Author Archives: Thingyan

When Lu Yao went to the office for snacks, she also grabbed a few small plastic stools and set them up in the middle of the empty room. She placed the snack tray and water glasses on top of the stools.

Hearing the woman’s comment about the potato wedges, her colleague raised his pack of cheese wafers. “These are great too—so crispy and flavorful.”

When Lu Yao had initially left the room, the two staff members found it a bit odd. But when she quickly returned with food and water in hand, they naturally assumed she had bought the items from a nearby shop on the street.

“Ghost Street hasn’t seen such a sweet and earnest new shopkeeper in a long time.”

The thought crossed their minds, but it was tinged with a sense of foreboding. They knew that once this shop officially opened, her sincerity and enthusiasm would likely be crushed by the harsh realities of this place.

While they felt a faint heaviness in their hearts, they were mostly numb to it.

Anyone who came to Ghost Street was destined to become a fish on the chopping block, at the mercy of others.

After her earlier misstep in conversation, Lu Yao became more cautious and skillfully avoided asking questions. Instead, she acted like a simple, good-natured host, smiling shyly. “The shop isn’t ready yet—I hope you won’t mind the lack of proper hospitality.”

The two staff members, engrossed in the novelty of the snacks, didn’t think much of her comment. Used to the dull food from their office canteen, they were too preoccupied enjoying the fresh flavors to dwell on it.

After finishing his wafers and half a glass of water, the man handed the package over again.

This time, Lu Yao didn’t refuse. She accepted it and immediately opened the box.

The two staff members didn’t stop her.

Inside the box were a full map of Ghost Street, a Golden Guide to Opening a Store, a communicator about the size of a Bluetooth earpiece, and a large jar of brightly colored candy.

Setting the other items aside, Lu Yao unscrewed the lid of the candy jar first.

Inside were two types of candies:

• The first type resembled small spheres covered in short, twisted tentacles and dotted with eyes.
• The second type took the form of tiny ghost-like figures, similar to white mushrooms, with round eyes brimming with tears.

The first type looked like the pattern on the back of the clue slip, though these candies had a more defined shape and a range of vibrant colors. Despite their eerie design, their small size gave them a strangely endearing charm, and looking at them didn’t cause the nausea or dizziness she had felt with the clue slip.

The second type of candy was purely adorable—mushroom-like, with rounded eyes that seemed on the verge of tears, evoking an overwhelming urge to protect them.

Lucky Candy—the name certainly sounded auspicious.

But Lu Yao couldn’t shake the feeling that it hinted at something hidden.

She noticed the two staff members casting furtive glances at her and decided against asking further questions.

Their purpose seemed purely to deliver the package. After she accepted it, they stood up, ready to leave.

Before leaving, however, the woman couldn’t resist asking one last question: “I saw on your application that your store will regularly host ‘themed DIY’ activities. What kinds of themes are you planning?”

Having dismissed her suspicions about their identities, Lu Yao assumed this was part of their job and felt no need to hide the details. In fact, she answered earnestly, even hoping to promote her shop. “The DIY activities will focus on a variety of hands-on experiences, like making homemade cookies, knitting plush toys, crafting custom perfumes, or molding clay figurines. We’ll tailor the activities to the seasons and weather.”

Two days ago, Lu Yao had done a deep self-assessment and was surprised to find that her accumulated knowledge and abilities were most efficiently applied to DIY projects.

As long as she had the right materials, her skills and knowledge automatically aligned to create objects tailored to her needs.

The activities she mentioned to the staff were designed to cater to general public interests—engaging, moderately challenging, and offering creative freedom. It seemed like a safe choice.

In truth, however, the scope of her DIY skills extended far beyond public workshops. Whether it was crafting furniture, equipment, and goods for the shop or designing large-scale weapons and containment tools for combating unknown enemies, all fell within her DIY capabilities. This was the real reason she had chosen to open this store.

She felt fortunate that, during her earlier walk through Ghost Street, the surrounding shops leaned heavily toward lifestyle and entertainment—mostly food, drinks, and leisure activities. While each was bustling with customers and immensely popular, none were similar to her DIY workshop.

It was rare to secure such a prime location in a high-traffic area with no direct competitors.

Lu Yao’s entrepreneurial instincts, etched into her DNA, couldn’t help but stir with excitement.

The woman’s light brown eyes lit up with interest. “That sounds very fun. When will you officially open?”

Lu Yao thought for a moment. “After arranging the interior, cleaning, and preparing for the opening activities, it’ll probably take at least three days.”

Originally, Lu Yao had planned to hire new staff as soon as the shop opened. However, this world seemed strange, with hiring requiring formal applications. She decided to observe the situation first.

If business turned out to be booming after the opening, she would consider hiring.

The woman nodded. “If you encounter any issues in the future, feel free to call the North District Management Office. We’ll send someone to handle it.”

As she spoke, she pulled a black card from her pocket and handed it to Lu Yao.

The pure black card had a thin gold border, with the words “North District Management Office Cleanup Team” written on the front, along with a string of numbers, presumably a phone number.

Lu Yao flipped the card over. The back was embossed with a faint torch-shaped pattern.

The woman’s colleague, who had already walked to the door, stood waiting. Seeing Lu Yao’s slightly puzzled expression, he added, “According to Rule 8, you can call the church security office for uncontrollable dangers. However, their resources are always stretched thin because they handle so many cases. If it’s not an emergency, you can call our cleanup team first.”

Lu Yao, adopting a flattered expression, nodded repeatedly. “Thank you very much.”

The two left before 11 PM. Although Ghost Street didn’t officially close for another hour, the streets were already deserted, and the raucous music had inexplicably fallen silent.

Only the neon signs of the shops lining the street continued to flicker stubbornly, as if shouting, “Don’t leave! Let’s keep the party going!”—but no one responded to the call.

Directly across from Lu Yao’s shop was a bar called “The Abyss.” One entire wall facing the street was made of transparent glass, including the door.

Earlier in the evening, when Lu Yao had gone out, the bar was bustling with shadows of people, the glow of red and green lights, and a lively atmosphere.

Now it was empty, save for a bartender wearing an octopus headpiece, wiping glasses behind the counter.

The octopus tentacles on the headpiece were disturbingly lifelike. As the bartender tilted his head slightly to inspect the glass under the light, the tentacles on his head moved—subtly but distinctly.

Lu Yao’s vision was sharp—sharper than usual these days. Her senses had been growing increasingly acute. She couldn’t help but stare at the octopus head across the street. The smooth, almost luminous skin and limp, curling tentacles seemed unnervingly real. She even thought she could faintly hear the wet sound of tentacles rubbing against flesh as they moved, emitting a faint “squelch, squelch.”

It seemed alive.

The bartender appeared to sense something and slowly turned his octopus-covered head. The eyes embedded in the tentacles shifted, aligning with Lu Yao’s gaze.

“There are no fish markets on Ghost Street.”

Just as their eyes were about to meet, this rule from earlier burst into Lu Yao’s mind. She quickly lowered her gaze, her heart pounding violently.

Thump—thump—thump.

A chill ran down her spine, goosebumps rising on her arms.

Lu Yao had encountered creatures far more terrifying than this apparent octopus-man and had always been able to handle them with composure—because those creatures were inherently monsters.

But this was different. What she had seen at first glance was clearly a person. In the next instant, she felt an indescribable sense of someone transforming into a monster without realizing it.

She couldn’t stop her mind from drawing connections, the thought filling her with dread.

The moment of shock lasted only briefly before Lu Yao quickly composed herself. She calmly placed her hand on the door handle, as if preparing to close up for the night, while casually glancing across at the bar opposite.

After all, the two stores faced each other. Keeping her head lowered the whole time would seem too deliberate.

This street wasn’t normal.

She had already felt it deeply.

The bartender had stepped out from behind the bar at some point and now stood behind the glass, his tall figure casting a long shadow behind him.

He crossed his arms and looked straight at Lu Yao.

Avoiding the octopus on his head, Lu Yao met his gaze for just a second. She feigned an awkward hesitation, then slightly curled her lips into a polite smile, nodding briefly in greeting. Without hurrying, she closed the shop door.

…

11:26 PM, Ghost Street North District Management Office, Second-Floor Office

Liu Jing and Chen Huisheng returned from their fieldwork, bringing late-night snacks for their colleagues in the office.

These two were the staff members who had delivered the starter kit to Lu Yao’s shop.

Seated across from Chen Huisheng’s desk was a man wearing gold-rimmed glasses named Fang Cong. The other colleagues had already clocked out; he had stayed late specifically to wait for them.

Taking the sour soup wontons and teppanyaki handed to him, Fang Cong didn’t even need to open the lids to catch the enticing aroma.

When he did, the scent of the food mixed with the rising steam, making it hard not to salivate.

Feeling quite hungry, he tore open the disposable utensils and began eating.

However, Ghost Street food often didn’t taste as good as it smelled—it was mostly about presentation.

After just a few bites, Fang Cong lost interest and set down his chopsticks. Still unsatisfied, he reached for the teppanyaki, only to find it equally bland.

Grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth, he asked casually, “So, how was it?”

Liu Jing pulled up a chair and sat down beside Chen Huisheng. “The new shopkeeper seemed a bit… well, innocent.”

Out of a rare sense of goodwill toward the shopkeeper, Liu Jing carefully chose her words, using an unusually gentle tone.

Chen Huisheng briefly recounted their visit to Lu Yao’s shop.

Fang Cong showed no particular reaction.

He’d seen shopkeepers like this before—some were naturally thick-skinned and fearless, while others were simply naïve, unable to sense the danger around them.

It didn’t matter which type they were. Once they arrived on Ghost Street, they all quickly transformed.

The result was always the same.

The three exchanged a few more words before shutting down their computers and turning off the lights, preparing to clock out for the night.

The employee dormitory was located in the same building as the office, with the first through sixth floors used as office spaces and the seventh through tenth floors reserved for staff housing.

Chen Huisheng and Fang Cong lived on the seventh floor, while Liu Jing’s room was on the eighth.

When the elevator doors opened on the seventh floor, Chen Huisheng and Fang Cong prepared to step out.

Liu Jing reached into her pocket and tossed two bags of potato wedges at them. “Grabbed these from Lu Yao’s shop on my way out. Was planning to eat them all by myself.”

Chen Huisheng caught his without saying a word.

Since leaving Lu Yao’s shop, they had bought various late-night snacks from roadside stalls—grilled skewers, pan-fried dumplings, mini rice noodle pots—but none of it, no matter how fresh or hot, compared in flavor or texture to the snacks they’d eaten at her shop.

They even searched the nearby supermarkets, but none carried the type of snacks Lu Yao had served them.

Fang Cong frowned, lifting his hand to toss the bag back to Liu Jing.

He didn’t like snacks.

The food on Ghost Street wasn’t good either.

It wasn’t just the food—everything on this street was all surface and no substance, hollow at its core.

Yet humans could only scrape by in such a world, crawling at its feet like pigs and dogs.

Liu Jing remarked, “This one’s different. You’ll understand once you try it. I have to ask her where she bought it next time we stop by.”

Chen Huisheng nodded in agreement. “It really is different.”

Fang Cong remained indifferent.

At this late hour, no other colleagues were likely to leave their dorms, so it was just the three of them by the elevator.

Liu Jing stuck her foot in the elevator door to hold it open. “By the way, Lu Yao’s shop might open in three days. How about we go support her?”

Fang Cong frowned at Liu Jing’s attitude toward the new shopkeeper, finding it overly familiar. Annoyed, he retorted, “As a street administrator, please remember your position at all times.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

Liu Jing’s expression darkened. Staring at Fang Cong’s retreating figure, she muttered under her breath, “Old-fashioned stiff.”

Chen Huisheng remained stoic, having grown accustomed to these spats.

He said, “Fang Cong didn’t used to be like this. He’s just seen too much and doesn’t want you to get hurt again.”

Liu Jing didn’t appreciate his words. “Who hasn’t gone through stuff here? We’re all colleagues, aren’t we? I just like the new shopkeeper at No. 13, and I want to look out for her. I refuse to become numb like him.”

Chen Huisheng fell silent, unable to argue further.

…

Lu Yao locked the shop door but didn’t return to the shopping street. Instead, she sat under the light, flipping through the Ghost Street map and the shop’s guidebook she hadn’t yet had time to read.

The gray-blue map unfolded, revealing a tangle of intricate lines crisscrossing thin, waterproof paper—like veins intertwined in a chaotic mess.

She studied the map for a long while, slowly piecing together the layout and routes.

The exact location of Ghost Street remained unclear, but its scope was vast.

Rather than a street, it was more akin to a city.

The street was divided into four districts—East, South, West, and North—and a central hub.

Although she had wandered for nearly two hours earlier, she’d remained in the North District and hadn’t even glimpsed the edge of the central hub.

Trying to locate the intangible Dream Fulfilling System in such a massive expanse felt as hopeless as finding a needle in a haystack.

But then, a thought struck her: instead of searching for the system, she could make it come to her.

The Dream Fulfilling System could connect to any world’s network to gather vast amounts of data and information.

If it realized she was in this world, it would undoubtedly find a way to contact her.

Lu Yao recalled her earlier stroll. Oddly, she hadn’t come across any internet cafés.

The pedestrians she saw were accustomed to paying in cash—she hadn’t seen anyone use mobile payment.

Could it be that this world’s network wasn’t well-developed?

Yet her residency application had been swiftly processed and acknowledged by the management office.

Perhaps the information systems here were tightly controlled, used only by certain people, leaving the general populace with limited access.

If that were the case, it would explain how the system might have been restricted.

With the most efficient option seemingly unavailable, she had to consider other approaches.

Ultimately, it came back to the starting point: she needed to spread the word.

The fastest way to do that was to make her shop famous.

Once the shop built a reputation, word of mouth would follow. One person would tell ten, ten would tell a hundred, and eventually, the system would catch wind of “Lu Yao has arrived at Ghost Street.”

Setting the map aside, Lu Yao opened the shop guidebook next.

The first three pages reiterated the rules, written in an official tone with little useful information.

Turning to the fourth page, her eyes froze, and she slowly straightened in her seat.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Lu Yao walked to the door of her new store and pushed it open.

After a day and night of upgrades and maintenance, the two previously shabby and small shop spaces had been completely transformed. The once yellowed walls had been repainted to match the vibrant colors of the sign outside—purple, blue, pink, yellow—bright and eye-catching, almost overwhelmingly so.

The ceiling had been redone with a soft blue sky theme, complete with a whimsical cloud-shaped light fixture in the center that was both adorable and bright.

This time, Lu Yao hadn’t completely torn down the wall between the two shop spaces, instead adding a doorway in the wall.

The door she had just entered through was the main entrance, leading into a reception room. The adjacent room was divided into three smaller sections, corresponding to three operation rooms.

At the moment, however, the rooms were entirely empty, with no furniture or equipment installed yet.

The results of the initial upgrades were promising, and Lu Yao planned to handle the rest of the interior design herself.

The store would need a few more days of preparation before it could officially open.

However, the stargate had already been activated, and Lu Yao, curious about this new world, decided to step out and explore.

As she reached for the door handle, a semi-transparent screen suddenly appeared out of thin air, blocking her path. Golden text began to flash on the screen.

[Good evening, dear visitor! Would you like to log into Ghost Street North District, Store No. 13: Lu Yao’s Creative DIY Workshop?]

This wasn’t the system’s interface.

Lu Yao didn’t immediately respond. She moved around the screen and tried pushing the door.

The door seemed to be firmly blocked by something heavy and immovable.

“Beep-beep!”

A low, curt sound rang out, like some kind of notification tone.

Lu Yao withdrew her hand. It seemed the door wouldn’t open without answering the question.

She returned to the screen and said, “Yes, I confirm.”

“Beep—”

[Identity registration complete. Store qualification approved. Welcome to Ghost Street, Lu Yao’s Creative DIY Workshop!]

[Ghost Street is one of the busiest streets in this community, with business hours from 6 PM to midnight. During this time, the street is bustling with crowds and endless streams of customers. To ensure your shop operates smoothly during business hours, please carefully read and adhere to the following rules before officially opening your store.]

[Rules for Operating on Ghost Street]

1. Before opening your store, visit the Street Management Office in the North District to collect a Ghost Street map, an Opening Guide, a communicator, and a jar of Lucky Candy.
2. Store hours must not begin earlier than 6 PM or end later than midnight.
3. Do not go out alone after closing hours.
4. If you need to hire new staff, submit an employment application at the Street Committee Building in the East District. Store owners are not allowed to recruit staff privately.
5. Ghost Street is a vibrant and free-spirited street with a mix of ordinary guests and unique pioneers. Please treat everyone equally and ensure proper service.
6. Occasionally, you may encounter lost little ghosts on the street. Do not panic—take them to the church in the West District, where someone will help them return home. If you’re busy, you can call the church reception desk, and someone will come to pick them up promptly. Church reception desk phone number: ×××××××××.
7. There are no fish markets on Ghost Street. If you encounter stray animals carrying golden octopuses, you may feed them a few pieces of Lucky Candy.
8. If you encounter an unresolvable crisis during store operations, immediately contact the church security office. Assistance will arrive promptly. Church security office phone number: ×××××××××.

As long as you follow the above rules, you and your store will not encounter any unexpected dangers. We wish you a pleasant store-opening experience!

Lu Yao read through the rules and noticed a smaller line of text at the bottom:

[While we do not enforce strict compliance with all rules, any unforeseen trouble caused by ignoring street regulations will be the sole responsibility of the store owner.]

What kind of world was this?

This was the most complicated set of rules Lu Yao had ever encountered for opening a store.

Not only was the store-opening process cumbersome, but the eight rules carried an indescribable sense of eeriness.

The content of Rules 1-3, 5, and 8 was acceptable to Lu Yao.

Rule 4, which required submitting an application to hire staff, was something she could reluctantly tolerate.

But Rule 6, “Occasionally, there will be little ghosts on the street,”—what on earth was that supposed to mean?

