Outside, torrential rain poured. Churan sat alone on the hospital bed, staring blankly out the window.

It was noon, but the downpour darkened the sky. Inside and out, everything felt gloomy. Churan snapped out of his daze, pulled the curtains shut, and the last trace of light vanished from the room.

Fumbling in the dark for a moment, he found the light switch. Flipping it on, the room brightened again.

"Sigh..." Churan returned to bed, unmotivated. He placed the contract on the bedside table, then lay down restlessly.

Beep...

His phone beeped again. Churan reached for it, opened the screen, and glanced at a message.

A text from an unknown number read: "If you try hard, life might be tougher than you imagine."

A simple, cliché pep talk meant to encourage him greatly.

Churan chuckled softly—a bitter smile. He knew exactly who sent it. Shallow Peace’s "human flesh search" skills were terrifyingly sharp; with just a bank card and QQ account, she’d dug up all his real details. It gave him the creeps.

Still, he didn’t mind. He trusted Shallow Peace’s character—she’d never approach him with ill intent.

Deep down, he knew she’d said all that to lift his spirits. Churan understood, but he needed time to sort his messy emotions. As Shallow Peace had warned, living like this was worse than not living at all. He’d only burden others—and that was what Churan feared most.

"Sigh..." He sighed again, dozing off briefly. Hours slipped by before he dragged himself up, weakly pulling his laptop closer to launch the game.

This time, his friends list showed no one online except He Yucheng, utterly alone. He Yucheng had no heart for leveling up. In this mood, he just wanted to zone out somewhere quiet.

He wandered to a desolate wilderness, climbed a hilltop, and stared blankly into the distance.

The game’s realistic weather rendered pouring rain. Even virtually, He Yucheng felt drenched.

He sat there silently, watching the downpour...

...

Friends channel:

Your friend Coldshoulder is now online.

Normally, He Yucheng would instantly open chat to greet Lengjiang. But today, he did nothing—just kept staring into the distance, unresponsive.

After a pause, Lengjiang messaged: "(^_^)/ Good afternoon, my lord husband!"

He Yucheng looked at the chat window, conflicted. He typed one word: "Hmm." Then silence.

"?" Lengjiang sensed something off. She messaged again: "Σ(°△°|||) My lord husband, no commissions today?"

"Hmm." He replied with that single word again.

"..." Lengjiang noticed his strangeness. Usually, he’d say, "Wife, let’s go grind commissions!" and play nonstop. This sudden quiet caught her off guard.

"My lord husband, are you upset?" Girls were perceptive. With just a few questions, she’d pinpointed his mood.

"..." He Yucheng stayed silent—a quiet admission. He truly just wanted to be alone.

"(￣.￣) Heave~" Soon, a heart icon appeared on his mini-map. He turned. Lengjiang’s tiny avatar climbed the hill, frowning at him.

"Sorry, wife. No commissions today." Lengjiang had always stuck by him in-game. Though he craved solitude, her quiet presence was fine.

"Mm." She obediently sat beside him, gazing at the rain-lashed mountains.

At sunset, this view would stun. But in a downpour, it held little charm.

Yet He Yucheng sat silently. Lengjiang stayed quiet too—unlike her usual self, who’d suggest fun spots when bored.

They sat together in the rain, watching the storm, watching the horizon.

Ding...

A window popped up:

Coldshoulder has requested a voice chat with you.

"..." He Yucheng froze. He knew Lengjiang’s shyness well—she’d played for ages with zero friends. Getting her to chat with Recomposed Words was hard; voice calls with anyone but Xiaoye were near impossible.

Yet she’d mustered courage to request this. Speaking to outsiders... it must terrify her.

He hesitated. She likely wanted to comfort him—but would it feel forced? Still, refusing would crush her effort.

He clicked accept.

Rapid breathing filled his headphones. No words came. He understood: Lengjiang was timid. Their in-game bond didn’t erase real-life gaps. Speaking took immense courage for her.

He waited patiently. She was always a timid rabbit.

"Hu... hu..."

After ages of silence, she finally spoke—then cut off. Churan realized her struggle.

"Just call me Churan. It’s my name, hehe." Her silliness made him chuckle. This girl was adorably dense—treating game nicknames as real. Such a simple thing to miss.

"Woo-chu..." Her voice was soft, sweet, and utterly cute—a signature catchphrase. Even without shyness, she’d be easy to kidnap.

Silence returned. His tease had mortified her, but it was necessary. Without it, she might not speak again.

That nickname... ahem...

He couldn’t untangle his knots yet, but he could set them aside. His mood stayed heavy, far from his usual gaming cheer.

"I... I... I... I..." Lengjiang stammered. She was panicking. Daily gaming had built familiarity, but voice chat felt like a first face-to-face meeting.

How could she not be nervous? She hadn’t spoken to strangers in years.

"Relax. I’m no bad guy," Churan said gently, softening his tone. He didn’t rush her. Voice chat alone was torture for her anxiety.

"B... bad guy... you... you always... bully... me," she whispered. To him, it sounded endearing.

"Hehe, how am I bullying you?" With pure-hearted Lengjiang, he hid his gloom. Like with his aunt and uncle, complaining would drag her down. He swallowed his sadness.

Even unmotivated, he couldn’t ignore her.

"Bad guy, idiot, fool..." she scolded. Churan smiled wryly. She used these often in-game—but he’d done nothing wrong.

"I’m the wronged one here," he feigned innocence. Her cuteness melted his frustration.

"Hmph..." Her voice steadied after a few exchanges. Her courage grew—a good sign.

Churan just smiled foolishly, wordless.

"Are you... upset?" Lengjiang finally asked. Her voice stayed soft but clearer than before.

Maybe it was just her natural whisper. He barely heard her—but it was enough.

"It’s okay," Churan exhaled neutrally. Truthfully, his mood was rock bottom. But he couldn’t show it. Claiming he was fine would be a lie—he’d ignored her earlier, after all.

He wondered: had Lengjiang noticed his mood herself, or did Shallow Peace tell her? The latter would sting faintly.

"Mm... so you are upset. I... I guessed right." Her voice faded. He couldn’t tell if she was glad or sad.

"Usually... you comfort me..." she murmured slowly, forcing calm. Rushing made her stutter.

"This time, I comfort you." She cherished this role reversal. Normally, she was the downcast one; Churan was her sunny pillar. Now, she’d be his therapist.