—The world glowed as if it had glimpsed my very thoughts. You always appeared without warning… Autumn is coming—the autumn when we met, the autumn without you. That careless smile of yours might become someone else’s whole world. Even if the path ahead is endless night, I will still walk forward. For even the faintest starlight will guide my way. I met you beneath blooming cherry blossoms… and from that moment, my fate was no longer my own.

In the final chapter, Gong Sheng’s line struck like an intercontinental missile, igniting countless hearts and unleashing the full tide of this “Illness Movement.”

Tough guys wept openly; girls sobbed uncontrollably.

Lavender was only a fictional character—but she lived on in every reader’s heart.

Her bright, earnest, golden-haired presence healed so many. She felt real, like a girl who might live next door.

Yet this girl who embraced the world received no mercy. Illness stole her away.

February 18th—the day the final chapter dropped, the day Lavender left this world—became a date etched into memory. A day of remembrance. A symbol.

She embodied that radiant version of herself everyone once cherished: pure affection from a simpler time, a vessel for youth’s nostalgia and the quiet ache of modern life. Years later, they’d still recall this date—the crushes they chased, the dreamy, novel-obsessed, wide-eyed selves they once were.

Online, a wave of “Shuren” poets emerged, crafting romantic verses. Most weren’t masterpieces, but the trend swelled.

Though web novels remained niche, Luo Xiaolu felt it—the quiet thrill of changing the world through art.

That very night, the Artistic Index soared past 40,000. It had taken less than a week to leap from 10,000.

Turns out, even in this frantic world, people *would* slow down for a great story. There just hadn’t been one worth their time.

Free from *July*, Luo Xiaolu dove into planning her next book.

During *July*’s physical release, Tencent pulled out all the stops—flooding her with promotions, deploying PR teams to shield her from online hate. Luo Xiaolu was genuinely stunned.

After the contract signing, rival sites slid into her DMs with insane offers—enough to buy another downtown apartment. She declined.

Their traffic couldn’t match Tencent’s. And for Luo Xiaolu, fame—and the Artistic Index it brought—mattered more than cash. She wasn’t short on money anyway.

More importantly: gratitude. Chief Editor Huang, kind Sister Greenleaf—they’d believed in her. Once a delinquent gang leader, Luo Xiaolu wasn’t the selfish type. Loyalty built legacies. Betrayal broke them.

Staying was the only choice.

And so, Luo Xiaolu’s writing marathon began anew.

With *July* complete, her Writer’s Skill Card leveled up to Advanced.

*Current Buffs: Typing Speed MAX, Memory Lv.3, Prose Lv.MAX, Empathy Lv.2.*

MAX typing speed + content transfer = veteran-tier velocity. She typed like someone who’d spent eighty years perfecting solo gaming reflexes—tens of thousands of words daily.

…

Half a month after buying Luo Xiaotang the laptop, Luo Xiaolu took a break to check her progress.

The living room felt too exposed for gaming, so Xiaotang moved the TV downstairs, transforming the basement into a dedicated “game cave.” Snacks stacked high. Anime figures she’d once only dreamed of lined the shelves. The ultimate otaku sanctuary.

*Money really is great!*

Halfway down the stairs, Luo Xiaolu froze.

A loli voice echoed through the house:

“Priest, heal me! What are you even doing?! Is your brain broken?!!!”

“What kind of tanking is that?! Are your hands disabled?! I’d play better with my *feet*!”

“You’re mad *I’m* toxic?! When you feed this hard, you don’t get to complain! You think love and kindness will carry you?!”

Luo Xiaolu: “???”

She pushed the door open. Xiaotang, headphones on, was hammering the keyboard, ranting nonstop. With a huff, she yanked the headset off and tossed it down.

“What *was* that team?!” she grumbled—then spotted Luo Xiaolu.

“J-Jiejie?!”

Xiaotang’s face flushed crimson.

“Were you just… trash-talking your teammates?” Luo Xiaolu asked.

“Mhm!” Xiaotang beamed sweetly.

“Don’t you *dare* smile!”

A flick to the forehead. Xiaotang yelped.

*Oops.* Strip away the social anxiety, and Xiaotang was a full-on sharp-tongued Himouto little sister.

Let this unsupervised homebody loose in online games? Of *course* she’d go full Zu’an!

Like dropping a reincarnated slime straight into the newbie village. Seriously?!

“They were *so* bad!” Xiaotang pouted. “This game’s too easy! I could solo that dungeon blindfolded! Why force five players? One death fails the run! I can’t even *hold their hands* to stop them feeding!”

“…” Luo Xiaolu had no words.

A single-player prodigy tossed into multiplayer chaos. Xiaotang genuinely thought *everyone* played like her. She was just… absurdly strong.

But wait—

“Xiaotang… you were *talking* to them? Fluently?”