Chapter 111: Super Doubling

Lu Nan finally understood. It was almost certainly Xia Yubing who had tampered with the surveillance footage—her tone and demeanor had been fake.

But why? Before this, the two of them had only met once. Lu Nan could swear she hadn’t done anything out of line that would make Xia Yubing remember her, let alone spy on her years later.

And even before she met Xia Yubing, Xia Zhengyun had been able to accurately recite those key phrases.

Had Xia Zhengyun been paying attention to them beforehand? No, at that time, Xia Zhengyun had been receiving treatment in the hospital.

Lu Nan always felt like something was missing. Thoughts slipped through her mind, but she couldn’t grasp anything.

“We can avoid her now. This is a society governed by law.”

They were all public figures. If news of them fighting broke out, it would be a stain on their careers and Song Wenwei’s path to stardom. Besides, Xia Yubing had the Xia Group backing her.

Song Wenwei nodded. She knew exactly what Lu Nan was thinking.

“She told me that her sister had been good to her before.”

Song Wenwei paused, as if struggling. It really wasn’t convenient to talk about it now. “Later… I’ll tell you later. She’ll edit out what you two just said.”

“I know. This production team only has one flying guest, and she got in through connections.”

No one wanted these matters exposed online for everyone to see. With her status, Xia Yubing could definitely get the production team to cut their earlier conversation.

Lu Nan said, “Did you see? Her mic was broken.”

She had observed closely. It was obviously smashed on purpose—maybe something had happened between Xia Yubing and Xia Zhengyun last night. The production team could have given her a new mic, but they hadn’t. Clearly, Xia Yubing didn’t want one.

“I saw,” Song Wenwei said. “She did it on purpose.”

The others had left, and it wasn’t convenient to talk here, so they swallowed their words. They would discuss it after filming ended.

Song Wenwei pulled her down to sit. The area was mostly patches of wild grass.

She lowered her head and gnawed on a piece of fish meat. It had been in her hand a while and had gone cold, but it was still too delicious to resist.

Sitting on the wild grass prickled her butt. Lu Nan stood up uncomfortably and rubbed it.

She sat down in another spot, but it was even worse—like sitting on needles. She jumped up again. She cautiously approached the ground, touched it once, and quickly stood back up.

How bold! Didn’t they know her butt was immovable property?!

She swore there were needles hidden in the grass here.

“What are you doing?” Song Wenwei watched her bounce up and down, utterly baffled.

Lu Nan looked embarrassed. “…The grass is poking my butt…”

“What?” Song Wenwei’s expression froze, then she burst out laughing.

Her merciless laughter echoed through the woods.

“What’s so funny? Do you have an iron butt or something?”

Hearing that, Song Wenwei laughed even harder, tears welling up in her eyes.

She clutched her chest. “What a wonderful adjective, hahahahaha! You have no idea how funny you looked sitting down and jumping up. I’m gonna laugh until I split a rib…”

“That’s enough.” Even as she said it, Lu Nan placed a hand on her back to soothe her. “Stop laughing. You’re about to keel over.”

Song Wenwei’s eyes curved with mirth. She didn’t say anything, but she kept laughing.

“Eat the fish already. Stop laughing like an idiot.”

It was mortifying, especially since they were being filmed.

“Fine, fine.” Song Wenwei held up the grilled fish and pulled several large peaches from her pocket. The green, plump peaches landed in Lu Nan’s hands. “They’re very sweet.”

Lu Nan took them and wiped them on the hem of her inner shirt. Her outer jacket smelled from grabbing and gutting the fish.

The fresh fragrance of the fruit exploded in her mouth.

“Don’t eat too much. Fish and peaches together aren’t great for digestion.”

“Okay.” Lu Nan nodded. Her stomach had never been strong. Back in school, her irregular eating habits had taken years to fix.

Lu Nan asked her, “How’s the picking going? How much left?”

“Not bad, just a billion little bits.” Song Wenwei suddenly grinned and pointed to the basket not far away.

“Guess what?”

Her smile looked forced. Lu Nan followed her finger. That wasn’t a basket—it was a bucket.

How to describe it? It was like the white rice bucket from home when she was in school. Against the light, Lu Nan could even see the bucket’s bottom, with only a few scattered fruits that Song Wenwei had picked.

Filling that bucket would take time.

“You… unlucky one?” Lu Nan realized. “So ‘a billion little bits’ means a billion’s worth of bits.”

Song Wenwei said helplessly, “It started as a small basket, but while picking, I triggered a hidden task. It turned straight into a bucket. Super doubling.”

