Chapter 30

Take thirty bites.
Ying Tao’s face flushed in a strangely guilty way. A bubbling, brimming feeling rose in her chest—thump, thump, thump—like her heart was beating too fast, one beat after another.
Not ashamed to ask, she even took a screenshot and sent it to Miao-miao:
“What does this mean?”
Miao-miao, now fully reduced to a working stiff, replied with a question mark.
Miao-miao: ? What kind of answer do you want to hear?
It was just…
Ying Tao asked, hesitating and dragging it out, “Do you think… he’s flirting with me?”
“…”
Miao-miao went silent for a beat, then exploded.
Miao-miao: Are you serious? Whether he’s flirting with you, you can’t tell?
Miao-miao: You’re practically getting hooked into a pouty fish already and you’re still asking.
Miao-miao: You’re done. You’re completely snared. Next step is stepping into the abyss of crime. Do you understand?
Ying Tao said: I don’t really understand. Is it that serious?
Miao-miao: Ha—
Miao-miao sent two voice messages, all mockery and side-eye:
“The final outcome of online dating is nine times out of ten a crash-and-burn the moment you meet.”
“If you’re unlucky, it’ll even turn into a freak-show compilation.”
“Girl, take it easy. Don’t get too high.”
Ying Tao didn’t care.
As if she’d get high.
These years, just staring at He Mingye’s face, she’d already seen enough.
She’d long since become immune to men’s faces, okay?
Wait—why was she using He Mingye as the comparison?
Ying Tao froze.
By the time she came back to herself, the game world was already in an uproar.
Sure, you shouldn’t brag about doing bad things.
At first she hadn’t meant to make it a big deal. Venting and getting even was enough.
But the respawn point they were camping was the closest one to the return portal. Players came and went nonstop.
And tonight was special.
Probably because there were too many young people forced into New Year visits on the first day, bored out of their minds with nothing to do.
So everyone logged on at the same time to kill time.
And it turned into this.
Her camping and killing Bright Lantern Three Thousand at the respawn point—combined with Bright Lantern Three Thousand’s level dropping again and again—kept triggering system announcements.
Her One Slash account had already turned into a red alert status.
That was Dream Jianghu’s third major feature:
Players could rob, occupy, and even ambush-kill other players.
But at the same time, once your evil value crossed a threshold, you’d face punishments.
Your green safety status would become yellow caution, and finally red alert.
Once the system marked you as red alert, you’d be open to public hunts in the world channel.
The system would automatically post a bounty on the Jianghu Wanted Board based on your “worth.”
Which meant any player could come kill her.
And not only would the killer receive no penalty, they’d earn bounty money—and all the rare resources she dropped.
That was why Dream Jianghu could be so free—so permissive of player-killing—yet still avoid constant civil war:
It wasn’t worth it.
And nobody wanted to become a public enemy.
But today, she refused to let Bright Lantern Three Thousand go.
Wrong place, wrong time.
And besides—whoever started it first deserved it.
This was a justified counterattack.
Of course, the price was brutal.
The moment the bounty dropped, she became Public Enemy Number One.
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: Looks like this time I’m going to become the whole server’s public enemy.
[BK]: Afraid?
Afraid?
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: No.
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: Whole server public enemy—first time in history. How cool is that?
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: And I’m probably the first player since launch to hit the bounty board, right? What an honor.
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: Just wondering which hero I’ll die under someday.
She didn’t actually care that much about gear.
If she got hunted, she got hunted. She’d already gotten her revenge.
[BK]: You won’t.
You won’t?
Won’t what?
Ying Tao sent a question mark.
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: Won’t what?
[BK]: I won’t let you die.
…
Ying Tao froze. The rim of her ear turned pink without her noticing.
So scary.
Was this what it felt like to get hooked?
Her chest felt numb and itchy, like there was a tickle she couldn’t scratch.
Was he flirting without realizing it, or was he deliberately fishing, treating her like bait?
Probably…
Probably unintentional?
From their brief contact, he didn’t feel like the playboy Miao-miao described.
He felt more like… naturally flirty.
She hesitated, then tried to warn him tactfully.
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: You… really shouldn’t say things like that to people casually.
[BK]: ?
She pressed her lips together, choosing gentle words.
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: It’s just…
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: It’s easy to make people misunderstand.
[BK]: Misunderstand what?
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: Our relationship.
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: I know you meant well—helping me vent. I’ll remember the favor.
[One Slash and Your Peach Blossoms Bloom All Over the Sky]: But now I’m basically a wanted outlaw. You should stop getting tangled up with me, or people will misunderstand we have… something shady going on.
[BK]: Oh.
Oh?
Ying Tao frowned. For the first time, she felt like “few words” was an illness.
So vague, so unclear—her heart kept hanging, up and down, with nowhere to land.
[BK]: So.
[BK]: We don’t?
What did that mean?
Do they?
Between them…
Ying Tao’s face reddened for no reason. She spun around clutching her phone like she’d lost her mind.
She was dying, she was dying—how was this person so good at fishing?
She was one step away from biting the hook on purpose.
Thankfully, the scraps of reason she had left told her: no.
She threw out a hurried “It’s late, I’m going to sleep,” laughed it off, and logged out at top speed.
But her cheeks stayed hot and pink.
She didn’t know if it was because the heater was too high, or because of her.
The heat just wouldn’t come down.
That whole night, she rolled around in bed hugging the blanket.
The moment she closed her eyes, she couldn’t stop thinking of scene after scene from the game.
In the silent night, the sound of her heartbeat was deafening, like it was about to jump out of her chest in the next second—pounding wildly.
The next morning, when her alarm dragged her awake, Ying Tao looked like she’d lost the will to live.
