standards.

Lu Yao didn’t have much time or room for trial and error. She aimed to mitigate risks during the early preparation stages.

Since Yu Shu was skilled in investments, Lu Yao didn’t hold back, seizing the opportunity to glean advice from her.

The two talked until late into the night. When they parted, Lu Yao handed Yu Shu a Beauty Pill.

“Take this after the effects of the Cleansing Pill wear off. It’s great for brightening the skin and smoothing imperfections—better than any cosmetic treatment, and it has no side effects.”

The Beauty Pill wasn’t available on the internal network and had only been sold to staff members at a discounted price. Those who had taken it raved about its effects.

For instance, Gao Si and Liu Tang from the post-production team had acne before taking the Cleansing Pill. Gao Si was also slightly overweight. After using the Cleansing and Beauty Pills, their acne cleared up, their skin glowed, and Gao Si’s figure even became more proportionate. Their coworkers jokingly called them “baby-faced high schoolers.”

Yu Shu listened with amusement, a smile spreading across her face.

Neither she nor Lu Yao liked unnecessary pleasantries, understanding each other without words.

…

Upstairs, Yu Shu checked on Zheng Ran, who was sound asleep, showing no signs of discomfort in the unfamiliar bed.

She poured herself a glass of hot water and settled into the rattan chair on the balcony.

Three moons hung upside down in the night sky. Holding the water cup, Yu Shu stared outside in a daze for a while before taking the Cleansing Pill from the celadon bottle and consuming it.

…

The next morning, Lu Yao arrived at the Internet Cafe early.

Cheng Ye approached her to discuss his upcoming surgery, scheduled for the day after tomorrow.

Beforehand, he wanted to take some time off to visit his home and prepare.

The weather had gotten hotter, and Cheng Ye had been in a rush when he moved, so he needed to go back for some belongings. After the surgery and recovery, he also planned to find a new place to live.

While the office at the shopping street was decent, he felt awkward staying there since none of his colleagues lived nearby.

Lu Yao approved his leave and immediately arranged for Ji Feichen to cover his shifts for a few days.

Since they hadn’t found a suitable new net manager yet, Lu Yao decided to hold off for now. The current staff was sufficient, and she planned to try hiring someone locally in the Floating World Continent later.

…

Ji Feichen arrived the following day after the short meeting.

A new shelf had been added beside the cafe’s snack counter, specifically for storing deliveries.

The online shopping system was simple: customers exchanged spirit stones with the net manager for cash, which was deposited into their virtual wallet. They could use this to shop on any platform, with all purchases delivered to Ji Feichen’s family villa.

Ji Feichen handled forwarding the packages to the Internet Cafe.

When customers exchanged spirit stones for cash, they had to leave contact information—most used Sound Transmission Jades, which functioned like smartphones, allowing users to connect with each other by exchanging names.

When a package arrived, the Internet Cafe staff contacted the customer via Sound Transmission Jade and provided a pickup code.

With more than a week before the online shopping service officially launched, Ji Feichen had little to do. He still came to the shopping street daily, spending some time at the Internet Cafe before heading to the hot spring inn to keep Budu company.

In the afternoon, Xiao Ji clocked out, and the two of them headed home together.

Lu Yao had initially wanted to get Ji Feichen a delivery truck, but her maximum budget was 100,000 spirit stones. The small utility vehicle she had in mind was promptly rejected.

Ji Qingyan had explained that such a “cheap little truck” wouldn’t even be allowed into their residential community.

Lu Yao: …Another day of having her imagination limited by poverty.

…

Cheng Ye’s surgery and recovery would take at least a week. Normally, that wouldn’t be enough time.

However, Lu Yao had purchased a good stock of healing pills in Ni City. As long as the hospital allowed Cheng Ye to be discharged, he would recover almost immediately upon his return.

By then, the preparations for the game project should also be nearly complete, ready to launch.

After some thought, Lu Yao decided to entrust the Internet Cafe’s operations primarily to Cheng Ye and Zhong Lianjia, as they were the cafe’s core employees.

For the game project, Cheng Ye would serve as the primary lead, while Zhong Lianjia would oversee day-to-day tasks for the Six Realms of Floating Life initiative. Staff from other stores could assist if they had free time.

Once the daily affairs of the Internet Cafe were arranged, Lu Yao messaged Ji Zhixin, asking him to reach out to the contacts Yu Shu had introduced the previous night.

Meanwhile, Lu Yao contacted the former customer who had purchased a Phantom Ring from her, to explore potential collaboration.

…

Yaoguang City, a corporate office building.

Shen Pingjin was in a meeting when a notification popped up on his phone.

He glanced at it briefly, frowned slightly at the sender’s name, and hesitated before opening the message.

After replying, several more messages quickly appeared in the chat window.

Moments later, Shen Pingjin interrupted his subordinate’s report, grabbed his phone, and walked out of the meeting room.

…

Lu Yao.

Since they had exchanged contact information, this was the first time she had reached out.

Her message was concise and direct. After introducing herself, she attached a project proposal and asked if he was interested in taking a look.

Shen Pingjin was slightly surprised by Lu Yao’s purpose in contacting him—it was unexpected.

He still kept an eye on the amusement park forums and knew the speed and pricing at which Lu Yao sold Phantom Rings. She didn’t seem like someone who would approach him for investment.

But after reading the proposal, Shen Pingjin found it even stranger. She wasn’t looking for investors—she was seeking a collaborative team.

Few outside the industry knew that Shen Pingjin owned a game company.

Then again, considering Lu Yao’s other identity, it wasn’t entirely surprising.

Why had she suddenly decided to develop a new game and specifically sought his partnership?

Could it be that the amusement park was dissatisfied with the current game models and wanted to try something fresh?

As a semi-retired amusement park player, Shen Pingjin suddenly felt a sense of caution about Lu Yao’s approach, making it difficult for him to reject her outright.

…

When Lu Yao received Shen Pingjin’s invitation to dinner, she was surprised at how smoothly things were progressing.

However, for this collaboration, Lu Yao’s approach was to plan the game project as a standard development initiative. There was no need to reveal the existence of the shopping street.

If officially launched, this game would just be a normal online game.

Lu Yao planned to visit Shen Pingjin’s company in the afternoon, accompanied by Ji Zhixin and Ji Qingyan.

She sent a message to inform the two about the afternoon itinerary. Then, turning around, she noticed Zhu Ying, Danxi, Wen Rong, and Guanzhong still in the lobby. Judging by their expressions, it seemed they hadn’t just arrived that morning—they must have stayed overnight.

Recently, to accommodate Zhong Lianjia’s work schedule, the group often came to the Internet Cafe in the afternoons, played until midnight, and left. Rarely did they stay up all night, neglecting their cultivation.

At this rate, the Internet Cafe might actually hinder their ascension.

Lu Yao walked up behind them. The usernames on their screens were unfamiliar, likely accounts Zhong Lianjia had given them.

Suddenly, the leopard demon Wen Rong threw his headphones down angrily, his face contorted with frustration. “What the hell! This is impossible to play! Is that ADC a complete idiot? Bot lane is a disaster, they farm like they’re begging for scraps, and they keep spamming for help! The enemy’s already geared up—how the hell are we supposed to win?!”

Lu Yao: “…”

They hadn’t mastered the game yet, but they’d certainly learned the language.

Zhu Ying, buying equipment after returning to base, glanced at Wen Rong’s screen and shook her head. “This isn’t going to work. Bot lane is dragging you down—you can’t carry them.”

Wen Rong exploded, “I’ve been losing all night! Ranked matches are impossible—every team is full of idiots!”

Lu Yao: “…”

From her limited gaming experience, Wen Rong exhibited classic beginner symptoms: I could carry, but if I didn’t, it must be because my teammates are idiots!

Silently observing, Lu Yao noticed that Zhu Ying’s performance was visibly superior to the others. She preferred playing mid-lane alone, with steady farming, good awareness, and seamless coordination during team fights. Her kill rate was high, and her anti-gank awareness was particularly strong.

In contrast, Wen Rong, Guanzhong, and Danxi were far more volatile, completely unlike their calm demeanor during practice sessions.

Each played on their own account, winning one game and losing two, getting so angry they pounded the table, then calming themselves with deep breaths before queuing up again. Watching them, Lu Yao couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity and suggested, “Why don’t you try queuing as a four-stack?”

Four-stack?

They hadn’t considered that.

In recent days, they’d been focusing on basic training. Wen Rong and Guanzhong had tried duo-queue with Zhong Lianjia, but Zhu Ying and Danxi, being newer, hadn’t even heard of duo-queue.

Lu Yao explained, “You all happen to cover four different roles.”

Wen Rong played jungle, Guanzhong took the top lane, and Zhu Ying played mid.

Danxi seemed versatile in the bottom lane but often struggled with poor random teammates.

Playing together would let them share information and coordinate better, making things easier. However, such teams also risked facing coordinated opponents in four or five-stacks.

With Zhong Lianjia already off work, the two demons and two devils, lacking their guiding star, decided to take Lu Yao’s suggestion and try a four-stack.

It was early morning, so it took them a while to find a match.

Lu Yao pointed out, “Judging by their usernames, three of them share the same prefix. They’re likely queuing as a team like you. The last two usernames are connected, so they’re probably a CP.”

Dan Xi asked, “What’s a xi pi?”

Zhu Ying, well-versed in such matters, quickly answered, “It’s not ‘Xi Pi,’ it’s CP. In cultivator terms, it’s similar to Dao companions. It can also refer to people who aren’t Dao companions yet but have mutual feelings for each other.”

In the scripts of both demons and devils, there is no character for “CP,” so the system doesn’t translate it, displaying the original text instead.

When foreign text appears, a small speaker icon pops up in the bottom right corner.

Zhu Ying, having encountered this before while browsing forums, knew that clicking the speaker icon would play a mechanical pronunciation of the text.

As an avid drama fan, Zhu Ying had seen this term many times and had already absorbed and understood it.

Wen Rong, however, was irritated. “Why do people even need Dao companions to play games? Do they have to show off like that?”

Danxi commented, “If they’re duo-queuing, they’ll likely go bot lane. Just gank them a few times, and that’ll be that.”

Guan Zhong added, “Nothing’s more annoying than clingy lovebirds. The best outcome would be making them cry.”

Lu Yao remarked, “Don’t underestimate them. They’re a coordinated team just like you, sharing information and planning ganks. Be cautious.”

As they spoke, the game map loaded.

In the first five minutes, both sides were looking for opportunities to make plays but hadn’t managed to find one.

Since queuing together, Danxi’s performance in the bot lane had significantly improved.

This time, she was playing ADC, and her support was much better than usual, helping manage the wave, harassing opponents, and demonstrating strong anti-gank awareness.

By midgame, the teams were still evenly matched until a pivotal fight at the river.

With perfect coordination, Wen Rong, Zhu Ying, and Guanzhong managed to kill the opposing mid-laner, jungler, and support while securing the dragon. From there, the advantage tilted in their favor.

Lu Yao quietly listened to their communication and observed the game’s progression. She took out her notebook to jot down notes.

She noticed that demons, devils, and humans truly had different mindsets.

When playing solo, they adhered to Zhong Lianjia’s tactical lessons.

But once they grouped up, they seemed to temporarily disregard conventional strategies and instead instinctively explored the battlefield.

Once they acquired the right information, their eyes, perception, and gameplay became astonishingly precise. Their synergy in voice communication was seamless, and their team fights were fierce yet precise.

After gaining the upper hand at the dragon’s pit, the four-player squad pushed aggressively. In the second team fight, they stormed the high ground and secured a beautiful victory.

The moment the crystal exploded, Wen Rong threw off his headset, slammed the keyboard twice, and shouted, “This is f***ing awesome!!!”

Guanzhong pounded the table with both hands, howling loudly like a primitive beast.

Danxi, embarrassed, scooted closer to Zhu Ying to hide.

Lu Yao winced. “…Calm down. The table is about to collapse.”

Wen Rong finally settled down and glanced at Lu Yao.

Lu Yao felt vaguely offended.

The demon’s amber eyes sparkled with clarity and surprise, as if silently saying, “I didn’t expect the Elder to be useful for once.”

Having discovered their “true way” of playing games, the group enthusiastically queued up for another match.

…

During this time, Jiao Niang and Zhong Lianjia worked the night shift while Lu Yao and Ji Feichen covered the day shift while Cheng Ye was away.

To gather material for her tasks, Lu Yao decided to continue spectating.

Suddenly, a group of sparrow demons returned from outside, chirping excitedly and flitting around Lu Yao. Even their favorite games couldn’t distract them. They landed behind her, trying to push her out the door.

Recalling her conversation with them the previous night, Lu Yao asked, “Did you find it?”

The lead sparrow perched on her palm and tilted its head, trying to nod but instead poked her hand with its sharp beak, leaving a shallow scratch.

Startled, the sparrow quickly folded its wings in guilt. “…”

The sparrow demons had endured many hardships recently, bullied by just about everyone in the shop.

Even when serving as lackeys for the Demon Emperor in Liuxian City, they were still mistreated. Unable to shapeshift yet, they could only endure.

However, they loved gaming too much to leave the Internet Cafe despite the bullying.

All the spirit stones they’d earned as lackeys were saved in the birdcage Lu Yao had prepared for them, waiting for the day they could shapeshift.

When that day came, they imagined themselves sitting in a row at the computer stations, ordering instant noodles, water, and sausages from Lu Yao, finally living their best lives.

Unaware of the sparrow demons’ grand ambitions, Lu Yao was only focused on completing her tasks. She still had no idea where to find a half-demon under a hundred years old.

It was said that half-demons and half-devils were highly taboo in the Floating World Continent. Their mixed bloodlines were considered weaker than purebloods, and they were often seen as complex and fragile.

Neither parent’s clan was usually willing to accept them.

Half-demons and half-devils often had difficult lives and rarely revealed themselves to others.

Lu Yao offered cultivation-enhancing pills as a reward, tasking the sparrow demons with finding a half-demon.

If they succeeded, they were to bring the half-demon to her, and in return, she would give them a bottle of pills once the task marker was lit up.

They had just agreed on this arrangement yesterday, and now they claimed to have found one.

Lu Yao felt skeptical.

The sparrow demons were crafty—what if they were trying to trick her for the pills by bringing just any demon to fool her?

Still, with her task progress stagnant, Lu Yao decided to follow them, albeit with some doubt, to see for herself.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Lu Yao initially thought lighting up the demon entry in her task log would be the easiest. She hadn’t expected it to be such a trap.

The task deadline was only two months. Even if Zeyuan got married tomorrow, he couldn’t produce a Demon Prince for her within the timeframe.

The requirements for lighting up the human entry were “a female human guest over sixty,” and for the demon entry, “a half-demon guest under one hundred.” Compared to true demons, it seemed more feasible to make progress on humans and half-demons.

(T/N: it’s getting confusing to use demons and demon cultivators to distinguish between the two. So, I’ll start using demons as devils).

Back when Lu Yao met Xie Zili at the Sea of Tears, she had considered luring both him and his grandmother to her shop to complete two minor tasks at once.

In the end, she found the pair unsuitable and decided against “luring” Xie Zili. Instead, she brought Jiao Niang back.

Although the tasks had seen no progress in the days since, Lu Yao didn’t regret her decision.

The two-month deadline, which seemed long at first glance, actually made the task extremely challenging. She would need to devise more ways to push it forward.

…

After the meeting, Zhong Lianjia began actively promoting coaching services. During work hours, he refrained from playing on his phone or reading novels, focusing instead on rigorously guiding customers.

He even created a study group aimed at quickly improving their skills. The group currently had three members: Zhong Lianjia, Wen Rong the leopard spirit, and Guanzhong.

Zhong Lianjia drew upon his professional esports training days to develop a comprehensive learning plan for the demon and the spirit. It covered everything from basic mechanics like last-hitting, item classification, damage calculations, and skill cooldowns to advanced concepts like map awareness, farming efficiency, and team fights. The material was thorough and highly technical.

