“Whoa! As I thought, I really do prefer stacked older babes!”
Ten at night, the Big Bird Carousel Bar.
A crystal beer mug brimming with bubbles slammed onto the counter. He Ye drained the beer in one satisfying gulp, then let out a shout from the depths of his soul, full of endless praise.
Pure bliss!
Standing across from him, the bartender in his sharp suit wiped the sweat from his brow. If memory served, this was already the fifth time this week he had seen the man drinking himself into a stupor.
It was Friday, by the way.
“Not to pry, bro, but moping over drinks won’t solve anything. Since you’re looking out for my sales, I might as well look out for your soul. So, what is it? A fight with the wife, or is the boss giving you grief?”
The bartender shook his cocktail shaker as he spoke. He was trying to show concern, but the smirk of a fair-weather drinking buddy was written all over his face.
Hardly surprising. This was a bar, after all.
“I want a divorce.” He Ye lifted his flushed face.
“Then get divorced.” The bartender brushed it off, the silver cocktail shaker in his hands rattling loud enough to wake the dead.
He Ye choked on his words. “Aren’t you supposed to ask me why I want a divorce at a time like this?”
“No. What I really want to ask is what era you think we’re living in that possessed you to get married in the first place,” the bartender said without blinking an eye.
He Ye fell silent for a moment.
Five years ago, after the Second Kinetic War between Albion and Borussia came to an end, society entered a brief era of peace.
Military technology repurposed for civilian use spurred rapid economic growth. Production, consumption, investment—every sector flourished.
Unfortunately, everything had a breaking point.
Today, factories that once relied purely on manual labor were filled with automated assembly lines.
Rapid technological iteration wiped out the vast majority of jobs. The unemployment rate climbed year after year, turning countless citizens into aimless vagrants.
Take twenty-two-year-old He Ye, for instance. Formerly an intelligence spy for Borussia, not only was he currently unemployed, but things had grown far worse ever since the government quietly cut off his stipend nine months ago.
His pockets were dead broke.
Beyond rising unemployment, the prolonged peace gave rise to various new ideological trends, chief among them being the N-Q Ideology.
Namely, the Nymph Oracle—not radical feminism.
[T/N: “N-Q” sometimes is used as an authorial Pinyin acronym for Nǚquán (radical feminism), in this case not]
This ideological movement stood for many things, but its ultimate evolution resulted in an era where almost no man dared to marry anymore. That was precisely why the bartender poked fun at He Ye.
Snapping back to the present—
At the front counter of the Big Bird Carousel Bar.
He Ye remained gloomily silent. Seeing this, the bartender stopped shaking his cocktail shaker, leaned against the counter, and offered earnest advice:
“Bro, if you really want a divorce, the way the wind is blowing, the mortgage goes to you, the house goes to her, and who knows what brutal alimony clauses they’ll hit you with… If she cuckolded you or something, just grit your teeth and bear it.”
“No…” He Ye shook his head bitterly. “Didn’t you hear my very first sentence?”
“What?”
“I realized I still prefer leggy beauties.”
The bartender: “?”
He Ye pushed his beer mug aside, looked earnestly at the buddy willing to listen to his woes, and said with utter gravity:
“The truth is, I’ve spent my entire life walking through a hail of gunfire. This peaceful era is a rare blessing for me. But I’ve realized I was wrong. I don’t love peace that much—just like I don’t love my wife.”
“So, what’s wrong with your wife?” the bartender raised an eyebrow.
Beneath the bar’s neon glow, the two exchanged a dead-serious look.
He Ye said resolutely:
“First off, she can’t cook at all. When I come home from work, I either eat instant junk or roll up my sleeves to wrestle with the pots and pans myself. Who could endure that?”
“Fair point,” the bartender stroked his chin.
“I endured it.”
He Ye pursed his lips, then rattled on without missing a beat:
“Second, she doesn’t have a job. All day long, she just lounges around the house playing with that Garfield cat, and I have to foot all the bills. Who could endure that?”
“Fair point.”
“I endured that too.”
He Ye pursed his lips again, held up a third finger, and took a deep breath.
“Lastly, even though she’s my wife, being with her was never my choice. All of this… was just a mission from my superior.”
He certainly knows how to play around, the bartender thought, clicking his tongue.
“And most importantly, she’s not my type. Flat as a board, you know?” He Ye reached out and earnestly gestured across his chest. “Right here. Completely flat. Even though my neighbors and friends all praise her looks and say she looks like a movie star.”