And Rule 7, “There are no fish markets on the street,”—what did that imply?

If there were no fish markets, where did the stray animals get their golden octopuses?

Lu Yao had a slew of complaints swirling in her mind, even briefly considering closing the store before it officially opened and running away.

This world already felt like a hassle.

The shop was empty. In the past, she could bicker with the System, but now the silence around her was more profound than a snowy midnight.

Lu Yao took a deep breath and reached for the door handle again.

Having carefully read the rules, the translucent screen blocking her vanished. When she pulled on the door, it creaked open.

As the door cracked ajar, a cacophony of raucous music, overlapping voices, and glaring, deathly neon-green lights spilled through the gap.

Lu Yao stood in the doorway, gripping the handle firmly to open the door completely.

Flashing red and green lights danced and swayed, occasionally flickering across her face.

The street and its surrounding buildings were veiled in the shadows of night, resembling an enormous shroud of darkness. Yet, vivid green, magenta, and fluorescent yellow lights sliced through the gloom, fragmenting it into irregular shapes.

The street was crowded with pedestrians, and every so often, the lights illuminated mask-like faces.

The neon-lit street, teeming with vibrant energy, radiated a near-overwhelming sense of joy and liveliness.

The “overly colorful” sign of her new store, criticized by her staff, now seemed perfectly ordinary on Ghost Street, blending into the background with no special distinction.

Lu Yao hesitated for a moment, recalling the rules she had just read. It wasn’t yet 8 PM, so leaving her store didn’t violate any regulations.

She shut the door behind her and, adopting the guise of an ordinary tourist, joined the bustling crowd.

Nightclubs, bars, gambling shops, hot pot restaurants, barbecue stalls, ice cream parlors, arcades…

Walking along the street, Lu Yao saw nothing beyond her comprehension. It almost seemed as if the earlier convoluted procedures were merely intended to intimidate her.

However, every shop was packed with customers, and long lines formed outside their doors.

The dazzling lights, chaotic noise, and shadowy nightscape made her uneasy as she ventured farther. Feeling that something wasn’t quite right, Lu Yao decided to turn back.

After all, this was an unfamiliar world; exploring during daylight seemed much safer.

Without the local currency, she couldn’t buy anything to eat from the roadside vendors, even though she wanted to.

At 10:03 PM, Lu Yao safely returned to her store’s entrance.

Two shadowy figures, one tall and one short, had appeared at the base of the steps.

As she approached, the figures immediately stood up.

Under the flickering lights, their faces were revealed: one was a resolute-looking man, the other a delicate-faced woman.

The pair had noticed Lu Yao well before she arrived and, seeing her head toward them, felt certain they had found the right person.

Before Lu Yao could speak, the woman in a black uniform stepped forward and addressed her first.

“Lu Yao, the owner of the Creative DIY Workshop?”

Lu Yao clasped the Regulation Rod behind her back, neither confirming nor denying.

“And you are?” she asked.

The woman in black said, “We’re staff from the North District Street Management Office. Two hours and twenty-eight minutes ago, the street received your registration request. Since you hadn’t come to the office to collect your map, opening guide, communicator, and Lucky Candy, we decided to deliver them to you.”

As soon as she finished speaking, the man next to her removed a backpack and took out a square paper box, carefully holding it out toward Lu Yao.

Lu Yao didn’t reach for it, her eyes filled with caution.

Anyone would think this situation was absurd.

Who goes on fieldwork past 10 PM just to deliver a beginner’s kit?

The woman in black noticed Lu Yao’s reluctance and a flicker of excitement flashed in her eyes. Clearing her throat, she finally said the line she had been itching to use: “Don’t worry, we’re not bad people.”

Lu Yao: “…”

That’s exactly what bad people say.

The atmosphere grew tense.

Suddenly, the silent man spoke up. “For new stores, it’s best to collect the starter kit within six hours of registration. There are less than two hours left until the street closes. We’re only here out of goodwill to make sure you have everything.”

Lu Yao frowned. “Why wasn’t that rule included in the opening guidelines?”

The two exchanged a surprised glance, as though Lu Yao had just asked an unbelievably basic question.

Realizing something was amiss with her question, Lu Yao walked past them, unlocked the shop door, turned on the lights, and gestured toward them. “You’ve gone out of your way. Please come in and have a glass of water.”

The shop was Lu Yao’s safe house.

Under most circumstances, no matter how strong the opposition was, no one could harm her inside the shop.

Whether these two were acting or genuinely lacking guile, they entered the shop without hesitation after her invitation.

The DIY Workshop had no furniture, tea, or snacks for guests yet.

Lu Yao stepped out again, heading to the staff office in the shopping district, where she gathered a tray of snacks and poured two glasses of iced water.

The staff office was right next to the DIY Workshop, so it didn’t take long.

Carrying the snacks and water back to the shop, she found the two staff members from the Street Office visibly flattered by her hospitality. After exchanging polite remarks, each took a bag of snacks and began eating.

The woman in black picked up a bag of potato wedges, took a bite, froze, then took a few more bites. Holding up the bag, she asked, “Where are these wedges from? They’re so delicious, even by Ghost Street standards. How have I never noticed them before?”

…

Thingyan: I have a bad feeling

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Lu Yao rubbed the two slips of paper between her fingers, already guessing the source of the “Help!” note.

The Dream Fulfillment System, currently out for “advanced training,” had likely been caught in a trap, forced to seek her assistance.

Though it was a call for help, the note contained no other clues, leaving Lu Yao perplexed. Even if she wanted to save the system, she had no idea where to start.

Meanwhile, after clearing her eighth store, she had also received a clue note. Following the usual process, choosing a location and submitting the clue note would open the stargate to a new world.

With the proxy robot, Lu Yao could continue running stores and completing tasks even without the Dream Fulfillment System.

Yet, thinking back to her store on the Floating World Continent, if the Dream Fulfillment System had been by her side instead of the proxy system, things might have turned out much better.

Though the Dream Fulfillment System was tricky to deal with, it was still far more useful than the uncommunicative proxy robot.

Its skills—danger alerts, popularity exchange services, and information processing—had all proven highly effective.

After weighing her options, Lu Yao reluctantly acknowledged the system’s irreplaceability and decided to prioritize finding it.

As for how to proceed, she had a faint idea.

The rescue signal from the system was carried by a medium resembling the clue note, suggesting it might also serve as a subtle hint.

—The game rules haven’t changed.
—Hurry to this world and open a store to save me!

Lu Yao took out the Regulation Rod, holding it by the shaft and revealing the handle.

Shrouded in black mist, the two statues on the rod faced away from each other, both with their heads slightly lowered, emotionless.

With a thought, Lu Yao caused the black mist to disperse slowly. The side facing her revealed a grotesque demon’s face.

If she still had her memories, she would immediately recognize that the statues on the rod were identical to the one she had encountered while unconscious in the Endless Abyss.

Unfortunately, Lu Yao had forgotten, relying solely on instinct as she wielded the rod.

The demon’s mouth opened slowly, and Lu Yao inserted the clue note she had received after clearing the eighth store.

The demon swallowed the note, retreating back into the mist.

The handle was once again wrapped in pitch-black, gauzy mist, concealing the statues entirely. From a distance, the rod appeared to be an oddly-shaped chunk of iron with a peculiar aesthetic.

The portable storage space was a product of the Dream Fulfillment System. Having fallen into too many pitfalls recently, Lu Yao began to doubt its security.

She had been gradually transferring important items to a more secure location.

However, the Regulation Rod’s capacity was limited, reserved for only the most critical objects.

Lu Yao stored the rod and held onto the system’s “Help!” note as she stepped out of the hot spring inn. Turning right, she passed the pet cafe and the cinema, stopping next to Employee Office No. 1.

She decided the new store would be located here. But with only the word “Help!” as a clue, she couldn’t yet determine what kind of store to open.

Pushing open the door of the vacant shop, she was greeted by a cloud of dust that made her cough uncontrollably.

Raising her hand to brush off the dust, she held up the narrow white note. On the front, the words “Lu Yao, Help!” were scrawled, but as she flipped it over, she noticed faint golden lines shimmering at certain angles on the otherwise blank back.

Lu Yao blinked, thinking the system wasn’t entirely useless.

Adjusting the angle repeatedly, she finally discerned the pattern on the back—a dense and eerie golden web covering the entire note. Within the gaps of the web were raised golden eyes, and scattered along the delicate gold threads were clusters of curling tentacles.

What is this?

A golden octopus covered in compound eyes?

The strange pattern was filled with ominous implications.

Lu Yao found it abstract yet unnervingly vivid. The lifelike image of the eyes, seemingly in constant motion, and the swaying tentacles was enough to send a shiver down her spine. Staring too long could indeed make one lose their sanity.

Thankfully, the slip of paper was small. Lowering her gaze, Lu Yao rubbed her aching eyes and casually crumpled the paper before tucking it into her pocket.

Once the soreness around her eyes subsided, she looked up again to inspect the vacant shop, the location for her next store. A faint idea began forming in her mind.

In a new world filled with uncertainty, with the Dream Fulfillment System missing and the proxy system prone to betrayal, Lu Yao had to tread carefully. The experiences from her eighth store served as a stark reminder. Both Harold and Budu might face rejection or restrictions on their abilities in the new world.

At such a time, her only reliable resources would be her artifact and the experience she had accumulated over a year and a half of running stores.

The new store needed to be flexible and grounded in her strengths. After some thought, her plans began to take shape.

She realized that a single shop space might be too small for her needs.

Lu Yao stepped out and opened the door to the empty shop adjacent to the first one. Combining the two spaces should be just right.

Although the internal space could be expanded using extradimensional upgrades, this store required a slightly larger operational area from the outset compared to her previous ones.

Unlike the more extravagant cinema next door, merging these two shops was primarily to create separate rooms for different operations.

Lu Yao meticulously repeated her opening preparations for the tenth time: measuring the dimensions, confirming the total space, planning the interior design, submitting the clue note, opening the stargate, and upgrading the extradimensional space.

Store upgrades and maintenance still required 24 hours, with no room for error.

When the preparations were complete, Lu Yao stepped out of her ninth store.

The proxy system collected the clue note without error and immediately began working.

Lu Yao had a sense that the system wasn’t unaware of her actions. Instead, it seemed to tolerate her deviations with an unspoken approval.

That wasn’t surprising.

Perhaps the note itself was a trap, leading her into an unregulated alternate world.

An unregistered world not part of the task system could likely exist beyond the system’s rules.

Even if the note was genuinely a cry for help from the Dream Fulfillment System, the fact that it had trapped an entity as abstract as the Dream Fulfillment System meant this world was far from ordinary. For a mortal store owner to enter would be akin to walking into a trap.

Standing before the store’s entrance, Lu Yao pinched her trembling fingertips, attempting to suppress the fear welling up within her.

She had never been the type to seek out conflict, but this hesitation wouldn’t do—her journey might soon come to an end.

Not the end of her wishes, but the end of her time.

Raising her hand, she tapped the void, bringing up the store owner’s page.

Store Owner: Lu Yao
Age: 22
Stores: 9
Staff: 297
Popularity Points: 62,359,500
Assets: 9.15M
Wish Progress: 54%
Storage Slots: 50

(Shopping Street Map)

The new store was still under maintenance, so the store count hadn’t increased.

The café currently housed over twenty human and non-human staff members.

Among them were thirteen sparrows, who had undergone training in the Heavenly Ladder during the battle against the Evil God. Six of them successfully took on human forms.

Influenced by Tales of the Six Realms, their transformed appearances resembled scout sparrow demons from the game, as if they were siblings of the same family.

Additionally, disciples of the Six Realms Sect were loosely affiliated with the café as unofficial staff members.

After the battle, the sect flourished.

Despite Xiao Zhong’s strict selection process, which prioritized gaming aptitude, the sect’s disciples now numbered forty-nine.

The second office had recently hired new writers and a programmer. Along with Liu Yixi and Mei Xue, the total number of new staff members across the shopping street had grown to seventy-three.

With the Dream Fulfillment System absent, the popularity points remained stable.

However, the purchase of new equipment and other stores’ daily expenses had caused her assets to shrink yet again.

Lu Yao felt a pang of heartache. Even with her occasional sales of rare items and services on the internal network, she hadn’t been able to curb the outflow of money.

Fortunately, yesterday Ji Zhixin told her that the development of Tales of the Six Realms in Yaoguang City was nearly complete. At most, it would take another half month to launch.

Hopefully, the game would hit the market successfully and bring in some revenue.

Lu Yao skimmed through the basic data, then clicked on the shopping street map at the bottom of the interface. She reviewed the stores one by one. When she exited, her gaze inevitably returned to the store owner’s status bar.

Her birthday had already passed this year.

But the age in her profile hadn’t updated.

Lu Yao didn’t think this was a system bug.

The memories Budu retained were enough of a hint. Yet, it all seemed unimportant now.

The real puzzle lay in what happened after time had stopped.

Night fell, and the streetlights on both sides of the small road lit up.

Lu Yao closed the system panel and turned back toward the hot spring inn.

She was feeling a bit hungry.

…

The next afternoon, when the shopping street staff got off work, they discovered that the vacant shop next to Office No. 1 had quietly been fitted with a new sign.

Mei Xue crossed the street and looked up at the sign. “What a dazzling sign—I like it.”

The new copywriter, a delicate-looking woman with rimless glasses who had just been made permanent a few days ago, was still adapting to her new workplace. “The colors are a bit much. It feels oddly noisy.”

Liu Yixi also came over, unable to resist adding, “Isn’t this that thing… you know, what’s trending online lately? Uh… dopamine something?”

Mei Xue replied, “No need to force the connection. The style is definitely different from before.”

The new programmer, who hadn’t planned on speaking, stood at the back observing. Seeing that no one else brought up the topic he was curious about, he couldn’t hold back. “Can we go in and take a look?”

He hadn’t been here long, but he was already completely captivated by the magical street and was incredibly curious about the new world behind the door.

…

Lu Yao, who had been staying at the hot spring inn recently, was eating dinner when she heard that some staff weren’t going home after work but were standing by the road gawking at the new store. She walked to the door and called out, “The new store’s situation is unclear. Everyone, go home.”

For this store, Lu Yao decided not to bring Budu or Harold along.

Reluctantly, the staff shuffled off, their curiosity unsatisfied.

After finishing dinner and once again reassuring Budu, Lu Yao turned and stepped out.

She was curious about the new world behind the door, too.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

“We won!!!”

“Ahhhhh!”

“I freaking took down the Evil God!!!”

“This isn’t just a story for a thousand years!”

“A thousand? Not even ten thousand is enough!”

The celestials completed the sealing formation, and the Evil God was thoroughly suppressed beneath the Divine Suppression Trees.

The bloody mist shrouding the skies above Baixian Mountain dissipated, and the souls stolen by the Evil God flew out from beneath the Divine Suppression Trees, wandering aimlessly.

The ghost officials, snapping out of their immense joy at defeating the Evil God, pulled out their Soul-Guiding Ropes to gently guide the lost souls back to their bodies.

On the mountaintop, vendors, demons, and passersby who had been unconscious for three days began to awaken one after another.

On the third floor of the internet café, the mortals who had been forced to watch three days of raid livestreams hugged one another, crying and laughing in relief.

Lu Yao, sitting atop the little black dragon, remained oblivious to the celebrations around her.

Zeyuan was dead.

She had always known that in this world, they would eventually part ways, but she thought they would meet again in another world.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

Why had the God-Slaying Arrow harmed Zeyuan?

Why were Yu Yao’s heart and Zeyuan’s heart connected?

Lu Yao’s mind swirled with unanswered questions and frustration, unable to stop thinking.

The short, round Alfred flew back from the Divine Suppression Trees, clutching two snow-white bones in his claws. With unsteady movements, he landed on the little black dragon’s back and dropped the bones into Lu Yao’s lap.

The bones, finding no solid grip, rolled down Lu Yao’s leg and onto the dragon’s back.

Snapped out of her daze, Lu Yao slowly turned her gaze to Alfred, then bent down to pick up the bones. “Where did you get these?”

She had almost forgotten about them.

Alfred perched on her knee, his stubby little claws tucked against his chest. “When I used the key, I found someone had hidden these bones inside the Evil God’s phantom. I retrieved them before the celestials completed the seal.”

To be precise, the bones had been tucked among the two rows of ribs beneath the phantom’s chest cavity.

If they hadn’t been discovered, the bones would have been sealed along with the Evil God. Recovering them later would have been nearly impossible. Thankfully, Alfred had noticed in time.

Lu Yao casually stored the bones and the paper with the clue, patting Alfred’s head. “Let’s head back to the café.”

Finally hearing Lu Yao speak, the little black dragon spread its wings, let out a long roar, and dived downward, landing back at the café.

Lu Yao leapt off the dragon’s back. Her emotions now in check, she carried on as if nothing had happened, calmly addressing the follow-up matters.

The Evil God’s descent had been a significant event, but with everyone confined to Baixian Mountain at the time, the news hadn’t spread.

By the time the outside world learned of it, three or four days had passed.

With the news came updates: the Evil God had been sealed, the Demon Emperor had perished, and the Demon Sovereign had died in battle.

For days, the Six Realms buzzed with discussions about the sealing of the Evil God. The Interdimensional internet café on Baixian Mountain became a sensation on the Floating World Continent.

The Demon Emperor’s role as the Evil God’s guardian couldn’t be concealed, leading to a sharp decline in the demon race’s reputation across the Six Realms.

The death of the Demon Sovereign, however, shocked everyone.

Someone had captured the sealing process of the Evil God—featuring the café owner, the Demon Sovereign, and the celestials—using a recording talisman.

Zeyuan, hailed as the strongest Demon Sovereign in tens of thousands of years, had fought the Evil God to a stalemate.

Some people noticed the unusual bond between the café owner and the Demon Sovereign, sighing wistfully.

During the Celestial-Demon Conference, the café opened the Heavenly Ladder to all cultivators to aid in sealing the Evil God.