The demon and devil in the study group treated the lessons like treasures. Even colleagues in the shopping street network, upon hearing of these “training materials,” started calling Zhong Lianjia “King Zhong” again, one title after another.

Zhong Lianjia found it amusing and awkward but secretly felt a bit smug.

After retiring, Zhong Lianjia had often felt lost and uncertain.

At sixteen, he entered the professional esports scene, rising from the youth academy to become a full-fledged player.

At his peak, he was the MVP of an entire season, the undisputed star of his team. At that time, he’d had a bit of an ego, believing himself to be the king of the gaming world.

But in just a few short years, younger, more talented players emerged like mushrooms after the rain. Meanwhile, Zhong Lianjia, worn down by overuse, began faltering—unable to adapt to the competitive pace or make the right decisions, becoming a weak link on the team.

By the next season, his time on the field dwindled until he couldn’t endure the endless benching and chose to retire.

When he first joined the shopping street’s staff network, he often felt like an outsider.

His colleagues’ credentials were impressive. Even among humans, there was Cheng Ye, a graduate of a prestigious university and a former employee at a well-known domestic company. His role as a network administrator was just one of his many skills—he even helped Lu Yao with programming.

The human staff at the hot spring inn were similarly extraordinary, either with outstanding resumes or multiple talents.

Zhong Lianjia often thought that he had wasted his youth on gaming, leaving behind nothing of value.

This led to a sense of inferiority.

Yet, since starting his coaching efforts with Wen Rong and Guanzhong, the way they looked at him—with admiration and a touch of flattery as they called him “Brother Zhong”—gave him a sense of fulfillment.

…

After joining the group, Guanzhong began visiting the Internet Cafe regularly. Occasionally, Danxi would accompany him.

Danxi, uninterested in gaming, had grown close to Zhu Ying and would sometimes complain about Guanzhong’s obsession with games.

Zhu Ying, sharp as ever, listened carefully and, after hearing similar complaints a few times, approached Lu Yao at the counter.

Lu Yao didn’t hide anything. Zhu Ying’s eyes lit up as she asked, “So you can earn money by being good at games? And that money can be used for online shopping?”

Lu Yao nodded. “But neither of you likes gaming.”

Zhu Ying grabbed Lu Yao’s hand, her eyes shining. “No, I’ll learn! For the sake of new lipstick, I’m in!”

Danxi didn’t quite understand but, after Zhu Ying explained, also expressed her desire to learn gaming.

“For online shopping, I’ll learn no matter how hard it is!”

Soon, the three-person study group gained two more members: another demon and a devil.

Lu Yao even dusted off her long-unused university account and joined the group as an administrator.

…

After Zhu Ying and Danxi left, Jiao Niang approached Lu Yao.

“Shopkeeper, I want to learn to game too.”

Lu Yao was surprised. “Why? Do you have something you want to buy as well?”

Jiao Niang nodded. “There are so many things online that are rare in the Floating World Continent. I can’t cook, but I saw those air fryers and microwaves—they look really convenient. I want to try them.”

Lu Yao said, “Both air fryers and microwaves need electricity. They probably won’t work on the Floating World Continent.”

Jiao Niang’s eyes sparkled. “That’s fine. I actually know a bit about artifact crafting. Aren’t the machines in the shop all powered by electricity? I’ve looked into it over the past few days. It’s not hard to create an energy device using spirit stones as a power source.”

Energy devices, power sources…

Lu Yao sighed. “…It seems you’ve been spending quite a bit of time online.”

Jiao Niang smiled softly. “Smartphones are even more convenient than computers. People online are generous with tips and tricks. I read a little every day when I rest—it’s been very helpful.”

Lu Yao relented. “…Alright, I’ll add you to the group. But remember, there are also plenty of fake accounts and misinformation online. Don’t believe everything.”

Once Jiao Niang joined, the study group expanded to seven members.

Lu Yao rarely spoke in the gaming study group, only checking in each night to see everyone’s progress.

Compared to humans, demons and devils seemed naturally gifted in combat. With Zhong Lianjia’s guidance, their skills improved at an astonishing pace.

After just three days, Zhong Lianjia reported to Lu Yao that he was planning to take on a few free coaching jobs for practice. These would be low-ranked games with no fees, purely for training.

Lu Yao, whose understanding of esports couldn’t compare to Zhong Lianjia’s, had no intention of micromanaging and fully trusted his abilities.

Zhong Lianjia suggested, “It’d be better to create a dedicated account for taking orders. I can handle promotions and set up a payment account.”

Lu Yao prepared a blank bank card specifically for transactions. As for the account for taking orders, she thought for a while before renaming the study group.

…

That afternoon, when Guanzhong and Danxi logged into the group after arriving at the Internet Cafe, they immediately noticed the change.

[Devil Danxi]: Why did the name change?

[Devil Guanzhong]: It looks like a sect from the human world.

By evening, Wen Rong the leopard spirit and Zhu Ying the spider spirit also arrived. Their growing addiction to the Internet Cafe had them coming even late at night, often leaving only at midnight.

[Demon Wen Rong]: What’s ‘The Six Realms of Floating Life’?

[Demon Zhu Ying]: Are we starting a sect like human cultivators?

[Demon Jiao Niang]: ‘Six Realms of Floating Life’—what a nice name.

[Net Manager Zhong Lianjia]: …Do you all really think it’s good?

Zhong Lianjia had protested, but Lu Yao wouldn’t budge.

[Demon Zhu Ying]: ‘Six Realms’ must refer to the six kinds of beings in the Floating World Continent, right? I think it’s great.

[Demon Wen Rong]: If we’re founding a sect, Brother Zhong should be the sect leader. Let’s update his title.

[Net Manager Zhong Lianjia]: …

..

The group buzzed with excitement as they collectively pressured Zhong Lianjia to change his group nickname. By the time Lu Yao logged in, “Net Manager” had already been replaced with “Master,” and her own title had shifted from “Shopkeeper” to “Elder.”

Scrolling through the chat logs, Lu Yao realized what had happened.

Following this, the group assigned seniority based on their order of joining: Wen Rong became the senior disciple, Guanzhong the second disciple, Zhu Ying the third, Danxi the fourth, and the last to join, Jiao Niang, was the youngest disciple.

This was likely the first-ever virtual sect in the Floating World Continent and, perhaps, even across the entire cultivation world. Its existence was nothing short of revolutionary.

Zhong Lianjia mentioned in the group that he had some trial games lined up for them, and the junior disciples were thrilled. They reacted like young sect disciples finally receiving their master’s permission to descend the mountain for their first training mission, causing a lively commotion.

Meanwhile, a black sedan pulled into the shopping street. As promised, Yu Shu had brought her daughter, Zheng Ran.

Lu Yao stepped out of the Internet Cafe just in time to see the mother and daughter walking hand-in-hand toward the hot spring inn.

Zheng Ran was thin, her head shaved due to treatment, and she wore a white hat. At the sight of a stranger, she shyly hid behind Yu Shu.

Yu Shu, spotting Lu Yao, gently pulled Zheng Ran forward and greeted her, “Ranran, don’t be scared. This is Auntie Yao.”

When her mother told her they were going out for a fun day, Zheng Ran had been excited. She thought they might be going to an amusement park or a zoo.

The doctor had said she couldn’t go anywhere too noisy, so she’d adjusted her expectations—maybe a shopping mall or a movie would suffice. But she hadn’t expected her mother to bring her to such a strange and quiet place.

Because of her illness, Zheng Ran had taken a break from school and spent a long time living in the hospital. Her parents often argued just outside her hospital room, thinking she couldn’t hear. But she had heard everything.

Now she was sensitive and wary of strangers. She nervously mumbled “Auntie” and quickly lowered her head, unwilling to say more.

Yu Shu gently patted her head and explained to Lu Yao, “She’s a bit shy.”

Lu Yao replied, “It’s okay. Let’s head inside.”

As a temporary guest at the shop, Zheng Ran’s visit had already been arranged under Yu Shu’s VIP account, and a confidentiality agreement was signed beforehand.

Lu Yao intentionally hung back by a few steps to let the guests enter first.

Before stepping inside, Yu Shu leaned down and whispered to Zheng Ran, “This is the cutest little shop. You’re going to love it.”

Zheng Ran looked puzzled.

But as soon as she crossed the threshold, vibrant and bright colors filled her view. Startled, she instinctively lowered her gaze, only to spot tiny thumb-sized people bustling through a transparent passageway in the corner.

Zheng Ran froze, staring at the scene.

Inside the transparent tunnel, one of the little people noticed her gaze. Looking up, the tiny figure realized it was a young human child and waved cheerfully.

!!!

Zheng Ran rubbed her eyes and looked again. Sure enough, tiny people were running around in what looked like a cylindrical hamster tunnel.

“Mom!” Zheng Ran couldn’t help but tug on Yu Shu’s hand, wanting to show her the little people on the floor. But when she raised her head, she froze again.

It wasn’t just the floor. The windowsills, tables, and even floating bridges in midair were bustling with little people.

They had tiny rooms, dining in Barbie-doll-like restaurants, sharing a giant shrimp dumpling.

On the ceiling was a rotating teacup cafe. The windowsill had a miniature theater built out of toy blocks and an old phone. Some of the little people were even driving around in tiny block cars.

A spark of light appeared in Zheng Ran’s previously dull and lifeless eyes. Perched on a tall stool by the windowsill, she leaned forward, utterly captivated by the adorable miniature world and its busy little inhabitants.

The Nitean little people had a fondness for children, even if they were human children, and displayed extra patience with them.

Yu Shu sat nearby, silently watching her daughter’s joyful expression. She let out a slow, deep breath of relief.

This trip had been the right choice.

Yu Shu booked a guest room and planned to take Ranran to enjoy the hot springs after she had her fill of fun. They would then return to their room for dinner.

Once Ranran fell asleep, Yu Shu intended to meet Lu Yao to collect the Marrow Cleansing Pill.

Xiao Zheng prepared dinner and clocked out for the day. The on-duty human staff member this week was Bai Lu.

After her two colleagues left, Bai Lu approached Lu Yao. “Shopkeeper, I heard from Qingyan that the Internet Cafe is starting a game project and looking for artists?”

Lu Yao replied, “Yes. Do you have someone to recommend?”

Bai Lu shook her head. “No, I’d like to give it a try.”

It wasn’t that she was unhappy with her current job, but as a professional art student, she couldn’t resist the idea of such an opportunity.

Lu Yao said, “I don’t doubt your skills, but I’ve done a bit of research, and making a game is far from simple. Balancing the reception duties at the inn and being an artist for the project would be exhausting.”

Bai Lu responded confidently, “I’m not afraid of that. Look at Qingyan, Cheng Ye, and Brother Zhixin from the Little Pet Cafe—aren’t they all handling multiple roles? Even Xiao Zheng has started assisting Brother Zhixin with tasks, and King Zhong is learning to be a coach. If they can do it, so can I.”

Lu Yao covered her face.

The Internet was full of talk about people slacking off at work, yet her staff seemed to brim with enthusiasm.

Bai Lu persisted, “Shopkeeper—”

Lu Yao waved her hand. “No rush. Let me think it over.”

For now, finding an artist wasn’t the most pressing issue for the project.

At that moment, the sound of a bell rang out—new guests had arrived.

…

A group of little people from the BlackRock Tribe had come to stay. Bai Lu and the tiny staff members busied themselves welcoming them.

Yu Shu came downstairs, and Lu Yao retrieved a small celadon porcelain bottle from her storage space, handing it over.

Yu Shu accepted the bottle but didn’t leave immediately. “I have a few acquaintances in the gaming industry. If you need, I can introduce you.”

The guest rooms were outfitted with soundproofing magic, so guests upstairs shouldn’t have heard the conversation downstairs.

This could only mean that Yu Shu had been lingering on the staircase earlier.

Lu Yao asked, “Why would you help?”

Yu Shu replied with a light smile, “Being in a good mood—is that a good enough reason?”

Lu Yao chuckled. “Then I’ll trouble you, Sister.”

Yu Shu wasn’t just making polite conversation. She went upstairs, retrieved her phone, and returned with several contacts to share.

Lu Yao scrolled through the list of unfamiliar names when her finger suddenly froze.

Amid the unfamiliar contacts, she recognized one familiar name.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Upon seeing the message, Lu Yao didn’t pay it much attention at first.

After all, Jizhuang couldn’t possibly beat Zeyuan. Even if they collided, it wouldn’t cause much of a stir.

A few minutes later, [Interdimentional Internet Cafe Jiao Niang]: “Shopkeeper, the Demon Emperor insists he had feelings for you first and even presented a recording talisman as evidence. The Demon Lord is furious—they’ve started fighting!!!”

A recording talisman?

What was Jizhuang doing with something like that?

Even if Jizhuang had evidence of a past relationship with Yu Yao, what did that have to do with her?

Lu Yao frowned, growing a bit irritable.

She had already explained things to Jizhuang several times, but the man was stubborn to the point of absurdity, refusing to think rationally.

Besides, didn’t Zeyuan lose his memory? Why would he get angry over Jizhuang’s recording talisman?

Could it be that Zeyuan was also somehow involved with Yu Yao?

The message notification chimed again, and Zhong Lianjia was frantically poking Lu Yao.

[Interdimensional Internet Cafe Zhong Lianjia]: “Shopkeeper, they’re fighting!!! Come back quickly!”

Lu Yao exited the chat to check, finding that Zhong Lianjia had already shared several messages in the group a few minutes earlier. The first was a short video, seemingly showing the footage from the recording talisman.

In the video, a man and woman were seated by a lotus pond. The woman, bearing a five or six-point resemblance to Lu Yao, had removed her shoes and socks, letting her toes dip into the water. Her face was bright with a carefree smile.

Next to her, a silver-haired, red-eyed youth crouched by the pond, reaching to pluck a lotus flower.

Lu Yao initially felt nothing about the scene—until she noticed the woman wearing a gold lotus pendant around her neck. Enlarging the screenshot, Lu Yao confirmed it was unmistakably similar to the earring Lu Mingxiao had gifted her.

Even Lu Yao was baffled. Did this celestial maiden Yu Yao really have some connection to her?

At that point, the fight likely hadn’t started yet, as Zhong Lianjia was still sharing idle gossip in the group.

[Interdimensional Internet Cafe Zhong Lianjia]: “This girl really isn’t the Shopkeeper?”

[Childhood Tutoring Center Hu Jiao]: “Who is this?”

[Interdimensional Internet Cafe Zhong Lianjia]: “A customer brought in the recording talisman. Apparently, it’s a precious recording of him and his lover by the lake from over two hundred years ago.”

[Nail Salon Harold]: “So what? What does this customer want to say?”

[Interdimensional Internet Cafe Zhong Lianjia]: “This customer seems to think the Shopkeeper is his lover’s reincarnation…”

[Interdimensional Cinema Zhu Zhu]: “Oh my god!!! Where’s the Shopkeeper?”

[Interdimensional Internet Cafe Zhong Lianjia]: “The Shopkeeper’s still in the pet cafe having a meeting.”

[Blind Box Shop Lilly]: “But the woman doesn’t even look like Lu Yao!”

[Interdimensional Internet Cafe Zhong Lianjia]: “Why do I feel like not only do they look alike, but even their temperament is kind of similar?”

[Childhood Tutoring Center Bai Yi]: “What’s going on? What’s going on? Is the Shopkeeper caught in a cheesy doppelgänger drama?”

[Interdimensional Internet Cafe Zhong Lianjia]: “…There might even be a love triangle. The Demon Lord’s expression looks terrible… He just crushed the Demon Emperor’s recording talisman… and now they’re fighting!”

[Interdimensional Internet Cafe Zhong Lianjia]: “Oh no, the shop’s about to be destroyed again!!!”

