A short while later, Ed-Bear arrived at the station as promised.
Wang Yue was pleased to see that her avatar’s emotions had been relatively stable lately. She dreaded providing psychological counseling; her only move was to force-feed people motivational platitudes, and if those didn’t work, she was out of ideas.
For example, her relationship with Lilith was currently very strained. To fix it, she needed to do something proactive, but all she knew how to do was offer Lilith a “cup of chicken soup for the soul.”
And Lilith hated being lectured more than anything.
Wang Yue looked at her avatar with a deadpan expression. “Mhm. You’ve been doing a good job lately. However, don’t keep your nerves so frayed. Make sure to find some appropriate entertainment and rest; it’s good for your mental and physical health.”
“Entertainment? Like the humans do?”
“Exactly. Go try some human social activities.”
“Understood.”
“By the way, you’re allowed to keep the memories of that part. There’s no need to transmit them back to me.”
If something actually happened between Ed-Bear and Talitha, the receptionist at the Explorers’ Guild, and he synced those images to her… wouldn’t he basically be turning her into a viewer of his own private amateur films?
That wouldn’t do.
Wang Yue had zero interest in watching a girl battle a “tentacle monster.” She emphasized again, “Absolutely do not transmit those.”
Conversely, her own private memories—such as her more intimate moments with Lilith—were never transmitted to Ed-Bear. She only synced details regarding their daily studies and general life.
“Understood,” the avatar nodded.
“I’m done. Do you have anything to add?” Wang Yue asked.
“The matter regarding the ‘Embers’… have you looked into it?” Ed-Bear asked, a look of concern on his face.
“It’s difficult,” Wang Yue said, spreading her hands. “There are hundreds of transcendent powers with similar properties. The truth is buried under a mountain of useless information.”
The avatar nodded in understanding.
“Just stay away from the ‘Embers.’ If something happens to you, we won’t be able to hide it from the Church anymore,” Wang Yue added.
“But…” the avatar hesitated.
“No ‘buts.’ Protecting the town is the duty of Ranked Explorers. Why should a Free Explorer like you get involved? Since you’ve already reported it, your mission is over.” Wang Yue tapped her finger on the table, her tone turning commanding. “Your primary objective is self-preservation. Do I make myself clear? My power is still weak; I don’t want to burn bridges with the Church just yet. Even though I’m no longer under their thumb, it would be a massive headache if they decided they wanted me dead.”
Ed-Bear nodded heavily. He had no power to refuse. Hesitation was already a transgression; if he pushed any further, his creator might simply strip him of his self-awareness.
This time, he had also brought transcendent materials and common explorer tools packed in a wooden crate.
With the exchange complete, Ed-Bear stepped out of the station, mounted his lizard, and headed back toward Fishmouth Town.
Wang Yue spent some time wandering through the Quicksand Lowlands.
Unlike previous weekends, her roommates were now familiar with the facilities and shops here. They had planned their activities early, heading off to enjoy their leisure time separately. She figured she might run into them if she did a full circuit.
As she passed a silver shop, Wang Yue spotted a familiar back.
Golden hair cascaded like a waterfall. Beneath the hem of a long robe, slender legs clad in black silk stockings ended in a pair of shiny red T-strap heels.
Lilith stood with her hands on her hips, her attitude overbearing as she glared at a hunched old craftsman.
“Don’t you call yourself a master silversmith? Why can’t you meet my requirements?!” she demanded. “You useless old fraud!”
The old silversmith, with his bronze-colored face and soot-blackened fingernails, had indeed been a gifted craftsman in his youth. Back then, he could chisel out the most complex patterns imaginable.
Now that he was old, his eyes were failing and his hands shook; his skill had inevitably declined. However, it wasn’t nearly as bad as Lilith claimed. The issue was purely that the designs she provided as a client were excessively intricate and flamboyant—the kind of work that usually required a dozen masters working in tandem.
“I am sorry… the pattern is just too complex…”
To make a living, the old man kept his head low, apologizing repeatedly.
Ten or twenty years ago, his orders would have been booked six months in advance. Back then, if he’d encountered someone like this, he would have shooed them away. But times had changed.
Suddenly, a voice drifted in from the side.
“Lilith, why is it that every time I see you, you’re bullying someone?”
Wang Yue appeared at the doorway.
Lilith was already fuming, and seeing Wang Yue only added fuel to the fire. “What does it have to do with you?!” she snapped.
“Sir, I apologize. Not all us witches are like her,” Wang Yue said sincerely.
“Are you trying to pick a fight with me on purpose?” Lilith shouted, exasperated.
Wang Yue smiled faintly and pointed at the blueprints Lilith was clutching.
“You’re trying to commission performance costumes and stage props, aren’t you? No matter how complex they are, I can make them. Whether it’s Supreme Grade blades or ivory nested spheres—it’s all simple to me.”