As a result, the cultivators who participated in the battle against the Evil God significantly improved their abilities. Those who hadn’t participated in the conference heard about this and were filled with envy, flocking to the café in droves.

The Interdimensional internet café became a famous attraction on the Floating World Continent, drawing a continuous stream of visitors. This also brought liveliness to the small town beneath Baixian Mountain and Hengze Sect, which gradually became bustling.

After Xiong Pingping woke up, she didn’t return to other cities to run her stall. Instead, she used her savings from selling snacks to rent a small shop in Baixian Town. Selling food there was enough to support herself and her younger brother.

Xiong An’an continued to live in the café but occasionally visited his sister in town.

The battle against the Evil God greatly advanced the little bear demon’s cultivation, making him strong enough to stand on his own. However, he didn’t want to leave the café or part from Jiao Niang and his friends there.

…

On the third day after the Celestial-Demon Conference ended, Xie Zili emerged from the secret realm. Hearing about the Evil God’s descent, he rushed to the café to find Jiao Niang.

Jiao Niang, standing behind the counter, spotted Xie Zili immediately and called out, “Zili.”

Xie Zili quickly approached the counter and examined her. “Are you alright?”

Jiao Niang smiled. “I’m fine. Were you in the secret realm?”

Xie Zili lowered his head. “Yes. Do you… want to return to Leihai with me?”

In the secret realm, he had encountered opportunities that advanced his cultivation but also brought him close to death.

During those moments when he thought he wouldn’t survive, his greatest regret was not being honest with Jiao Niang.

When he miraculously survived, his only desire was to see her again.

But upon leaving the secret realm, he heard of the Evil God’s descent on Baixian Mountain, trapping demons and devils, with the Demon Emperor and Demon Sovereign both perishing.

Now that he was reunited with Jiao Niang, he wanted nothing more. He just hoped to return to Leihai with her and live as they had before.

Jiao Niang studied him for a moment, then turned and called Cheng Ye and Ji Feichen to watch the shop. She stepped out from behind the counter. “Zili, come take a walk with me.”

Xie Zili was puzzled but didn’t refuse.

…

Shortly after the battle, Mo Bao used his formidable strength to overpower the other devils and succeeded the position of Demon Sovereign.

The day before his ascension, Mo Bao instructed Xuanfeng to bring Lu Yao to the Demon Realm.

The young Demon Sovereign spent the entire day showing Lu Yao around the Abyssal Demon Palace, eventually bringing her to the Ninefold Demon Hall.

This hall had been Zeyuan’s residence, filled with countless rare treasures.

Mo Bao led Lu Yao through the long corridors, opening door after door. “These are all the treasures Father collected from the Six Realms. He originally intended to use them to propose to you after everything was over. Tomorrow is my ascension ceremony, and these items are an eyesore in this hall. Would you mind taking them off my hands?”

…

When Lu Yao returned from the Demon Realm, Immortal Lingxiao had been waiting for her.

The Evil God’s descent had come without warning, and even after the event, the celestials were uneasy. They conducted an investigation to determine the cause.

Immortal Lingxiao came to inform Lu Yao of their findings.

The Celestial Maiden Lotus Fairy, Yu Yao, had originally been an ordinary floating lotus by the Jade Pool. At some point, however, a wisp of the ancient Evil God’s consciousness attached itself to her.

By coincidence, Yu Yao encountered the Demon Sovereign Zeyuan and quietly entered his dreams, stealing a portion of his memories and power.

The Demon Sovereign had actually been the Evil God’s ideal vessel, intended to be taken over at the right moment. However, something went wrong.

Yu Yao, influenced by Zeyuan’s memories, fell in love with him.

Carrying the Evil God’s ambitions while being pulled by Zeyuan’s obsessions, she became increasingly distorted and out of control.

What Immortal Lingxiao didn’t know was that the theft of Zeyuan’s memories hadn’t been solely directed by the Evil God.

…

On the second day after the battle, Lu Yao, struggling against her inner demons, used Alfred’s key to return to the past. During the Evil God’s long slumber, she found Zeyuan from eight hundred years ago and the yet-unshaped Yu Yao.

On the day Yu Yao stole Zeyuan’s memories, there had clearly been a godlike figure in the void above.

Pitch-black chains extended from the figure’s clasped hands, gradually binding Zeyuan and allowing Yu Yao to enter his dreams.

Lu Yao didn’t have time to investigate further before a divine punishment descended from the void, forcibly ejecting her from the past.

The key was broken, and Alfred was damaged and unable to function. He had been sent to Nightlight City for repairs a few days earlier.

…

In the blink of an eye, half a month had passed since the battle against the Evil God.

Lu Yao had planted the Mustard Seed in the Mirage, fulfilling the Celestial-Demon Conference’s promise to the winners. She hadn’t been to the café in several days.

…

On the continent of Nitean, it was now the Season of Waning Moon. The tiny Nitean people had experimented with planting many stone yams and vegetable seedlings in Thorn Valley this year, and the crops were thriving.

With the Season of Waning Moon ending and the Season of Twilight Moon approaching, the little people began digging up yams, drying vegetables, and storing food for the winter.

Lu Yao crafted some new building blocks, assembling them into miniature farming machines.

With little to do, she often sat on the hillside, watching the thumb-sized people busy in the fields, operating their tiny harvesting machines.

Suddenly, she felt a tickling sensation on the back of her hand. Lu Yao glanced down.

Heici, now three millimeters taller, was carefully holding a large bundle of tiny purple flowers. When he saw her notice, he boldly placed the flowers in her hand. “Purple Dream Blossoms.”

Lu Yao opened her palm.

Heici placed the bouquet in her hand and then hugged her thumb, rubbing against it gently. In a soft voice, he said, “I’ll bring you flowers every day, so cheer up.”

The staff on the shopping street had all noticed that their owner wasn’t in good spirits lately. When they heard from the café’s non-human staff about the owner’s connection to the Demon Sovereign, they were shocked and unsure how to comfort her.

Only Heici, who went hunting every day, would bring her a bouquet of flowers upon his return.

Lu Yao lowered her head and sniffed the flowers in her hand. Their faint fragrance lingered in her nose. She extended a finger to pat Heici’s small head.

As the sun began to set, Lu Yao finally stood and leisurely made her way toward the hot spring inn, pulling two slips of paper from her pocket.

One read “Help!”, and the other was a regular clue.

After many days of rest, it was time to decide where to open the next store.

…

Thingyan: Ahhhh this is getting me anxious.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Lu Yao suddenly had an idea. She instructed the little black dragon to retreat a bit, creating some distance.

From her portable storage, she retrieved a voice-transmission talisman.

In the internet café’s lounge, the gaming team staff noticed a faint glow from the talisman on the table and called out to Shi Yan: “Boss, Cheng Ye’s stone is glowing.”

When the crowd began to grow restless earlier, Cheng Ye and the other staff had gone to calm the guests, leaving the talisman behind on the table.

The gaming team had seen it a few times before and knew it functioned like items in Tales of the Six Realms. However, they had never actually used it.

Shi Yan leaned over, picked up the talisman, and fiddled with it. By chance, he triggered something, and Lu Yao’s voice emerged: “Who’s there?”

Shi Yan recognized her voice. “…It’s me, Shi Yan.”

Lu Yao: “Is it just your team in the store?”

Shi Yan: “Who do you need? I’ll contact them for you.”

Lu Yao: “Find my staff and tell Xiao Ji to bring Alfred’s core body from the Childhood Tutoring Center. Also, have someone check if the doors are functioning properly.”

At this point, the teams in the finals were still inside their illusions. Shi Yan’s group, tasked with maintaining the programs in the lounge, had heard rumors about the trouble on Floating World Continent but didn’t grasp the severity.

Hearing Lu Yao’s request, Shi Yan immediately reported: “The ghost gate and the devil gate in the café seem to be malfunctioning. They’re not working.”

Lu Yao: “I suspected as much. The contestants and audience at the Celestial-Demon Conference are all trapped on Baixian Mountain. Please confirm whether the main entrance is operating normally, and get Xiao Ji to deliver Alfred.”

Baixian Mountain had been isolated by malevolent energy. The teleportation points were offline, leaving the demons, devils, humans, and cultivators stranded. But the stargate might still work.

Shi Yan stood up to head outside, but couldn’t help asking: “What’s happening out there?”

Lu Yao: “Imagine an event raid boss suddenly spawning. The boss’s location is in the physical realm—it’s a bit troublesome. We need to quickly figure out the optimal strategy to take it down.”

Shi Yan thought it sounded dire but still couldn’t picture the scene Lu Yao was describing.

When he reached the entrance and looked up, he froze. The sky was dominated by the phantom of the Evil God, and a massive dragon-like creature was engaged in battle overhead. The voice-transmission talisman almost slipped from his hand.

Shi Yan: “…Where are you?”

Lu Yao: “I’m on the dragon’s back. The little black dragon is Harold.”

Shi Yan: “…”

A surreal moment of breaking the fourth wall. The anime enthusiast Shi Yan felt as though his worldview had been completely reshaped.

Lu Yao, however, was under too much pressure to address Shi Yan’s shock. “Go through the stargate. Don’t bring anything from the café, and don’t drop the talisman. If the stargate still works, send Zhixin here to manage the café for me.”

Shi Yan, influenced by the owner’s calm and matter-of-fact tone, felt a strange sense of involvement. He quickly followed her instructions.

The main entrance was unaffected and operated normally.

Shi Yan relayed Lu Yao’s orders in the group chat on his phone.

Within five minutes, Xiao Ji and Ji Zhixin arrived at the café, accompanied by Budu.

Ji Zhixin used the voice-transmission talisman to contact Lu Yao. Alfred had already been delivered.

Lu Yao patted the little black dragon. “Let’s return to the café and pick up Alfred.”

Alfred, as an artificial intelligence, wasn’t a living being and wouldn’t be affected by the door restrictions.

The massive black dragon, towering like a small mountain, descended rapidly. At a height of ten meters from the ground, it dove, its enormous wings generating fierce winds that knocked nearby onlookers off balance.

The little black dragon shifted into his human form, holding Lu Yao as they gently landed at the café entrance.

The surrounding crowd watched in stunned silence as the massive dragon transformed into a young man with a high ponytail. No wonder he was so powerful.

Lu Yao quickly walked to the entrance, took Alfred from Xiao Ji, and instructed him to immediately procure food from other worlds.

Among the more than six thousand guests trapped on Baixian Mountain, about one-sixth were humans, with demons and devils also requiring a small amount of sustenance.

If this was part of the Evil God’s strategy, the café at least needed to ensure that no guests starved or died of thirst before the Evil God was defeated and sealed.

After Xiao Ji left, Lu Yao beckoned to Ji Zhixin, handing him a Regulation Rod about the size of a folding knife. “This is part of me. Keep it with you. While I’m not in the café, you’ll be in charge. Find Cheng Ye and Xiao Zhong, and have them open the Heavenly Ladder. Later, people will enter for training.”

Having experienced Lu Yao’s absence once before, the staff had improved in managing things independently.

This time, with Lu Yao still present, Ji Zhixin solemnly accepted the Regulation Rod and turned to leave.

Lu Yao then called Budu over. When the little one approached, she crouched down and said earnestly, “They’re all ordinary people. While I’m away, if anyone causes trouble, I’ll leave it to you.”

Budu was worried about the situation outside but couldn’t stop Lu Yao. He pursed his lips and nodded.

At the doorway, Budu couldn’t help but call out, “Mother, be careful.”

“Mm, don’t worry,” Lu Yao replied.

With the café affairs in order, Lu Yao carried Alfred and headed out. At the entrance, she ran into Xiong An’an, who was returning with Xiong Pingping on his back, with Qiuyu beside him.

Xiong An’an, now in his beast form, carried the unconscious Xiong Pingping effortlessly. His beast form had grown several times larger after his cultivation soared.

“Lu Yao, Lu Yao, my sister passed out!” the little bear demon cried.

A ghost official walking by glanced over. “Her soul has left her body. That’s why she hasn’t woken up. The people unconscious at the mountain’s base are all like this.”

Xiong An’an panicked. “Why would this happen?”

The ghost official looked up at the sky. “It’s likely part of the Evil God’s ploy. The malevolent energy shrouding Baixian Mountain traps us. Sooner or later, we’ll end up the same.”

Xiong An’an asked anxiously, “Can my sister wake up?”

The ghost official replied, “If her soul remains separated for seven days, she cannot return. But within seven days, there’s still hope.”

Xiong An’an carried Xiong Pingping back to the café and then dashed out again. “Lu Yao, I want to fight the Evil God. I need to save my sister!”

Qiuyu stood silently nearby, lost in thought, saying nothing.

Lu Yao told them calmly, “Don’t rush. Find a team and train on the Heavenly Ladder first. Wait for my signal before coming out.”

Harold, gazing at the sky, urged, “Lu Yao, hurry. Those people won’t hold out much longer.”

Without waiting for the little bear demon’s response, Lu Yao and Harold returned to the battlefield. “Alfred, analyze the Evil God and collect combat data.”

Alfred, who usually looked like a figurine, opened his eyes, flapped his tiny wings, and flew off.

The teams that had formed earlier were trying to attack the Evil God by flying on swords, using artifacts, or relying on winged spiritual pets. So far, their efforts were no better than scratching an itch.

When they saw the café owner return and release a small dragon resembling Harold, they couldn’t fathom her intent.

The battlefront stretched long, leaving little opportunity for communication.

However, the Evil God noticed Lu Yao’s reappearance and shifted her focus to attacking her.

With Zeyuan and Harold protecting Lu Yao, the others gained a brief reprieve.

After about fifteen minutes, Alfred returned to Lu Yao, carrying a piece of bloody flesh stripped from the Evil God’s phantom.

Lu Yao took it and compressed it into the shape of a key.

Alfred then flew back to the café with the key, where Ji Zhixin caught it at the entrance.

Twenty minutes later, two red and blue bars appeared above the Evil God’s phantom in the sky over Baixian Mountain.

The café staff, holding a megaphone at the entrance, broadcasted: “The optimal team configuration for Stage One of the Evil God raid has been determined. Guests can check their desktop for details.”

The crowd gathered at the internet café entrance, forming teams, turned their heads upon hearing the announcement.

First stage?

Does that mean there’s a second stage?

Wait, is the Evil God actually beatable?

Though they were preparing to form teams, no one present held much hope of defeating the Evil God.

Yet the café seemed far more optimistic, even providing a strategy guide.

But would such a guide really work?

The Evil God was something none of their generation had ever encountered—there weren’t even any credible accounts.

The broadcast continued:

“The Heavenly Ladder dungeon will open in fifteen minutes. Guests with accounts who meet the requirements may log in and wait.”

???

The Heavenly Ladder was supposed to be exclusive to the winners of the Celestial-Demon Conference.

Adjusting the rules due to the Evil God’s appearance was understandable, but it still felt like a bitter pill to swallow, especially after so many days of anticipating the conference results.

The broadcast continued:

“The owner has asked us to inform all players that the café acquired a Mustard Seed Realm two days ago. After the Evil God raid concludes, the café will launch the True Heavenly Ladder as a reward for the Celestial-Demon Conference winners. This adjustment to the rewards is an unavoidable decision, and we hope for your understanding.”

!!!

A Mustard Seed?

The café owner’s luck seemed unbelievable.

With this explanation, the dissatisfaction faded. Instead, guests began envying the conference winners and rushed to the counter to log in, check the strategy guides, or wait to enter the Heavenly Ladder.

Even cultivators, demons, and devils without game accounts crowded around the computers to study the guides and form teams according to the recommendations.

The strategy guide didn’t offer just one team configuration. There were numerous flexible options, but every lineup required a mix of different races.

With the Evil God at large, and experience from forming teams during the Celestial-Demon Conference, the six races trapped on Baixian Mountain finally began to work together.

Inside the lounge, the ongoing arguments remained heated, but outside, people were already organizing themselves to attack the Evil God.

Lu Yao released shadow butterflies and a long-unused miniature livestream dragonfly, capturing the battle from all angles and broadcasting it on the café’s third-floor screens.

The majority of mortal spectators, unable to contribute directly, stayed in their seats, watching the livestream to ease their anxiety.

As they gained a clearer understanding of the situation outside, they calmed down and stopped demanding to leave.

The high-ranking representatives in the lounge finally heard about the developments outside and rushed out. Seeing the six races forming teams and attacking the Evil God in an orderly manner, they realized there was no need for their leadership or decisions.

The café’s strategy guide proved effective, and with the Heavenly Ladder as a training ground, the Evil God’s health bar had been chipped down to roughly the size of a human pinky fingertip after an hour.

By the afternoon, the Celestial-Demon Conference officially ended. As the contestants emerged from the competition rooms, they found the world outside drastically changed. Barely recovered from the tournament’s exhaustion, they immediately gathered their teammates to join the fight against the Evil God.

Experienced players who had tackled game dungeons understood well—final bosses guarding events always had despair-inducing health bars. Even with the entire server working together, it could take days.

…

In the blink of an eye, three days passed. The Evil God’s health bar had been reduced by four-fifths. Jizhuang, who had been protecting Yu Yao, had long since perished from exhaustion.

Seeing victory within reach, everyone encouraged each other to push through one final time.

The Yu Yao within the Evil God’s phantom went berserk, her attack power doubling as she blasted everyone nearby and directed her assaults toward Zeyuan and Lu Yao.

Zeyuan leapt forward, shielding Lu Yao from every blade aimed at her like an unyielding wall.

Despite numerous attacks from the Evil God’s phantom, it couldn’t even graze the hem of Lu Yao’s clothes.

She suddenly raised her hand and removed the pendant from her neck. Her fingers formed a seal, and the golden lotus pendant slowly unfolded, transforming into a golden lotus flower.

Yu Yao’s expression grew distant. “Zeyuan, this is the memory I stole from your dream eight hundred years ago.”