Zhong Lianjia finished by posting a photo of Jizhuang and Zeyuan mid-fight.

Good grief. The Bodhi Tree had already been pierced with a gaping hole.

Lu Yao said a few words to Ji Zhixin before getting up to leave for the Internet Cafe.

Outside the pet cafe, Budu was waiting at the door. Upon seeing Lu Yao, he said, “I’ll go with you.”

Lu Yao didn’t refuse.

When they arrived at the Internet Cafe, only a few minutes had passed. The once-damaged Bodhi Tree now suffered greater calamity—the canopy had been snapped in half, and the trunk leaned precariously, propped up by a nearby branch, hanging in midair.

The shadows of trees loomed heavily, and the chirping of birds and buzzing of insects seemed to echo close by. Fortunately, the lobby and second-floor private rooms of the Internet Cafe were protected by a barrier, sparing them from the chaos for now.

The customers, safely contained within the barrier, craned their necks to watch the spectacle outside, thoroughly enjoying the drama.

Pale moonlight filtered through the gaps in the branches, illuminating the forest and spilling into the now roofless Internet Cafe.

In midair, Jizhuang and Zeyuan were still locked in combat.

Lu Yao stood at the doorway, quietly observing for a moment, before threading her way through the rubble to the front counter. She took a loudspeaker from Zhong Lianjia and shouted toward the two fighting above:

“Stop fighting, both of you! If you keep this up, I’ll blacklist you both!”

Neither the Demon Lord nor the Demon Emperor knew what “blacklist” meant, but Zeyuan immediately halted upon hearing Lu Yao’s voice.

Jizhuang, still fuming, thrust his sword forward.

Zeyuan sidestepped, catching the blade between two fingers. From his fingertips, a faint golden lotus branch extended, coiling around the sword tip.

The Demon Emperor’s life-bound artifact, corroded by demonic energy, shattered into powder beneath the hilt.

Without sparing Jizhuang a glance, Zeyuan turned and descended, landing squarely in front of Lu Yao.

“Lu Yao.”

Jizhuang followed moments later, stepping toward her as well. “Yao’er.”

Lu Yao almost laughed in anger, stepping back to avoid their outstretched hands. “This humble shop cannot afford to host such esteemed guests. Please settle the damages and leave immediately.”

Inside the barrier, both the demon and demon cultivators watched the scene with great interest. After all, the shopkeeper had previously imprisoned those who fought and demanded compensation. Now, even when faced with a Demon Lord and Demon Emperor fighting, she showed no fear.

The real question was, would these two give her face?

Many had seen the footage in the recording talisman and were privately speculating—was the shopkeeper really the Demon Emperor’s lover from a past life?

And what was going on with the Demon Lord?

Jizhuang, who had been drunk at Chongdeng Inn last time and beaten by Zeyuan, had sobered up and attempted to visit Lu Yao again, only to be blocked by Wuling. With Wuling now out of town, Jizhuang had brought his people straight to the Internet Cafe.

The more Jizhuang thought about it, the more certain he became that Lu Yao was the same Yu Yao from two hundred years ago. Her appearance, temperament, even her habits couldn’t lie.

Even her anger and evasiveness today were identical to those of the Yu Yao he’d known back then.

Jizhuang gazed at her with heartache. “Yao’er.”

Lu Yao closed her eyes briefly, suppressing her irritation. “Demon Emperor, I believe I’ve told you countless times. I am Lu Yao, not Yu Yao. Do you truly not recognize the person you love?”

A small demon inside the barrier spoke up, “Shopkeeper, we just saw the recording talisman. Two hundred years ago, the person with the Demon Emperor was clearly you. Maybe you’re just her reincarnation and have forgotten.”

Zeyuan sent a streak of demonic energy flying toward the barrier, cracking it like a spiderweb.

His crimson eyes glowed brightly, his voice cold and firm. “Nonsense! She is herself, not someone else!”

Lu Yao glanced at him in surprise. “If you know that, then why did you get so angry and start fighting?”

Zeyuan raised a hand to his chest, his eyes momentarily dazed. His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out. In the end, he simply shook his head, helplessly.

When he saw the recording talisman’s footage, Zeyuan hadn’t even noticed the woman in it. Just the sight of the scene stirred an uncontrollable irritation within him.

From behind the counter, a woman stepped out, her lantern hairpin swaying gently with her movements. The red flame at its center flickered as she approached.

Chi Jiumeng smiled warmly at Lu Yao. “Actually, it’s simple to determine if the shopkeeper is truly Yu Yao. I have a treasure called the Mirror of Past Lives. It reveals the last ten lifetimes of any being, whether demon, human, spirit, or immortal.”

Yu Yao had vanished two hundred years ago. Looking back over ten lifetimes would certainly confirm whether Lu Yao and Yu Yao were the same.

Jizhuang’s eyes lit up with hope as he looked expectantly at Lu Yao.

Zeyuan frowned, stepping in front of Chi Jiumeng. “She’s not that person. You demons mistook her identity—fine. But to pry into her past ten lives just because her body is mortal and defenseless? Chi Jiumeng, why not start by using that Mirror of Past Lives on your pathetic Demon Emperor’s ten lives first?”

Chi Jiumeng showed no fear of Zeyuan and looked him over with great interest before speaking in a faint tone, “It’s been centuries since we last met, Demon Lord. How unexpected to see you showing concern for someone. Could it be that you’re about to grow a love root?”

Zeyuan lowered his gaze, glancing sideways behind him in an attempt to steal a look at Lu Yao. His ears reddened slightly.

“…”

Lu Yao sighed and leaned her head out from behind Zeyuan. “Miss Chi, there’s no need to tease him. I won’t use the Mirror of Past Lives. I’ve said countless times already that I didn’t know the Demon Emperor before. Jizhuang is indeed mistaken. Instead, why not use the mirror on him? Perhaps it could help him find a way to retrieve Yu Yao.

“If the demon clan insists on using their power to oppress and trouble an ordinary human like me, then let’s settle it your way—by seeing who has the stronger fist.”

Chi Jiumeng stared at Lu Yao in surprise, not expecting her to be so bold. Perhaps she was relying on the Demon Lord’s support?

Budu stepped forward, conjuring a blood blade in his hand as wind and snow rose again in the lobby.

The demons who had been happily spectating and gossiping moments earlier were now trembling on the ground, too terrified to move.

Budu swept his crimson gaze over Chi Jiumeng and then turned toward Jizhuang. “You deserve to die.”

Compared to Chi Jiumeng, Budu found this persistent Demon Emperor, who constantly pestered Lu Yao, even more annoying.

Xuanfeng and Mo Bao crouched behind the counter, silently watching the drama unfold.

The two boys who always followed Lu Yao around were a mystery—both stronger than anyone imagined.

Chi Jiumeng didn’t know, but Jizhuang had barely escaped with his life after nearly being beaten to death by this “kid” last time.

Xuanfeng and Mo Bao continued enjoying the show, even taking the time to buy grilled sausages from Jiao Niang.

Jizhuang summoned fresh camellia branches around his sword hilt, which gradually formed into a new blade.

He glared coldly at Budu. Last time, he had underestimated this child and lost his sword. This time, he was determined to teach him a lesson.

The wind and snow howled. Within the hollow trunk of the Bodhi Tree, the atmosphere had turned into the equivalent of the ninth layer of cold hell.

The demons and demon cultivators shivered uncontrollably, while Zhong Lianjia cowered in the back, only surviving thanks to the sharkskin cloak Jiao Niang draped over him.

Only Lu Yao remained unaffected by the cold in the lobby.

Budu narrowed his crimson eyes and didn’t move a step away from Lu Yao. The blood blade in his hand morphed into a long, thin needle that darted straight toward Jizhuang’s eyes.

Jizhuang found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move.

Unbeknownst to him, Lu Yao had already drawn her staff, a black magic array expanding beneath Jizhuang’s feet, enveloping the entire root system of the Bodhi Tree.

Chi Jiumeng noticed the unusual sensation beneath her feet as well. Her legs felt like iron, immovable.

Lu Yao tilted her head slightly, her voice calm and gentle like a stream. “I’ve just thought of a good way to prove I’m not who you think I am—if I kill the Demon Emperor here and now, no one will ever mistake me for Yu Yao again, right?”

The already shivering demons jolted at her words.

For millennia, humans had been weaker than demons and demon cultivators in strength, but when it came to scheming and cunning, no one could compare.

Yu Yao was said to be gentle and kind-hearted, traits that had ensnared the Demon Emperor in love.

After this, the demons were convinced—Lu Yao was definitely not Yu Yao.

What kind of saintly immortal could be as black-hearted and ruthless as the shopkeeper?

Suddenly, a pink stream of light appeared, forming into Wuling’s figure. He blocked the needle just as it neared Jizhuang’s face.

To his surprise, the slender needle weighed like a mountain against his arm. His expression shifted, and he struggled to maintain his stance as he spoke through gritted teeth, “Lu Yao, Jizhuang is at fault for causing trouble for you. I apologize on his behalf. Please, show mercy.”

Lu Yao pressed a hand against Budu’s shoulder. “Wuling, this isn’t something that can be resolved with a simple apology.”

Wuling turned, glaring at Jizhuang as if hating iron for not becoming steel. Then he looked back at Lu Yao. “This was indeed a misunderstanding. I’ve already located Yu Yao’s current whereabouts. Once this matter is settled, I’ll take Jizhuang away. As for the damage to the shop, give me a number, and I’ll compensate you.”

Lu Yao lowered her gaze, as though weighing her decision. After a moment, she gently patted Budu, signaling him to stand down.

Lu Yao had no intention of killing anyone. Moments ago, she had been slightly worried about how to de-escalate the situation without losing face. Wuling’s timely arrival solved the problem perfectly.

Budu’s blood needle morphed back into a blade, and the wind and snow in the lobby vanished without a trace.

The already crumbling barrier, corroded by the storm, shattered into pieces. The demons and demon cultivators who had been flattened to the ground got up, their expressions a mix of embarrassment and helplessness.

It was utterly absurd—there was clearly no spiritual energy detectable on the shopkeeper, yet neither demon nor demon cultivator could do anything to her. Every time, they ended up thoroughly humiliated.

Still, this time, it seemed the demons had lost even more face.

Lu Yao only wanted Wuling to take Jizhuang away as quickly as possible, so she casually quoted a figure for the damages.

Wuling, clearly in no mood to linger, tossed her a storage pouch filled with spirit stones and left without hesitation.

As Wuling mentioned he had located Yu Yao, Jizhuang looked back at Lu Yao one last time before leaving.

Lu Yao casually handed the storage pouch to Budu, then raised her staff and began chanting. She traced a formation in midair.

A radiant magical array covered the entire Internet Cafe, and the scattered debris began to levitate, slowly piecing itself back together under the astonished gazes of the demons and demon cultivators.

However, the broken canopy of the Bodhi Tree remained unaffected by the magic, lying on its side as before.

Lu Yao had long sensed that her magic only functioned properly within the confines of the shop. Once she stepped into the mortal realm of the Floating World Continent, her magic was weakened or, at times, entirely ineffective.

This limitation seemed to mirror Budu’s inability to set foot in the Floating World, leading Lu Yao to suspect it was some form of restriction imposed by the heavens.

With the damages to the shop repaired, Lu Yao didn’t bother with the missing ceiling for now. Although it had been satisfying to speak her mind earlier, she still had to calm the frightened customers.

Chi Jiumeng, noticing that Lu Yao hadn’t restored the Bodhi Tree, flipped her hand, producing an emerald-green smoking pipe.

With a casual wave, the faint red flame in her lantern hairpin floated onto the pipe. Wisps of green smoke rose and condensed, forming a canopy over the Internet Cafe. It looked identical to the Bodhi Tree’s original crown, perfectly shielding the shop from wind and rain.

Chi Jiumeng approached Lu Yao, bowing her head slightly in apology. “I offended you earlier, Shopkeeper. Consider this roof my compensation. Though it’s an illusion, it is no different from the real thing and will serve its purpose.”

Lu Yao looked up for a moment. Zeyuan had mentioned that Chi Jiumeng was a great demon of desolate mountains, renowned for her skill in illusions. Judging by this display, her abilities were indeed impressive.

However, Lu Yao’s tone remained curt. “Innkeeper Chi, esteemed guests like you are too much for my humble shop. Let’s call it even. You may leave now.”

When Lu Yao had last left the Sea of Tears, she had given Chi Jiumeng a discount voucher and a teleportation scroll for the Internet Cafe. Yet Chi Jiumeng had never used them—until now, when she showed up to stir trouble.

Chi Jiumeng had initially had no interest in Lu Yao’s shop, but recently, in Ni City, she’d heard many customers discussing the Internet Cafe on Mount Baixian. Curious, she finally decided to use the voucher and scroll Lu Yao had given her.

When she arrived, Lu Yao wasn’t there, but a chatty spider demon—a regular at the cafe—happened to be seated nearby. The spider demon enthusiastically shared all the fun things about the shop, piquing Chi Jiumeng’s curiosity just as the Demon Emperor and Demon Lord began quarreling.

At first, Chi Jiumeng had only intended to watch the drama. But unable to resist, she added fuel to the fire, never expecting the human shopkeeper to be such a tough nut to crack. In the end, she had clearly offended Lu Yao.

Even so, Chi Jiumeng’s interest in the Internet remained strong after hearing so much from the spider demon. She leaned toward Lu Yao, trying to get closer.

Xuanfeng and Mo Bao stepped out from behind the counter, flanking Chi Jiumeng on either side to block her approach.

Mo Bao sneered, “When Lu Yao was kidnapped by the mermaid at your shabby inn, she didn’t even demand an explanation from you. She was kind enough to give you a discount voucher and teleportation scroll. And yet here you are, bringing your Mirror of Past Lives to try and spy on her. Are all demons this shameless?”

Chi Jiumeng lowered her head and rubbed her nose awkwardly. “…”

Jiao Niang, overhearing, immediately looked remorseful. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have taken Lu Yao to the Sea of Tears. She really is a good person.”

Chi Jiumeng shifted her gaze toward the counter, as if recalling something. She turned back to Jiao Niang and said, “Xie Zili came looking for you at Chongdeng Inn.”

Jiao Niang was startled. “Zili came for me? Didn’t he return to the Xie family?”

Chi Jiumeng shook her head. “I don’t know. He was searching for you everywhere in the city. Later, it seems he was taken away by people from the Lingxiao Sword Sect.”

Jiao Niang lowered her eyes. “That’s good, then.”

…

In the Internet Cafe’s lounge, Lu Yao sat on the sofa with a broken recording talisman resting on the table.

When she used her repair magic earlier, even this talisman, which Zeyuan had crushed, was restored.

It was one of Jizhuang’s old possessions, and Lu Yao couldn’t help but feel a bit curious about its contents.

Zeyuan pushed the door open and entered. His expression darkened as soon as he spotted the talisman on the table. “Why is this thing still here?”

Lu Yao replied, “It got restored when I reversed time. You don’t like it? Don’t tell me you knew Yu Yao?”

Zeyuan’s face instantly turned grim. He walked to Lu Yao’s side and picked up the recording talisman.

A shimmering water screen unfolded in midair. In the footage, a young woman named Yu Yao walked down a stone-paved road with her maid carrying a book box beside her, seemingly heading to the academy.

Only their backs were visible, but it was clear someone had followed them with the recording talisman.

The scenes in the talisman weren’t continuous—one moment showed the academy, and the next jumped to an embroidery room, with some angles so awkward it was obvious the person had been hiding while recording.

Lu Yao frowned. “The Demon Emperor was a stalker back then?”

For some reason, Zeyuan felt inexplicably guilty.

Lu Yao tilted her head to look at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

Zeyuan sat down beside her, fidgeting like a trapped beast. After a long pause, he finally murmured, “I don’t know why, but seeing the images in this talisman fills me with an uncontrollable unease and anxiety.”