“That sounds pretty great.”
“But I can’t endure it!”
He Ye cried out in anguish, pounding the bar counter.
“I… I only just realized that my type is leggy, stacked babes!”
It sounded like a tearful lament.
“…” The bartender fell silent for several seconds, then gave a breezy whistle. “Whew. Then get divorced.”
“…”
They seemed to have circled right back to the starting point.
Yet the exact same words carried an entirely different weight depending on the listener’s state of mind. At that moment, He Ye, previously steeped in sorrow, blinked in realization.
Right, why not just get divorced?
“Check, please.” He stood up.
“One Woodpecker Rotary Drill. Twenty-two bucks.”
“Keep the change.” He Ye pulled a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket, tossed it onto the counter, grabbed his coat, and walked away like a lone gunslinger vanishing into the dusk.
The bartender reached out and smoothed the crumpled notes. They were the Kebrul Banknotes newly issued five months ago. Their exchange rate in Albion had plummeted again and again, practically drilling through the floor.
The bartender counted them up. Well, well. Still short two bucks.
“What an absolute bastard,” the bartender murmured.
At eleven at night, within the neon haze of the Big Bird Carousel Bar, the vacant seat was quickly taken by a new patron. The bartender resumed shaking his silver cocktail shaker, happily shooting the breeze with the crowd.
Eleven at night, Macon Street, Glailey City, Albion.
As the most prosperous metropolis in Albion, Glailey City was a place where every inch of land was worth its weight in gold. It housed broadcast stations, television headquarters, financial towers, and various municipal government bureaus.
For that reason, most residential developments were relegated to the outskirts.
In colloquial terms, Macon Street lay well beyond the city’s Fifth Ring.
He Ye owned a flat here, located in Room 301 on the third floor of Forest River Apartments. It was a fine, hundred-square-meter place featuring two bedrooms, a living room, a balcony, and a bathroom.
Unfortunately, before long, he would lose this home.
Divorcing meant he would undoubtedly leave with nothing—though leaving these assets to a former colleague from the Organization was fair enough. What mattered most were the people and consequences tied to this decision.
Yet He Ye had truly made up his mind.
He was sick and tired of this squalid existence! Spending every day soaking in a bar, drinking himself blind, paying for a life with zero future! If he kept going like this, what difference was there between him and a rat rotting in an underground sewer?!
He was going to let the name “Leon Rossi” die.
Constrained by a sham marriage under that name, twenty-two years old and never having even touched a woman’s lips, working diligently as a spy only to be abandoned by the Organization… After all, his original dream had been to become an orphanage teacher…
The night grew deep, orange streetlamps lighting up along the road. He Ye pulled his coat tightly around himself and walked briskly forward. He never looked back, because once his mind was made up, he would never turn around.
Hesitation is for cowards.
Just kick the door open, pack my bags, and tell Mist it’s over! I’m quitting this damned espionage organization! Just like today’s setting sun, there’s no future in it!
Fuck it, that’s what I’ll do!
Righteous indignation flooded his chest. A moment later, He Ye stood before his front door. He sucked in a breath of surging momentum and pushed the door open like an agent from the National Security Bureau conducting a raid!
He Ye pushed the door open.
The living room lights were on. The assassin girl was not asleep. She leaned against the sofa, heavy with drowsiness, a cup of cold coffee sitting on the table.
“You’re back… Leon.”
The assassin girl rubbed her sleep-laden eyes as she spoke. The sensory instincts honed over years on the battlefield had not faded; the moment the key slipped into the lock, she already knew someone had returned.
Yet she still preferred to greet him this way.
“Sophia… no, Mist, I think we need to have a serious talk.”
He Ye addressed her by her codename within the Organization, hoping it would make his intentions clear. This was no ordinary conversation; it was loaded with gunpowder.
The assassin girl showed a rare blank daze, seemingly still troubled by a lack of sleep.
As an assassin, pulling all-nighters to eliminate a mark used to be routine. Yet now, in the late hours of the night, she actually felt exhausted.
It seemed too much peace truly made one soft.
“What is it?” she asked.
He Ye sat across from her and said solemnly:
“Let’s get divorced.”
“…” Mist paused. “Is this a new mission from the Organization?”
“No. The Organization hasn’t contacted us in nearly a year. This is my personal decision.”
“I don’t understand,” the assassin girl said.
At that moment, He Ye looked at the black-haired girl sitting on the sofa. Even though she sat before him drowsy and frail, cold sweat seeped from his forehead—he sensed danger.