Zeyuan stared at the golden lotus in her hand, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

Yu Yao extended her hand. “Eight hundred years ago, I was nothing more than a heartless, emotionless lotus by the Jade Pool. I accidentally entered your dream, developed an obsession, and ended up in this sorry state. If I could do it all over again, I’d wish never to have met you. To end this, I’m returning it to you, exactly as it was.”

Zeyuan gazed at the golden lotus, lost in thought.

Lu Yao frowned and flew over to block Zeyuan. “Something feels off. Don’t act rashly.”

Yu Yao smiled faintly and pinched the golden lotus stem between her fingers, aiming it at Lu Yao’s back.

The little black dragon was immobilized, unable to move or even make a sound.

Zeyuan snapped out of it, catching Lu Yao with one arm while using his other hand to grab the sharp stem of the golden lotus.

The moment the stem touched his fingers, it dissolved into a fine mist, merging into his body like water. Memories surged through him like a tidal wave.

“…Don’t follow me.”

“…Thank you.”

“Hey, come here for a moment.”

“Lu Mingxiao, Lu Yao.”

“Lu Mingxiao, I like you.”

“You like me? Hm? You don’t like me?”

“Lu Mingxiao, I want to see the snow on Qianmen Mountain.”

“…I like you the most.”

“…Lu Mingxiao, I’m sorry.”

“…Among the Six Realms, I like you the most.”

“…I’m fond of you.”

Cold sweat trickled down as Zeyuan raised a hand to support his forehead.

He remembered everything.

Originally, as long as he followed the plan, completing the tasks in each world, his wish would be granted.

Everything had been going smoothly…

Until he accidentally forgot her—and spoke aloud the words that should never have been uttered.

“Zeyuan, Zeyuan. Zeyuan!”

He returned to his senses, seeing Lu Yao’s worried face.

Lowering his gaze, he suppressed the turmoil within and gently touched her face. “Do you have an arrow?”

Lu Yao frowned. “What did you remember?”

Zeyuan didn’t deny it and replied steadily, “It’s just an Evil God. I’ll restrain it shortly. When I do, you shoot that arrow at its heart.”

“An arrow for slaying gods?”

“Yes. It won’t kill the Evil God but will weaken it. Then the Celestials can seal it, and this will be over.”

After speaking, he leaned forward slightly, pressing his forehead lightly against hers, his crimson eyes glimmering. “Among the Six Realms, I despise you most.”

Lu Yao: “…”

Before she could react, Zeyuan turned swiftly. His ink-black hair transformed into silver in an instant, like moonlight, and his armor became a black robe of god-slaying power.

Without any visible movement, five pitch-black chains shot out from the clouds, locking the Evil God phantom’s limbs and neck.

The little black dragon’s restraint was lifted as well.

Lu Yao called for Qiuyu.

The small demon dragon, who had yet to join the battle, flew to her side and glanced back at the Evil God phantom.

“What’s wrong?” Lu Yao asked.

Qiuyu’s eyes were filled with inner turmoil. “It’s calling to me, telling me to return.”

Ever since the Evil God awakened, a voice had echoed in Qiuyu’s mind, urging her to return to its side. It felt as though they had always been together through millennia and that she was simply returning to her rightful master.

Lu Yao’s gaze remained calm. “Do you want to go back?”

Qiuyu turned to her in surprise, her face full of conflict. “What…do you hope I’ll do?”

Lu Yao shook her head. “What I want doesn’t matter. What matters is what you think. Qiuyu, do you have your own thoughts? To break your shell, you chose to fall into demonhood and wandered the human world for a thousand years. Little demon dragon, do you truly wish to bow beneath the Evil God’s feet?”

Qiuyu shook her head hard, the hesitation in her eyes fading as resolve replaced it. “Lu Yao, call my name.”

“Qiuyu.” Lu Yao held the golden Qiuyu bow in one hand and drew the God-Slaying Arrow from her portable storage with the other. She nocked the arrow, aimed it at the Evil God phantom not far away, and commanded, “All groups, provide cover. Celestial team, prepare to seal.”

The arrow shot off the bowstring with the force of thunder, shattering the Evil God phantom and striking Yu Yao directly.

Sixteen golden chains burst forth from the arrow’s tip, and the prepared Celestial team swiftly grasped the chains.

At the same time, sixteen Divine Suppression Trees descended, pinning the Evil God at the center.

Once the sealing formation was complete, the Evil God would be contained.

Yu Yao gazed distantly at the café owner, the madness in her eyes chilling to behold. “My heart is his heart. You’ve killed him with your own hands. Ha ha ha ha!”

Yu Yao’s head snapped up.

Zeyuan struck Yu Yao’s primordial spirit with a backhand blow.

Stripped of her godhood, Yu Yao was no different from a regular Immortal. Unable to withstand the blow of a god-slaying attack, her body and soul were annihilated, leaving only the remnants of the Evil God’s phantom sealed within the formation.

Zeyuan knelt halfway in the clouds, blood gushing from his mouth. “Don’t blame yourself. She became a god because of me. It was my mistake, and I only corrected it. A single God-Slaying Arrow cannot kill me. Lu Yao, next time… when we meet again, don’t say… you like me. I truly… despise you.”

Lu Yao’s mind went blank. She dropped the Qiuyu bow and flew forward, trying to catch Zeyuan.

She was just a moment too late. Before her eyes, he dissolved into ashes.

…

After three long days, the six realms trapped on Baixian Mountain united and sealed the Evil God together.

The Demon Sovereign Zeyuan fell in battle.

[Evil God successfully sealed. Congratulations to the café owner for completing the ultimate task. You may now proceed to the next world!]

Riding on the little black dragon, Lu Yao showed no reaction.

A piece of paper fluttered from the void like a butterfly, spinning as it drifted toward Lu Yao.

Just as it was about to land in her hand, another identical piece of paper appeared out of nowhere and fell into her grasp first.

The burning heat in her palm jolted Lu Yao awake. She lowered her gaze.

The paper bore only four words: Lu Yao, save me!!!

Lu Yao’s reaction was delayed.

At that moment, the second piece of paper fell, landing squarely on top of the first. Its clue also contained four words.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Lu Yao was puzzled. The Celestial-Demon Conference hadn’t officially ended, yet the ultimate mission had suddenly begun.

Sealing the Evil God—this mission carried a strong air of the impossible.

Lu Yao no longer bothered to poke at the proxy bot to ask if there had been an error in the task.

She knew there would be no answer.

Back when the Dream Fulfillment System was still around, she could at least have a chat with it.

Now she had figured it out—at the beginning of the year, when the system left, it was likely paving the way for this very moment.

The only question was whether the system had known or if it had been manipulated as well.

After thinking for a moment, Lu Yao stood up and headed for the door, giving a casual order as she walked: “Xiao Zhong, notify the disciples to inform all influential seniors from every realm to meet in the lounge in half an hour.”

Xue Li rose from his seat and pushed his chair aside, walking over. “What’s going on?”

Lu Yao was prepared to go outside first to assess the situation.

If the Evil God had truly been resurrected, it would be a matter of life and death for all six realms.

She had no intention of facing such a task alone as the mission demanded.

It might sound odd, but after running her internet café for over a year, Lu Yao had encountered many bizarre people and events and gained some peculiar powers. Yet she had never considered shouldering such responsibilities by herself.

One person’s strength was ultimately limited.

“I sense something is wrong. I’ll take a look first. Please notify the ghost clan as well, Your Majesty.”

Xue Li was the Ghost King of the Tenth Palace of the Underworld.

There was no need to pass a message elsewhere. Among all the ghosts present at the café, he held the highest rank.

Lu Yao took out the Revolution Rod and walked out of the internet café.

Above Baixian Mountain, a massive vortex of malevolent energy had formed at some point.

Along the mountain path, mortals and demons who had been waiting with small stalls for the conference to end, as well as patrolling cultivator squads, lay collapsed on the roadside, dazed and lifeless. The air reeked of blood.

Trees had been snapped in half, boulders flew through the air, and small animals that had lived peacefully in the mountain were swept up by fierce winds, crashing around violently, their blood and flesh splattering everywhere.

Lu Yao stood at the entrance of the café, gazing up at the sky. Within the vortex of malevolent energy, a godlike statue seemed to flicker in and out of view.

Xue Li didn’t go to alert his clan but instead followed Lu Yao out. Seeing the chaos outside the café, his expression darkened slightly. “How did it come to this?”

At the vortex’s center, a few broken scarlet petals broke free, fleeing frantically before drifting down to the entrance of the internet café and coalescing into a human form.

Lu Yao stepped forward to catch the peach blossom demon, a bit surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Wuling’s robe was in tatters, his once-delicate pink garment stained with blood. He looked utterly disheveled. Upon realizing it was Lu Yao in front of him, he tried to push her away. “Run, quickly—”

That woman has already fallen into demonhood and become an evil god. The first person she’ll come for is the café owner.

WulLing felt a complex tangle of emotions. Initially, he had only taken pity on Jizhuang for being tormented by unrequited love and brought him to the Demon Realm to rescue the Immortal Yu Yao. He hadn’t expected it to unleash such a calamity.

At that moment, Qiuyu suddenly dashed out of the café. Her pupils were bright red, like blood, as she looked up at the godlike figure above Baixian Mountain and murmured softly, “She is calling me.”

Lu Yao was momentarily distracted and didn’t catch what Qiuyu said. Instinctively, she raised the Regulation Rod and shielded her behind. “It’s dangerous out here. Go back inside and find An‘An and Little Ginseng.”

Qiuyu clenched her fists tightly and didn’t move.

Lu Yao called her again. “Qiuyu?”

Qiuyu seemed to snap out of her daze. She cast a deep glance at Lu Yao before turning and heading back into the café.

Xue Li propped a hand against his forehead, staring for a long moment. “There’s someone else up there.”

Wuling coughed up another mouthful of blood, his voice weak. “It’s Jizhuang and the Demon Sovereign… It’s too late… the Evil God… has already… resurrected…”

Zeyuan is here too?

Lu Yao recalled her last conversation with Zeyuan about the peculiarities surrounding Yu Yao. He had been investigating what lay behind her mysterious background.

The situation seemed more severe than she had expected. Before the Celestial-Demon Conference started, Zeyuan hadn’t returned to the Demon Domain. They had only spoken briefly through a voice-transmission talisman the day before the conference began.

He hadn’t mentioned where he was at the time. Instead, their conversation drifted to a few trivial matters, ending with just four words:

“I’m fond of you.”

Since their visit to Zhongdu City, the two had officially started dating.

However, Lu Yao had been busy preparing for the conference and wasn’t the type to openly dwell on romantic matters. They didn’t see each other often, and Zeyuan had never said anything so straightforward before.

At the time, Lu Yao had found it odd and asked him about it. Zeyuan didn’t answer.

Now, just a few days later, Zeyuan was here, along with Jizhuang and Wuling. Could Yu Yao also be involved?

Lu Yao’s heart skipped a beat. She casually pushed Wuling toward Xue Li and pulled out Harold’s dragon-scale hairpin, brushing her fingers over its scales.

In an instant, a spatial portal materialized out of thin air.

Both Wuling and Xue Li looked mildly startled.

The sound of a doorknob turning came from beyond the portal. The door creaked open, and a young man with a high ponytail, dressed in a black robe, stepped out.

Harold’s cheeks were puffed out, and he held a meat bone in one hand, his eyebrows furrowed tightly. “I’m eating. Don’t tell me you’re making me deliver invitations again.”

Lu Yao had been so busy lately that she hadn’t returned to the nail salon for several days. Calling Harold over usually meant asking him to run errands.

Besides, there was a dragon at the café now, and Harold wasn’t happy about it. He was still sulking.

Lu Yao stepped forward and pointed to the sky. “Harold, take me up there.”

Harold tilted his head back, his expression turning grim. He tossed the meat bone aside, transformed into his dragon form, and lowered his head to scoop Lu Yao onto his back. Once she was seated securely, he flapped his wings and flew toward the vortex of malevolent energy.

It was Xue Li and Wuling’s first time seeing Harold’s true form. Their serious expressions took on a hint of astonishment.

So the café’s enforcer was a dragon.

But they had never seen a dragon with such a peculiar form.

Wuling stared blankly for a moment before snapping out of it. Watching Lu Yao approach the godlike figure, he urged Xue Li, “The Celestial Maiden Lotus Fairy has sacrificed the fate of the Six Realms to fall into demonhood and ascend to godhood. Jizhuang, the Demon Sovereign, and the café owner cannot stop her. Notify the Celestials at once!”

Xue Li shook his head. “It’s too late. She’s already attained godhood. Even if the Celestials arrive, they won’t be able to change anything.”

Wuling grew anxious. “Then what can we do?”

Xue Li replied, “Such overpowering malevolence can’t be dealt with by ordinary means. An Evil God, like a demon, is born from the heart, desires, and emotions. It cannot be killed—only sealed.”

Thousands of years ago, an Evil God had descended upon the world.

But that was during ancient times, when many powerful gods still roamed the earth. A mere Evil God could be crushed to dust with a flick of their fingers.

Now, millennia later, the gods had fallen, and there likely wasn’t anyone left capable of contending with an Evil God.

Xue Li had already reached his conclusion. He recalled Lu Yao’s instructions before she left and roughly guessed her intentions.

But it was all futile.

…

Riding on the little black dragon, Lu Yao soared into the sky in just a few breaths.

A strange red net, as thin as mist and as delicate as silk, had descended around Baixian Mountain, enveloping the entire peak.

Zeyuan stood with his long hair tied up, clad in pitch-black battle armor. The golden lotus branches entwining his weapon dripped blood from the blade’s tip.

Jizhuang stood across from Zeyuan, guarding the godlike figure. His crimson robes were soaked with dark stains, his sword broken at the hilt. The blood-red camellia on the sword had withered, its vibrant petals gradually fading to a pale white.

Zeyuan spotted Lu Yao and furrowed his brows with faint irritation. Raising the golden lotus branches, he pressed the blade to Jizhuang’s throat. “You’re not my match. Step aside.”

Jizhuang leaned on his broken sword, spat a mouthful of blood, and cast a fleeting glance at Lu Yao before focusing on Zeyuan. “If she falls into demonhood today, and you and I switch places, what would you do?”

Zeyuan’s expression remained cold. “I’m not you, and Lu Yao won’t become her.”

Lu Yao finally saw clearly that the “god” was merely a massive, translucent phantom.

Within the phantom was a person—Yu Yao.

Whether it was Lu Yao’s sudden appearance that agitated her, or something Zeyuan said, the once-sleeping Yu Yao within the phantom slowly opened her eyes, and the phantom itself followed suit.

The conscious Yu Yao inside the phantom let out a cold laugh toward Zeyuan before bursting into a maniacal cackle. “Lu Mingxiao, you cannot protect her. No matter how many times, you can only watch helplessly as she dies a tragic death before your eyes. You’re no Jizhuang, but you’re even more useless and pathetic than he is.”

Zeyuan frowned deeply.

Lu Yao’s expression darkened as well. Her gaze fell on the pendant around the phantom Lu Yao’s neck—the same one she had seen in Jizhuang’s recording talisman.

It was identical to the earrings Lu Mingxiao had gifted her.

Yu Yao had stolen his memories.

A heavy feeling settled in Lu Yao’s heart. She raised the Regulation Rod, and several jet-black nails shot toward the evil god’s phantom.

The nails sank into the phantom as though into a swamp, disappearing slowly.

With a flick of her finger, Yu Yao redirected the six nails, sending them hurtling back toward Lu Yao.

Before they could reach her, Zeyuan darted forward, deflecting them.

Yu Yao inside the phantom remained unbothered. She raised her hand and made a seal.

Following her gesture, the phantom summoned spiritual energy into countless blades and swords, encircling Zeyuan and Lu Yao.

Turning her gaze disdainfully from Zeyuan to Lu Yao, the phantom Yu Yao sneered, “You seem utterly clueless about your predicament. Like the Demon Sovereign, you’re useless and pathetic. How laughable that I once truly yearned to be like you.”

Harold couldn’t stand to hear it anymore. With a flap of his wings, he sent sharp black wind blades slicing through the phantom.

The evil god’s phantom was severed at the waist but rejoined almost instantly, completely unscathed.

The phantom Yu Yao cackled with unrestrained arrogance. “Futile, utterly futile. I am now a god. You ants cannot harm me in the slightest.”

Lu Yao was stunned by the drastic change in her counterpart. Restraining the furious little black dragon beneath her, her thoughts lingered on the earlier words. “Why would you want to be like me?”

The phantom Yu Yao let out a mocking chuckle. “Naivety of youth, that’s all.”

She had no interest in further conversation. Raising her hand, she brought it down heavily. Countless blades and weapons descended, all aimed at Lu Yao.

The little black dragon and Zeyuan shielded her as best they could.

Though Lu Yao remained unharmed, the falling blades struck Baixian Mountain below, threatening innocent lives.

Hovering in mid-air, Lu Yao quickly formed a barrier over the mountain path, intercepting the descending weapons.

The phantom Yu Yao scoffed, ignoring the mortals and cultivators below. With a wave of her hand, she sent a blast of black flames outward.

The sacred Bodhi tree, which had long shielded the internet café, was split apart, its branches scattering.

Inside the café, both competitors and spectators finally noticed the disturbance and descended into chaos.

In the lounge, the café staff had just gathered the key figures from the Six Realms when news came of the unrest among the six-thousand-strong audience. The staff immediately commandeered the livestream screens to calm the crowd, urging them to remain seated and avoid leaving their spots.

But few heeded the warning. Demon, ghosts, devils, celestials, and humans rushed downstairs, only to find Baixian Mountain completely engulfed in malevolent energy, with the phantom of the evil god looming in mid-air.

Humans moved slower, getting stuck and jostling each other at the third-floor stairwell.

At that moment, the livestream screens on the third floor synchronized, revealing Immortal Lingxiao.