The scenes felt both familiar and unfamiliar to him, but a stronger emotion lingered—anger.

It was as if his most treasured secrets had been exposed to someone else’s gaze.

Zeyuan glanced sideways at Lu Yao and asked again, “Are you sure we’ve never met before?”

Lu Yao, still focused on the footage, didn’t notice his troubled emotions. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

The talisman contained nothing but trivial moments between a young couple. Lu Yao, running out of patience, eventually told Zeyuan to turn it off.

Rumors had long circulated that the reincarnated Yu Yao was not interested in the Demon Emperor, leaving Jizhuang perpetually heartbroken. Yet, judging from this recording talisman, Yu Yao hadn’t been entirely indifferent to him.

What happened afterward to cause their dramatic fallout, leading to the collapse of their relationship, remained a mystery.

Now that Wuling had found the current Yu Yao, Jizhuang’s matter could be set aside. However, Lu Yao decided to keep an eye on the lotus pendant associated with Yu Yao.

Standing up, she headed toward the door. “Next time we see Wuling, return this talisman to Jizhuang.”

Zeyuan snapped out of his thoughts. “Where are you going?”

Lu Yao, distracted by the progressless task in her mind, paused and turned back. “What do you call demons ranked above demon generals but below the Demon Lord?”

Zeyuan looked at her warily. “Why do you ask?”

Lu Yao shrugged. “Just curious.”

Zeyuan’s gaze flickered, as if hiding something. “Demon Princes.”

Lu Yao smiled. “Then next time, could you bring one or two Demon Princes to the shop?”

The task tracker required visits from demons ranked above generals but below lords to light up the Demon Prince icon. This wasn’t coercion, right?

Zeyuan, who had been mildly curious, froze at her words. His expression shifted slightly. “I don’t have any Demon Princes.”

After saying that, he abruptly stood and walked out, deliberately brushing against Lu Yao as he passed.

Lu Yao: “…”

Following behind him, Lu Yao stepped out and saw Xuanfeng and Mo Bao lounging behind the counter. She walked over and half-jokingly grumbled.

Xuanfeng blinked rapidly. “…Did you really ask His Lordship to bring Demon Princes to the shop?”

Lu Yao: “What’s wrong with that?”

Mo Bao rolled his eyes and glared at her in exasperation. “His Lordship isn’t married yet—how could he have Demon Princes?”

Demon Princes, after all, referred to the Demon Lord’s offspring, ranked below the Demon Lord but above all other demons.

Lu Yao: “…”

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

1041’s Team had three main members: 1041, 1043, and 1044.

Lu Yao had worked with them on several occasions, using magical assistance to refine and update holographic technology and even co-creating the core of Alfred.

However, 1041’s Team had never visited the Little Pet Café.

The café’s existence was no longer a secret on the Eden Sea Network forums, but not everyone could visit it.

1041’s Team were all former test subjects, but unlike those from Sanhua City, they were different.

The test subjects in Nightlight City had all been high-IQ children selected and trained as top-tier research talents. Their mental health was relatively stable, possibly due to their innate qualities, and they had never fallen into the “drowning sea” state of mental breakdown.

Although they had tried to reserve a spot at the Little Pet Café in the past, none of them had ever received the phantom call required to visit.

Receiving a sudden message from a waterdrop seal on this day, 1041 initially thought it was a dream. After confirming the information repeatedly, they immediately notified the other two team members.

…

At 4 p.m., Cheng Ye and Zhong Lianjia met at the entrance of the Little Pet Café.

Cheng Ye had been to the café before, as he temporarily lived near the store district and often wandered around after work.

He had visited most of the other shops, including the Little Pet Café and the hot spring inn, which were among his favorite places to relax.

Cheng Ye handed Zhong Lianjia a wristband. “The boss asked me to wait for you here. Wear this so we can go inside.”

It was Zhong Lianjia’s first time at the famous Little Pet Café. While he had often browsed updates about the café in the shopping street circle, nothing prepared him for the real experience.

As they entered, Zhong Lianjia was left speechless.

The café truly seemed to be underwater, with only a thin transparent membrane separating it from the ocean. Above, colorful fish swam leisurely, casting vibrant hues throughout the space.

Cheng Ye walked ahead. “This area is the dining room. If you go through those tunnels, you’ll reach the Octopus Slide, the Sea Urchin Room, and the Whale Room. They’re all fascinating spots. The café is essentially an underwater amusement park. But we’re heading to the Fishing Room on the surface for our meeting. You can explore after.”

Zhong Lianjia followed Cheng Ye up the transparent stairs, step by step, until they reached the surface.

The sea breeze brushed past them, and the golden hues of the setting sun scattered across the water like a sea of gold. Fat, snow-white seals lounged lazily around the pier, occasionally letting out soft cries before flipping over to bask in the breeze.

Cheng Ye pointed at one of the seals, a particularly chubby one with a phone hanging from its neck. “That one’s Piaopiao. It manages the café’s phantom call system with Ji Zhixin. They’re colleagues of ours.”

Zhong Lianjia was too stunned to respond.

When they arrived at the Fishing Room, the three Ji clan members were already there.

Lu Yao sat in the middle and motioned for the two to join them.

1041’s team hadn’t yet arrived. Lu Yao had instructed Lei Lei to notify them an hour later than the café staff because the first half of the meeting was unrelated to 1041’s team.

Lu Yao wanted to confirm details about the planned launch of the café’s in-game purchase and online shopping services in two weeks.

The first topic was the in-game purchase service. In-game spending typically included appearance-based purchases (skins) and item-based purchases, with the spending amounts varying by game type.

In the case of the interdimensional internet café, the currency was not universally compatible. Even if customers spent a fortune in the game, the final transactions would have to draw from Lu Yao’s personal account.

Hearing this for the first time, the staff all stared at Lu Yao with wide-eyed disbelief.

Lu Yao: “Why isn’t anyone saying anything?”

Ji Qingyan: “Boss, don’t tell me all the shop currencies are incompatible with ours.”

Lu Yao nodded gravely. “Exactly. While each shop barely manages to scrape by, I personally have no money left.”

Ji Zhixin: “…”

When Lu Yao opened the fifth shop, Ji Zhixin had been in charge of securing most of the intellectual property, with hundreds of thousands being withdrawn from Lu Yao’s account at a time. He had always assumed this was just initial funding, with the shop’s earnings returning to her later.

It was only now that he realized the money did come back—but not in the way he had imagined.

Cheng Ye: “So… what’s in it for you?”

Lu Yao shrugged. “I’d like to know too.”

Zhong Lianjia, who had felt a bit sleepy earlier, was now wide awake. “And yet you’ve managed to open nine shops. Boss, you must be secretly rich.”

Lu Yao waved him off. “If only! Would I still be stressing about this otherwise?”

Ji Feiming was puzzled. “What gave you the confidence back then to reject my offer of a hundred million?”

Other staff: “???”

What other untold stories does this small street have?

Lu Yao: “That’s the situation. Let’s not stray too far. First, let’s discuss the issue of customers wanting to spend money in the café.”

The internet café aimed to discourage excessive spending while still offering customers a certain level of freedom.

Currently, the number of customers wanting to spend on in-game purchases wasn’t large, but thinking ahead, Lu Yao believed it was necessary to implement limits on spending amounts and frequency.

The Floating World Continent consisted of six realms, and her ongoing mission was to unlock access to customers from all six. In the future, with more customers potentially coming from various realms, any lack of initial restrictions could lead to unmanageable spending habits later on.

As the saying goes, it’s hard to go from extravagance to frugality.

Zhong Lianjia: “Most in-game skins are priced under 200. Limiting customers to three skins per month doesn’t seem excessive.”

Ji Qingyan: “Skins are just one category. Paid items aren’t cheap either. If someone splurges on multiple 648-packs, it’ll be the owner’s wallet taking the hit.”

Even without knowing the full extent of Lu Yao’s expenses, Ji Qingyan instinctively began to sympathize with her wallet.

Judging by the store’s decor and the staff’s generous salaries, it was hard to tell the owner was strapped for cash.

Lu Yao: “In-game purchases are just one aspect. Some customers have already discovered online shopping options. In two weeks, both services will be opened.”

The staff: “…”

They had underestimated her. The boss was clearly operating on a grand scale.

As for the proposal to source goods from other worlds, Lu Yao rejected it outright after someone tentatively brought it up. She didn’t explain the full reasoning, simply stating that it wasn’t feasible.

Those present, being sharp, didn’t pry further.

In her mind, Lu Yao had already outlined a rough plan:

For in-game purchases, each account would have a monthly spending cap of five 648-packs. For the first three purchases, the café would charge a 10% transaction fee. However, starting from the fourth purchase, the fee would jump to 50%.

This small measure would effectively keep spending limited to around three 648-packs per account.

For online shopping, each customer would have a monthly spending limit of 1500, with a 10% handling fee and an additional 5% shipping fee per transaction.

Lu Yao didn’t want to use the shopping street as the delivery address. She originally planned to rent a small warehouse and hire a manager to handle package sorting and transportation.

Ji Feiming suggested another idea: his family’s house was large, and they employed a housekeeper. Packages could be delivered to the Ji family villa, and he could bring them to work afterward.

Lu Yao hesitated. “That would be too much trouble for you.”

Ji Feiming: “I’m just a delivery guy anyway. There’s not much difference between delivering packages and regular deliveries. It’s just bringing something from home to the shop, and with the ring, it’s effortless.”

Ji Zhixin added, “If Uncle Ming finds it inconvenient, I can drive it over.”

Ji Qingyan chimed in, “I recently moved to the same villa area, right next door to Uncle Ming and Brother Zhixin. If they’re not available, I can bring it over. After all, it’s just regular packages—there’s no need to add an extra step to the process.”

Lu Yao lightly tapped the armrest of her chair. “Borrowing your space for the warehouse is fine, but I don’t want housekeepers handling the deliveries. If I recall correctly, you have a celestial messenger in your family. Is he still in Yaoguang City?”

Ji Feiming was surprised and glanced at Lu Yao. “You… would actually use him?”

Lu Yao smiled. “It’s just delivering packages; he might think it’s beneath him.”

Ji Feiming: “No, he’d definitely be willing. I’ll call him right away.”

Lu Yao stopped the overly enthusiastic Ji Feiming. “Hold on, let’s finish this meeting first. I’ll propose a 5% delivery fee for customers, with half of that covering warehouse expenses. If Ji Feichen is willing to join, it’ll be an official position. The job is relatively easy, so the salary might not match other roles. If he’s not interested, I’ll find another warehouse and personnel.”

At this, not only Ji Feiming but also Ji Zhixin and Ji Qingyan assured her repeatedly that Ji Feichen would accept the position.

Work and salary weren’t Ji Feichen’s main concerns—the key factor was that the child was here.

The three of them all had the same question in their minds: Did the boss know this and intentionally call Ji Feichen over?

Ji Feiming immediately called Ji Feichen, who promptly agreed, and the meeting resumed.

Lu Yao: “Now onto something more important—I’ve been considering measures to cut costs, but is there a way to generate more revenue?”

The staff were somewhat aware of the restrictions in the shopping street, even if Lu Yao hadn’t explicitly outlined them.

For example, the strict confidentiality contracts were a clear indicator that the shopping street wasn’t ready to be exposed to the general public.

The storefronts along the street were all clean and tidy, but from the main road, the shopping street still looked dilapidated—like “wearing silk at night,” achieving little in terms of visibility and appeal.

The staff exchanged silent glances and then collectively turned to Lu Yao, waiting for her input.

Lu Yao’s gaze swept across them and landed on Zhong Lianjia. “I hear there are professional boosters in the gaming world? Skilled players can easily take orders to boost rankings for a fee.”

Zhong Lianjia stared blankly at her for a moment. “There are, but I don’t do boosting—it’s too tiring.”

He was enjoying his retirement and had no desire to hustle anymore.

Lu Yao: “I’m not asking you to boost. I’m wondering if it’s possible for the café’s customers to take on boosting orders? It’s the virtual world—no one knows the identity of the booster. As long as the job gets done and payment is made, it’s fair. If customers earn their own money, they can spend it however they like—I won’t interfere.”

Ji Zhixin: “So the boss’s idea is to let customers earn their own money for in-game purchases? That’s actually a pretty good strategy. It might take some time to show results, but in the long run, it’s the best solution.”

Lu Yao: “Exactly. But I’m not familiar with the esports scene, so setting up orders and training customers will have to rely on the Esports King.”

Not only did the boss fix her bright, smiling eyes on Zhong Lianjia, but the rest of the group also turned their admiring gazes toward him.

Zhong Lianjia lowered his head. He’d already joined an internet café operating in the cultivation world—bringing a few demon or demon cultivators into esports stardom didn’t seem that far-fetched.

He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. “…Fine.”

Lu Yao checked the time. “Feiming, Lianjia, you can leave the meeting for now.”

Ji Feiming gracefully got up and walked out of the fishing room. In the short span of the meeting, his phone had nearly exploded with messages from Ji Feichen.

Zhong Lianjia hesitated for a moment before standing.

…Being addressed as “Esports King” when needed and “Lianjia” otherwise was quite the adjustment.

Shortly after the two left, the three members of Team 1041 arrived punctually at Little Pet Café.

1041 walked in and froze when they saw Jiu Hua. “1042? What are you doing here?”

Little Pet Café was about to close, and Jiu Hua was preparing to finish her shift. She looked up at the voice, a bit puzzled.

1041 couldn’t help but approach her. “Don’t you remember me? I’m 1041.”

Jiu Hua took a step back, her expression dawning with realization.

1043 sauntered over. “The rejected 1042, here of all places?”

Seeing the cheeky 1043 and the tall, silent 1044 behind him, Jiu Hua finally pieced together their identities. She took another step back. “So you’re the guests Lu Yao mentioned.”

Nearby, the water droplet sea seal urged them to hurry, and Jiu Hua, not in the mood for small talk, pointed to the transparent staircase. “The boss is waiting upstairs. Go on.”

1041 glanced back at Jiu Hua several times as they left, but she was busy tidying up and didn’t notice.

It was the trio’s first time visiting Little Pet Café, and the reality exceeded the legends. Set under the deep sea, the shop’s design surpassed their expectations.

Unfortunately, they were here on business and had no time to enjoy the experience.

Climbing the transparent staircase, they emerged onto the surface to see the fishing house floating in the center of the ocean. Another wave of amazement washed over them.

Lu Yao, hearing Lei lei’s voice, came out to greet them. She invited them into the fishing house and began with introductions.

The meeting’s second agenda item was something Lu Yao had briefly mentioned earlier to Ji Zhixin, Ji Qingyan, and Cheng Ye.

Simply put, Lu Yao wanted to create a game—a MOBA game set in the Floating World Continent, featuring characters inspired by the six realms.

She hadn’t invited 1041 and his team to develop the game but rather to facilitate a technical exchange. The team excelled in programming and had mastered the Z-series technology, the precursor to holographic tech.

Cheng Ye and Ji Qingyan were also accomplished programmers. Lu Yao hoped that by bringing the two sides together, new ideas and breakthroughs might spark.

The game project was still in its infancy, with Ji Qingyan or Cheng Ye likely to take the lead. Lu Yao planned to develop it entirely within this world, without relying on her access to otherworldly resources. This would free the game from the constraints of the Dream Fulfillment System, allowing it to launch both locally and in other worlds.

The primary market, however, would be the Floating World Continent.

Lu Yao aimed to emulate popular gaming trends. Ji Zhixin was tasked with contacting game companies about licensing matters, while Ji Qingyan would handle hiring designers, writers, artists, and modelers.

While the tech teams engaged in lively discussions, Lu Yao and Ji Zhixin quietly refined the project plan.

The two tech groups hit it off instantly. Two hours later, they were still deeply engrossed, oblivious to the passage of time.

Suddenly, Lu Yao’s phone lit up with a flurry of messages.