Shoulder-length black hair, crimson eyes, the flawless appearance of a girl in the bloom of youth. Yet this was far from Mist’s true nature.
She was the state’s sharpest blade, having spilled enough blood to paint Da Vinci’s The Last Supper twice over, like a datura blooming among fresh flowers.
“I won’t betray the Organization, you can rest assured on that,” He Ye said patiently and solemnly. “I just want to seek a normal person’s life. There is no war now, and there won’t be one in the future. There’s no longer any need for people like us to exist.”
“I… don’t understand,” the assassin girl muttered.
“The Organization has broken all contact with us. I think it’s very likely we’ve been abandoned… What I mean is, clinging to our previous identities is completely pointless now. We are free.”
“Free?”
“Yes, free.”
He Ye nodded, his tone softening as he explained:
“You can do whatever you want to do, and I’ll do the same. We don’t have to risk our lives for anyone anymore. Instead, we can try living for ourselves.”
Like pursuing a stacked older babe, for instance.
“…” This time, Mist fell silent for a very long while.
He Ye quietly awaited her response, his heart pounding with unease, because he was not sure if he could convince her with such a flimsy reason.
In all honesty, as a transmigrator, He Ye felt zero belonging toward Borussia. He arrived here ten years ago and immediately risked his life on the battlefield, never getting a taste of a normal life.
Now, he could barely keep food on the table, the Organization was unreachable, funds were tight, and the enemy was constantly sweeping reactionary forces behind the lines. If he did not run now, when would he?!
He wanted to find a new life.
“I understand,” Mist finally nodded.
Relief washed over He Ye, and he quickly produced the divorce petition.
He had prepared it long ago. After all, this thought had lingered in his heart not just for a day or two, but across a long, protracted road that had to be crossed on his way to freedom.
“Just sign your name here. Afterward, I’ll pack my bags and move out. The flat is yours, and I’ll also leave behind twenty thousand kronen in cash.”
As He Ye spoke, he placed a red ink pad, a black signing pen, and the divorce petition form from the Glailey City Civil Affairs Bureau on the table, sliding them over.
“I’ll explain everything to Mark, so you don’t have to worry. If someone from the Organization comes to contact us later, he’ll know how to handle it… assuming anyone ever contacts us again.”
He Ye explained methodically, then looked at the application form, waiting for her to pass it back.
The divorce procedure in Albion was not complicated; submit the signed form and that was it. As long as neither party disputed property or custody arrangements, the individuals did not even need to show up in court.
“Uh…” The assassin girl held the black pen. “I… I think I understand. I have no objection to the divorce. But why do you have to move out, Leon?”
“…” He Ye did not know if she was playing dumb or genuinely oblivious.
“Because we are free. Because starting now, I am no longer Leon. Because I’m going to pursue a new life, ideals, milk, and bread.”
He Ye’s words were absolute as he looked at Mist, taking back the signed divorce petition form.
The assassin girl seemed to realize what was happening a beat too late, looking at him with a hint of panic.
“What about me? Can I still visit you in the future?”
“Of course you can, my friend.”
He Ye offered a mild smile. In reality, he had already resolved to go into hiding. Bullshit. I’ve severed ties with the Organization, and she still wants to look for me? Not a chance!
For now, the hardest step of the plan toward freedom had been settled: convincing his colleague Mist to let him go. All that remained was tying up loose ends.
Yet, when He Ye’s gaze fell upon the divorce petition, he paused slightly. Seeing this sham relationship that had bound him for years finally come to an end, with the names Leon Rossi and Sophia Doriance resting on opposite sides of the scales—
He felt a sudden urge to weep bitter tears.
Sob…
Tomorrow… no, tonight! He would pack his bags right now! The sooner he left, the sooner he could welcome his new life!
Say goodbye to the dim, ruined past!
“Haha, hahahaha!”
He Ye brandished the divorce petition, ran into the study to pack his bags, and daydreamed about his future while he packed!
That bakery he always visited—the beauty working there was fantastic! She had a top-tier figure and always smiled at him when ringing up his purchases! Gorgeous as a sunflower!
He Ye had already decided where his brilliant new life would begin!
“Haha, hahahaha!”
Watching He Ye bustling back and forth through the house, the assassin girl sat on the sofa. Seeing him display such a joyous expression for the first time in so long, an unconscious smile graced her lips.
It’s wonderful that Mr. He Ye can smile.
After all, aside from killing, she knew nothing at all.
