“So, should I call you Auntie?”
Shine’s headquarters wasn’t in the same city as Chen Yi’s university—hell, it wasn’t even in the same country. Luckily, her family had deep pockets and several empty properties in S City.
Chen Yi’s mom had originally planned to put her up in the one closest to the office, but that place was already rented out. After some back-and-forth, Chen Yi ended up with an apartment on the outskirts of the third ring road. The commute from there to the company took a full hour each way.
At first, Chen Yi had balked. “Mom, can’t I just rent something right by the office?”
Her mom shot back, “We’ve got houses sitting empty, and you wanna go spend money elsewhere? You trying to get your card cut off?”
Chen Yi was speechless, though inwardly she thought her mom already had more money than she knew what to do with. With that commute time, she could’ve slept in longer at home. A few thousand bucks was nothing compared to her sleep.
Unfortunately, her mom was dead set on making her “experience life.”
With a mother’s orders hanging over her, Chen Yi had no choice but to obey.
After work that day, Yu You’an walked out with Chen Yi and saw her heading to the subway. Surprised, she asked, “Chen Yi, which line do you take? Where do you live?”
Chen Yi replied, “Line 2. Out past the third ring. You?”
Yu You’an lit up. “Same here!”
“Let me tell you,” she went on, “the place I rented is this remodeled two-bedroom turned three-bedroom. The rooms are tiny, and the environment’s not great.” She sighed. “Didn’t expect you to be out that way too.”
Yu You’an had sized Chen Yi up before—no big designer labels anywhere, and now this. She figured Chen Yi was just another broke college student like her.
Chen Yi just smiled, not explaining further.
She hadn’t forgotten her mom’s rule: no casually revealing her background during the internship.
Yu You’an seemed like an E-type personality—chatty the whole subway ride, full of fresh wonder about everything at the company and eager to share it all with Chen Yi.
Chen Yi didn’t mind at all.
The train was packed, no seats in sight. She had Yu You’an stand against the wall, took her bag to carry it, and gripped the overhead strap. With her height, Chen Yi shielded her from the crush of the crowd.
When Yu You’an got off, her cheeks were a little flushed. “Chen Yi, thanks for today.”
It was the first time she’d met a girl who made her feel so safe.
Chen Yi shrugged it off, handing over the bag. “Here. Take it slow going home. Stay safe.”
Yu You’an nodded, glancing at the stations scrolling by behind. She couldn’t help thinking Chen Yi’s place must be even farther out—maybe she was even poorer. From now on, she’d have to look out for her a bit.
Little did she know, Chen Yi got off two stops later and walked into one of S City’s swankiest high-end complexes.
The sprawling two-hundred-square-meter flat felt empty with just her in it. Most of the rooms inside stood shut.
She showered, slipped into loungewear, and dashed to the gaming room she’d converted from a study to fire up some games.
Her L-shaped desk held three computers. Beyond the drawing tablet and gear any art student would need, the standout was a custom PC case. Unlike the trendy RGB ocean-view rigs popular in gaming shops, Chen Yi’s was shaped like a Gundam, giving off an edgy chuunibyou vibe in sleek black and white.
She’d built it back in high school and kept it at home even after going abroad to study. For this internship back home, she’d had someone swap out all the internals while preserving the shell—a little nostalgia.
Once it booted up, her main screen showed her big account streaming, while the sub-screen had her small account idling.
She never showed her face on stream—just used a Live2D model of a gloomy girl that reacted to her movements.
Before long, fans in Chen Yi’s stream noticed something off.
Her streamer tag was “I Love Eating Vegetables,” with the fandom nickname “Vegetable Sister.” They called her that, but Vegetable Sister never sucked—she just crushed noobs.
[Vegetable Sis got something going on? Why keep glancing sideways? Someone there?!]
Chen Yi replied, “Nah, just me.”
[Then what’re you looking at?!]
Chen Yi chuckled. “Waiting for someone.”
Right then, in her small account “Sister Don’t Hit Me,” the friend named Fade came online.
Chen Yi’s eyes lit up.
Mindful of the live stream, she held off on messaging F first.
An hour later, when she went offline, Fade was still on.
That whole hour, Chen Yi had been stealthily peeking at Fade through the friends list. She’d been stuck in the training room the whole time.
They’d agreed at lunch to play together next time, with all the hugs and kisses before logging off. But now online in the evening, not even a message.
Hmph. Women.
Chen Yi pursed her lips, switched the small account’s game to the main screen, took it off idle, and sent F an in-game mail.
Inside was a rare outfit she’d snagged from her main account—a return gift for that 688.
Now they were even.
Chen Yi figured maybe F had just said “next time together” as a polite nothing. No need to push if she didn’t want to; inviting her might just add pressure.
She’d overthought a thousand scenarios in her head and finally decided to log off when Fade messaged.
Fade: Thanks for the gift.
Fade: Wanna duo a dungeon?
Truth be told, Chen Yi had soloed a bunch of dungeons during her big account stream earlier and was pretty wiped. But faced with Fade’s invite, she couldn’t say no.
Chen Yi sent the group invite. Fade accepted instantly. Once in, Chen Yi fired up team voice chat.
“What do you wanna run?” she asked. “My level’s low, so I might not be able to carry some dungeons.”
Fade’s account was max level.
Chen Yi had grinded hard at lunch and only hit level 40.
Fade: “No worries.”
She added, “Weren’t we gonna play together?”
It was such a casual voice, no syrupy sweetness. She spoke lightly, breezily, yet each word landed like petals in the wind, effortlessly rippling Chen Yi’s heart.
So she hadn’t brushed it off as small talk. She’d meant it—remembered it.
Chen Yi couldn’t stop her lips from curving up.
Right then, she felt like a little kid— the kind who thinks her parents forgot to take her out, only to realize they’d had it all planned and taken her words to heart.
Her laugh, her joy, made her voice brighten too.
“Sure,” Chen Yi said. “Then you carry me to level up?”
Fade: “Mm-hm.”
They duo-queued a dungeon.
By the end, Chen Yi could tell Fade had real training under her belt. Her DPS that night was way sharper than at lunch.
“Nice,” Chen Yi couldn’t help praising. “Sis, you’ve got talent.”
Fade chuckled. “First time playing. Still getting the hang of it.”
Chen Yi probed gently. “So what made you pick this up?”
Fade: “Family’s into it.”
Chen Yi blinked, her mouse hand pausing for a beat before she asked offhandedly, “Keeping your boyfriend company?”
Fade: “Nope.”
Before Chen Yi could follow up, Fade clarified: “Little kid at home.”
The phrasing cracked Chen Yi up.
“The way you say that, you sound ancient.”
Fade: “Older than you.”
Chen Yi: “How do you know? What if I’m a sixty-year-old auntie?”
Fade laughed.
That soft laugh was like a curved blade, its delicate tip hooking Chen Yi’s heart and reeling in her whole soul.
“So, should I call you Auntie?”
