At this moment, Li Yue was holding her breath, performing a sacred and solemn operation—gacha pulling.
She had saved up nearly a month’s worth of diamonds and free pulls just for this event-limited SSR card, “Whispers of the Starry Night.” On the screen, the lavish summoning animation was playing, its dazzling light nearly spilling over the edges of the display.
Xia Yaoyao, who was currently matchmaking for a teammate, turned her head just in time to see Li Yue’s “facing-a-mighty-enemy” expression and couldn’t help but snark: “Yue-er, making another offering to your electronic husband? Think you can bring him home this time?”
Li Yue ignored her completely, her entire soul tethered to the streaks of light flashing across the screen.
The light faded, the card flipped—
A brilliant golden glow erupted, accompanied by a melodic sound effect!
“It dropped!” The usually expressionless Li Yue shot upright, her eyes snapping wide with a controlled yet unmistakable upward curve of her lips.
“Tsk, as expected of Boss Yue, lucky as always.” Zhou Rui took a moment to glance over, commenting with a smile. She didn’t know much about otome games, but Li Yue’s habit of treating every gacha pull like a major scientific research project always left an impression.
Zhou Rui then turned to Wen Chu, her eyes lighting up instantly: “Chu Chu! You’re back! How was the date? Did anything… hm?”
That one shout successfully pulled the attention of the other two. Three pairs of eyes focused squarely on Wen Chu.
“It was… fine, I guess…” she murmured vaguely, walking to her desk and picking up her water bottle to feign drinking.
“What do you mean ‘fine’!” Xia Yaoyao scurried over. “Spill! Did the Great Handsome Xi do anything romantic? Did you… hold hands? Kiss?”
Wen Chu choked on her water, breaking into a coughing fit.
K-Kiss?! It’s not moving that fast! No, wait—it’s not going to happen at all!
After finally escaping her roommates’ teasing, a weary Wen Chu climbed into bed. Involuntarily, her mind drifted back to Xi Liye.
Why does it feel like I’m under the illusion that we’ll never be able to break up?
Meanwhile, Xia Yaoyao had lost another match. She writhed irritably in her chair like a cat unable to find a place to sharpen its claws. Turning around, she saw Wen Chu on the opposite bed, only half her head visible as she stared blankly at the ceiling.
“Chu Chu—” Xia Yaoyao drew out the syllables, fueled by a “I can’t be the only one suffering” mindset, and issued an invitation: “Wanna… come down and try a few games?”
“Sure.” Wen Chu figured she had nothing better to do; gaming sounded like a good distraction.
An hour later, when the victory theme blared, Xia Yaoyao was still wearing a look of sheer bewilderment. Having been “carried” to a win by Wen Chu, she was utterly shocked. “Chu Chu, you actually know how to play?!”
Wen Chu felt a bit sheepish. “Just… I played a bit when I had nothing to do at home.”
“That’s ‘playing a bit’?!” Xia Yaoyao nearly jumped out of her chair. “With that map awareness and those mechanics, I’d believe it if you said you were a professional booster! Quick, tell the truth—did you practice in secret?”
Wen Chu replied helplessly, “I really didn’t…”
Before transmigrating, she had been a shut-in, and gaming was one of her few connections to the outside world. She had played almost every major competitive game on the market in depth. Because she had so much free time, her skills were actually quite formidable.
Of course, she played 2D mobile games too, but unlike Zhou Rui’s “construction” style, Wen Chu was a pure “Meta Slave.” She only trained the strongest characters, pursued optimal team compositions, and felt physically ill if she couldn’t 100% clear a dungeon. Since arriving here, she’d been so busy adapting to her new identity and avoiding her “cannon fodder” fate that she hadn’t touched a game.
Xia Yaoyao clearly didn’t buy the “amateur” act. She grabbed Wen Chu’s hand, her eyes sparkling. “I don’t care! Chu Chu! From today on, you are my goddess! Please! Carry me! Save me from this sea of suffering!”
She was practically weeping with joy. Heaven knew how many stars she had lost to bizarre teammates. Now that a “Hidden Master” level pro was right beside her, it was like a meat pie falling from the sky.
Wen Chu was flustered by the enthusiasm, but seeing Xia Yaoyao’s “if you don’t carry me, I’ll cry” stance made her find it a bit funny. The gloom that had settled because of Xi Liye dissipated quite a bit.
“O-Okay…” she agreed. After all… playing games was much simpler than figuring out how to deal with Xi Liye.
“YES!!!!” Xia Yaoyao cheered, immediately wanting to start the next round. “Come on, come on! While we’re hot! Let’s go again!”
…
It wasn’t until the next day, when Wen Chu headed to class with dark circles under her eyes, that she felt regret.
Last night, she and Xia Yaoyao had gone on a rampage. Later, Zhou Rui and Li Yue joined in. Even though the other two didn’t play much, everyone has touched Honor of Kings at some point, resulting in the entire Dorm 408 pulling an all-nighter.
Luckily, the 8:00 AM class was a “filler” lecture. Wen Chu didn’t even have time for breakfast; she arrived lightheaded and starving.
Finding a familiar seat in the back, she finally opened her phone to find two unread messages from Xi Liye sent at 10:00 PM the night before.
L.YE: I’m going to sleep.
L.YE: Goodnight.
L.YE: ?
Ever since they started dating, Wen Chu would occasionally spam their chat with her daily life, focusing on a “warm violence” style of clinginess. She made a point of sending “Good morning” and “Goodnight” texts. After doing it for so long, Xi Liye had seemingly picked up the habit of reciprocating.
She realized she had completely forgotten to send him a “Goodnight” while gaming with her roommates.
Chu Chu Hide-and-Seek: I was gaming with my roommates last night and forgot to say goodnight.
Chu Chu Hide-and-Seek: [Guilty_Face.jpg]
Chu Chu Hide-and-Seek: But I can say good morning!
Chu Chu Hide-and-Seek: Good morning, boyfriend.
After typing “boyfriend” and hitting send, Wen Chu’s finger paused. The title still felt awkward and forced to her—after all, in her heart, this was just a temporary role she would eventually discard.
In the medical research building not far from the lecture hall, Xi Liye—who had irritably stayed up all night performing data observations because Wen Chu hadn’t replied—was leaning against a hallway window. He was drinking a cup of black coffee against the biting morning air.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and swiped the screen to see Wen Chu’s messages.
His gaze fell on the words “gaming” first, lingering for two seconds.
With her roommates? So, during that gap last night when he sent “Goodnight” and received no response, she was with other people… playing games?
This realization caused his knuckles around the coffee cup to tighten almost imperceptibly for a brief moment.
He was not someone who required constant responses; in fact, he usually found frequent contact redundant. But since dating Wen Chu, the exchange of “Good morning” and “Goodnight” had become an unwritten fixture in their relationship.
And that fixture was something Wen Chu had initiated.
Now that the routine was broken, and the reason for the break was “Wen Chu was busy doing something else with someone else and ignored him,” a very faint but exceptionally clear sense of friction pierced through his usually calm thoughts.
It was… uncomfortable.
This was a foreign emotion to him.