It was Jiao Niang, frantically texting her:
“Boss! The Demon Emperor and the Demon Lord are both here—AND THEY’VE RUN INTO EACH OTHER!”

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

“What?”

Lu Yao had a bad feeling.

Cheng Ye glanced sideways at the customer waiting at the counter and then leaned closer to Lu Yao, whispering, “Customers have figured out they can spend money on in-game purchases.”

It was a straightforward situation. The young leopard demon, ever since getting cozy with Zhong Lianjia, had become addicted to the game.

He also befriended Guanzhong, and the demon and the leopard demon often teamed up for ranked games.

The more they played, the more they naturally started exploring other aspects of the game.

In particular, during every hero selection phase, the skin interface would be prominently displayed in the center. Initially, the leopard demon and Guanzhong only clicked around for fun, unaware that these skins could be equipped on their characters.

But once in the game, they often encountered teammates or opponents showing off flashy skins, which unsettled them.

First, they found it hard to recognize characters when their appearances changed, given their lack of familiarity with the game.

Second, the skins had special effects. Although they didn’t provide any gameplay advantages, the visual effects made them look significantly cooler and seemingly more powerful.

The leopard demon had coveted skins for a long time but didn’t know how to purchase them.

Today, with Guanzhong absent, the leopard demon entered the game alone and encountered a particularly poor ADC who fed the enemy bot lane two kills early in the game. Upon returning to the lane, the ADC got caught and died again.

The bot lane was collapsing. Playing as the jungler, the young leopard applied Brother Zhong’s teachings, ganking bot lane twice to help them recover their advantage.

By the end of the match, the leopard demon’s stellar performance earned him MVP.

After the match, the ADC player sent him a friend request, wanting to duo queue and offering to gift him a skin.

Flattered by the repeated calls of “big bro,” the leopard demon, utterly charmed, carried the ADC through three more matches.

True to their word, the player asked which skin the leopard demon liked and offered to gift it immediately.

Unfamiliar with how gifting worked, the leopard demon called for the staff’s help.

Cheng Ye, reasoning that it was voluntary gifting by another player and didn’t violate the café’s policy of discouraging customer spending, assisted with the process.

However, when the player attempted to gift the skin, a system error occurred, preventing the transaction.

Despite multiple attempts, the skin could not be sent.

Confused, the leopard demon sat idly for a while. Then, recalling Cheng Ye’s earlier navigation of the store interface, he opened the shop himself, clicked on a skin, and attempted to purchase it. A notification popped up: his account lacked game currency and required a top-up.

After some back-and-forth with the player, the leopard demon figured out how to make in-game purchases.

Overwhelmed, Cheng Ye had no choice but to involve Lu Yao.

Lu Yao had previously implemented some restrictions through the café’s internal system.

While ordinary in-game item and material gifting was unrestricted, premium items like skins were blocked by the internal network.

This small detail, however, hadn’t been communicated to the staff, leading to the current situation.

Unlike regular customers, the leopard demon spent a lot of time with Zhong Lianjia and had become an adept internet user. His understanding of the game far surpassed the average customer, making it almost impossible to deceive him now.

Moreover, he seemed to have noticed the café’s reluctance to encourage spending. He piled a heap of spirit stones on the counter and asked Jiao Niang for instant noodles and sausages.

His attitude mirrored the time he tried to win over Brother Zhong, as if preparing to bribe Lu Yao and Cheng Ye with a luxurious instant noodle feast.

Despite Lu Yao once mentioning that Zhong Lianjia didn’t like instant noodles, the leopard demon firmly believed his initial offering of a deluxe noodle set had won Brother Zhong over.

Lu Yao understood that prohibiting spending altogether wasn’t a sustainable strategy. For now, her goal had been to delay the onset of customer spending and online shopping.

Now that the leopard demon had uncovered a way to spend money, Lu Yao decided it was time to gradually ease the restrictions.

However, Lu Yao still wanted to hold out for a little longer.

She walked to the counter and told the leopard demon that the café’s in-game purchase system was not yet set up, so online top-ups and product purchases were temporarily unavailable.

The leopard demon immediately frowned, feeling that the owner’s explanation wasn’t entirely truthful.

Lu Yao had no choice but to promise that in two weeks, at the latest, the café would launch partial spending services.

Two weeks—fourteen days—was merely a blink of an eye for a demon.

The leopard demon, feeling the sincerity in Lu Yao’s promise, grudgingly returned to his seat.

Just then, the spider demon Zhuying entered the café and saw the interaction. She swayed her hips as she approached the counter. “Will the online shopping service also be available then?”

Zhuying had been obsessively using the purple lipstick Lu Yao had gifted her and came to the café almost daily.

Every now and then, she would see advertisements while browsing online. They tormented her to no end, and she found herself desperately wanting to buy the products.

Her longing had grown so intense that it began interfering with her cultivation, even threatening to develop into a nascent heart demon.

With no other choice, Lu Yao nodded. “Yes. In two weeks, both online shopping and in-game spending services will be available.”

Thrilled, the spider demon booted up her computer and bought a pile of snacks, eagerly anticipating the new services.

After Zhuying and leopard demon discovered ways to shop online, Lu Yao had consulted the Head Guard at the park about the issue.

Currently, the shopping street was connected to eight different worlds. The fourth and sixth shops served modern urban worlds where the products, while not identical to those in the shopping street, had similar functions.

Lu Yao originally considered rerouting the supply chain, connecting the online shopping service to Eden Sea World or Sanhua City. This way, customers could purchase goods from other worlds, and the currency would be converted based on purchasing power. At the very least, they wouldn’t need to spend soft currency, and the café could still make money by charging a small handling fee.

Unfortunately, this proposal was firmly rejected.

The Head Guard explained that the contract between the Demon God and Lu Yao strictly limited services to this world and her personally. It would not extend to other worlds.

The café was already an exception, as its location was within the shopping street and connected to this world’s network. With the amusement park’s strict oversight, mistakes were unlikely to occur.

Bai Jian made no secret of the fact that this setup was the Demon God’s favor to her.

No soul, living or dead, had ever received such preferential treatment. Even Bai Jian sometimes found it puzzling.

…

Not long after leaving the amusement park, Lu Yao received a warning email from the proxy bot.

Unlike the usual voice notifications, this email was harshly worded. It emphasized that the main business of the eighth shop was the internet café, and all virtual services and online shopping goods must originate from her current world. The system explicitly forbade misrepresentation or off-world goods as a risk-mitigation tactic.

Furthermore, at least 90% of the shop’s revenue had to come from its main business; otherwise, the shop would be deemed a failure.

This wasn’t the first time Lu Yao had sensed the system’s hostility.

But this time, it openly displayed its intention to prevent her from achieving her dream.

If they didn’t want her to succeed, why bind her to the Dream Fulfillment System in the first place?

It was exhausting for her and for them.

Lu Yao couldn’t make sense of it. The main system was absent, Lu Mingxiao had lost his memory, and no one could answer her questions.

But the more the proxy system pressured her, the more rebellious she became.

If it was just about online shopping and in-game purchases, she could solve it without involving other worlds—it would just take more effort.

After dealing with the leopard and spider demons, Lu Yao sent out a meeting notification in the group chat:

At 4 p.m., the three employees from cinema and the two internet café staff members were to meet at the pet cafe.

The meeting location was set there because Lu Yao had asked Lei Lei to notify 1041’s Team stationed in Nightlight City.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Yu Xiangan was fully prepared to take the twins abroad.
Besides Song Dong and Wang Yongle, another man named Zhou Si would accompany them. All three were capable and sharp, which made Yu Xiangan more at ease—overseas security was never as predictable as at home.

As for language, both she and the twins could communicate freely.
Liu Sanbao, however, was so nervous she couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t going this time—she didn’t know English. Watching a newcomer get promoted to assistant in her place filled her with anxiety, but there was nothing she could do. She had signed up for a language course, but she simply couldn’t grasp it, and so she could only watch the opportunity slip away.

The twins, on the other hand, had prepared thoroughly for the trip. In addition to practicing their spoken English diligently, they also found tutors to teach them German and Italian.
They didn’t have much time, but their language aptitude helped; by the time they boarded the plane, they could already hold basic conversations in German.

After landing, they were driven straight to a nearby hotel to rest and adjust to the time difference.

Sitting in the car, watching the streets filled with cars and pedestrians, the twins couldn’t take their eyes off the window—but they carried themselves calmly, faces composed and poised.

In China, seeing the occasional blond, blue-eyed foreigner was nothing unusual. But here, it was the opposite—now they were the rare black-haired, yellow-skinned faces in a sea of Westerners.

Looking at all the fair-skinned, light-haired people, the twins finally felt it sink in: they were truly abroad, in another land.

They saw well-dressed professionals in tailored suits, ties, and polished shoes carrying briefcases—and women in tight, low-cut dresses that showed far more skin than they’d ever seen in person.

Lin Yining’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of one woman’s plunging neckline. Back home, women dressed far more conservatively. Even the more daring ones only showed a hint of skin. This level of open, sultry style—where you half worried the skirt might slip any second—was something she was seeing for the first time in real life.

Among the pale Europeans, they also noticed people with darker, bronze skin—Africans, tall and muscular, even the women. Compared to them, the twins felt rather slim and small-framed.

The hotel gleamed with gold and marble; one look was enough to tell it was expensive. And indeed, the service matched the luxury—graceful and polite, though beneath that polished veneer, the twins could sense a hint of disdain.

It was subtle, but unmistakable: the servers looked down on them for being Asian.

Only when Yu Xiangan spoke fluent, confident English did the staff’s attitude shift—they straightened up, their politeness suddenly sincere.

After checking in and paying the hefty deposit, the twins did the math. Even after conversion, one night here cost several thousand yuan.

“So expensive!” they whispered.

The waiter asked, “Would you like anything to eat?”

Yu Xiangan replied, “Please send up some plain congee, bread, and milk. Thank you.”

She had already known about the high prices, but for her, it was worth it—this place projected status, which was useful for the business meetings ahead. They would only stay one or two nights anyway. To save money, she didn’t book individual rooms for everyone.

She shared a twin room with the children; Wang Yongle and her assistant, Hong Chun, shared the suite next door. Song Dong and Zhou Si stayed in another room together.

The twins soaked in the bathtub, drank a few sips of congee, and quickly fell asleep.
Yu Xiangan, exhausted herself, soon followed.

The next morning, they went to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. The twins compared the buffet spread with what their mother’s own hotels offered—it was indeed more varied, though not by much.

The food was excellent, but that was to be expected. The hotels they owned specialized in Chinese cuisine, while this was Western-style. It made sense that the local fare here would be better; otherwise, it wouldn’t justify the price tag.

While eating, they noticed something interesting—Yu Xiangan filled her plate with many items, but took only one bite of each.

She was sampling everything deliberately, studying the flavors and presentation. The twins followed suit, mimicking her approach.

Many guests did the same; it was, after all, a buffet—freedom to taste was the point.

After breakfast, they split into two groups.

Yu Xiangan left with Song Dong and her assistant, Hong Chun, for meetings.
The twins went sightseeing with Wang Yongle and Zhou Si.

They had planned everything in advance—an itinerary full of famous landmarks. In Berlin, their first stop was the Brandenburg Gate in the city center.

Lin Yining’s language skills shone; her German was fluent enough for casual conversation. Both wore cameras around their necks, snapping pictures of anything that caught their eye, full of excitement.

They took buses, walked streets, explored plazas—by noon, they were tired but glowing with energy. Lin Yihong called his mother.

“Mom, are we meeting you for lunch?”

“No,” Yu Xiangan answered. “Eat on your own. I can’t make it back. Just stay safe, and don’t wander into quiet areas.”

So the twins found a lively café in the city center, bustling with couples and professionals.

The waitress was a young woman with golden hair tied up and freckles across her nose—adorably bright. Seeing the group, she greeted them cheerfully, “Welcome! You’re visiting, right?”

When they confirmed it, she smiled. “I hope you enjoy your stay! What can I get you?”

Lin Yining grinned, matching her tone. “Pretty sister, what’s your top recommendation? And what fun places are nearby?”

…

Meanwhile, back home, Ye Jingjing was eating alone in the cafeteria—and feeling strange. Too quiet.

She’d always eaten by herself, but ever since meeting Yining, that had changed. During the holidays, they often had meals together. During winter break, Yining had come to the factory almost every day, and they’d always eaten side by side.

But now, Yining was abroad.

She had promised to send postcards and bring back souvenirs. Jingjing couldn’t help wondering what she’d bring.

Her mood was tangled—happy that her friend was traveling, yet wishing she’d come home soon so they could study, do homework, and eat together again.

Her gloomy expression caught the eye of her father, Ye Chen, who, for once, got off work on time.

Seeing him, Jingjing’s eyes lit up—her father was home early!

At that moment, she also spotted Yining’s father, Lin Chuanbai, entering the cafeteria with several other men.

They all looked relaxed, smiling. Clearly, there was good news.

Jingjing lowered her head, smiling quietly too.

She heard Lin Chuanbai ordering food from the chef, listing dish after dish.

Soon, she was called over to join their table.

Faced with so many unfamiliar uncles, Jingjing wanted to refuse but couldn’t. She sat quietly beside her father, barely speaking, just listening.

Most of what they discussed was beyond her understanding. She gripped her chopsticks tighter, vowing to study harder—one day she’d understand conversations like these.

Lin Chuanbai noticed how quietly the girl sat—barely moving, eating only from the two dishes in front of her. Her father, oblivious, didn’t even notice. Lin shook his head.

Some fathers really don’t notice a thing, he thought.

Then, without a word, he reached over and placed a honey-glazed chicken wing and a slice of pan-seared fish into her bowl—both dishes she had glanced at several times.

Seeing the food in her bowl, Jingjing’s cheeks flushed red. She murmured softly, “Thank you.”

Lin Chuanbai didn’t quite hear her—the girl’s voice was too soft—but he caught the shape of her lips and knew what she said.

Still, this couldn’t go on. He looked over at Ye Chen. The man’s daughter was quiet and well-behaved now, which was fine while she was young, but if she stayed like this into adulthood, she’d be too easy to bully in society.

He’d have to find time to talk to Ye Chen about it.

Soon the topic at the table shifted. Someone mentioned Yu Xiangan and her group traveling abroad and asked Lin Chuanbai, “Don’t you want to go too?”

Lin Chuanbai replied calmly, “What’s the rush? There’ll be plenty of chances.”

He wasn’t particularly drawn to foreign scenery or culture.
He’d seen photos and videos—he knew what it looked like. And traveling far was tiring and inconvenient. If it were a family trip, that would be different, but this time the timing just didn’t work. Maybe next time, the whole family could take a relaxing island vacation together.

Meanwhile, every day abroad, Lin Yining found time to calculate the time difference and call home.

International calls were expensive, so she didn’t speak long—just enough to let everyone know she was safe. She phoned Yu Qingshan and Lin Chuanbai, and also Du Zhonglin and Lin Houpu.

Before they left, Lin Houpu had lectured them carefully, reminding them not to be dazzled by the temptations of the outside world. If anyone had thoughts of emigrating or staying abroad, he told them to abandon them immediately.

But that was unnecessary—none of them had such ideas.

Though the foreign world looked glamorous, it wasn’t their home, and it wasn’t all luxury and prosperity either.
There were homeless people, illegal immigrants, robbers—every society had its shadows.

Back home, Ding Minxiu’s temper was worsening.
At work, she couldn’t show her irritability, so she bottled it up—only to vent everything onto Zhao Qiaoniang when she got home.

She knew Zhao Qiaoniang would tolerate her—after all, she was her only daughter.

But why was she so angry?

Because she still hadn’t received any response. She’d written a report letter accusing Yu Xiangan, but there was no result.

Had it been ignored because it wasn’t signed with her real name?

Anonymous reports should still count!

