“Sit.”

Xiaoyuan flicked off pause like brushing dust from water, and stopped looking at Yekase as she drifted into the private booth.

There was no posted rule about “don’t disturb Xiaoyuan while she games,” but her mood was a drawn bowstring—one twitch and you were out—so Yekase took no ground, just sank into the sofa like a pebble into a soft moss bed.

...

Xiaoyuan was playing a medieval 3D adventure, steel and stone on the screen like a gray winter field; the armored greatsword hero had died so many times it felt like leaves falling in a squall.

Dying that often and still pushing on—her gaming mindset looked calm as a lake; was that sloppy, throwaway play only for the fight arena?

“Motherf—ing dumb game, I’m done.”

Bang-bang-bang—her fingers blurred like rain on tiles as she flew through menus and killed the game.

She tossed the controller; it smacked the keyboard with a brittle plastic clatter, like hail skittering over glass.

…Still thin-skinned, like a sugar shell that cracks at a tap.

Xiaoyuan turned and measured the barely-keeping-it-together Yekase; Yekase measured her back like two cats in a doorway.

Mind Energy…

She saw Mind Energy, rippling like heat above desert sand.

Mind Energy fortifies the body much like strapping on armor, a second skin of wind around muscle and bone; true masters keep not even a wisp of flame leaking out, wrapping themselves clean as moonlight.

But through Yekase’s Infinite Power sight, clear as frost on a window,

Xiaoyuan’s body looked made of Mind Energy, woven like silk under sun.

Filaments fine as spider threads seemed to lose their usual fizz, seeping from every inch of her, rising no higher than a hair before flowing back like tide; they were so dense they reverse-etched muscle fibers, like julienned ginger tangled with shredded potato until you couldn’t tell which root was which.

A Mind Energy aberrant—an innate talent set apart from Infinite Power—rare as a snow leopard’s print; Yekase felt lucky, like catching a comet with her eyes.

They regarded each other for a long beat, like two starlings on one wire, and Xiaoyuan cracked first: “You came to stare at me? Want an autograph? I can sign with my foot while I’m rubbing the stick.”

“What kind of skill is that!” The question jumped like a fish from a stream.

“Too many games, life’s too short,” she said, voice flat as a shaded pond.

But aren’t you immortal? The thought pricked like a thorn. Or do you still age like the rest of us?

“I’m not really your fan,” Yekase said, honest as a clear sky. “I’d only heard of you… watched a match yesterday.”

“Bold to say you’re not a fan to my face,” Xiaoyuan said, mild as tea but sharp as ginger.

“But you haven’t kicked me out either,” Yekase said, hope like a lantern lift.

“I can, now.”

Xiaoyuan’s hand drifted toward the call-attendant button like a hawk stooping, and Yekase flapped both hands fast: “Don’t, don’t. Yesterday’s match was fun as fireworks. I’m trending toward fan.”

“Good. For merch, get the SHF figure,” she said, tone casual as a breeze. “Lots of voice lines. Don’t buy that gold-stamped notebook—pure trash.”

…Yekase caught a flicker of kindred smoke, a same-species spark through fog.

“I’m Yekase. Inventor. Researcher of Infinite Power,” she said, laying the card down like a leaf on water.

Xiaoyuan booted another game and showed streamer-tier split focus, inventory scrolling like beads while she replied: “Wouldn’t have guessed. I thought you were a high-schooler.”

“I get that a lot,” Yekase said, a rueful smile like rain on paper. “—The Mind Energy in your body flows in a fascinating way. I’d love to study it.”

“I get that a lot,” Xiaoyuan echoed, deadpan as stone.

“Say, filament Mind Energy?” Yekase leaned in, curiosity a bright flame. “It’s woven into your flesh. Is that the source of your immortality? Mind Energy carries will, so at this fusion level, every inch of your skin and meat can work like a brain, keeping your consciousness running like a river that won’t dry. After that, it’s just a matter of sculpting the face.”

...

Xiaoyuan’s hands never stopped, her glance a dead-fish flick like dull moonlight: “You… are kind of interesting.”

Yekase’s usual method was a thunderclap then a gift, a sharp hook then a sweet bait, like tossing a pebble then a peach.

But Xiaoyuan felt like a textbook otaku, voice flat as a paved road, interest like cold embers; she didn’t seem thirsty for combat power, so Yekase couldn’t pick the right favor trinket from her bag of tricks.

Still, step one landed—the impression stamped like a seal in wax—so she could reel in slowly like a fisherman at dusk.

“Can I call you Xiaoyuan? Or do fans have a special name?” she asked, tone a soft leaf.

“Name’s fine,” came the reply, brief as a sparrow’s chirp.

“Xiaoyuan, why are you using a BS4 controller?” The question fell like a stone into a pond.

“You got a problem?” Her eyes cut like a blade with no shine.

“XPOX feels fuller in the hand,” Yekase said, palms open like a white flag.

“Can’t do asymmetrical,” Xiaoyuan said, taste set like a mountain.

“I can build you a custom,” Yekase offered, smile lighting like dawn.

...

“For real?” The spark in Xiaoyuan’s tone flared like a match.

She’s interested! Sure enough, an otaku flowered by the window.

Yekase finally found a seam, only to watch Xiaoyuan stand, reach to the table like a crane pecking, and

…pick up an obviously used straw, clamp it between her teeth, and chew like a goat on reed.

The short end bobbed in the air, a tiny metronome pecking time.

…Yekase decided to ignore the odd quirk like fog over a field: “Button layout stays BS4, right. Back paddles?”

“Four triggers,” Xiaoyuan said, fingers twitching like strings.

“Shoulder buttons?”

“Make ’em longer,” she said, clean as a cut.

“Weights and gyros?”

