Although it sounded amusing, Churan couldn’t bring himself to laugh. Lengjiang had always been gloomy before—could she really comfort someone?

“Dummy,” Lengjiang muttered softly again. Churan had no way to voice his grievances—what had he done wrong anyway?

Churan stayed silent. He was the one being scolded now. Lengjiang was finally trying to comfort someone; he couldn’t stop this “trainee” from practicing.

“Dummy,” Lengjiang said again. Three black lines appeared on Churan’s forehead as he rubbed his temples.

“Games are meant for fun! Why do you look so unhappy while playing, dummy?” Lengjiang couldn’t go three sentences without “dummy,” scolding Churan in a tone that pretended to be righteous… though it was still adorably cute, with zero intimidation.

Games are for entertainment, and that requires a good mindset—that’s basic for any player. Right now, Churan lacked it. He was just killing time in-game, betraying his former “mission” as a true player.

How could he forget this rule? He’d always played for fun. But now, he truly had nothing else to do.

Going out to enjoy scenery was impossible. Rain scenes usually deepened depression—like drowning sorrows only makes them worse.

“Seriously, you taught me this yourself, you big dummy! How could you forget?” Lengjiang’s voice crackled with discontent through the headset.

“Huh?” Churan was confused. When Xiaoye first approached him, she’d only called Lengjiang introverted and lonely. But he’d never told her to play for fun. Her remark left him puzzled.

“Hmph!” Lengjiang’s voice brimmed with resentment. Churan was torn between laughter and tears—he really hadn’t said those things. How could he recall them?

Churan strained to remember, but drew a blank. He’d only thought to immerse himself in-game joy with Lengjiang, never preaching life lessons.

“Sure enough, you forgot… sniff… it wasn’t even that long ago…” Lengjiang’s voice grew pitiful. Churan coughed awkwardly; they’d known each other less than a month. “Not long ago” wasn’t accurate…

If he had to pick something special in his short OFO gaming career, besides the city blockades, what else was there? Nothing else seemed remarkable.

Racking his brains, Churan sighed in resignation.

“Actually… meeting you made me really happy,” Lengjiang’s voice softened, gentle and quiet.

“Because besides my sister, you’re the first person I’ve truly dared to talk to. When I saw the oath request, I didn’t know what to do. After accepting, I tried hard to learn how to interact.”

“Back then, I did want the outfit a little… but I wanted more to be like my sister, making friends on my own. But I was scared—scared you’d bully me like others did. But I overthought it… you’re really kind.”

“At first, I only played with my sister. We played so much I got stuck with the title ‘Number One Healer Loli,’ but I never wanted it. When I played alone, people kept recruiting me into guilds, saying their ‘teams needed members.’ But I never wanted ‘team battles.’ Whenever people surrounded me, I’d… get scared.”

“Scared I’d mess up. Scared of being scolded. I kept refusing, but they threatened to tell my sister… I was terrified. So I’d hide whenever I played alone.”

“Later… I rarely played with my sister either…”

Lengjiang’s voice faded. Churan suddenly recalled the BOSS fight day—Lengjiang’s shocked expression seeing Xiaoye.

So they rarely played together anymore… Lengjiang was even growing distant from her sister…

When Churan first sent the oath request, he’d wanted a gift pack; Lengjiang had wanted to try making a friend.

By chance, they’d experienced a journey most players never would. In half a month, they’d been through so much—from Churan blocked in the newbie village, to the BOSS fight, to the blockade at Radiant Imperial City. What grew most wasn’t enemies, but joy—the kind other players couldn’t feel.

Luckily, Churan had the skills to back him up; otherwise, he couldn’t have navigated this safely.

Hearing Lengjiang’s story, Churan thought of the person who issued his first wanted notice—the guild master of “Listening to Rain.” He must have been the one desperate to recruit her.

He’d heard “Listening to Rain,” though high-ranked, wasn’t truly strong. Rankings could be bought with money—that “construction level” reflected popularity, not strength.

Real strength rankings were judged by players. By that measure, “Listening to Rain” had plummeted, so they were desperate for experts. Even if they couldn’t regain their former rank, they couldn’t fall too far behind.

“But… I’m glad I met you, Chu…ran.” Lengjiang timidly tried his name. Churan smiled faintly at the screen, not interrupting.

“Actually, I thought removing the commission would stop the trouble… but…” Lengjiang said pitifully. Churan had guessed Xiaoye’s fighter that day might be Lengjiang’s account—he just hadn’t understood why.

Now, hearing her explanation, Churan felt relieved. She meant no harm; she’d just wanted to help. It just hadn’t worked.

“Before you took me to see the meteor shower that day… did my sister say something to you?” Lengjiang suddenly asked. Churan thought back. “Xiaoye did chat with me, but taking you to see it was my own idea. Sometimes it’s good to relax, right?”

Xiaoye had mentioned Lengjiang’s poor mood, so Churan had wanted to surprise her with the game’s “scenery.”

Thankfully, Lengjiang loved it. Her delight proved his effort wasn’t wasted. He’d worried she wasn’t a scenery-focused player, but luckily she was.

“Mm, dummy!” Lengjiang added again. Churan covered his face—what had he done wrong now?

“When I’m unhappy, I come to you. But when you’re unhappy, you don’t tell me, hmph!” Lengjiang pouted, her voice tentative, afraid of upsetting him.

Churan sighed softly. He’d always kept things to himself, at most telling Song Qian. But that guy, once he knew something, would do something outrageous.

Now it seemed there was another person—Lengjiang.

“Tell me when you’re unhappy too. Even if… even if I’m not good at it, I can… try!” Lengjiang’s words rushed out. Churan heard her nervousness again.

Did comforting need to be learned?

“Even if I might not do well, I’ll try hard. Because besides my sister, you’re the only one willing to be my friend. Even though I’m a burden, even though I’m not as amazing as her… I still want to prove I can do things on my own…”

“Because… because you’re my first friend… I don’t want anyone… anyone to reject me again… so I’ll try to help you.” Lengjiang’s voice trembled—fear of losing a friend, losing everything, returning to that dim little room, all alone…

Churan fell into deep thought. Unconsciously, he’d become Lengjiang’s new pillar. Her life had always been dark; he was her salvation, pulling her from an abyss.

He held great weight in her heart. Unknowingly, his every action affected her…

Even Churan hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone anymore…

Not playing alone. Not playing just for fun…

Both lived in the game world for reality’s sake, but here, they’d gained something they never had…

A true friend they could open their hearts to…

A friend who could strive for reality together…

“Thank you,” Churan suddenly said.

“Eh?” Lengjiang froze. She’d meant to comfort him but gotten carried away. She was about to apologize when he thanked her.

“It’s nothing. I feel much better now, hehe. Thank you.” Churan’s gratitude was sincere. His mood wasn’t fully lifted, but he knew he couldn’t stay pessimistic. He wasn’t just with Song Qian—he had Lengjiang, always hiding behind him.

If Churan couldn’t hold himself up, Lengjiang would get hurt too. He could bear his own pain, but he didn’t want to drag anyone down.

Most importantly, he wasn’t the only one who cared.

Churan had value living for himself.

…

“Let’s go, my wife,” He Yucheng said first, hanging up the voice call. His mood had improved, and he figured comforting him must have tired Lengjiang out.

In-game, he stood up and said to Lengjiang beside him.

“Eh?” Lengjiang numbly stood up too.

“Continue… the commission… let’s go~”