She started returning frequently to her old neighborhood, hanging around near Lin Jiqing’s home, trying to overhear any news about his older brother, Lin Houpu.

But there was nothing—completely calm, no movement at all.

What was going on?

It had to be official collusion. That was the only explanation!

How outrageous—weren’t they supposed to be public servants? But once they got power, all they cared about was their own interests.

She swore she’d expose their corruption for everyone to see.

So she wrote a second letter—this time harsher, full of accusations. Soon after, she sent a third.

The officials who received the letters were exasperated. They reviewed the claims, but investigation showed they were entirely baseless.

Setting aside distance, even the supposed “favoritism” made no sense. One man was the director of a heavy machinery factory, the other a businesswoman who built her company from the food and restaurant industry. How could one have possibly “pulled strings” for the other?

Did he sell her steel at a lower price?
Impossible—different sectors, no overlap, no shared chain of command.

A report required evidence. You couldn’t just accuse people based on imagination. This wasn’t the old era of big-character posters where rumors could ruin lives. Now things required proof—facts, not fantasies.

Judging from the wording and the focus, it was obvious the reporter either bore a grudge against Lin Houpu or was envious of his successful daughter-in-law.

When Lin Houpu eventually learned about it, he discreetly investigated. No one knew who the writer was—it was an anonymous submission. The handwriting, however, had been deliberately disguised, written with the left hand.

The paper and envelope were the most common type, sold everywhere. The only clue was the postmark—it had been mailed from the special economic zone.

That alone was enough to guess the rest. Clearly, someone was jealous of his daughter-in-law’s success—sick with envy—and, after learning who her father-in-law was, imagined some hidden connection and acted out of spite.

Without evidence, no matter how many letters she sent, it was useless.

…

Zhao Qiaoniang became her constant target for venting. The stress pressed on her like a stone; her health, already fragile, began to decline. She went to an old Chinese doctor and got medicine that filled the house with a bitter herbal smell.

Fortunately, her current job mostly involved light cleaning—manageable work she could still handle. Anything heavier, she wouldn’t last.

Her supervisor gently warned her that if her health continued to decline, she should consider resigning.
If something were to happen to her on the job, it would bring bad publicity and misfortune to the factory.

Zhao Qiaoniang understood. No one wanted to hire an elderly, sickly worker. She was lucky they’d kept her this long; otherwise, younger people would’ve replaced her easily.

Her husband, Zhou Changshou, helped share the chores. He knew if she quit, the family would lose income—and what she earned went straight to helping their daughter and grandson.

If she could endure, she would.

…

Meanwhile, abroad, Yu Xiangan’s group had an unexpected encounter.

After wrapping up business, they toured several neighboring countries. During one of these trips, they were ambushed by robbers—tall, muscular black men who surrounded them. Judging by their appearance, they were the kind of people living at the city’s lowest rung, surviving through petty theft.

When they spotted this group of “wealthy tourists,” they couldn’t resist.

They thought the group would be easy prey—women, children, and only a few men.

They couldn’t have been more wrong.

Song Dong, Wang Yongle, and Zhou Si were all trained fighters. The muggers relied solely on brute strength—no real fighting skills at all. Within moments, the tables turned.

They weren’t in a deserted area, so a small crowd gathered. Seeing the Chinese group fight off the robbers with such skill, people cheered. Some even asked excitedly, “Is that Chinese Kung Fu?!”

The twins joined in the action too, eyes shining with excitement—it was their first time putting their martial arts training to real use.

Aside from that incident, though, they also experienced discrimination.

White locals looked down on people with yellow skin—regardless of which country they came from. Some mocked them outright, calling their homeland backward, feudal, and ignorant.

Even with all her life experience, Yu Xiangan felt angry.
How absurd that these same countries would one day rely on Chinese tourists for income, taking their money, yet still treat them with contempt.

All she could do was calm herself and hope the motherland would grow stronger—fast. Otherwise, there was no point in staying angry.

For the twins, it was their first taste of such open prejudice. In China, they had never been looked at that way.

So this was how foreigners viewed them.

Their expressions turned grim, enthusiasm gone. They told Yu Xiangan they wanted to go home.

But she didn’t rush to leave. Instead, she took them to visit a few local universities.

Some campuses were closed to outsiders, but others were open.

They noticed how different the academic systems were—back home, admission was strict but graduation was lenient; abroad, it was the opposite.

At foreign universities, if your grades are poor, you might not graduate at all. In China, on the other hand, unless you completely give up on yourself, failing to graduate is almost unheard of.

While visiting, the twins met a Chinese expatriate teacher who, upon hearing their accent, kindly took them into the campus library. “Education back home really can’t compare with abroad,” he told them. “When you take your college entrance exams, you should apply to foreign universities—you’ll learn so much more.”

Yu Xiangan didn’t argue. It was the truth.
Their country still had a long way to go to catch up.

But for the twins, hearing it made their hearts ache.

Was their country really that inferior?

If they criticized their homeland, that was one thing. But hearing foreigners say it stung deeply.

After going abroad and hearing others look down on China, both siblings carried a quiet, smoldering anger.

“Mom,” Lin Yining said, “we’ll catch up soon, right?”

Yu Xiangan stroked her daughter’s ponytail. “I believe it. We won’t have to wait long.”

“Definitely,” Lin Yihong added, clenching his fists. He couldn’t shake the image of that person’s knowing, condescending look the moment they learned where he was from. His fists tightened even more.

…

Back home, Lin Guangbai didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth several times but no words came out.

Yun Jing was equally at a loss. She glanced at Lin Guangbai, then at Lin Chuanbai, not knowing how to respond.

Her brother-in-law had come to visit, and she thought it was just a casual call—until he brought up the old loan they’d taken from him to buy their house. Then, surprisingly, he said he’d also lent their eldest brother tens of thousands of yuan to buy stocks.

When Yun Jing heard this, her mind went blank with confusion.

How did I not know about any of this?

But as she listened further, she began to realize what it meant. She did know how dramatically those stocks had risen.

She’d heard stories—on the trains to the Special Economic Zone, people carried huge bundles, each one full of ID cards.

Why?

Because everyone was buying stocks. Because that’s where the money was.

And now her brother-in-law was saying he’d lent their family tens of thousands to buy in. At first, when prices dipped, he hadn’t dared to mention it, afraid of worrying them. But now that the market had soared, he’d come forward—saying he’d already deducted the original loan, and the remaining balance was pure profit.

He even produced a dated IOU, asking his elder brother to sign it for record-keeping—to show that the money transfer had a legitimate origin.

Sudden wealth could raise suspicion, after all. If anyone questioned it, they’d need proof that the money wasn’t from bribes or shady dealings.

Just like that—overnight—they had become rich.

Yun Jing’s hands twisted tightly in her lap. She looked at her husband, afraid he’d refuse the gift.

If he did, she could understand—clearly, this was his younger brother trying to help him out.

Lin Chuanbai spoke first. “Big brother, don’t stand on ceremony with me. I already told big sister; she bought some too. You couldn’t invest back then because you were buying a house, so I took the liberty of doing it for you. Now, with Qianjing settled, maybe use this money for Yuejing—get her a place too. You’ll have rental income from the two shops. When you’re older, you can use it to help the grandkids. And if you’re lucky, maybe one day the area will be redeveloped and you’ll make even more.

“If our roles were reversed, you’d have done the same for me. I still remember the watch you bought me years ago—I’ve kept it safe all this time. It still works.”

It was true. When he had first returned home years ago, he’d received that watch in the mail—a gift that had cost Lin Guangbai several months’ salary.

Now he was returning the favor.

Lin Guangbai’s voice was slightly hoarse. “Brother owes you one.”

Lin Chuanbai smiled. “Come on, big brother. I did it for a reason. You’re an honest official—so let me handle the money side of things. Don’t ever risk your career over it. It’s not worth it.”

Lin Guangbai chuckled. “You don’t need to tell me that.”

That answer was as good as a yes. Yun Jing smiled too, full of relief and joy.

In life, a person’s happiness came down to career, family, children, and money.

And now—they had all four.

They could pay off their mortgage and even buy a third home. One for each child, and one for themselves to retire in.

The state might provide for retirees, but owning your own home was another kind of security.

When Lin Houpu learned of this, he could only sigh.

His second son had called earlier, urging him to buy more stocks too. He had indeed invested a portion of his savings—an entire year’s salary, which wasn’t a small amount.

At the time, hardly anyone was buying, even though the shares were distributed among certain work units. His position allowed him to get a larger allocation.

Now, comparing his modest profit to what his sons had made, his own gain was minor.

Li Yujiao’s heart ached with regret. She had known about the opportunity too, but hadn’t believed in it. She’d only invested two months’ wages, thinking even that was too much. If not for saving face, she wouldn’t have bought any at all. Now she felt she had missed a gold mine.

She even started resenting Lin Chuanbai. Though she wasn’t his birth mother, her younger brother Tiandong shared the same father with him—yet Lin Chuanbai had only looked after his eldest brother’s family.

Lin Duzhong spoke up fairly. “His big brother didn’t have the money, and he’d helped Chuanbai a lot in the past. Big sister didn’t lend her anything either.”

Lin Yunling and her husband, on the other hand, already had savings. Lin Chuanbai had only reminded them to invest; he hadn’t needed to lend them money directly.

Li Yujiao stayed silent, though inside she sneered.

Yunling had married into the wealthy Fu family—no shortage of money there. They even had relatives abroad. So yes, the poorest of them all was her own household.

She and her husband lived on fixed salaries. She couldn’t take bribes, and aside from enjoying some good food and small luxuries, there was little else.

How could she not feel bitter?

That wave of investment had made many people rich. Yu Xiangan had also notified her own relatives, and since she had a reputation for success, many trusted her and followed her lead.

Yu Xiangyan and Yu Xiangqing both invested nearly all their savings—and now they were nearly overnight millionaires.

Tasting such success, Yu Xiangyan wanted to invest again. When he called his sister for advice, she told him, “Second brother, I’ve stepped away. The stock market is unpredictable. We just got lucky this time. Better to invest in real assets—shops, land, housing. Or buy shares in businesses that pay dividends.”

He had wanted to take another gamble, but her tone made him reconsider. In the end, he put only a small portion back into stocks and used the rest to invest in property and businesses instead.

It turned out to be the best decision he ever made. A decade later, when real estate prices skyrocketed overnight, he thanked his sister from the bottom of his heart.

Stocks rose and fell like waves—one bad crash and everything could vanish. But houses and shops were tangible.

You could live in them, rent them out for steady income, or sell one when you needed cash.

…

Time passed—winter into spring—and in the blink of an eye, the twins were seniors in high school.

Both had chosen their paths.

Lin Yihong wanted to apply to the National Defense University and later serve in the military. Lin Houpu was overjoyed.

He himself had taken a political route, but he’d started out in the army. For years, he’d hoped one of his descendants would follow that path. Yet none of his three sons or his daughter had gone into the service—it was actually Wu Zheng’s son who’d enlisted instead.

Now, finally, he had a grandson preparing to join the army too.

🌱🌿 🫧🍃

After they returned home, Ding Minxiu fell silent. Zhao Qiaoniang watched her daughter sitting motionless on a stool, staring blankly into space, her fists clenched tight. The vacant look in her eyes terrified her mother.

Zhao’s heart twisted with anxiety—her daughter’s stillness frightened her more than shouting ever could.

Zhou Changshou’s mood was also grim. Seeing Ding like this, he had no words of comfort; his own bitterness left no room for sympathy. He didn’t have the strength or patience to console anyone—he needed consoling himself.

Lying down in their cramped little home, he stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. If only… if only his son had married Yu Xiangan back then, he thought, he’d be strolling through that grand office building just now, being respectfully called “sir” by everyone. He wouldn’t need to do anything—just sit there, smiling, living easy.

A big house, fine food—everything would’ve been theirs.

Now his daughter-in-law wasn’t as capable, not as educated, not as fertile. Yes, she’d borne a son—but Yu Xiangan had twins, a boy and a girl. The Yu family had a tradition of twins; that could have broken the Zhou family’s curse of one-son generations.

…What a pity.

How had his son ever fallen for this woman?

Meanwhile, Zhao Qiaoniang poured a glass of warm water and gently coaxed her daughter to drink. Ding Minxiu sipped mechanically. Once the water reached her stomach, she exhaled a long breath, her eyes slowly coming back to focus.

Then she turned on her mother. “Mom, how are you not shocked at all? You knew, didn’t you? You knew all along! Why didn’t you tell me? You’ve been hiding it for her—why?”

Every word was an accusation.

Zhao’s mouth filled with the taste of bitterness. “I didn’t know that building was hers. If I had, I’d never have gone to watch.” Just thinking of it made her feel sick inside, like her heart was being eaten by ants.

Ding didn’t believe her. “Then why were you so calm when others mentioned her?”

Zhao was silent for a few seconds. “I did see her before—at the food court. I knew that place belonged to her, but not the office building.”

The words triggered Ding’s memory. “That time you went out to hand out flyers and came home late, forgot to cook—was it then?”

They’d had a big argument that day.

Zhao nodded.

Ding took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Zhao gave a weary, bitter smile. “What good would it have done? Telling you would’ve only made you upset.”

“Of course it would’ve helped!” Ding suddenly stood, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping her. “If she’s made her business that big, it’s obviously through connections! Didn’t they say the man she married had a father who was a factory director? He must have pulled strings for her—that’s how she built such an empire!”

The more she spoke, the more convinced she became, as if saying it could make it true.

She had no idea that Lin Houping had long since been promoted and transferred. In her mind, he was the only one with enough rank to “open doors” for Yu Xiangan. So she clung to her theory with unshakable conviction.

Her tone grew indignant. “People like her—who knows how much state money they’ve stolen! How can we just sit and watch?”

Clenching her fists, she glared at her own hands. She would make people see the truth, expose how Yu Xiangan had gotten her ‘dirty’ fortune.

She began asking around, but the more she heard, the more hopeless she felt. They truly were worlds apart now—one in the heavens, one in the dust.

Why? Why was life so unfair?

Sometimes she’d stop strangers on the street. “Do you know how Yu Xiangan got rich?” she’d ask. Everyone gave the same answer: she started with a restaurant, then expanded step by step.

Ding refused to believe it.

She was certain there had been corruption somewhere.

She even went back to Baishi County to dig for gossip. But the neighbors there knew little—just that Yu Xiangan was doing business in the Special Zone. They had no idea she ran factories, or how much money she’d made.

To Ding, that only proved guilt. “She’s hiding it,” she thought. “She knows her money’s dirty.”

Zhou Changshou had gone back with her, so naturally Zhou Boyang heard everything too. His face was dark with frustration. His current job was easy, but that also meant low pay—he’d rather be busy than idle.

But it was useless. Everyone was idle now, and hearing about Yu Xiangan’s success made the emptiness unbearable.

Ding, always volatile, sensed his restlessness immediately and exploded. “You regret it, don’t you?!” she screamed. “I knew you regret marrying me! If you regret it so much, go find her! Go find her and see if she’ll even look at you!”

She shoved him hard. Zhou Boyang staggered back, face twisting. “Enough! Have you said enough? It’s all in your head! Can you stop acting insane for once?”

Had he ever thought about it? Yes—briefly. But standing beside Lin Chuanbai, what was he in comparison? One glance in the mirror was enough to crush that thought. Now her words brought it boiling back, and he bit his tongue. If he said what he really felt, their home would never know peace again. They were grandparents now—what was the point?

So he closed his eyes, turned away, and said coldly, “If you want to act crazy, do it outside. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

Ding glared at him, trembling with rage. He rolled over, back to her, pretending to sleep.

She let out a bitter laugh, then actually went out—and began spreading rumors.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” she told people. “I heard she’s a factory director in the Special Zone, hundreds of people under her! You’re looking for work, right? Maybe she could help you.”