Though the Celestial-Demon Conference had yet to declare a winner, and the celestials had lost points in the small-team competitions on the shopping street, their position in the Six Realms remained largely unshaken, especially in the eyes of mortals.

The moment Immortal Lingxiao appeared, the human audience, who had been noisy and pushing each other, gradually quieted.

In the lounge, key representatives from the Six Realms sat together. Seeing that the six-thousand-strong audience had been pacified by the celestials, they resumed their discussion.

The celestials: “Why did the Evil God resurrect on Baixian Mountain?”

The Cultivators: “It’s likely because demons and devils have frequented the internet café for too long, causing the buildup of malevolent energy over Baixian Mountain, creating an opening for the evil forces.”

The Demons: “Nonsense! The one who fell into demonhood is clearly a celestial. Don’t pin every blame on us demons and devils!”

…

Wuling had already been brought into the café by the Ghost King for treatment.

He shared all the information he had about the Evil God.

The Devil representative for the meeting was Mo Bao.

With Zeyuan absent, he was effectively the ruler of the Demon Realm.

The young Mo Bao had been happily watching the competition until he learned that Yu Yao had been rescued from the dark prison, throwing him into distress.

Now, hearing that she had fallen into demonhood and ascended to godhood filled him with guilt and frustration, leaving him in no mood for arguments.

Standing behind Mo Bao, Xuanfeng grew agitated. Watching these people argue endlessly while the Demon Sovereign and others were battling the Evil God outside infuriated him. He slammed the table but spoke in a remarkably calm tone:

“The priority right now is to eliminate the Evil God. Pointing fingers won’t help.”

The celestials sneered: “Eliminate the Evil God? Easier said than done. No one in the Six Realms has the power to suppress an Evil God anymore.”

Another celestial added: “If anyone’s to blame, it’s the devils for hiding that celestial in the Demon realm. Otherwise, how could she have fallen into demonhood?”
Xuanfeng clenched his fists. “Blame the devils? We haven’t even pursued the matter of celestials infiltrating the Demon realm and sneaking into the Demon Palace, yet you’re the ones making accusations first?”

…

The Ghost representatives remained silent in a corner.

“Living beings are always troublesome,” one of them muttered.

Xue Li, however, stayed patient for a few more minutes. Growing tired of the argument, he rose and headed toward the door.

The café staff were upstairs on the third floor, trying to calm the audience. Shi Yan and his team was still in the lounge, maintaining the game programs and inadvertently witnessing the high-level leaders of the Six Realms bickering.

No one noticed that the little bear demon, little ginseng demon, Qiuyu, and the small piglet had quietly slipped out, following behind the Ghost King.

For some reason, the doors connecting the café to the Underworld and Demon Realm were no longer functional, but the café’s main entrance, which had previously restricted demons, was now open.

Devils, demons, and cultivators crowded outside. Soon, the Ghost officials also followed the Ghost King out, gathering at the entrance and gazing at the Evil God’s phantom in mid-air.

Gradually, they realized that the figures fighting the Evil God were none other than the Demon Sovereign and the café’s owner.

Setting aside the Demon Sovereign, how could the café owner—a mere Golden Core-stage cultivator—be holding her own against the Evil God?

The sharp-minded among the demons and devils began to wonder: Could they join the fight too?

Xue Li watched the battle for a while before whispering something to his advisor.

The advisor counted the number of Ghost officials present—not many.

Being ghost officials, they couldn’t appear too ostentatiously in the mortal realm. Furthermore, since this was the third day of the conference, many participants had returned to the Underworld after being eliminated, leaving fewer than two hundred Ghost officials present.

Xue Li waved his hand decisively. “With you and me, plus some recruited demons, devils, and cultivators, we’ll take on the Evil God ourselves.”

The advisor couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. You make it sound so easy. The meeting room is in chaos, and the people outside won’t follow orders. Besides, against the Evil God, we’d be no more than cannon fodder.

Suddenly, a childish voice rang out in the crowd:

“Let’s form a team! Team up to fight the Evil God! I’m a ginseng demon, and I can use my roots to restore my teammates’ spiritual energy!”

The noisy crowd fell silent, as if someone had pressed a pause button.

In the middle of the group stood an adorable little girl, like a figure from a New Year’s painting. Tears welled in her large eyes as she raised her hand resolutely.

After a moment, a demon woman with elaborate makeup walked over to the girl. “Demon Zhu Ying.”

Two burly men followed suit. “Demon Wen Rong.”

“Devil Guan Zhong.”

A woman from the Devil Clan with a princess-cut hairstyle stepped forward as well. “Devil Dan Xi.”

The little piglet struggled to squeeze through the crowd, grunting as he registered for the team.

The Ghost King patted his advisor on the shoulder, raised his hand, and walked over. “Ghost King Xue Li.”

Some people glanced over, surprised.

Zhu Qingyun and Xiao Yi exchanged a look before stepping forward and stating their names.

“Kunlun Sect, Zhu Qingyun.”

“Kunlun Sect, Xiao Yi.”

“Beast Taming Sect, Jin Huaichen.”

“Jiujue Sect, Jian Buyi.”

“Qin Cultivator, Xue Qiaohua.”

…

The little ginseng demon’s team quickly grew to over twenty members.

The group formed a circle and had a brief discussion, deciding to organize into smaller squads based on configurations used in games to fight gatekeeper bosses, taking turns in the battle.

While they were still discussing strategy, the Ghost advisor began shouting as well.

“Form a team! We’re forming a team too!”

The watching demons, devils, and cultivators couldn’t help but get excited.

Though it seemed somewhat inappropriate, the idea of assembling teams on the spot and treating the Evil God like a gatekeeper boss was undeniably intriguing.

Up in the air, Lu Yao noticed the growing commotion below and lightly patted the little black dragon’s back. “What’s going on down there?”

Harold replied, “…They’re forming teams to take on the Evil God.”

Lu Yao was a bit taken aback.

So, they were preparing for a raid.

A massive raid involving over a thousand people—it really did feel like tackling an event boss.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Qi Beinan saw Xiao Yuanbao smiling and leaned in again to kiss him—not on the lips this time, but along his ear and brow.

It had been so long since Qi Beinan last saw Xiao Yuanbao that the absence had hollowed him out; even in sleep, the emptiness followed him.

Now, holding this warm and pliant person in his arms—soft, fragrant, and real—he could not bring himself to let go.

By his count, this official journey had kept him away no longer than those years spent traveling for examinations. Yet after more than ten years under the same roof, he had never grown weary. Since their marriage, he found each separation harder to endure.

And he admitted it openly: his longing was not merely to see Xiao Yuanbao, but to do more than that.

Qi Beinan was like a loyal hound that had gone too long without its master. Once reunited, he pressed against Xiao Yuanbao again and again, as if to make up for lost time.

Xiao Yuanbao laughed helplessly, twisting as he tried to push away the ticklish head buried at his neck.

But laughter left him weak, and he could not push Qi Beinan off. Instead, Qi Beinan bit him lightly at the throat.

There was a small mole there, and Qi Beinan’s fingers worried it until the skin turned flushed and damp.

Xiao Yuanbao could only plead, his voice half-laughing, half-breathless. “Enough—stop teasing.”

“I’ve been gone so long and you didn’t send me even one letter,” Qi Beinan said, his tone half-serious. “Now that I’m back, shouldn’t you make it up to me?”

Xiao Yuanbao hesitated for a moment, then answered, “All right.”

But at once he added, “Only at night.”

Qi Beinan paused, lifting his head to look at the faintly red face before him, a little astonished. “So quick to agree?”

Xiao Yuanbao had already been shy enough when he said it; seeing Qi Beinan’s expression made him flare up in embarrassment. “Then forget it.”

Qi Beinan immediately caught him by the waist before he could pull away. “Don’t. Night is fine—I’m not particular.”

“But…”

Xiao Yuanbao narrowed his eyes. “What now?”

“Wear that cloth I sent before. Let me see it.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face turned scarlet. He truly wanted to slap this shameless man, though he suspected Qi Beinan would only seize his hand and kiss it instead.

That thought brought another to mind. “You said the Ministry of Revenue approved stipends for officials’ families to buy gifts. Is that—recorded anywhere?”

Qi Beinan arched a brow and said nothing.

Xiao Yuanbao grew more anxious. “How can you not answer? If someone finds out—”

Seeing his panic, Qi Beinan laughed softly. “They don’t record each purchase one by one. Only the total amount is listed; the rest is left for us to choose.”

He added, “And that one, I bought with my own silver.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao exhaled in relief—but the relief quickly gave way to indignation. If Qi Beinan had used the official stipend, that would be one thing. But to spend his own money on such an indecent gift was another matter entirely.

The more Xiao Yuanbao thought about it, the tighter his brows drew.

He turned his head, eyeing Qi Beinan suspiciously. “You’re so improper. You were away all that time on official business—did you find someone outside?”

Qi Beinan laughed out loud.

Xiao Yuanbao jabbed him in the waist. “Well? Answer me.”

“How could I dare? By day I was in the examination hall grading papers; after work, I stayed in the official lodgings with the others. There were even censors from the Imperial Secretariat among us. If I’d gone drinking or visiting courtesans, they’d have impeached me for moral misconduct. My career would have ended before it even began.”

Hearing that, Xiao Yuanbao finally relaxed.

“Does Lord Xiao have further questions for investigation?” Qi Beinan asked lightly.

Xiao Yuanbao gave a small huff. “I’ll trust you this once. But if you ever do stray, I won’t forgive you.”

“And what sort of punishment would that be?”

“I’ll stop earning money to feed you.”

Qi Beinan chuckled.

“I’ve been talking with Bai Qiaogui,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “We plan to open a food-therapy shop.”

Because Qi Beinan’s assignments had kept him moving from place to place, their letters had been rare and slow. Only now did he learn that Luo Tingfeng had been transferred to the capital, now serving at the Guozijian.

He had heard before leaving that the Ministry of Personnel planned to recall several provincial officials to make room for newly appointed degree-holders, but when he had last been in the capital, that plan had not yet been carried out.

So now Qi Beinan finally understood why no letters had come—Xiao Yuanbao had been busy, spending his days with old friends who had come to the city, his time filled and easily passed.

“I wasn’t idling,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

He slipped off Qi Beinan’s lap, bent under the table, and drew out a wooden box, setting it before him. “I’ve been working.”

Qi Beinan opened it in surprise. Inside lay a neatly stacked collection of recipe scrolls—formulas for nourishing the blood, strengthening the bones, improving the complexion, organized by purpose, thirty or more in total.

“Well?” Xiao Yuanbao said, smiling faintly. “I haven’t been idle, have I?”

Qi Beinan smiled and placed the scrolls back in the box. “So capable. The pickle shop has only just settled, and already you’re planning a new business.”

Xiao Yuanbao said, “While things are calm and I still have the energy, better to build for the future. Then life will be easier later.”

“Otherwise, how will we raise a child? When we have one, I want our child to have the best of everything.”

Qi Beinan froze at those words, his smile halting for an instant.

They had once… also had a child.

When Qi Beinan first learned that Xiao Yuanbao was with child, he could hardly describe his joy—he had wanted to treasure Xiao Yuanbao like something sacred.

The two of them had dreamed together of welcoming that child safely into the world.

At night, Qi Beinan would read through books by candlelight, searching for a good name, while Xiao Yuanbao sat beside him, sewing tiny garments for their unborn baby in the glow of the flame.

Becoming parents had not weighed them down with responsibility; it had filled them with quiet joy and a sense of purpose.

But that happiness had not lasted long.

When the child was four months along, Xiao Yuanbao’s uncle Xiao Hu went into the mountains to earn money for a longevity lock for his future grandnephew. He never returned.

The news struck Xiao Yuanbao hard. His health had never been strong, and the shock was more than he could bear. The child was lost.

Afterward, grief and guilt consumed him. One misfortune after another broke him down until his health failed entirely—until he came to the edge of his own life.

Even now, after so many years, when Qi Beinan remembered, a fine ache spread through his chest.

Seeing the change in Qi Beinan’s expression, Xiao Yuanbao frowned slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Qi Beinan forced a small smile and shook his head. “Nothing. What you said makes sense. Now that Bai Qiaogui and Luo Tingfeng are in the capital, it’s good that you have Bai Qiaogui for company. She’s skilled in medicine—that puts my mind at ease.”

He added softly, “Everything is different now. This time, we’ll bring our child safely into the world and raise him healthy and strong.”

Xiao Yuanbao felt something odd in Qi Beinan’s tone—distant, uncertain—but the thought of children still stirred warmth in his heart.

He moved closer, sitting beside Qi Beinan. “Then how many children should we have?”

Qi Beinan looked into Xiao Yuanbao’s bright eyes. “As many as you like. Their father can afford them.”

That made Xiao Yuanbao laugh aloud.

Qi Beinan stayed home for a day of rest. But rest, with Xiao Yuanbao, was hardly restful.

They slept little at night, napped long at midday, and the day slipped past in its quiet indulgence.

The next day, Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao cooked a full table of dishes and invited Luo Tingfeng and Bai Qiaogui, along with Jiang Tangyuan and Jiang Tangtuan, to join them for a small gathering.

Early that morning, Xiao Yuanbao sent Wen-ge’er and Hong Tang to the market to buy several catties of fresh live shrimp, and a basket of crabs heavy with roe.

They went early, and the shrimp were enormous—each nearly the size of a palm, two fingers thick and full of meat. Xiao Yuanbao chose the largest ones to braise, and steamed the smaller shrimp and crabs for dipping in vinegar.

The vinegar Bai Qiaogui had brought from Lantian County was wonderfully fragrant. Xiao Yuanbao had grown fond of using it for dipping.

He also marinated a bowl of raw shrimp and crab with yellow wine and spices—perfect for the lingering warmth before mid-autumn.

He roasted a rabbit, stewed deer tendons, fried loaches, and stir-fried spicy field frogs.

There were also seasonal vegetables and melons for balance.

This time, he prepared no medicinal dishes. After two months of experimenting with food-therapy recipes, everyone—his own household, the Jiang family, and the Luo family—had eaten more than enough herbal meals. If he served such food again today, no one would dare come back.

Instead, Xiao Yuanbao opened a jar of rose honey and made delicate pastries shaped like round mooncakes—an early nod to the coming festival.

By afternoon, Bai Qiaogui and Jiang Tangtuan arrived early. Luo Tingfeng and Jiang Tangyuan came later, after leaving the yamen and changing from official robes.

“Shall we have some wine?”

Qi Beinan came out of the kitchen carrying two jars of lamb wine and called to the men in the garden.

Jiang Tangyuan was tending the golden osmanthus tree, which was in full bloom. “Looks like good wine from a Jiangnan brewery,” he said, smiling. “A fine treat—but I’ll say it first, I’ll only take two cups.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “I know your tolerance. Why only two?”

Jiang Tangyuan sniffed the air and replied, “The Hanlin Academy’s assessment is done. I’ve turned in my leave request to the Ministry of Personnel. In two days, I’ll be heading back to Jinling.”

Luo Tingfeng, setting down an old text borrowed from Qi Beinan’s study, looked up. “Why the sudden trip back to Jinling?”

Jiang Tangyuan hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “For a wedding.”

Xiao Yuanbao came out carrying a plate of freshly baked rose pastries and caught those words mid-step. “So soon? You’re already going back to Jinling?”

He remembered Jiang Tangtuan mentioning it before—Jiang Tangyuan’s marriage had been arranged when he passed the provincial exam, the two families long in good standing. The wedding date was now set.

The bride’s family was also of official rank, a proper match in every way.

The Jiang elders lived in Jinling, and since the capital wasn’t far, it was natural to hold the wedding there.

Jiang Tangyuan said, “My parents are taking care of everything, but since I’m the groom, I should still return a few days early.”

With the Hanlin assessment completed and his affairs settled, his spirits were high; he could finally make the trip home with an easy heart.

“In that case, congratulations, Brother Jiang,” Luo Tingfeng said. “Two great fortunes in one year—success in the examinations and a wedding to follow.”

Everyone was glad to hear such good news for Jiang Tangyuan.

It was a pity they couldn’t travel to Jinling to attend his wedding feast, but Jiang Tangyuan promised that after the ceremony, once he returned to the capital, he would host another banquet so they could all celebrate together.

He had said he would only drink two cups, but once talk turned to happy matters, spirits rose, and before long the two jars of wine were gone.

The table of dishes was mostly cleared. Luo Tingfeng, who could not hold much liquor, fell asleep in the carriage before even reaching home, while Jiang Tangyuan, though better off, still had a flushed face.

“Be careful on the way,” Qi Beinan said.

“Don’t worry, the driver’s steady. You two go back in,” Jiang Tangyuan replied.

Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao saw both families to the gate, giving parting words of caution. They watched until the carriage turned out of the alley before walking back home under the moonlight.

“Lord Jiang’s marriage gladdens me,” Qi Beinan said. “But with his return to Jinling, Tangtuan will be going with him—and once he’s gone, he won’t be coming back to the capital.”

Qi Beinan had drunk quite a bit. Though he wasn’t truly drunk, the smell of wine clung thickly to him.

Xiao Yuanbao called for the servants to bring in buckets of hot water and urged him to bathe, so he wouldn’t carry the scent to court the next morning.

As Xiao Yuanbao helped Qi Beinan wash with fragrant soap, his heart felt a faint ache.

“How come Tangtuan won’t come back?” Qi Beinan asked.

“The match here in the capital didn’t work out,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “So the Jiang family plans to arrange another for him.”

“After what happened with the Qiao family, Tangtuan said his elders are now determined to find him a spouse they can keep firmly under control. They won’t risk marrying him into a household too powerful to manage.”

Qi Beinan understood well the caution behind the Jiang family’s decision—it had been much the same in earlier years.

Once, they had sought a match with a family of high rank, but that alliance had turned sour and left them mired in trouble.

After that, they changed course and found a humbler match for Tangtuan—a scholar from a farming household.

But Tangtuan’s fate had been bitter; the scholar, seemingly honest and mild, had only sought the marriage to climb into the Jiang family’s favor.

