The next day, Churan still took Lengjiang to grind commissions. Recomposed Words and Moonshadow joined Nai Xiaodu’s group to raid dungeons. Xiaoye stayed offline all day. Churan didn’t mind—he knew she was busy.
Only he and Song Qian knew about tomorrow’s medical checkup.
Two mornings later, Churan’s phone buzzed, jolting him awake. He yawned in bed, lazily fumbling across the desk. Finally, he grabbed it. A bank alert: payment received for the costume weapon he’d sold two days ago. Exactly ten thousand yuan. Not a cent more or less.
Churan sat up, pleasantly surprised. He trusted Xiaoye’s integrity but had worried she’d struggle to finalize the deal. To him, ten grand for a single costume piece felt absurdly steep. Yet it sold—and the money arrived instantly.
His checkup wasn’t until afternoon. Mornings were for light exercise. He couldn’t let his fitness slide further.
After working out, Churan logged into the game. Lengjiang was offline. Only Xiaoye was active.
The moment he appeared, Xiaoye pinged him in private chat: “Payment received?”
He Yucheng replied: “Yeah. Thanks for your trouble.”
“Mm. My friend hesitated for ages. But he bought it anyway—said the model was too cool. (Laugh)”
“Honestly, ten thousand for a half-finished costume weapon is steep. It’s not small change to me,” He Yucheng typed, seated on a worn bench in the Mercenary Guild.
“No worries. He’s well-off. Ten grand’s nothing to him. Though he did wail about it for hours. (Laugh)”
Her reply eased He Yucheng’s mind. Forced spending drained ordinary players’ spirits. But for the wealthy? Pocket change.
“So… you logged in just to tell me this?” He Yucheng asked. Xiaoye rarely played mornings. A quick QQ message would’ve sufficed. Why bother with the game?
“Mostly. Other things later,” Xiaoye replied mysteriously. He Yucheng grew curious. Lengjiang’s absence was odd too. “Where’s Xiao Leng? Shouldn’t she be glued to her screen 24/7? LOL.”
“I’m away for a few days. Told her to guard the house and cut screen time. She’ll be online later.”
“I see… I might log on late today too. Or not at all.” He Yucheng sighed inwardly. Every diagnosis felt like a verdict. He prayed for something treatable. An incurable illness would shatter him again.
Early tests during his hospitalization had hinted at this. But they’d been incomplete—too vague to pinpoint the illness.
Right treatment mattered. Wrong medicine could be disastrous.
He Yucheng chatted with Xiaoye a while longer. Then his bedroom door opened.
“Gotta go. Something came up. I’ll log back later,” he told Xiaoye before disconnecting.
Churan set aside his laptop. He sat on the bed, taking deep breaths to calm himself. But how could anyone stay calm facing this?
“Sir, time for your checkup. Please get ready,” a nurse said, confirming the room number before approaching.
Churan offered her a strained smile. “I’m ready. Whenever you are.”
The nurse nodded gently. “Follow me, please.”
…
On the hospital bed, Churan stared blankly ahead. His face was etched with exhaustion and weariness.
He’d braced himself. But bad news still hit hard.
His laptop sat untouched on the table. He gazed dully out the window. His state mirrored his first days in the hospital.
Everyone had limits to their resilience.
Hospitals were soul-crushing places. A doctor’s words could reshape a patient’s mood—or their entire future. Sometimes, a single phrase decided life or death.
Outside, dark clouds gathered. Thunder rumbled. Churan’s room overlooked a garden. A breeze swept through, flattening the grass—and the flowers it cradled.
Was a flower always a symbol of beauty? Take the red spider lily. Blossoms and leaves never meet, life after life. Only at the Naihe Bridge do they recall their vows. But after crossing, Meng Po’s Soup wipes every memory clean.
Naihe… helplessness. Each cycle, they swear never to forget again. Yet one sip of that soup resets everything.
Flowers weren’t always kind omens. Scenery stirred emotions—joy tipping into sorrow. Especially for the sensitive.
Churan lay still on the bed. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh…
…
“Excuse me, may I see the diagnosis report?” a woman in her twenties asked the doctor, smiling politely.
The doctor frowned, studying her.
Her figure was flawless. Her expression was gentle, yet carried quiet authority. Jet-black hair and a light gray trench coat added to her poised air.
“What’s your relationship to Mr. Chu?” Medical records weren’t handed out lightly. Patient consent was required.
“Close friend.” Her reply was crisp. The doctor believed her and passed the report.
She glanced at it, then scoffed. “This diagnosis is awfully hasty.”
The doctor gave a wry smile. “Some hidden illnesses are hard to pin down.”
“Understood.” She returned the report calmly. Stepping outside, she told her suited bodyguards, “Wait here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they murmured softly—hospital quiet demanded it.
Midway down the hall, she turned. Facing the closed door, she tapped lightly.
*Tap-tap-tap…*
“Come in…” a weak voice answered. She pushed the door open with a sigh.
“Song Qian? I thought you’d come tonight—” The patient on the bed looked up. Seeing a stranger, he forced a smile. “Miss, did you… enter the wrong room?”
She smiled faintly. “Your name is Churan, right?”
“Ah… yes. And you are?” Though weary, Churan held his composure. No despair spilled to outsiders.
He still had control.
“Good. I’m Shallow Peace.” She watched his bewildered face. “First meeting in real life. My OFO game ID: Nightingale.”
Churan froze.
Xiaoye?! She was Xiaoye?! How was she here?! How had she found him?!
Amused by his shock, Shallow Peace’s smile widened. “Surprised? You surprised me too. No wonder you rushed to sell that ‘Perfect Costume Weapon Crafting Scroll’.”
“This… how…?” Her sudden appearance overwhelmed him.
Her presence was a riddle. How did she know he was He Yucheng? How had she tracked him down? Why seek him?
Questions flooded his mind. He didn’t know where to start.
Shallow Peace pulled a chair close, resting her chin on her hand. “If my visit troubles you, I apologize.”
“Ah… no… it’s fine. Just…” Churan stammered. Her arrival was too much to process.
“My story can wait. Let’s discuss yours first.” She sat straight, her gaze sharpening.
Churan fought to steady his emotions. Her visit was utterly unexpected.
“My… condition?” Mentioning it dragged his mood into darkness.
“Mm. I looked at your report without permission. I’m sorry. But you know that diagnosis means nothing.”
“Neurosis. Yeah, it’s meaningless.” Churan gave a bitter, self-mocking laugh.
“Pretty much. Like just telling you ‘you’re sick’.” Shallow Peace watched his dimming eyes. “So. Are you giving up?”