And to others: “They say she’s doing great down there—made the papers even! She hides it from us poor relatives because she’s afraid we’ll ask for help.”

And to still others: “She’s risen too fast. Who knows if it’s all legitimate.”

“Oh, come on,” some would reply. “She’s got powerful connections behind her.”

Yu Xiangan herself wasn’t there—but Yu Xianghai and Ye Qijia were, and their own success was thanks to her.

That made them targets.

Yu Xianghai worked at the hardware factory—where their father, Yu Qingshan, had worked and retired with a pension. He knew many old colleagues and friends, and soon people began showing up, asking whether the rumors were true.

He didn’t deny it.

Their intentions were transparent: they wanted jobs for themselves or their children.

Their words all sounded the same. “We’re all hometown folk, not strangers. She should hire people she knows, not outsiders.”

Yu Xianghai asked mildly, “Would you be willing to carry trays and serve food?”

That silenced a few. “…Wait, doesn’t she have a factory?”

“The factory’s already staffed,” Yu Xianghai said flatly. “And getting in requires testing. Skilled workers are always preferred. The restaurants test too—no standards, no job.”

Most who came were old acquaintances, older now, many already retired—not suited to return to work. As for their children, those truly struggling, Yu Xianghai had helped before. But for others whose troubles were self-inflicted, there was nothing he could do.

Being “familiar” didn’t mean being useful. It was enough if they didn’t cause trouble.

When Yu Xianghai mentioned that the only openings were for waiters and servers, many people instantly lost interest—too embarrassed to take such work.

For those who were truly hardworking and sincerely wanted a job, though, he didn’t turn them away; he passed their names along to Yu Xiangan.

Yu Xiangan shared the same attitude.

When her business first opened, she had avoided hiring too many acquaintances from her hometown to keep things professional. But now that everything was established—management stable, operations smooth—bringing in a few hometown folks wasn’t a problem. Still, she was strict and impartial. Anyone hoping to just coast and collect a paycheck need not apply.

Her business didn’t feed pampered young masters or idle princesses.

Yu Xianghai served as the first filter. Those clearly seeking easy money or a place to idle away time never even reached her.

Money didn’t blow in with the wind; if she wanted to do charity, she’d rather sponsor a few poor students than hand out wages to able-bodied adults unwilling to work.

Among the locals, Aunt Chen made the biggest scene. Her third son, well into middle age, was still sponging off his elder brother and sister-in-law. He’d never held a steady job and didn’t want one now. When this opportunity came up, Yu Xianghai immediately refused him.

Aunt Chen threw a tantrum—crying, cursing, rolling on the ground—accusing him of being coldhearted and unneighborly. But Yu Xianghai didn’t budge.

What “neighborly feelings”? He still remembered how, years ago, when the scandal about his younger sister and Zhou Boyang broke out, Aunt Chen had been one of the loudest gossips in the neighborhood.

Did she think time had erased that? He remembered everything.

To outsiders who didn’t know the story, his refusal seemed cruel. But plenty of people still recalled what had happened back then—and if it had been their sister, they wouldn’t forgive or forget either.

Realizing her big mouth had cost her son a job, Aunt Chen regretted it bitterly. Of all the things she could’ve said back then, why had she chosen to slander Yu Xiangan?

Now look—her son had lost a good opportunity. If she could turn back time, she’d stand by Yu Xiangan’s side and shout down the gossipers herself. Maybe then she’d have had a favor to call in—a small supervisory position for her boy, perhaps.

Others came forward, too—those with inflated self-esteem who wanted to start as managers. They bragged about how reliable they were, how they could “keep the workers in line.”

Yu Xiangan could only shake her head. Thank goodness the business was already running smoothly; if she’d met such people during her startup phase, they would’ve dragged her down completely.

Most of these matters, though, were handled by Yu Qingshan. With his seniority and age, he was better suited to deal with hometown folks trying to play the “we’re all family” card.

And so, the wave of gossip and resentment stirred up by Ding Minxiu died down. Only those whose family members had been rejected still ranted—but everyone knew their reputations already. No one took them seriously.

Ding Minxiu was furious—nearly sick with rage.

Zhou Boyang, on the other hand, accepted reality much faster. Seeing how depressed she looked, he sighed and told her, “Let it go. People like her—she’s on a completely different level from us now. What’s the point of stirring all this up?”

If anyone had the right to feel resentful, shouldn’t it be him?

He didn’t say that last part aloud.

But even unspoken, Ding Minxiu heard it clearly. Her face darkened. Even her adorable grandson reaching for her arms couldn’t lift her mood.

Zhao Qiaoniang tugged her back to work. If they kept missing shifts, they’d lose their jobs entirely. “Stop overthinking everything,” she said. “Better to just live your life properly.”

Seeing that no one supported her, Ding Minxiu hardened her resolve.

She waited for the right moment—then slipped an anonymous report letter into the mailbox.

…

When word of the rumors reached her, Yu Xiangan was puzzled. “Why did everything suddenly spread all at once?”

Lin Chuanbai said, “It was bound to happen sooner or later. When you made the papers, I figured some of the old villagers would notice. Looks like not many read the news, but now that a few have, jealousy’s spreading fast. Probably someone who’s still sore about the past added fuel to the fire after they got back home.”

Yu Xiangan paused. “That’s… very possible.”

Yu Mansheng had dealt with such things before.

He’d left the village early, leading a few local young men out to make a living. With that many mouths involved, word was bound to get around.

Most of the young men he helped hire came from their own village—people who didn’t want to farm anymore. Some used the job as a temporary stepping-stone before finding something else.

Back home, Yu Mansheng was considered a “big shot.” People came to him constantly, most often to borrow money.

If they truly had a reason—building a house, paying for a wedding—he’d lend it. But always with an IOU, and a repayment deadline.

For those genuinely poor or struggling, he wouldn’t chase repayment. The IOU was just a safeguard against those who assumed that because he was rich, they could borrow endlessly and never pay back.

Most folks still had pride. Those able but unwilling to repay—and even asking for more—quickly shut up when he pulled out the signed note.

…

One day, on impulse, Yu Xiangan decided to visit the twins at school.

She didn’t expect to walk right into a scene straight out of youth drama—Lin Yihong being confessed to under the trees. A pink envelope in the girl’s hand, her son standing tall and calm before her.

Yu Xiangan thought, Oh my!

Seeing her son’s composed face, she immediately knew—he wasn’t interested. He was way too calm. And probably not for the first time.

She instinctively stepped back to avoid interrupting.

Lin Yihong sighed inwardly at his mother’s behavior. Most parents would rush in to stop something like this. Didn’t mothers usually worry about “early romance”? Why was his mother just quietly watching?

“I’m sorry,” he told the girl politely. “I’m not thinking about dating right now. I just want to focus on my studies.”

The girl didn’t seem surprised; apparently, she’d heard that line before. “I know,” she said softly. “But I like you, and I wanted to tell you. Will you at least take the letter?”

He shook his head. Her expression faltered, disappointment flickering as she slowly withdrew the envelope. “Okay then. Sorry to bother you. I hope you get into a university you love.”

Then she turned and ran off.

Yu Xiangan blinked. “…”

That was… oddly calm. Shouldn’t she have cried or something?

When Lin Yihong walked over, she smiled faintly. “So, what brings Mom here?” he asked.

“I just wanted to check on you two,” she said.

They always said everything was fine at school—but some things, you had to see yourself. Like this, for instance.

“Does this kind of thing happen often?” she asked.

Lin Yihong looked at her innocently. “Mom, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Alright, she thought, clearly he didn’t want to discuss it.

“In any case,” she said lightly, “Mom doesn’t support early relationships. Energy spent there is energy lost from studying.”

“I know,” he nodded seriously.

He already felt like he didn’t have enough time—besides regular classes, he’d enrolled in several extra courses that filled nearly all his free hours.

Yu Xiangan knew his schedule—he’d signed up for them himself. “If it’s too much pressure,” she said, “cut a few out.”

Lin Yihong thought it sounded fine—and in fact, he wanted to go with his mother to the national finals of the architectural design competition.

His grades were excellent, so even if he took a short leave from school, he could easily catch up afterward.

“I just want to see it for myself, experience it,” he said. The Capital University was one of the top schools in the country.

He had visited often when he was younger, but since moving south, he hadn’t been back once.

Yu Xiangan hesitated. “I’ll have to ask your teacher. If he agrees, you can go. If not, then it’s off.”

Chen Yi’s father, their homeroom teacher, quickly gave permission—and even asked if Lin Yining would be going too.

The twins were almost inseparable, and given their consistent top grades, the teacher didn’t hesitate. If it were any other student, he wouldn’t have been so accommodating.

When Lin Yihong told his sister, she cheered aloud. “Together! I’m going too! I’m not missing this!”

This time, they could fly, which would save plenty of time, and they could easily make up any missed lessons after returning.

Seeing how excited they were, Yu Xiangan asked, “Do you two want to go abroad sometime?”

If they did, she could take them overseas during the winter break for travel and exposure.

Of course the twins were thrilled—but amid the excitement, Lin Yining paused to ask, “Mom, are you going abroad for work or for fun?”

Yu Xiangan grinned. “Both.”

She had to go to Germany for business—to discuss a production line.

As expected, Lin Yining wasn’t surprised at all. “I knew it,” she said. “You wouldn’t bring it up otherwise. Definitely work.”

Lin Yihong asked, “What should we prepare for it?”

“Practice your English conversation,” Yu Xiangan said. “It’s the universal language. And if you’re interested, learn a bit of German or Italian too. The more skills you have, the better.”

…

Capital University planned to use the competition to boost its reputation, and with a large cash prize on the line, the event drew tremendous attention. If it weren’t explicitly restricted to students, even some of the professors might have been tempted to compete.

The audience was packed—not only university students but also many outsiders who came to watch.

Yu Xiangan sat among the panel of judges alongside the architecture professors, observing as the eight finalists took the stage one by one to present their designs and explain their creative concepts.

The twins sat quietly in the audience.

The first row was filled with faculty and school administrators, so they were seated in the second row, off to one side.

A few students nearby mistook them for new freshmen. Their faces were so youthful, it was hard to tell otherwise.

Behind them sat a second-year architecture student with a mushroom haircut and thick glasses. He watched the presentations with open envy, mumbling to himself, “If only I’d started college a year earlier! Then I’d be a junior now, and I could’ve entered the competition. But no—here I am stuck watching.”

Lin Yining saw his look of pure frustration and couldn’t help laughing. “Don’t worry, there’ll be another chance.”

The mushroom-head student sighed. “No way. Sure, there are internal competitions, but those prizes are nothing compared to this one. Ten thousand yuan! Just for first place! Even if I worked full-time after graduation—say two hundred a month—it’d take me five years to save that much!”

He was so straightforward it was almost funny—perfectly honest about what truly motivated him: the money.

A girl sitting behind them leaned forward. “Exactly! I came for the prize too. The sponsor is here today, right? I’m a business management major. I wonder if she hires people from outside architecture. I really want to ask what the salary’s like—someone that rich must pay well.”

That was exactly Yu Xiangan’s intention.

Spend money to attract talent—show the country how much she valued capable people.

The twins exchanged glances. Mission accomplished, their eyes said.

The mushroom-head student turned to them. “Have you decided where you want to work yet? I haven’t.”

“Not yet,” Lin Yining said. “Depends on the pay. Wherever the conditions are good, that’s where I’ll go.”

…

The competition reached its climax. The host announced the final results:

“First place—Gu Sheng.
Second place—Ouyang Hai.
Third place—Wang Ziwen…”

As the names were read out, Yu Xiangan stepped up to award the first-place winner his certificate—and a large check.

When the audience saw the amount, the hall erupted in applause.

The mushroom-head student groaned in envy. “Ahhh! My skills aren’t that bad! What a pity, what a pity, what a pity!”

A third-year senior sitting behind him rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so cocky. I’m a junior. I entered—and got knocked out in the second round. Do you have any idea how many geniuses joined? Don’t overestimate yourself. And you two freshmen,” he added, nodding at the twins, “you’ve barely learned the basics—focus on that first. You’ll have your chance eventually.”

The twins looked at each other, speechless. Revealing their real identities right now probably wasn’t wise.

When the ceremony ended, some people began leaving. The mushroom-head and his friends stayed seated—only to gape as the twins suddenly walked up onto the stage.

“Wait—aren’t they freshmen?” he blurted out.

They pricked up their ears, listening—and soon realized the two were none other than Professor Yu Xiangan’s children.

The mushroom-head’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

And the business student behind him slapped her thigh in regret. “Ah! I forgot to ask what the salary was!”

🌱🌿 🫧🍃

Yu Xiangan traveled to the Northeast, accompanied by Liu Sanbao, Song Dong, and Zhang Wukai — Lin Chuanbai’s junior colleague, who was skilled at assessing the quality of medicinal herbs.

Their first stop was with Qin Shenghua, who was well connected in the region. His family lived in a military compound, so Yu Xiangan’s group met him in the nearest city to his base before heading in together.

She wasn’t sure if they’d be allowed inside the base.

Qin Shenghua smiled. “No problem. Want to see what life in the army’s like? I can show you around.”

At that, Yu Xiangan’s curiosity was piqued. “I’d like that.”

“Then let’s go,” said Qin.

His household consisted of his mother (Yu Xiangan’s eldest aunt), his wife, and his two sons — both grown. The elder was serving in the army, and the younger was a cadet at a military academy.

Liu Sanbao and Zhang Wukai had never visited a military compound before and were quite curious. They bought gifts in advance — you can’t visit an elder empty-handed — and though the Qin family no longer had young children, they brought candy and supplements for the neighbors’ kids too.

Qin Shenghua borrowed a car and drove them in. Everywhere they looked, soldiers in uniform filled the view.

Military zones were heavily regulated — some areas were open, others strictly off-limits — but with Qin Shenghua leading them, there was no risk of wandering into restricted territory. He’d clearly given prior notice, since everyone they passed greeted him warmly.

Yu Xiangan didn’t remember her aunt very well; neither had the original host of her body before her arrival in this life. Her aunt had followed her husband on military assignments from an early age and, after his death, stayed on with her son in the base area, rarely returning home. Most of Yu Xiangan’s correspondence over the years had been with Qin Shenghua; her contact with the aunt was minimal and polite.

As for the cousin’s wife, she was practically a stranger. Yet when they met, both women were friendly and welcoming, showing no trace of unfamiliarity — especially when food came up; their warmth doubled.

Yu Xiangan took in every detail of the place.

If one of her twins ever chose a military career, this was the kind of life they’d have — a sea of spirited young men in their prime, radiating energy. It was, she thought, an impressive sight.

She didn’t linger long. Once her curiosity was satisfied, Qin Shenghua led the group to meet a local medicinal supplier.

He knew all the right people, so finding the supplier, Bai Yan, went smoothly.

Bai laid out the herbs. Zhang Wukai inspected them carefully. The supplier, uncertain what Yu Xiangan intended to do with them, said honestly, “Not many people buy this stuff anymore. To be straight with you, I’ve been losing money on it.”

Yu Xiangan replied, “There are still some who need it.”

“True,” Bai said, “but too few. If it weren’t for maintaining my reputation, I wouldn’t bother. It’s just too troublesome.”

Now, with this large order, he could finally make a profit instead of a loss.

Zhang Wukai nodded approvingly. “The quality’s good.”

Yu Xiangan extended her hand. “Glad to cooperate. Anything else you can show us?”

The Northeast, with its mountain ranges, was rich in natural resources. Yu Xiangan wanted not just herbs but also regional specialties and food products. Bai Yan took them to Zhangzi Island.

There, she signed another contract — this one for sea cucumbers.

Then, joining in the local custom, she even went up the mountain to dig for ginseng herself — a novel experience.

The professional diggers had already tied red strings around the plants to mark them. Yu Xiangan and her team only needed to follow along and carefully dig them out.

