October 7th. The last day of the holiday.

Lu Li lifted his hands from the keyboard and let out a long breath. Finally, Chu Xiaodong’s task was done. He sent the file to Secretary Long and got a reply: “Got it.”

A moment later: “Great job! I’ll notify you the moment there’s progress!”

*People of a certain age in the workplace really love exclamation marks,* Lu Li mused. *Wonder why.*

He logged into the “Valve platform” to check his game’s store page. He’d uploaded the DEMO on day one of the break. For indie devs, dropping a test build early to grab attention was the most cost-effective move.

Only thirty-some downloads. Totally normal. Zero-promotion games always start rough—nothing to do with quality. Some gems take seven or eight years to surface… by then, the dev’s usually long gone, starving and switched careers. Of those thirty downloads? A few misclicks. Some random taps. A handful from crawler bots. Maybe a couple YouTubers hunting “shit games” for content.

Two comments stood out.

One genuine player review: “The art’s terrible…”

Lu Li felt a flicker of embarrassment. *Terrible?* He’d doodled it himself in Paint—couldn’t find an artist. Still, the comment was oddly positive: everything *except* the art was passable.

The other? Not so serious.

“Trash game! Not worth a single hair of that *Black Wolf Ring* next door.”

Username: pure gibberish.

Only two types talked like that—trolls, or Chen Jianing.

Lu Li hadn’t expected Chen Jianing to surf the web 24/7. Any game near her turf? She’d storm the comments to rant. *Black Wolf Ring* was her pet project—a 60-yuan mess drowning in bad reviews. She spent days fiercely clashing with haters below the line.

No one else but Chen Jianing, that one-of-a-kind weirdo, could’ve left this.

In his past life, he’d first crossed paths with her right after uploading this demo—around now. A mischievous spark lit in Lu Li. He opened her DMs and typed: “Plagiarism dog!” For creators, “plagiarism” was the ultimate sting. She hadn’t copied anything—but why not poke the bear?

Chen Jianing replied instantly.

“Who’re you calling a plagiarist?! FNNDP!”

Reading that, no one would guess it came from a delicate-looking girl. Her profile listed gender: male. Avatar: Orochimaru. Bio: “Your little mouse is working hard today too, ne~” A wildly complex persona—impossible to link this absurdist quote-spammer to “female.”

Truth was, she was deeply socially anxious. Online was her only safe space to unleash herself.

Lu Li typed back, grinning: “Can’t even plagiarize right! A 90%-disliked game still spamming ads everywhere?” He could already picture her stomping in rage.

Sure enough—Chen Jianing fired off a long defensive rant. Lu Li replied with two words:

“Triggered.”

*Classic. Triggered. Filial. Cracked. Numb.* The five sacred words of online flame wars. No need to read their essay—just drop these mid-rant and claim spiritual victory. An upgraded mental win. If they took it seriously? Instant meltdown. Chen Jianing? Textbook case.

“Dumbass! Send your address! I’ll mail you ‘local specialties’!”

She spammed five or six vulgar lines. Truly triggered.

The angrier she got, the quieter he stayed. Leaving her hanging brewed that helpless frustration. After ranting endlessly with zero reply, Chen Jianing was about to quit in annoyance—when a new message popped up:

“Pure dinner.”

Her cooled anger flared up instantly. She typed a furious paragraph… only to see the system alert: *You’ve been blocked by the other party.*

“Hahahaha!” Lu Li laughed until his stomach ached. He knew it—Chen Jianing was utterly losing it. Last life, she tormented him. Now? His turn. Zero guilt. Her stress tolerance was sky-high—and she kinda enjoyed the trolling chaos.

Back then, their comment war hit two thousand floors, leaving onlookers stunned. That clash even pushed Chen Jianing to challenge him offline. When Lu Li arrived geared up at the spot… he froze. A petite, delicate girl stood there.

“What’re you giggling at, Lizi?” Zou Yameng hobbled in, leaning against the wall. Lu Li rushed to support her, eyes briefly catching her slender legs. He frowned.

“Where’d this computer come from?”

“Borrowed.”

“Hmph…” She didn’t press. “Your game? Planning to fund college with this?”

“Yes.”

“How much earned so far?”

“Still in the red.”

Zou Yameng let out a soft laugh, her gaze tender. “You’re so cute.”

“Am I?” He wasn’t faking cluelessness.

In Sister Yameng’s eyes, everything he did glowed positively. If she called him cute? She meant naive. Lu Li just smiled sheepishly and helped her sit on the bed.

“Sis, movie?”

“We can watch movies here?”

“Of course.” Lu Li paused. She’d never been to a cinema. Not Kendor’s, not the aquarium, not amusement parks. Their childhood entertainment was painfully barren. In elementary school, she’d copied an essay titled “Trip to the Children’s Palace”—teacher caught it instantly. No Children’s Palace existed in their low-income district.

Others had childhoods. They didn’t.

“Comedy? Horror? Romance?”

“No horror! No horror!” She covered her eyes. “Move that cover away—it’s scary!”

Lu Li opened *Flipped*. “Lean on the pillow, Sis. More comfortable.”

“Come here. Let me lean on you.”

Lu Li nodded, sitting behind her. She nestled into his arms—a human pillow. Beauty in his hold, world hushed and warm. If only time could freeze right here. He twirled a strand of her hair, gently blowing the tip like childhood bubbles.

“Stop… it tickles.” Zou Yameng looked up. Unnoticed, Lizi had grown half a head taller. She fit perfectly in his embrace now.

Her cheeks flushed rosy. Eyes misty like an early spring pond. Lu Li suddenly pushed her away, sitting stiffly cross-legged. Zou Yameng watched him, then flashed a sly, knowing smile. No words needed.

This holiday belonged to Zou Yameng.