“Add weights. No gyro,” she said, steady as a rock.

“Color?”

“Black,” she said, night simple and pure.

“Got it! I’ll have it in two weeks,” Yekase said, promise set like a stake.

Xiaoyuan nodded, still scrolling her phone like turning river stones; her cool face eased like ice under sun.

“Your name’s Yekase… right.”

Good—this counted as knowing each other, two circles overlapping like ripples; a sudden jolt of pride hit Yekase like a bell, shocked at her own normie power.

“Smart, funny young people like you are rare now,” Xiaoyuan said, voice drifting like incense. “Kids who come every day either want an autograph or a wedding. Damn. I can only put on a cold face, mask on, mask tight, mask always.”

—She’s playing the elder the second she gets her perk; this woman is a sly old cat!

“You came with goodwill, so I should give back,” Xiaoyuan said, tone a teapot warming. “Want a story?”

Now we’re talking… Listening to an immortal tell past tales was the classic lantern-lit setup, and Yekase braced for buried truths like a diver before cold water.

“About half a year ago, I went to America to buy alchemy materials…”

“...Only half a year?” The surprise popped like a bubble.

“You got a problem?” she said, gaze level as a table.

“No. Please continue,” Yekase said, hands folded like prayer.

“I went to Las Vegas to find gold a century-old tycoon left behind,” Xiaoyuan said, eyes on the screen like stars. “Gold conducts magic easily; carve runes and it works as a staff substitute. And ‘Las Vegas’ plus ‘tycoon’ stack extra negative concepts onto that gold; turn it into a catalyst that boosts hypnosis and drain spells like wind behind a kite.”

“Runes,” “attributes,” “concepts”—Eternal Green Pages really did study Ancient Alchemy; so Sandryon’s claim of being “the last ancient alchemist” was just drum-blowing, the lineage clearly flowed like a river.

Modern Alchemy only swaps matter around, a dumbed-down youth version under a fog of policy, flimsy as paper kites!

Ancient Alchemy is mysterious, strong, all-purpose—now that’s real magic, a thunderhead rolling over the plains!

It’s like, on a sumo ring, the “inverted triangle” versus the “upright triangle”—two stances, two worlds!

…She’d probably say exactly that, but since Yekase used convenient modern magic every day like running water, she felt shy about chanting “older is stronger” as if time were a talisman.

“At an underground casino, I ran into other groups eyeing the same gold… we threw down,” Xiaoyuan said, words dropping like stones.

“And then you sandbagged it?” Yekase asked, eyebrow a hooked reed.

“Like hell,” Xiaoyuan said, hands chopping the air like oars. “I brought down a mountain-splitting strike into the crowd, then a point-blank Flame Burst Spell and a telekinetic Spiral Spear; had those bastards crawling all over the floor, like I opened a full-blown temple fair of bruises—green, red, purple—and then—”

Mid-sentence, she started bragging, smoke rising like incense coils!

So this is your true color, Player Xiaoyuan?!

“And then what?” Yekase asked, bait hung like a worm.

“I paid all the gold to the house,” Xiaoyuan said, flat as a board.

—Useless! The judgment flashed like lightning.

The last speck of respect in Yekase’s chest blew away like ash; Eternal Green Pages must keep her because no one else there can swing a sword.

“So how old are you, really?” Yekase asked, curiosity a cat’s paw.

“Top-three most-asked,” Xiaoyuan said, dry as bone. “Say ‘immortal’ and everyone assumes ancient, right?”

“That’s the first vibe…” Yekase admitted, a shrug like drifting cloud.

“Counting strictly, a bit over seventy,” Xiaoyuan said, a number laid down like a stone.

“That’s old!” The words popped like corn.

If she’d said a hundred, a thousand—it’d feel grand, like a mountain under moon—but seventy-plus hits too real, like running into a granny at the crosswalk.

But—wait…

“Seventy-something… so when you were young, you lived before the Sinister Organization existed…?”

“Mm.” She owned it like a seal pressed on wax.

Yekase almost lunged, excitement flaring like firecrackers: “What kind of era was that?!”

Since meeting Ling Yi, she’d begun to chew on a hard nut—was the Sinister Organization a given of the world? What was the world like without it?

Sandryon’s mage vibe was too fantastical, a crane in the clouds, hard to anchor to this question; but Xiaoyuan had lived through the turn of seasons among people and streets—

“About the same as now,” Xiaoyuan said, words falling like quiet rain.

...

“Eh?” The syllable hung like a leaf.

“Capitalists, bureaucrats, clans… their squeeze and the Sinister Organization’s are six of one, half a dozen of the other,” she said, gaze steady as a plumb line. “If anything, putting evil on the table is easier to swallow; at least heroes know who to push against.”

Yekase froze, tongue tied like a knotted reed.

Seeing she needed to digest, Xiaoyuan didn’t press or shoo; she just kept playing, screen light washing her face like river light on stone.

—So that’s why Sandryon and the others settle into the market and live quietly like carp in a deep pool, Yekase thought, mind a windmill turning. Even if you topple the Sinister Organization, other pressures rise like weeds and won’t vanish; for those with the power to live their own life, it hardly matters who sits in the chair, so they don’t care…

But if that’s true, what are heroes resisting, and what are they fighting for? The question perched like a crow on the eaves.

Yekase stared and thought a long while, time flowing like sand; she lifted her head as if waking, and the screen clock told her half an hour had slipped by since she came in.

“…I’ll find a chance to come next month,” she said, words neat as folded paper. “When the controller’s done, I’ll leave it at the front desk of the internet café. Pick it up yourself. …My friend’s outside, so I’ll go.”

“Mm.”

Xiaoyuan sent her off with a nasal note, light as a puff of wind,

her eyes never leaving the game, a moon fixed in a winter sky.