The aftermath of being up all night was a foggy brain.
Terrifying.
“Naturally flirty” was even scarier than a player.
A player was premeditated, organized—setting traps step by step.
But “naturally flirty” wasn’t like that.
He did it without thinking.
He didn’t follow any logic.
One basic attack plus a flash, and she was almost broken—forced to blow her ultimate.
No wonder people got addicted to games.
No wonder Miao-miao had once been trapped in online romance, unable to pull out—
Even after being scammed multiple times from meeting up with net boyfriends, she still did it joyfully.
Across a screen, you didn’t even know if the other side was human or ghost.
But that blind-box thrill…
It really was too exciting.
It was like catnip.
One sniff and you were wide awake.
And it was dangerously easy to get addicted.
Ying Tao didn’t have the courage to bother him again.
But she couldn’t help feeling itchy and tempted, wanting to toss a pebble and see what happened.
What was the god gamer doing?
Was he waiting for her to log in?
Was he waiting for her to message first?
No.
She needed to be reserved.
Girls couldn’t be too aggressive. Being too proactive only meant getting completely controlled.
And it made her look cheap.
She couldn’t care too much.
Ying Tao decided she should calm down.
Anyway, the game had turned into blood and thunder lately.
Bright Lantern Three Thousand’s guild leader—her boyfriend—had issued a guild kill order to avenge her.
But unlike what Ying Tao expected, Sail Past a Thousand Sails wasn’t just hunting her.
He was hunting the god gamer too.
She guessed he’d been humiliated last night, plus BK’s words had stabbed him, so in his eyes, she and the god gamer were grasshoppers tied to the same rope.
Whatever.
Who cared what a clown thought?
She could hide.
As long as she didn’t log in, what could those people do to her?
Ying Tao thought nastily: once public beta opened, the closed beta would wipe.
Who would even be able to find her then?
The urgent problem was food.
Ying Zhaohui had cut her card.
She didn’t have much cash either.
The more she calculated, the more hopeless she felt.
It was the first time in her life she’d lived this tight.
She couldn’t bring herself to take Aunt Tang’s money.
And she couldn’t tell her brother either—otherwise he’d rush back and start a war with Ying Zhaohui.
Besides, Ying Baiqing’s money wasn’t easy to earn.
How could she shamelessly cling to him?
“So.”
He Mingye lowered his eyes. His black hair, unstyled, hung soft over his forehead.
A white knit sweater, loose cut, wide neckline—his straight collarbones half visible.
Bathed in warm, clear light, he looked lazy and casual, like a big canine.
White steam drifted up, blurring the sharp lines of his brows and eyes.
The coffee cup settled back onto its saucer.
He lifted his eyes, voice unreadable.
“This is why you called me first thing in the morning, saying it was urgent enough to drag me here?”
“Isn’t it urgent enough?” Ying Tao said as if it were only natural.
“You know what my brother’s situation is. He works too hard for his money. How can I be shameless enough to scam a soldier of the people?”
He laughed coldly. “So you mean my money is easy, so you’re shameless enough to scam me?”
“…I didn’t say it like that.”
Ying Tao drank a mouthful of milk, trying to cover it up, then added, “You said it yourself.”
He Mingye narrowed his dark eyes. His long fingers tapped the tabletop from time to time.
“Count it yourself.”
“How much do you owe me already?”
“You think I’m running a charity?”
“If there’s no profit, why would I help you?”
Ying Tao felt guilty. “I’m not asking you to help for free. Consider it a loan. Once I finish filming the show, I’ll have money.”
Before the New Year, once she heard Wen Yalan was one of the coaching advisors, she hadn’t been that eager to join.
But now, for survival—no matter how unwilling, she had to bow her head.
“Oh.”
He answered coldly, indifferent, like he had zero interest in her proposal.
He looked at her and curled his lip viciously. “No loan.”
“…That’s too much, He Puppy.”
Ying Tao’s first attempt failed. She slumped, listless.
“If I weren’t truly in trouble, I wouldn’t come to you.”
If she weren’t broke, she wouldn’t be here lowering herself to ask.
“Look.”
“I didn’t go to anyone else. You were the first person I came to.”
“Doesn’t that prove how much weight you have in my heart?”
He Mingye’s brow lifted slightly, his voice lazy.
“Weight?”
“So you came to me because you value me, and I should be grateful and moved?”
Ying Tao went silent.
She didn’t say it, but her expression said everything:
Yes. That’s exactly what she meant.
She didn’t think twice before coaxing him casually:
“Of course I see you as the most important person.”
“When you’re well-fed and warm, the person you think of first isn’t necessarily the most important.”
“But when disaster hits and you need help, the first person you think of—”
“That person is the most special, and the most reliable.”
“Besides, with our relationship, do you really have the heart to watch me starve on the street?”
His long, well-defined fingers brushed along the cup’s rim, as if he were thinking.
Those phoenix eyes held a half-smile, the outer corners slightly raised.
Even his voice was lower, darker—his words carrying an invisible layer of ambiguity.
He spoke slowly:
“What relationship do we have?”
“Little one, tell me.”
Ah, this…
Ying Tao’s lowered gaze drifted away without her noticing, drawn to his hand.
The purple-red bruise on the back of his hand looked even worse.
His fingertips, clear and distinct in the hazy light, almost looked translucent.
He rubbed the cup wall, his finger pads damp with fog, slick and wet as they moved.
She suddenly remembered what she’d overheard in the hotel lobby yesterday—about hands.
Long fingers meant… good at playing…
Her mouth went dry.
Her lashes blinked slowly.
After a long, long pause, she finally said hesitantly:
“Then…”
“A relationship where we’ve slept together—does that count?”