“This time,” Xiao Yuanbao said, “once Tangtuan returns home, his family will pick a proper husband for him. Most likely one of the official sons or scholars Lord Jiang knows in Jinling. Who knows when he’ll ever come back to the capital again.”

He sighed. How could he not feel melancholy? Tangtuan had been his first friend in the capital. Aside from old acquaintances, Tangtuan was the only one he had grown close to here.

Now that Bai Qiaogui had finally come to the city, Tangtuan was leaving.

Qi Beinan saw how it saddened him, this constant meeting and parting, and gently patted Xiao Yuanbao’s hand. “Once Tangtuan marries, if his husband also takes up an official post, they might well be transferred here someday.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “That’s what I’ll hope for.”

Qi Beinan leaned back in the bath, exhaling a slow breath.

Tangtuan was a kind-hearted young ge’er; he should never again be entangled with someone faithless.

Qi Beinan had quietly asked about Tangtuan’s marriage through Jiang Tangyuan and had already told him to be cautious—to make sure the chosen match was sincere, so Tangtuan wouldn’t repeat the same painful path.

“Ah,” Qi Beinan said suddenly. “That reminds me of something.”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. “What is it?”

“Guangzong passed the provincial exam and has been appointed assistant magistrate of Feng County, under Jinling Prefecture.”

Qi Beinan turned toward Xiao Yuanbao. “He knows Tangyuan. Since we can’t go to the wedding, Feng County isn’t far from Jinling—he can at least go in our place and drink a cup for us.”

Xiao Yuanbao brightened. “Then Third Brother Zhao has all the luck!”

Qi Beinan smiled. “I’ll write to him later tonight. He must have settled in Feng County by now.”

The next day, Qi Beinan went to the yamen, while Xiao Yuanbao went to the storeroom to prepare gifts.

He planned two—one for Jiang Tangyuan’s wedding, the other to send with Qi Beinan’s letter to Zhao Guangzong, to congratulate him on his success and appointment.

On the day before the Jiang brothers were to depart, Xiao Yuanbao brought the gifts over himself and stopped by to say farewell to Jiang Tangtuan.

“Your health isn’t the best,” Xiao Yuanbao told him. “So even though you shouldn’t go out and catch cold, you also shouldn’t stay shut indoors all the time. Go out for walks when the weather’s good.”

He smiled gently. “Still, you’ve lived in Jinling for years. Your closest friends are there. It won’t be like here in the capital, where you kept yourself cooped up at home.”

Jiang Tangtuan looked at the chest of things Xiao Yuanbao had brought—boxes of tonic herbs, foods he liked, and small comforts—and felt deeply moved by his care and his long list of reminders.

“You’ve brought more things than for my brother’s wedding gift!” he said.

“They’re not all from me,” Xiao Yuanbao said with a small laugh. “Some are from Gui-jie. She wanted to come herself, but one of Lord Luo’s relatives fell ill, and she had to go treat them, so she couldn’t make it.”

“A patient is more important. I’m only going home to Jinling—it’s nothing serious.”

Seeing him take it lightly, Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “Here are some food-therapy recipes too. Have your cook follow them to make you nourishing soups. Gui-jie took your pulse and chose these herself—they suit your constitution best.”

Jiang Tangtuan grasped Xiao Yuanbao’s hands. “Now you’ve gone and made me reluctant to leave. I was never fond of staying in the capital, but now that I’m really about to go, it feels hard.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “We’ll write often. Jinling and the capital aren’t that far apart, after all.”

“When you go back,” Xiao Yuanbao said, “give my greetings to my brother at home.”

He added, “Third Brother Zhao has taken his post in Feng County. Beinan wrote to him, asking him to attend Lord Jiang’s wedding feast. If you see him there, tell him all is well with us here in the capital.”

Jiang Tangtuan looked surprised. “You mean Zhao-langjun has arrived in Jinling?”

“Mm.” Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “You really have a golden tongue—said he would pass, and he truly did.”

Jiang Tangtuan laughed. “That sounds as if I should take credit for it. I wouldn’t dare.”

The two talked for quite some time, and when Xiao Yuanbao finally left, he carried with him two small boxes—gifts from Jiang Tangtuan, one for himself and one for Gui-jie.

Time moved gently on. In the blink of an eye, it was already October.

After more than three months of refining recipes, Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui had gathered dozens of food-therapy formulas.

Feeling the time was ripe, they contacted a property agent to look for a shop to lease and began hiring people—step by step preparing to open their food-therapy business.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

“Your mother’s family were physicians,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “You learned the craft from childhood. Healing and saving lives is a virtuous thing, and more than that—you’ve always loved the work. If you gave it up now for the sake of livelihood, your heart would never be content.

“It’s the same for me. I grew up learning to cook—if someone told me to weave cloth or sell clothes instead, I’d have no joy in it.”

To Yuanbao, food therapy was the perfect meeting of their skills. Medicine could not be separated from food, and food therapy required both medical understanding and culinary craft. It would join their two strengths into one trade, and neither would have to abandon what they had each studied since youth.

Besides, the two of them were close, both newcomers to the capital, and it was only right they support each other.

“I know your true wish is to open a proper medical hall,” he went on. “But there are too many obstacles for now—lack of capital, connections, and reputation. Yet because it’s difficult, you must prepare step by step.

“If we open a food-therapy shop first, we can earn money to fund the future clinic. And if you wish, you could choose certain days—say, the first and fifteenth each month—to sit in the shop and see patients. That would build your name and connections, so when you do open your own clinic, you’ll already have people who trust you.”

Bai Qiaogui listened closely. His words struck right to her heart.

She had always wanted to open a women’s clinic—not merely for livelihood, but because it was something she truly cared about. Her dream was to gather skilled female physicians and ge’er doctors to treat women and furlang.

In the common households of the empire, women and ge’er made up half the people, yet female healers were scarce. When wives or furlang fell ill, especially with disorders particular to their sex, they often hesitated to speak of it, too embarrassed to seek help. And if they did wish to be treated, it was awkward to face a male physician, while finding a reputable female one was near impossible.

That was one side of the hardship. The other was that women and ge’er who wanted to practice medicine found doors closed to them. Most medical families passed their art only to sons. Even in more liberal households that allowed daughters or ge’er to learn, marriage usually confined them to the inner quarters, serving husbands and raising children instead of seeing patients.

And those few who did manage to practice were often dismissed or scorned by male physicians, earning less and respected less though they worked side by side.

Having grown up in her maternal grandfather’s clinic, Bai Qiaogui knew all this too well.

The capital, vast and crowded, was filled with apothecaries and clinics, yet in all her walks through the streets she had never once seen a hall run solely by women. It was better than the provinces, to be sure—female physicians here were not as rare, and some clinics employed one or two—but none were wholly their own.

She had long dreamed of changing that: to found a place staffed by women and ge’er, serving only wives and furlang. Such a hall would be a true fulfillment of her craft.

But dreams required silver, and reputation, and backing—none of which she possessed. Opening such a place seemed near impossible.

Now, hearing Yuanbao’s proposal, she felt a spark of direction.

“You’ve spoken straight to my heart,” she said. “I’ll follow your lead. Still… even if we open this kind of shop, will anyone come?”

“You’ve never run a business, so your worry’s natural,” Yuanbao said. “But I’ve been in the capital over a year. I’ve watched carefully. To make a living here, one must be clever—one must offer something new.

“The city is full of the wealthy. And among the wealthy, illness is everywhere. These people want for nothing—they don’t worry about food or clothing. Do you know what troubles them most?”

Bai Qiaogui arched a brow. “What?”

Yuanbao smiled. “Once, Anan told me a story.”

He began: “There was a rich merchant in the old days, trading in salt and iron—so wealthy his fortune could rival a kingdom’s, and his life was luxury itself. What he ate and used was no less than what was sent to the imperial court. But all that extravagance wasn’t where his money truly went.

“Do you know what cost him the most?”

She shook her head.

“Alchemy,” Yuanbao said. “He poured rivers of silver into the hands of Daoist alchemists who claimed their elixirs could strengthen the body and lengthen life. A single small pill cost ten thousand coins, and he paid without blinking.”

Bai Qiaogui laughed. “Then that merchant was a fool indeed.”

“He wasn’t foolish,” Yuanbao said. “To run salt and iron trade and build such a fortune—he must have been shrewd. He paid for those pills because he feared dying before he could enjoy his wealth.”

“The rich live in ease and comfort,” he continued. “Their greatest fear is that they won’t live long enough, or well enough, to savor it. If there’s a way to preserve health and prolong life, of course they’ll pay for it.”

Bai Qiaogui fell silent, thoughtful. What he said made perfect sense.

“You worry no one will buy food-therapy if they’re not already sick,” Yuanbao said. “That’s because we come from modest homes, where a full meal is the first concern and luxuries are waste. But these nobles live differently. Their days are idle and rich—they’ll spend freely for a promise of health.”

He’d learned this truth himself after coming to the capital—ever since that banquet at Madam Lü’s, where the wealthy amused themselves by toying with others, he had seen clearly how extravagance and vanity ruled their world.

At Madam Lü’s banquet, everything had been exquisite—the food, the wine, the silks, the laughter. Those people were so idle that they took pleasure only in mocking others. Such cruelty came from their wealth. Ordinary amusements could no longer please them.

If not for the later misfortune that brought her down, would Madam Lü have ever wished her luxurious days to end? Of course not—she would have wanted them to last forever.

And look at Jiang Tangtuan. He was born into an official family; his father, uncles, and brothers all held posts, not high ones, but the family had served in government for generations and always had silver to spare. When he fell into the lotus pond as a child, his parents spent heavily to buy a charm for long life, burned it to ashes, mixed it with water, and made him drink it for longevity. Later, when illness left him frail, they still chased after every remedy they heard of—dew collected from the back of lotus leaves, taken before dawn because it had never seen the sun, said to cure all ills.

So those with some rank and means all longed for health and long life.

Even setting aside the rich—what ordinary person does not wish the same? Only the poor have too many troubles to think beyond daily hunger; they live too tightly to spare coin for preserving their health.

With these thoughts clear in mind, Xiao Yuanbao grew confident about the food-therapy business. Once the shop opened, there would be no shortage of customers. The only challenge was to develop enough good formulas before then.

Bai Qiaogui drew a steady breath. “All right,” she said. “Then I’ll join you in it.”

They struck the agreement on the spot and began testing recipes together.

The summer heat was heavy, but they still spent their days over the stove.

Jiang Tangtuan sent over a cartload of ice for them and insisted on tasting every new dish himself, giving notes on flavor and effect.

Medicinal broths simmered day after day; chickens, ducks, pigeons, and soft-shelled turtles came and went like flowing water.

Yuanbao could not finish what they made, so Qiaogui carried portions home. Luo Tingfeng, returning from the morning court each day, found a fresh tonic soup waiting for him.

After a few days of this, he was sitting in his study writing when his nose suddenly started to bleed.

“You two have too much energy,” he said, tilting his head back with a cloth pressed to his nose. “Yesterday pigeon soup, today pork-bone broth, tomorrow lamb kidneys… however good it tastes, I can’t keep up with all this nourishment!”

He started to add, “It’s my fault—if only—” but Qiaogui shot him a glare.

“Say no more. If you had both great talent and great fortune, we’d never have been husband and wife. As it is, you hold an official post, and I have my own work beside you. Managing our days together—nothing makes me happier than that.”

At that, Luo Tingfeng fell silent.

She dipped a cloth in cool water and wiped the back of his neck. “All these recipes I’ve been making with Yuanbao are for replenishing qi and blood. You don’t need any of that. In summer the heat rises easily, and strong tonics only make it worse. No wonder your body rejects them.”

Speaking of the summer heat sparked a thought.

She turned quickly to him. “This food therapy ought to follow the seasons. In cold months, warming tonics for qi and blood; in summer, cooling dishes to clear heat and purify the blood. No, I must go tell Yuanbao at once—we’ll draw up separate recipes for each season.”

And off she went before he could answer.

Watching her hurry away, Luo Tingfeng could only shake his head, half amused.

He truly wanted to write a letter to Qi Beinan, to tell him what had become of them in the capital—that between the two of them, he and Bai Qiaogui had been “nourished” almost to collapse.

But he had no idea where Qi Beinan was just now.

At that moment, far away in Yingju Prefecture, Qi Beinan was overseeing the provincial examinations. After reviewing hundreds of test papers, his eyes were sore and blurred, and his stomach empty.

When the day’s grading finally ended, he breathed out. Soon, when this round was complete, he could return to the capital.

The scent of gardenia drifted through the examination compound; he realized, almost with surprise, that midsummer had come. Over a month had passed since he’d left Kyoto, the journey through several provinces gone swiftly.

“Gentlemen,” said Lord Zhang of the Ministry of Rites, “the hour grows late. We’ll continue at the next dawn. You’ve all worked hard.”

Qi Beinan finished reading the last page in hand, laid it aside, and tidied his desk before leaving with the other examiners.

“I’ve heard the pickled vegetables at Tianxiang Ju here in Yingju are especially crisp and fragrant,” someone said. “Shall we all go and try them?”

“I’ve heard of the place,” another replied. “Never been.”

Qi Beinan had no objection; the Ministry’s travel stipend was generous. Since arriving, he’d already joined such dinners twice—extravagant feasts costing ten strings of cash at a sitting, every dish mountain or sea delicacy.

The food was fine, but the older officials loved their drink. Once the cups began to flow, they grew loud, urged one another on, and would not leave before midnight.

After a few such nights, Beinan had had enough.

He went to Lord Zhang and said politely, “I’m rather weary today and fear I might delay tomorrow’s duties. I’ll forgo the gathering and take my meal in the quarters.”

“That’s understandable,” Lord Zhang said. “It’s your first time on an examination tour—anyone would tire. A few more rounds and you’ll grow used to it.” He cautioned Beinan to mind his health, then let him go.

Walking back to his lodging, Qi Beinan found himself wondering why no letter had come from the capital. He had clearly written in his last message that he would be here in Yingju. Could it be that the post relay had lost the letter again?

As he was turning the thought over, Qi Beinan walked absently into his quarters—only to hear Qin Jiang’s delighted voice calling from behind.

“Langjun, a letter!”

Beinan’s face lit at once. “Is it from the capital?” he asked quickly, reaching out to take it.

“I didn’t look.”

Still smiling, Beinan carried it eagerly inside and tore it open before he’d even crossed the threshold. But at the sight of the sender, his joy faded a little.

It wasn’t from the capital. It was from Linzhou.

When he finished reading, the smile returned. Zhao Guangzong had passed the provincial exam.

According to the letter, twelve candidates had been selected, and Zhao ranked fifth. Posts had already been assigned—he was appointed assistant magistrate of Feng County under Jinling Prefecture.

Beinan felt genuinely happy for him. The county assistant’s rank was not high, below that of the magistrate, but if he served well, he could be promoted in time.

He’d never been to Feng County, but during his student years in Jinling he’d heard of it—a modest place, neither rich nor poor, much like Ling County. Not easy to make achievements there, but a fair posting all the same.

At least Zhao had succeeded. Future prospects would depend on fortune and his own ability.

Beinan took up his brush and wrote a letter of congratulations, adding some practical advice for Zhao’s new duties, two full pages in all. By the time he finished, the moon had climbed over the willow branches.

He set down his pen, fanned the ink dry, sealed the letter, and handed it to Qin Jiang. “Send this off first thing tomorrow.”

Outside, the moonlight was bright enough to cast his shadow under the eaves. He stepped on it as he exhaled a long breath.

Even Zhao Guangzong’s letter had reached him, yet nothing had come from the capital. The thought left a dull ache in his chest.

---

By August, the scent of osmanthus filled the air.

Qi Beinan returned to the capital just before the Mid-Autumn Festival.

He and the other officials who had gone out to supervise the examinations first reported to the Ministry of Personnel, where their superior presented a memorial to the emperor. The rest busied themselves sorting paperwork and archiving the exam scrolls.

After half a day of tedium, they were finally dismissed. Fortunately, beyond their usual rest days, they were also granted two extra days to recover from travel.

“The festival’s nearly here,” someone remarked. “There are mooncake stalls everywhere now—all colors, red and yellow, bright as lanterns. Quite a sight.”

Xiao Yuanbao was returning from the Luo household just as offices were closing for the day.

He hadn’t lingered—Luo daren had just come home from court, and husband and wife surely wanted time together. He had already taken up too much of Gui-jie’s hours; it would be ungracious to stay longer.

Leaning against the carriage wall, weary from the day’s errands and no noon rest, he half-dozed as Wen-ge’er spoke. At the mention of mooncakes, he lifted the curtain and glanced out. The streets were indeed full of vendors.

“Mid-Autumn is the festival of reunion,” he murmured.

This year, it would likely be only him and his teacher.

The carriage rocked gently, lulling him toward sleep, until Wen-ge’er’s call roused him as they reached the gate.

Supported down from the step, he had barely steadied himself when he spotted a tall figure by the porter’s lodge.

“Qin Jiang—is that really you?” Yuanbao called, eyes widening.

“Ge’er,” the man answered with a grin.

“When did you return?”

“Entered the city this morning. Just now went to the palace gate to fetch the master back.”

At that, Yuanbao could think of nothing else. He rushed into the courtyard and straight toward Xinyi Pavilion.

Sure enough, in the study stood the man he hadn’t seen for over two months.

For so long there’d been no word at all—his heart leapt between shock and joy. He hesitated only an instant before hurrying forward and throwing himself into the other’s arms.

He clung tight around Qi Beinan’s waist, pressing his cheek to his chest, silent for a long moment.

Beinan smoothed a hand over his back, feeling the familiar softness in his hold. His gaze warmed. “Seems you’ve grown rounder since I left.”

Yuanbao tipped up his chin, lips pouting. “So what if I have?”