It was delicate work; one had to avoid damaging the roots, removing the soil slowly and patiently.

She stood by watching for over two hours.

“…” Yu Xiangan thought, a bit amused. The landscape might be different, but the digging motions were familiar — Lin Chuanbai often dug herbs the same way in their own medicinal garden.

She bought all the older, more mature ginseng they had in stock. As someone heavily involved in the medicinal trade, she saw no reason to pass up such treasures.

She also signed a long-term purchase agreement: as long as they harvested ginseng, she would buy at market price.

The Changbai Mountains were full of valuable goods, and Yu Xiangan couldn’t resist — she kept buying, and since her orders were large, she got wholesale prices. Even Qin Shenghua and the others stocked up.

A generous farm owner even gifted each of them a large burlap sack of pine nuts — premium, hand-selected ones.

Yu Xiangan later mailed the nuts to her twins.

Then came an unexpected find: from a retired hunter who had once turned to ginseng digging, Yu Xiangan purchased a tiger pelt.

It had belonged to a tiger that had caused trouble in the mountains decades earlier. The man’s grandfather, then a hunter, had killed it. The family had preserved the pelt as a symbol of honor for over thirty years, keeping it in pristine condition.

When they brought it out, Yu Xiangan wanted it instantly.

Although tigers were now protected animals, this one had been killed before such laws existed — after it had attacked humans — so she felt no moral burden buying it. She intended it as a gift for Lin Chuanbai.

Qin Shenghua said nothing, though he clearly coveted it himself. The seller’s family was also reluctant to part with it, but they needed the money — their son had been accepted to a university and they were short on funds for housing in the city.

The tiger pelt was a rare prize. In addition, Yu Xiangan bought two wolf pelts and one bear pelt, both of excellent quality. She planned to give one tiger pelt to Lin Duzhong and one to Lin Houping, since gifting just one would be awkward. The spare wolf pelt she reserved for Yu Qingshan.

She wasn’t particularly fond of fur — she already owned some for formal occasions — but she had a greater interest in the meat from those animals than in their hides.

When she brought the pelts back, Lin Duzhong and Lin Houping were instantly enamored of the tiger skin.

Lin Duzhong even said, “Chuanbai’s still young; he can’t use this tiger pelt properly. Better let me keep it here — I’m old enough to suppress its spirit.”

On the phone, Lin Chuanbai’s speechless pause said it all. “…Grandpa.”

He too was fascinated. In all his life — even counting his past one — he had never seen a full tiger pelt before. Tigers were rare, and most skins that had ever existed were either incomplete or kept as family heirlooms. To own a whole one, to drape it over a chair and sit upon it — what a symbol of power.

Lin Houping, who had once seen a tiger killed during his military years, recalled, “Back then, our unit encountered a starving tiger in the forest. We had guns, but two men were bitten, one broke a rib, and everyone came away injured. It took everything we had to bring that beast down. Its pelt wasn’t even complete.”

By comparison, this one was magnificent — large and intact, even among tigers an exceptional specimen.

So, unable to argue with his elder, Lin Chuanbai “loaned” the tiger skin to his grandfather for now, letting him enjoy it first.

Lin Houping said nothing, but his quiet satisfaction was obvious — as long as the pelt stayed in the house, he too could admire it.

…

The design competition results still hadn’t been announced when Yu Xiangju called, her voice bubbling with excitement.

“Fifth Sister, I’m getting married! Can you come to the wedding?”

Yu Xiangan was surprised. “You’re getting married? Who’s the bride? This sounds so sudden.”

Yu Xiangju chuckled a little shyly. “I just feel she’s the one—the person I want to spend my life with. We’re not that young anymore, so we decided to go for it. I already called Father; he said he’ll come tomorrow.”

His voice was full of giddy joy, and hearing it made Yu Xiangan smile too. “Congratulations then! How did you two meet?”

“She’s the daughter of a division chief from the department next to mine,” Yu Xiangju said. “A year younger than me. I think she’s wonderful—actually a bit like you. She’s a middle school teacher, got assigned after finishing technical college.”

That sounded solid and respectable.

Because of the upcoming wedding, Yu Qingshan immediately went over. When a child marries, there are things that must be settled—meeting the in-laws, discussing arrangements, planning the banquet, and so on.

Yu Xiangju had work, and so did the bride, so the wedding was to be held in her city, with plans to visit their hometown together during the New Year for family introductions.

Yu Qingshan personally paid part of the expenses and, together with his son’s savings, bought a home there and furnished it.

If there were no future work transfers, Yu Xiangju would likely settle in that city permanently.

It was his youngest brother’s wedding—a once-in-a-lifetime event—so all the siblings came. Even Yu Xinyan took time off work to attend.

The night before the ceremony, Yu Xianqing asked, “Does the bride know about… everything in our family?”

It wasn’t scandalous, but the woman had the right to know.

Yu Xiangju nodded. “I told her. I said Aunt Zhao raised me for years. If she’s living well, I won’t interfere. But if she gets cast out, I’ll make sure she has food to eat.”

His distrust of Ding Minxiu’s character was clear. Most people wouldn’t do what she’d done, but he didn’t put it past her. “If I stay somewhere she can find me, she might dump Aunt Zhao on my doorstep and disappear.”

He sighed. “Maybe I just heard Aunt Zhao talk too many times about ‘who’ll take care of me in old age.’ If I don’t do anything, she’ll have no one. My conscience couldn’t take it.”

Yu Xianqing was quiet for a long time. “Then it depends on whether Ding Minxiu and her son have any conscience at all. If they do, they’ll care for her. If not…”

Yu Xiangju added, “I also told my fiancée clearly—I won’t get overly involved. If Aunt Zhao can’t let go of her daughter and grandson and tries to take from me to support them, that’s not going to happen.” He wasn’t going to be anyone’s fool.

Taking care of one old woman was no longer difficult—but he would set limits.

Then he laughed. “Leaving home was the best decision I ever made. Things are great now. I just feel guilty that I can’t be there for Father.”

Yu Qingshan waved him off. “Nonsense. I’m in good health. When I’m old and useless, we can talk about companionship then. You’ve got plenty of siblings—I won’t be lonely.”

Yu Xiangan smiled faintly. “He’s right.” In truth, she was the one caring for their father now.

At the wedding banquet, Yu Qingshan got drunk. He didn’t say much—just sat there smiling at the newlyweds and the festive scene.

Yu Xiangan stayed nearby, watching his cup and warning him not to drink too much. Too much alcohol was bad for his health.

It was a modest gathering—five or six tables in a local restaurant—but cheerful and full of warmth. Relatives from both sides and some coworkers filled the hall.

The new sister-in-law was lively and straightforward, brimming with energy just from the way she spoke.

Yu Xianqing clasped her hands warmly. “My youngest brother’s the baby of the family—he hasn’t seen much of the world. He’ll need a strong wife like you to keep him in line. If he ever mistreats you, just tell us. We’ll straighten him out for you.”

Yu Xiangju feigned indignation. “Fourth Sister, what are you saying? I’m not that kind of man!”

Yu Xianqing laughed and took out a pair of gold rings. She and her husband had made quite a bit trading treasury bonds.

“These were made by an old master at a gold shop back home. The shop was shut down for years and just reopened. The master and his wife have been married over sixty years and have never once quarreled. This was the first pair of rings he made after reopening. I hope you two can be like them—weather every storm together and stay harmonious for decades.”

Yu Xiangju’s eyes turned red. “Thank you, Fourth Sister. We will. We definitely will.”

Everyone had brought gifts, and when the couple later opened them, their little treasury grew handsomely.

Yu Xiangju grinned as his wife looked on in surprise. “My brothers and sisters are all doing well. I’m the youngest, so I got lucky.”

She laughed. “Then we’ll pay it back slowly through their children. We’ve got time—no rush.”

After attending the wedding, Yu Xiangan returned to the Special Economic Zone, since the architectural design results still hadn’t been released.

By then, Lin Chuanbai had received the first batch of medicinal herbs she’d sourced from the Northeast. “The quality’s excellent,” he told her.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Zhang Wukai said the same. But in a few years, we may not find herbs this good again.”

It was the same story as modern farming—accelerated growth cycles using additives and enhancers. The results looked fine, but the flavor and quality weren’t the same. For medicine, potency was everything; once weakened, formulas had to be recalculated entirely.

“I made sure he understood,” said Yu Xiangan. “If the quality drops, we have the right to cancel the contract and return the goods.”

Lin Chuanbai sighed. “Yes. I’ve already had to send one batch back.”

Such problems weren’t new—they’d already begun in the 1990s. Some businesses cut corners, cheating consumers. The best they could do was uphold integrity, even if it meant smaller profits.

Lin Chuanbai asked, “When’s the ribbon-cutting?”

Yu Xiangan had returned to attend the opening ceremony of her new office building, marking its official use.

“Next week,” she said.

The event was scheduled for the weekend, when most people were off work.

Among the crowd of onlookers that day was Ding Minxiu’s family. They had simply followed the noise and excitement. The grand opening featured a traditional lion dance.

She and Zhao Qiaoniang stood among the spectators, drawn by the festive drumming.

There were many others like them—locals stopping to watch.

Even Zhou Changshou was there, enjoying his day off.

He grinned as he watched the performance. “Now this is lively! Haven’t seen a lion dance in two years. These fellows are skilled—better footwork than our county’s troupe, though I think the patterns on ours back home look better.”

Zhao Qiaoniang squinted. “You’re right, the patterns are different. Ours do look more imposing.”

On the raised platform, two lion dancers faced off, battling for the “green”—the prize of lettuce hanging high above. Each dramatic leap drew cheers from the crowd.

“Good!”

One lion snatched the lettuce, and applause erupted.

Even Ding Minxiu clapped along, as did a pair of elderly men beside her, one of whom said, “Don’t know where they hired this troupe, but they’re good. The one I saw last month wasn’t nearly as exciting.”

One of the old men said, “Of course. Just look at this office building—it’s much grander than the one from last month. Must’ve cost a fortune.”

Another added, “They’re even hiring janitors here. Someone from my village got hired. I heard most of the units have already been pre-leased. Do you know how much rent they’re charging per month?”

“How much?”

The man raised a single finger. “This much.”

The other old man gasped. “That much—for an entire floor?”

“No, no, that’s just for one office unit. There are many on each floor.”

The man was stunned. “And they’ve rented them all out already?”

“How should I know? Maybe they’re keeping some for themselves. Building something like this can’t have been cheap—no idea how long it’ll take to earn back the cost through rent.”

“Rich folks don’t care about that.”

“Times have changed. Back then, having money was a bad thing. Now the more, the better.”

“Yeah, it’s been over ten years since the reforms started.”

“Before, you couldn’t even imagine this being privately owned. Would’ve been called capitalism! But now they say ‘those who get rich first will lead the others,’ market economy and all that. I don’t really understand, but life really is better for everyone.”

“That’s all thanks to national policy.”

“Yes, thank the country,” Zhou Changshou cut in cheerfully. “Life’s much better now than before.”

He was already retired, but in these new times he could still find odd jobs to earn extra money while collecting his pension. “Only problem is inflation—money keeps losing value.”

The two old men nodded. “Exactly! Wages keep rising, but never as fast as prices. Used to be we could live on twenty or thirty yuan a month. Now? Can’t buy much with that.”

One of them chuckled. “You exaggerate. You can still buy plenty with thirty yuan—it’s just that now there are so many more things to buy, and the money slips away faster.”

Ding Minxiu smiled faintly as she watched the lively scene. But when the woman standing center stage, back turned toward her, raised a pair of scissors to cut the ribbon, Ding’s smile vanished. Her whole body jolted as if struck by lightning, and she stumbled back three steps.

It was her!

Even from a distance, she recognized that figure instantly.

Yu Xiangan.

Why was she here?!

Yes, they both lived in the Special Economic Zone—but… Ding Minxiu looked up at the towering, elegant office building. Someone cutting the ribbon at such an event couldn’t possibly be just a guest.

She tried to recall what the host had said moments ago.

…Wait. So this office building actually belonged to Yu Xiangan?!

The realization made her eyes bloodshot. How could that be possible?

She’d heard rumors that Yu Xiangan ran some business in the zone—but this? How could she have built something so big? Where had she gotten that kind of ability?

If she’d been this capable, why hadn’t anyone in Baishi County ever said so back then?

It had to be fake!

“She must know someone powerful—someone let her do this as a favor!” she hissed, grabbing Zhao Qiaoniang’s arm. “Right? I’m right, aren’t I?”

Zhao Qiaoniang opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. She knew it wasn’t like that. The Five Flavors Restaurant belonged to Yu Xiangan. The food court was hers. This office building being hers wasn’t strange at all. But she also knew her daughter didn’t want to hear that truth.

Her daughter wanted her to deny it.

But Ding Minxiu had spoken loudly enough for others to overhear. One of the old men nearby turned around, grinning. “Hey, miss, do you really think so? Come on, if it weren’t hers, who’d hand the scissors to someone else for a ribbon-cutting? You really don’t keep up with local news, huh? She’s been in the papers—one of our zone’s famous entrepreneurs.”

Zhou Changshou’s smile faded. “Famous entrepreneur?”

Just then, a few children nearby were also watching the show. The old man pointed at the bag of crispy noodles in one child’s hand. “Those? Made by her factory. And see over there? That Five Flavors restaurant—that’s hers too. There are branches all over the country. Those noodles sell everywhere, even exported overseas. She’s earning foreign currency, paying tons in taxes—one of our model businesspeople.”

The more he said, the darker Ding Minxiu’s face became.

Zhao Qiaoniang gripped her daughter’s arm tightly, terrified she’d lose control and make a scene. In a crowd like this, any outburst would only humiliate them, not Yu Xiangan.

Up on stage, Yu Xiangan stood poised and confident, surrounded by security guards keeping order.

What could they do?

Nothing.

And what reason did they even have to cause trouble?

Zhao Qiaoniang’s heart pounded in fear. Looking at her daughter’s twisted expression, she truly didn’t know what the woman might do next.

She held her tighter and whispered hoarsely, “We have no right to make a scene. None at all.”

That silenced Ding Minxiu.

But the words burned. Why? Why was it so unfair?

On stage, Yu Xiangan looked radiant—well-dressed, composed, speaking into a microphone with a smile that glowed with confidence. Ding Minxiu couldn’t even hear her properly; her ears buzzed as if the world itself were muffled, unreal.

They were from completely different worlds.

Down below, she stared up; on stage, Yu Xiangan didn’t even know she was there.

They’d started from the same place.

So why had their lives diverged so completely?

From Zhao Qiaoniang’s anxious eyes, Ding Minxiu caught a glimpse of herself—old, haggard, ugly.

Once upon a time, they’d been equals. She’d even been the prettier one. Otherwise, why would Zhou Boyang have loved her?

And now she hated him. If not for him—if she hadn’t followed him to the countryside—she could have found another man, a better one, and lived as a wealthy lady herself.

Those people who’d once been publicly denounced had survived those years and, with their old skills and knowledge, were now doing better than most. If she’d seized the same chance, she too could’ve lived a brilliant life.

Her resentment spread—to her mother as well.

Why had she even been born? If only Zhao Qiaoniang hadn’t given birth to her. A useless father, a selfish stepfather who only favored his own children—she had nothing.

It was all her mother’s fault.

Zhou Changshou grabbed her other hand. “Let’s go,” he said quietly.

If she caused a scene, it would be disgraceful. Before leaving, he glanced back at the woman on stage—his expression a tangle of regret and disbelief.

Just a little difference in fate, and that woman up there could have been his daughter-in-law.

If things hadn’t gone wrong back then, their family would now be living comfortably, respected, enjoying wealth and ease. He, at his age, would have nothing left to do but savor life.

But his son had been foolish—and they’d let the golden phoenix slip away.

He realized bitterly: he should have made sure back when she got into college. Now, regret was far too late.

🌱🌿 🫧🍃