Around noon, Yu Huaiting turned over and slowly opened his eyes.
He sat up, rubbed his somewhat messy hair, and felt inexplicably light-hearted.
After becoming Bitter Couple with Fu Songcheng, Yu Huaiting had quickly discovered a hidden benefit—he could sense the distance between himself and Fu Songcheng through his own state.
Fu Songcheng was next door, not at the training room.
Just like when he’d discovered Fu Songcheng waiting for him under the veil, the smile at the corner of Yu Huaiting’s mouth couldn’t be suppressed.
He hummed an unknown little tune as he walked into the washroom, quickly tidying himself up.
Looking at his somewhat overgrown white hair in the mirror, he thought for a moment, parted out two strands, and nimbly wove two braided knots by his ears.
Then he tied up the rest of his hair, even fussily adjusting it.
“No! Why am I dressing up!”
He seemed to snap back to himself and mussed up his carefully adjusted hair.
Two emotions clashed in his heart. He held his breath, deliberately undoing one of the braids he’d just made, and only then pretended nothing had happened and went out.
Walking to Fu Songcheng’s door, Yu Huaiting had just raised his hand, not yet having knocked on the metal panel, when the door before him was pulled open from inside.
Fu Songcheng stood behind the door, still in his usual crisp, cool combat suit.
His gaze landed on Yu Huaiting, slid over the somewhat cute little braid knots by his ears, and finally met Yu Huaiting’s eyes.
“You need to fix this schedule of yours.”
Fu Songcheng had woken at eight, handled his mailbox, gone through the system rankings several times, and even specifically searched up Lin Feng’s and Chen Yu’s friend profiles.
His efficiency was high to begin with—by the time he’d done all that, the clock had barely ticked to eleven.
The system interface held only so much information, and this broken game Death Party didn’t even have a public channel for spectating or chatting.
Fu Songcheng sat on the sofa, looking at a room quiet as a stagnant pool, and for the first time in his life, actually felt bored.
In that long hour-plus with nothing to do, his gaze had drifted toward the wall separating him from Yu Huaiting at least ten times.
Had he ever been this drawn to liveliness before?
At this thought, irritation rose in Fu Songcheng’s heart. Why was there an idiot like Yu Huaiting who could sleep until the sun was high even inside an instance?
So Fu Songcheng raised his hand and unceremoniously knocked Yu Huaiting on the forehead.
“You hit me!”
Yu Huaiting had done nothing all morning and got knocked by Fu Songcheng first thing—somewhat angry, almost ready to strike back.
“Take it.”
Fu Songcheng withdrew his hand, walked past Yu Huaiting out the door, and without looking back called him to come eat “breakfast” together.
Yu Huaiting couldn’t figure out where Fu Songcheng’s temper had come from and could only try to calm his own emotions. “Oh.”
The two switched to a different restaurant—one that had probably newly opened during their time in the A Thought of Old Dreams instance.
While they’d been inside A Thought of Old Dreams, many new facilities had been added to the rest area, presumably in preparation for the new version.
Yu Huaiting and Fu Songcheng sat down.
Across the table from each other, they quietly began this belated “breakfast.”
Yu Huaiting ate in big mouthfuls, lifting his head from time to time to look at Fu Songcheng; Fu Songcheng coughed once, telling him to eat in peace.
After the identity change, their way of interacting hadn’t changed much—only the puppy wasn’t as obedient, and the master wasn’t as indulgent.
…
Swallowing the last mouthful of warm water, Fu Songcheng set down his cup, folded his hands on the table, and finally asked the question that had been circling in his mind since last night.
“Yesterday’s vertigo debuff.”
Fu Songcheng’s voice was cool. “I could barely stand from the dizziness. Same negative effect—why did you seem fine?”
He’d observed carefully.
Yesterday at the table, when the Bitter Couple proximity penalty hit, he couldn’t even focus his vision, his stomach churning—yet Yu Huaiting had still been able to move nimbly and pack the cake with practiced ease.
Yu Huaiting swallowed the food in his mouth, his eyes drifting, not meeting Fu Songcheng’s gaze.
“This, ah,” he gave a dry laugh, his eyes darting left and right, just not looking at Fu Songcheng, “it’s nothing really. Before I entered the game, I was actually a pilot! Did a lot of anti-vertigo training.”
Even a dog would shake its head at that.
He was treating Fu Songcheng like a fool.
Yu Huaiting seemed too strange in this game. Fu Songcheng was merely smarter and more rational than most—but Yu Huaiting had reached an outrageous level.
Extremely high combat power, eccentric personality, doing as he pleased, physical condition unknown—Fu Songcheng was curious how he’d become this way.
But seeing Yu Huaiting’s nervous look, Fu Songcheng felt a flare of spite.
Fine, don’t say it then.
It’s not like he wanted to know that badly anyway.
“Is that so.” Fu Songcheng calmly withdrew his gaze. “Seems the system’s punishment doesn’t amount to much for you.”
Hearing Fu Songcheng drop the questioning, Yu Huaiting visibly let out a long breath, and—having gotten away with it—pushed his luck: “Yeah, yeah, I’m so amazing!”
He was about to boast further about his handsome, godlike prowess when his peripheral vision suddenly caught Fu Songcheng’s left hand resting on the table.
On Fu Songcheng’s fair, slender wrist was a pure black wristband.
Yu Huaiting quickly pulled an identical black wristband from his own system backpack. He slipped it directly onto his left wrist, even deliberately adjusting its position so it matched Fu Songcheng’s exactly.
That done, he raised his left hand and waved it in front of Fu Songcheng’s eyes with a soft humph.
Fu Songcheng quietly watched this whole series of childish actions. The displeasure he’d felt at the other’s concealment gently set down.
“Idiot.”
Fu Songcheng scolded in a low voice, but the corners of his eyes had already softened unconsciously, the edge of his lips even curving into a tiny arc.
Yu Huaiting, scolded this time, wasn’t as angry as when he’d been hit that morning, and kept eating.
After the meal, the two headed to the training room as usual.
Death Party never gave players much breathing room—a forced weekly entry into the game hung over everyone’s heads like the sword of Damocles.
Especially now, bound by the Bitter Couple identity—their original combat mode might no longer suit them, and they had to familiarize themselves with a new fighting style as quickly as possible.
Beyond the real survival pressure, Fu Songcheng actually had a fire burning in his heart.
When he’d checked the rankings that morning, his name wasn’t on the [Power Ranking]—it stung his pride like a thorn.
And number one on the Power Ranking was still “Yu Huaiting.”
Fu Songcheng was an extremely proud person. He couldn’t demand Yu Huaiting accommodate him. He had to fight with all his might to reach a position where he could match that person—not have that person condescend to him.
Besides, what he wanted now wasn’t just power and becoming number one.
Fu Songcheng didn’t think he was a burden to Yu Huaiting—they were only separated by time. So he had to put in more effort to close the gap between them.
Yu Huaiting didn’t think Fu Songcheng was a burden either. Since teaming up with Fu Songcheng, his spending on recovery potions had become almost negligible.
He was willing to teach Fu Songcheng combat, just as Fu Songcheng would deliberately analyze instances with him.
“The rules are simple.”
In Training Room 03, Yu Huaiting gripped his greatsword, staring at Fu Songcheng standing five meters across from him. “No direct physical contact whatsoever. What you have to do is attack me without touching me—or, when I attack you, dodge perfectly.”
Leave a Reply