“I was away all that time, and not one letter from you. I thought perhaps the roads were rough and the couriers lost it—”

Beinan looked down at him. “But now it’s clear it wasn’t the post’s fault at all. Someone simply never sent a letter.”

Seeing his faint scowl and the hint of wounded pride, Yuanbao couldn’t help but laugh.

He leaned up, brushed a kiss against Beinan’s cheek—and finding that too little, kissed his lips as well.

Beinan, never granted such tenderness before, drew him closer.

The room fell quiet, broken only by the soft, wet sound of breath.

When they finally parted, lips sore, Yuanbao stared at the glimmering sheen on Beinan’s mouth and felt his ears burn—it was his doing, after all.

In a low voice he murmured, “I did think of you.”

At that, Beinan’s mouth curved. “Then why didn’t you write?”

Xiao Yuanbao pouted, his expression shifting. “Who told you to send home all those strange things? I was afraid you weren’t focusing on your official duties, so I didn’t write at all.”

Qi Beinan raised a brow. “What, you didn’t like what I sent?”

“That pink pearl,” he added, “I searched for it a long time. It wasn’t cheap either.”

“Wasteful spending,” Yuanbao said.

“How’s it wasteful? The travel stipend was generous—they permit officials to buy gifts for family, to show thoughtfulness. If I hadn’t spent it, people might’ve said I was pretending to be aloof.”

“There was no reason not to use it,” Beinan continued.

Yuanbao frowned in worry. “But wouldn’t that count as corruption?”

Beinan laughed. “What are you thinking? It’s all legitimate, approved by the Ministry of Revenue.”

“Even after buying things, I still have over fifty strings of cash left—money I didn’t spend.”

Yuanbao’s eyes widened. “The allowance for those sent out is that good? Why didn’t you say so sooner? That’s nearly a whole year of your salary in the capital! And you were so reluctant to go, as if it were some hardship no one wanted. I thought they’d forced the worst assignment on a newcomer like you.”

“With benefits like that,” he said with a laugh, “I’m sure everyone would be fighting for the chance.”

In truth, the stipends for field assignments were remarkably generous—indeed a plum posting. Later, once the court reformed the system, such comfort would vanish; the allowances would barely cover food and travel, and men would have to dip into their own purses. Then it would truly be a burdensome task.

Beinan smiled faintly. “You really don’t know why I didn’t want to go, do you?”

Yuanbao pressed his lips together, a smile tugging at them all the same.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

It was only a few days later that Xiao Yuanbao received a letter from Bai Qiaogui, sent from Lantian County.

She wrote that she too would be coming to the capital. As for the food therapy business Yuanbao had mentioned, she proposed they discuss it in detail once she arrived in person.

Reading that line, Yuanbao shot up from his stool in surprise. He read the letter again, slowly, carefully, to be sure he hadn’t imagined it.

When he finished, a bright smile spread across his face.

Just then, Wen-ge’er came in carrying tea. Seeing Yuanbao grinning over a letter, he asked, “Is it a letter from the master? You look so happy.”

Yuanbao shook his head. “Not from him—Sister Gui is coming to the capital.”

Wen-ge’er set down the teacup. “Is Madam Bai coming especially to see you?”

“She’s not coming for me,” Yuanbao said, still beaming. “She’s moving here.”

In her letter, Bai Qiaogui explained that after the recent juren selection, His Majesty had expanded the number of appointments available, allowing more scholars to be assigned to posts.

Yet no matter how outstanding these men were, none could immediately serve in the capital; all had to begin their careers in the provinces. To make room, the Ministry of Personnel was recalling competent officials who had previously been sent out to local positions.

Luo Tingfeng, who had done well in the palace examination, had been posted to the provinces for lack of connections in the capital. Now, with new juren needing posts, he was being transferred back.

Bai Qiaogui didn’t specify what department Luo Tingfeng would serve in once they returned—her letter only said they would settle that after arriving.

For now, she asked Yuanbao to help make arrangements in advance; they would depart for the capital within ten days.

Since the juren selection exams were already underway—and these were simpler than the regular imperial exams, with results released quickly—the new appointments would follow soon after. Once the Ministry issued the recall order, the couple had to hand over their county duties and prepare for travel.

Though their time in office hadn’t been long, it was still enough that leaving required proper handover. Everything had just been put in order when the imperial decree arrived, bringing a rush of work.

Even if they hadn’t asked for help, Yuanbao would have stepped in. Upon learning they were coming, he immediately wrote back, assuring them to finish their business in Lantian County without worry—he would handle matters here.

The Luo and Bai families were modest but decent folk, with some means yet far from wealthy. Coming to the capital, the first concern was lodging.

Unlike a county appointment, where the magistrate and his family lived in the yamen’s official residence, capital officers had to rely on government quarters—and without connections, getting a decent one could take ages.

Even then, there was no telling whether one might be assigned a house near the outer wards or some cramped, noisy alley.

After his first appointment, Luo Tingfeng had learned what life in the capital was like. Rather than wait endlessly for a suitable official residence, he decided to rent a private home instead.

But to purchase one, as Qi Beinan and Yuanbao had done, was out of reach for them. They had only limited savings; they could not produce such a large sum at once.

So the most practical choice was to rent. Officials living outside their assigned quarters received a small stipend, but it wasn’t much. Luo therefore asked Bai Qiaogui to have Yuanbao help find a house before they arrived, so that settling in would go smoothly.

Yuanbao was more than happy to help—he only wished they might rent somewhere in the same lane.

Yet the inner city, where he lived, was expensive. Buying property was costly enough; even renting could be daunting.

Still, it wouldn’t do for them to live too far out—traveling to morning court from the outer districts would be tiring.

After thinking it over, Yuanbao suddenly recalled something.

Their previous rental house, before they had bought the new one, was in a good location and reasonably priced. They had lived there for nearly a year, and had it not been for the marriage and new home, they would have kept it longer.

Moreover, Bai Qiaogui had visited that house before and liked it.

Decision made, Yuanbao sent someone to find the property broker.

Fortunately, since they’d given up the lease in May and the big summer exams hadn’t yet begun, there weren’t many tenants searching. The house hadn’t been taken.

Renewing the lease was easy—no haggling over price; everything stayed as before.

Once the new keys were in hand, Yuanbao sent two idle servants to clean the place thoroughly.

Summer dust settled thickly; after a month closed up, the house had grown dull and gray.

By late June, the capital was sweltering. The air felt baked dry, as if scorched by fire.

Luo Tingfeng and Bai Qiaogui arrived with three or four wagonloads of belongings.

Having received their letter in advance, Yuanbao went to the city gate to meet them.

He had been waiting outside for some time, but the sun blazed down mercilessly, drenching him in sweat. He bought a block of ice from a street vendor, intending to cool off in his carriage—when, from afar, he caught sight of their caravan approaching.

“In this heat,” Bai Qiaogui called out as she stepped down, “whatever possessed you to wait at the gate? If you catch heatstroke, what then?”

Bai Qiaogui stepped down from the carriage, her face bright with both joy and mild reproach as she saw Xiao Yuanbao waiting there.

She drew out a handkerchief scented faintly with mint and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. “I still remember the way to that house. You needn’t have come all this way to the city gate.”

“I was waiting in the shade,” Yuanbao said with a laugh. “No matter how hot it gets, it’s not as bad as the heat you’ve suffered on the road. I’ve nothing to do at home anyway—coming out for a walk does me good.”

Then he turned and greeted Luo Tingfeng with a polite bow. “Master Luo, was your journey smooth?”

It had been a full year since they’d last seen each other. Luo Tingfeng was darker now, likely from the sun and wind of provincial service—no longer the pale scholar of old. Yet the tan suited him, lending a steadier, more mature air.

“The road was clear all the way,” Luo said. “Only the weather—sweltering. We kept shut in the carriage, it was stifling. We soaked indigo root in our water to fend off the heat; otherwise we’d surely have fallen ill after so many days on the road.”

He added with a smile, “If a few days’ journey was this trying, then Brother Qi’s examination tour through the provinces must be far worse.”

“He’s learned to ride now,” Yuanbao replied. “He doesn’t have to sit cooped up in a carriage all day—he’ll be fine.”

After a few more words, they climbed into the carriage and went to the house.

Yuanbao had already ordered water to be boiled—after such a journey, they would be soaked in sweat and nothing would feel better than a bath.

By noon he sent a servant to fetch hot dishes from a nearby tavern, and soon they were eating together.

Servants from both households busied themselves with unpacking. Luo and Bai had brought two attendants, but with a whole house to settle into, extra hands were welcome.

Yuanbao, having moved several times himself, knew well how troublesome it could be. Seeing everything clean, orderly, and ready for them to move in at once, the couple were deeply grateful for how thoughtful he’d been.

When the sun tilted westward, Yuanbao finally took his leave.

He had come empty-handed, but he went home carrying a chest.

Opening it, he found it filled with fine medicinal herbs—soft-dried wild goji berries, thumb-thick slices of danggui, crisp white lily bulbs, plump lotus seeds.

All could serve as both medicine and food: lily and lotus seeds made fragrant porridge, danggui enriched stewed chicken or pork, and goji berries had endless uses.

He guessed Sister Gui had gathered them herself back in Lantian.

Besides the herbs, there were local delicacies too: spicy-marinated smoked chicken, wrapped in oil paper that released a numbing aroma the moment he opened it. Steamed, it would surely be delicious.

He selected some lilies and lotus seeds into a round box, added danggui and goji berries, and packed two of the smoked chickens—sending the lot to Jiang Tangtuan’s household.

Just as his servant went off with the bundle, Wen-ge’er came in. “Husband, a letter’s arrived.”

He handed over not just a letter from the porter’s lodge, but also a small parcel.

Yuanbao had been sorting the chest; the strong scent of the smoked chicken had clung to his sleeves. He was rubbing his hands with bath beans when he heard there was a letter, and quickly wiped them dry before taking it.

The envelope opened easily, and on the back of the folded paper he saw a few familiar characters—To my beloved.

Seeing those four words, Yuanbao’s heart lifted. The letter was thick—four or five pages at least.

He didn’t open it right away but turned to Wen-ge’er. “Go tell the kitchen to make me shrimp dumplings for supper.”

“Yes, sir,” Wen-ge’er said, and went.

Then Yuanbao carried the letter into the main room and unfolded the paper.

Xiaobao, if you are reading this, I am well.

The examinations proceed smoothly; all is in order. Food and lodging are sufficient, though the night rains in Jinling come fierce and loud with thunder—I find it hard to sleep. I cannot help but think of those nights of rain when you and I were together…

Qi Beinan’s letter went on with small details of his days overseeing the provincial exams, asking how Yuanbao fared in the capital, whether he had missed him, and so on.

Because correspondence was slow, Qi had written at length. Yuanbao read carefully line by line. In later pages, Qi mentioned the bustling beauty of Jinling, its shops and wonders even grander than the capital’s.

During his free hours, he had bought a few gifts he thought Yuanbao might like and hoped they would please him.

Even before opening the parcel, Yuanbao was already smiling.

He hurried to untie the bundle. Inside was a long wooden box holding a delicately carved hairpin—simple and elegant, with a faint, refined fragrance rising from the wood.

There was also a small square box that fit in his palm. He opened it and found a pink pearl, perfectly round and luminous.

He lifted it between two fingers, marveling.

He had seen white pearls before, but never pink ones; such a gem must be rare and costly.

“Still spending money so freely,” he murmured—but the reproach was soft, full of warmth. He carefully set the pearl back into its box, smiling all the while.

Just when Xiao Yuanbao thought he’d finished unpacking everything, he noticed another folded length of fabric at the bottom of the parcel.

He glanced at it—it didn’t seem remarkable at first glance, just an ordinary piece of leather or cloth easily found in the capital. Why would Qi Beinan have gone to the trouble of sending this all the way back?

Curious, Yuanbao picked it up. It felt as though something was hidden inside.

He unfolded the cloth—and sure enough, a slim fabric-covered box was tucked within.

“What on earth—he even hid something inside…”

Before he could finish muttering, a flash of bright crimson caught his eye.

Inside the box lay a piece of red silk, no wider than a man’s waist, shorter even than a kitchen apron. A thin strap looped for the neck, two ribbons extended from the sides to tie around the waist—and across the middle, finely embroidered mandarin ducks played upon rippling water.

Yuanbao lifted the fabric in one hand; it was so small and soft he could easily crush the whole thing into his palm.

The material was supple beyond belief, cool and smooth to the touch, like dipping one’s fingers into a stream of spring water.

At the bottom of the box was a note. Yuanbao picked it up and read:

“Your skin is fair and your waist slender; this fabric is soft and gentle. You’ll look beautiful in it. When I return, I’ll have a proper look.”

In an instant, Yuanbao’s face turned crimson.

That tiny scrap of cloth—how could it possibly cover anything? It might reach the upper thighs at best, and behind, only two ribbons to tie it by. There was scarcely any difference between wearing it and wearing nothing at all.

Even holding it made his hands feel hot.

Flustered, Yuanbao shoved the silk back into the box and snapped the lid shut, his cheeks burning.

“This man—so shameless,” he muttered under his breath. “Out doing official business, and he still finds time to buy something like this?”

The nerve of him. Yuanbao couldn’t even stand to look at the thing without blushing; he could hardly imagine how Beinan had managed to buy it in broad daylight.

“And to write that he wants me to wear it for him when he comes back—if he dares bring it up, I’ll throw it in his face,” he fumed. “Utterly incorrigible.”

Muttering these fierce words, he dove under the quilt, face still red.

Yet for all his indignation, Qi Beinan’s teasing had stirred something.

Since their marriage, they had spent nearly every night together, intimate and frequent. Now Beinan had been gone almost a month, and Yuanbao had lived alone just as long.

It was like eating rich meat and fish every day—at first one tires of it and craves something plain, but after too many days of thin porridge, one begins to long for a single bite of meat again.

Lately, he’d been dreaming often—vivid dreams that left him flushed and sweating when he woke.

A few days later, Luo Tingfeng began work at his new post, their household finally in order. With things settled, Bai Qiaogui came by to visit Yuanbao.

“Though he’s been transferred to the capital,” she said with a sigh, “the position is a quiet one, with little future. The Ministry has assigned him to the Guozijian as a keeper of the archives. He spends his days tending to books—idleness itself. It’s not even as lively as serving in the provinces, where at least he could make something of himself.”

She gave a helpless smile. “Still, you know how he loves his books. When he studied at the county academy, he was just the same. There’s no real advancement in this post, but at least he’s doing something he enjoys.”

Yuanbao hadn’t known until then where Luo Tingfeng had been placed; he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry. In the capital, connections ruled everything. For those from small counties without roots or backing, progress was difficult.

“Let him work steadily a few years,” Yuanbao said. “With time and seniority, there’ll always be a chance to move up.”

“I know,” Qiaogui replied with a soft laugh. “I just needed to say it to someone. Truly, even if his career never rises high, I won’t complain. Living well together matters more than anything else.”

“You’re right about that.”

Then she smiled again. “In your last letter, you mentioned wanting to start a business. I think that’s wise. Once you have a household, you must find ways to sustain it. You know what officials earn—it’s barely enough to keep a family.”

“He has only the small properties from when he passed the examinations,” she went on. “They’re all rented out, and the rent covers our expenses, but what was comfortable in Lantian feels tight here in the capital.”

After only a few days in the city, Bai Qiaogui had already learned that Yuanbao hadn’t exaggerated in his letters—living in the capital devoured silver.

“This won’t do forever,” she said. “We’ve just been married, no children yet—but once they come, expenses will multiply.”

“I’ve been thinking of opening a medical hall while I have the time,” she added.

But that was no easy venture. She had no standing or connections in the capital, and skill alone seldom brought recognition. It was much like Yuanbao’s own beginnings when he first arrived in a new county.

And besides, opening a clinic would require a heavy investment to start.

Every step seemed difficult.

Yuanbao understood her worries perfectly. Had it not been for Qi Beinan’s foresight in buying those dozen shopfronts in Linzhou early on, their own life would have been no easier than Luo and Bai’s—perhaps even harder.

“Still, the two of you are fortunate to have some help from your families,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “It gives you something to fall back on. But now that you’re married, it’s not proper to keep asking for money from home.”

“No matter what, being willing to stand on your own feet and build a livelihood—that’s a fine thing.”

He paused a moment, then added, “Opening a medical hall in the capital is indeed difficult. Procuring herbs alone is an art in itself, to say nothing of the rest. And you’re an official’s wife—you can’t be sitting in the hall each day seeing patients. You’d have to hire someone trustworthy to do that for you. As for finding a suitable shop, that part is easier, but still not simple.”

Bai Qiaogui sighed. “Those are exactly the troubles I’ve been turning over in my mind.”

After thinking carefully, Yuanbao said, “Then why not join me instead? We could work together on food-therapy recipes—just as we used to. When the time comes, we’ll open a food-therapy shop together.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

The next morning, Xiao Yuanbao went to the Jiang household.

Jiang Tangtuan was sitting quietly on a bamboo couch woven with rattan, his posture languid. One hand held a book, the other toyed idly with a jade hairpin, rolling it along his cheek. Beside the couch stood a small red-lacquered flower stand, upon which bloomed a pot of white peonies, their petals full and luminous.

“How elegant,” Yuanbao said lightly. “Whose young master might this be?”

At the sound of his voice, Jiang Tangtuan lifted his head. Seeing Yuanbao, he quickly set aside the book and tried to rise, but a fit of coughing seized him. He pressed a handkerchief to his mouth, the pallor of his face turning unevenly flushed.

“Still coughing?” Yuanbao hurried forward and gently patted his back. “Haven’t you taken medicine or seen a physician?”

Jiang Tangtuan took his hand and drew him to sit. “It’s an old complaint of mine. If I stay clear of wind and chill, I’m fine, but once I catch cold, it never passes easily—half a month at least.”

“How can it be that bad?” Yuanbao said. He himself had been frail as a child, yet never so delicate as this.

Tangtuan smiled faintly. “You’ll laugh at me, but I was a mischievous boy. Once, climbing a tree with my brother to pick fruit, I fell into the lotus pond and nearly drowned. My brother was beaten soundly afterward, and while I lay in bed for days, he knelt in the ancestral hall for as long.”

“Since then, my health has been poor. I no longer dared to make mischief, and my temper grew quiet.”

Yuanbao drew a sharp breath. “That’s terrifying. Looking at you now—so calm and gentle—no one would imagine you ever got into such trouble.”

Tangtuan chuckled. “That was long ago.”

Then he sighed. “And now I’ve gone and burdened my brother again.”

“What burden? It’s that Lü family, petty and spiteful—never have I seen such narrow hearts.”

“They’ve already had their downfall,” Yuanbao said, reassuring him. “Don’t waste another thought on them.”

Tangtuan nodded. “It’s a relief that the matter ended cleanly. Otherwise, I’d still feel ill at ease.”

Yuanbao said, “Only your marriage may be delayed now.”

But Tangtuan seemed unbothered. He had never wanted that match with the Lü family. If not for his uncle and aunt’s insistence, he wouldn’t even have come to the capital.

“I’m in no hurry,” he said. “It was only because my elders praised that family that I agreed to the meeting.”

Yuanbao smiled. “You’re still young; there’s no need to rush. A fine ge’er like you will have no shortage of good matches. Why, I know someone—already older than you—who still hasn’t shown the least impatience.”

He teased Zhao Guangzong by implication, then suddenly remembered. “Ah—come to think of it, you must have met him before. He came to the capital with A’nan for the exams last time, though he didn’t pass.”

“You mean Zhao Langjun?”

Yuanbao nodded. “That’s right—you’ve seen each other then.”

Tangtuan thought for a moment, then smiled. “How could I not? We entered the city together halfway along the road, and we even ran into each other again at the announcement of the results.”

He pursed his lips a little, pretending to sulk. “But you—your mind must have been entirely fixed on Lord Qi’s success that day. You probably forgot it was our first meeting.”

“How could I forget?” Yuanbao laughed. “I remember it clearly—it was indeed our first meeting. When I saw you then, I thought I’d laid eyes on an immortal.”

That drew a genuine laugh from Tangtuan.

After a while, he pressed his lips together and asked, “So Zhao Langjun still isn’t engaged? He seems about Lord Qi’s age.”

Yuanbao nodded and told him briefly about Zhao Guangzong’s failed proposals and his current preparations for the official selection exam.

“I’d thought he was already married,” Tangtuan said in surprise.

Yuanbao replied, “A’nan says he’s like a block of elm wood—no blossom ever opens where marriage is concerned. It worries everyone.”

“With the exam before him, he’ll hardly have time to think of anything else,” Yuanbao added.

Tangtuan smiled faintly. “Zhao Langjun is steady and earnest. I’m sure this time he’ll get what he hopes for.”

As he spoke, another cough seized him.

Yuanbao at once handed him a cup of warm water and touched his forehead—thankfully cool, only the lingering cough remained.

“You can’t go on like this,” Yuanbao said. “Let me make you a lung-soothing broth.”

He meant it too. Leading Tangtuan to the small kitchen, he asked the servants for fritillary bulbs, dendrobium, dried snow pears, and codonopsis. Knowing Tangtuan was weary of bitter medicine, he added two pieces of pork bone for flavor.

He soaked the fritillary and pears, washed them clean with the dendrobium, then stewed them with the bones until the rich fragrance of the herbs melded with the sweetness of the meat.

Tangtuan stood nearby, watching him move deftly about the little kitchen. “You came to visit the sick, yet I make you labor over a stove. I’m really ashamed.”

“You’re always saying you’re sorry for this or that,” Yuanbao said. “It’s because you think too much that you never get better.”

He smiled as he stirred the pot. “This recipe was given to me by an old friend—she’s a woman physician, quite remarkable. Once you’ve tried it, if you find it helps, I’ll tell your attendants to make it often for you. Proper nourishment will do more good than a dozen tonics.”

Jiang Tangtuan looked at him then, deeply moved by such care.

“I’ll be sure to follow the diet recipe you left for me,” Jiang Tangtuan said.

By late morning, the soup had finished simmering. Its surface gleamed with oil, and the scent made his appetite stir. Though it was brewed from herbs, the broth was light, sweet, and smooth on the tongue—far better than any bitter medicine.

He drank a bowlful and even picked out several small pieces of pork rib, eating with real relish. The older maid attending him remarked that his appetite was the best it had been in days.

At noon, Xiao Yuanbao stayed to share lunch at the Jiang residence before returning home.

Jiang Tangtuan personally saw him to the gate and stood watching as Yuanbao’s carriage departed before turning back inside.

The summer heat pressed down. Riding in the swaying carriage, Yuanbao soon grew drowsy.

When he arrived home, he went straight in for a nap, meaning to rest for a short while—yet he slept far longer than he intended.

When he finally awoke, Qi Beinan was standing by the side of the room, changing into his court robe.

Yuanbao sat up abruptly on the cool couch. “What time is it—you’re already back from duty?”

Qi Beinan turned, smiling faintly at the bleary figure on the couch. “Nearly the hour of you, I’d say.”

“I slept that long? And you didn’t wake me?”

Yuanbao rubbed his head and started to rise, only to see Qi Beinan remove not just his court robe but the undershirt beneath it as well.

His breath caught. The man’s bare shoulders and solid back were suddenly in view.

“It’s broad daylight—aren’t you the least bit ashamed?”

Qi Beinan paused, a towel in hand. “Ashamed? I can’t change clothes in my own room now?”

“You’re changing clothes—why strip down completely?”

Qi Beinan wiped at the sweat along his neck, looking wronged. “It’s scorching outside. I rode all the way back in that carriage—my clothes are soaked through. Can’t I take off the wet ones?”

Yuanbao faltered, realizing he’d misunderstood. His face flushed deeper. “Then—I’ll fetch you a towel.”

He slipped his feet into his shoes and stepped down from the couch. But before he could go far, Qi Beinan caught him by the arm and drew him in.

Yuanbao stumbled; his palm landed squarely on Qi Beinan’s bare chest.

He could feel the slick warmth of skin damp with sweat, the heat radiating through his fingers. The faint, spicy scent that rose from Qi Beinan now was not the polished fragrance of an official’s perfume, but the vivid, masculine scent of exertion.

Yuanbao’s heart thudded wildly. He tried to pull back, but Qi Beinan only tightened his hold.

Knowing how easily embarrassed he was made the teasing all the more irresistible.

Holding his hand, Qi Beinan asked, “Do I smell bad?”

“No—no.”

Yuanbao’s lips pressed together, his eyes darting helplessly over the other’s exposed skin. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. Though they had been intimate many times before, it had always been in the privacy of the bedchamber. Seeing him like this elsewhere made his face burn.

“Smell carefully,” Qi Beinan said, slipping an arm around Yuanbao’s waist and tapping a finger against the back of his head.

Yuanbao found himself pressed against him.

“Yes,” he muttered faintly, playing along, “you really do smell.”

Qi Beinan paused, releasing him a little. “Then why is it that on the bed, when I’m sweating even more, you never complain?”

Yuanbao’s face went crimson; he had no idea how to answer.

Qi Beinan’s voice grew lower. “Or is it that the sweat smells different there?”

“I—I wouldn’t know.”

“Then we should find out, shouldn’t we?”

With that, Qi Beinan lifted him off the floor and started toward the bed.

After a few steps, he stopped and asked with mock seriousness, “Would you rather the cool couch or the bed?”

Yuanbao was speechless—he hadn’t even agreed, yet Qi Beinan was already assuming his consent.

“I don’t—”

“Good,” Qi Beinan said at once. “Then not the couch. You’re light enough; half an hour in my arms won’t matter.”

At that, Yuanbao’s eyes went wide. It was still broad daylight—just the thought of it made his skin prickle with shame.

“The bed,” he blurted out in a rush.

Qi Beinan’s smile curved, and he carried him there.

Outside, the evening sun spilled through the lattice, filling the room with a haze of gold. Only the bed curtains, clutched tight by a slender white arm, kept the light from falling inside.

By the time dusk deepened, the room had gone quiet again.

Yuanbao couldn’t bear to step outside afterward. He had the evening meal brought to the outer room, hoping for peace—but it proved a mistake.

Qi Beinan, apparently possessed by some lingering mischief, returned twice before he was satisfied, leaving Yuanbao so flustered he couldn’t lift his head.

He had slept for an hour that afternoon, and he thought he wouldn’t sleep again that night. Yet exhaustion won out; before the city had fully settled, he was fast asleep.

Two days later, preparations for the juren official selection were complete.

From the Hanlin Academy, Qi Beinan was appointed to accompany the Ministry of Rites as an examiner and provincial inspector.

The post had originally been assigned to Lin Qingyu, but since his marriage had just been arranged and the Grand Duke had chosen him as a son-in-law, the Hanlin Academy could hardly send him away on field duty at such a time.

When Xiao Yuanbao heard the news, he couldn’t help asking, “How long will you be gone this time?”

“The Ministry has arranged four inspection teams, each responsible for six provinces. Even at the quickest pace, it’ll take two or three months,” Qi Beinan replied. “Each province will need at least ten days’ stay, plus travel time. It adds up.”

Hearing that it would be so long, Yuanbao didn’t protest—it would be unreasonable to—but his heart still sank a little.

He had long known that an official’s life wasn’t one of freedom, that duties and assignments from above would often send one far from home. Yet when it came to his own husband, he still felt reluctant.

Qi Beinan patted the back of his hand. “I’ll leave early and return early.”

Yuanbao smiled faintly. “We’ve been in the capital for a year now. I’ve gotten to know people, and the teacher’s here too. I’ll manage just fine. You needn’t worry.”

In early June, Qi Beinan departed with the Ministry of Rites’ delegation to the provincial administrations.

To avoid any suspicion of favoritism, he was not sent toward Linzhou but instead to the Jinling region.

Yuanbao stood on a high platform, watching from afar as the line of carriages and horses left the city gate, then turned home with a heavy heart.

Two days later, Jiang Tangtuan came to visit.

“So your cough is finally better? About time you stepped outside again,” Yuanbao said, welcoming him in. With Qi Beinan away, the house felt emptier than ever, and company was a joy.

“That food therapy recipe of yours works wonders,” Tangtuan said. “They’ve cooked it several times for me since, and I really stopped coughing. Still, the taste’s not as good as when you made it—I eat less of it now.”

His complexion was brighter, his spirits improved.

“It’s not the soup’s doing,” Yuanbao said, smiling. “You took your medicine properly, that’s why you’re better.”

Tangtuan shook his head. “No false praise—it truly helped. It’s mild, pleasant, and nourishing, far better than bitter herbs.”

“Then I’ll study more recipes like it,” Yuanbao said. “Might be of use one day.”

Tangtuan laughed. Then he added, “With Lord Qi away on official inspection, the house must feel quiet.”

“It does,” Yuanbao admitted. “No family here in the capital—it’s not like home in the county. Time’s harder to fill. But I’m glad you’re here to talk with.”

They chatted for some time. Tangtuan stayed for lunch, rested through the hottest part of the day, and only then went home, promising to send over some ice next time. He’d recently acquired a finely made ice chest and wanted Yuanbao to have one.

After he left, the house fell silent again, even lonelier for the brief liveliness that had just passed.

Toward sunset, Yuanbao went to check on the pickle shop.

“You’ve been coming a lot lately,” Jiang Fulang said with a grin. “Aren’t you tired of this cramped, stuffy place?”

He set down a small round stool and a bowl of shaved ice with red beans and glutinous rice balls. “Here, eat this.”

Yuanbao sat down, leaned forward, and stirred the ice with his spoon. He scooped up a spoonful and let it melt in his mouth—sweet, cool, and refreshing.

On a summer day, there was nothing more delightful than that.

“It’s cooler here than at home,” he said contentedly. “The breeze in the alley blows strong.”

Jiang Fulang, counting beads on his abacus behind the counter, looked at the young man sitting on a low stool eating sweets—soft and bright-eyed like a lamb—and was struck by how much he resembled his younger self.

He knew Qi Beinan was away on duty, and with no one at home to keep him company, the ge’er would drift here day after day. He didn’t tease him, only said gently, “If it’s cooler here, then come as often as you like.”

Yuanbao finished half the bowl of sweet ice, then ate two skewers of grilled lamb and four marinated duck feet, until his stomach rounded full.

He sprawled lazily in his chair. “The food in this city is incredible. Even the street stalls are delicious.”

“Of course,” Jiang Fulang said. “If they weren’t, they couldn’t afford these rents.”

“How’s business for our shop lately?” Yuanbao asked.

“Good,” Jiang Fulang said. “After costs, we’re clearing forty or fifty guan a month. People say our pickles are tasty and keep well—travelers buy them for the road, whole jars at a time. The best customers are merchant caravans; they buy in bulk. Even the peddlers take stock from us to resell in the outer districts.”

Yuanbao smiled, relieved and pleased.

“There’s even something funny,” Jiang Fulang added. “One big restaurant tried to copy our pickles after seeing how well we sold. They thought to undercut our prices—relying on their wealth to drive us out. But they couldn’t even afford the mushroom supply. Tried for less than a month and gave up.”

He chuckled. “Turns out, those cheap mushrooms they thought they’d gotten were grown by the same farmers we buy from in the suburbs of the capital.”

Xiao Yuanbao had deliberately sold the fragrant mushrooms to that rival restaurant, earning a tidy sum and, at the same time, teaching every merchant who had thought to imitate their youjiangcai business a quiet lesson.

By now, the pickle trade was running smoothly. The shops in Linzhou had all been leased out one by one; just recently, Tienan had brought word of eight hundred guan in rent collected. Counting all their properties together, the yearly rent alone would come to more than a thousand guan.

Add to that two or three hundred guan of income from their estate in the countryside, and they were comfortably secure. In the capital, unless there was some large expense, the profits from the Xiangdangdang shop alone could more than cover their daily use.

Through years of careful management—loosening here, tightening there—their accounts had finally balanced cleanly. Life was easy now; no need to pinch every copper.

They were not yet a grand household of wealth, but by any measure, they had risen to the level of a solidly prosperous family.

Still, Yuanbao was not content to idle away his days as a comfortable gentleman.

The household might be relaxed now, but someday he and Qi Beinan would have a child, and children brought expenses. Raising and educating one was manageable; but when it came time for marriage, that was when silver flowed like water. Yuanbao had lived through it once before—he knew well what such costs meant.

After running the household accounts through his mind, he sighed. “I think I ought to find something new to do.”

First, it would bring in more income; second, with Qi Beinan away for three or even five months, the idle days were wearing on him.

Jiang Fulang looked up. “And what are you thinking of doing?”

“I don’t have much skill to boast of,” Yuanbao said. “Apart from the kitchen, I seem to have no other craft at all.”

Fulang hesitated. “I don’t mean to pour cold water on you, but the capital isn’t like our little county. Here, no one pays just because you can cook a good soup. I thought my own offal dishes were fine, but selling them by the street in the night market—business isn’t what it was back home.”

He wasn’t wrong. As Yuanbao himself had said before, even the humblest stalls in this city cooked well. Unless one had money to burn or a sideline that didn’t depend on food sales, a shop with nothing special would close before long.

Many never lasted to the end of their lease.

Jiang Fulang had lived in the capital long enough to see it with his own eyes, and the gossip of the market always turned to such matters.

“If it’s only about good flavor, without something unique to set you apart,” he said, “then starting a business here is hard indeed.”

Their pickle shop succeeded precisely because it was different—humble, inexpensive pickles made with costly mushrooms, rich in taste yet still affordable. That contrast was what sold.

Yuanbao understood the reasoning. Madam Feng had told him the same long ago: business couldn’t be built on impulse. The youjiangcai trade had taken him many trials before he settled on it.

“I think,” he said now, “I may have found an idea.”

Fulang leaned forward. “Let’s hear it.”

“In the county,” Yuanbao began, “when I lived with Sister Gui, Madam Feng—who taught me to cook—was often in poor health. The two of us used to come up with nourishing dishes for her to eat. She’d seen all kinds of food in her life, yet even she said ours were clever and truly effective.”

“I kept those recipes—soups to moisten the lungs and protect the liver, dishes to replenish yin or strengthen yang. Not long ago, when Tangtuan was coughing, I cooked one for him. His cough cleared, and he swore it worked.”

He continued, “Here in the capital, I’ve been watching the famous restaurants. Take the Anhua Pavilion—known for its extravagance. The building overlooks half the city, and they serve their dishes on gold and silver plates. There’s no delicacy under heaven one cannot eat there.”

“Or Chaoqi Pavilion—its hallmark is the twelve beautiful ladies and ge’er who keep patrons company over wine and food.”

One by one, Yuanbao listed the great establishments, all thriving for their distinctive appeal.

“In this city,” he said, “there are countless skilled cooks. But good taste alone isn’t enough. If I were to take wholesome food and give it the name of shiliao—dietary therapy—that would be my distinction. And not an empty one either—it truly has results.”

Jiang Fulang smiled. “That’s not a bad idea at all. The rich here have plenty of silver but poor health. If you opened a shop offering therapeutic meals, I daresay it would do well.”

Yuanbao’s eyes brightened.

“Only, I was never trained in medicine,” he admitted. “I know only a little, enough to put together ten or so recipes—but that’s hardly enough to open a proper shiliao shop.”

If only Sister Gui were in the capital; he could have worked with her to refine the recipes. Letters could still be sent, but correspondence was no match for face-to-face trial and tasting.

Still, a clear direction was far better than the aimless restlessness he’d felt before.

That very evening, back home, he wrote to Sister Gui, telling her of his plan to open a therapeutic food shop.

With this new purpose, his days no longer felt empty. He spent them poring over medical texts, copying notes, buying ingredients, and experimenting in the kitchen—testing how to blend nourishing herbs with meats and vegetables until the dishes were both flavorful and strengthening.

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