“You…” Lu Nan was dumbfounded. After a moment, she patted Song Wenwei’s shoulder in comfort. “It’s okay. Even though you’re unlucky, you’re the only one like this. In a way, you’re a lucky unlucky one.”

“You’re good at comforting people.” Song Wenwei sighed, then turned to Lu Nan. There was sorrow in her eyes—and a hint of schadenfreude.

Lu Nan saw it clearly. Was she pitying her?

Wait!

“No… no way…” Lu Nan’s mouth fell open.

A bad premonition surfaced.

What would make someone show that expression? Only if the other person was in the same boat.

Song Wenwei smiled openly and nodded, nodding extra times as if afraid Lu Nan hadn’t seen.

“Just like you think. Exactly!” Song Wenwei rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a card.

Lu Nan took it skeptically. It was smooth, the standard production team card—like the ones they’d gotten for the morning tasks.

Black Song typeface read: 【Congratulations, you two lucky eggs! Task doubled. Now collect a full bucket of green dates on top of the original task.】

Lu Nan scanned the surroundings. She hadn’t seen any green date trees when she arrived. Oh god.

So there was a hidden task waiting for them.

She patted Lu Nan’s shoulder helplessly. “It’s fine. Even though you’re as unlucky as me, we’re the only two like this. In a way, we’re lucky unlucky eggs, right?”

Lu Nan nodded silently. “Thanks for cheering me up.”

“You’re welcome.”

…

Water flowed, and the fish and shrimp in this stretch had mostly been caught by the group.

By the time Lu Nan returned, the other two were gone—probably following the stream to catch shrimp.

Lu Nan stood up from the water. She waded downstream, her feet stirring up sediment. There weren’t many big fish; most were thumb-sized.

They were guests in the village and needed proper gifts. She didn’t want to bring a basket of tiny fish that would be gone in one bite per person. Besides, the card hadn’t specified the fish had to be three jin each, but Lu Nan cared about face. These small ones were better left to grow here.

She had to catch the rest quickly, then meet up with Song Wenwei to pick green dates before dark. Sunset was late here; if they hurried, plus walking time, it should be enough.

Lu Nan reached downstream and threw herself back into fishing.

When the sun hit her shoulder—around two-thirty, she guessed—she raised the folding box. It still held stream water.

The box had weight now, filled with over a dozen fish slowly swimming, tails flicking.

That was enough. She squatted by the stream, pondering whether to leave the fish box here or take it.

She and Song Wenwei had agreed: finish the original tasks first, then regroup there to pick dates.

They needed a way to carry it—neither had extra hands. Fish could jump, so Lu Nan pulled a cloth from her bag—the one she’d brought for bathing—and covered it.

Now the fish wouldn’t leap out. Lu Nan eyed the cloth from home. It hadn’t been used for their bath but ended up benefiting these little fish.

She packed her bag and headed back. Every step caused a commotion in the box.

The path was lined with tall, straight trees and wildflowers. The meeting spot was overgrown; she could spot the trampled grass ahead, making it easy to recognize.

Lu Nan scanned around—no date trees in sight. She’d seen them outside: short trees with green leaves blending with the fruit. In this green mountain, they were hard to spot without looking closely.

She walked and searched. Nothing here. They’d look elsewhere later.

Soon, she reached their agreed spot.

Song Wenwei was studying the bucket. It had a twist-off lid and two large handles for carrying.

“You’re back?” Song Wenwei’s ears twitched at the footsteps, but she didn’t look up. She squinted closely at the lid’s edge.

“Is something wrong with the lid?” Lu Nan asked.

Why was she only looking at the lid, not her…

Song Wenwei dumped out the fruits inside. A few small green dates fell to the ground. “The lid seems broken. It won’t twist tight—always loose. I saw it’s cracked.”

“No problem. Success always has bumps.” Lu Nan comforted her, then pointed to where she’d come from. “We don’t need to pick dates there later. None around.”

Song Wenwei nodded, stuffed the lid into her bag, and replaced the spilled fruits.

“I know where there are dates.” She pointed rightward. “Over there. I saw some.”

“Let’s go.”

…

“Is it almost four?” Song Wenwei asked.

She craned her neck. The date trees weren’t tall, so they bent to pick. The trees were scattered; it took effort to fill the bucket.

“About. I need a break. We haven’t napped yet.” Lu Nan nodded vigorously. “So sleepy.”

People used to naps got drowsy without one. Yesterday’s challenges had been thrilling runs, but today was monotonous picking. She’d nearly turned into a koala on the tree.

“Set up the tent?” Song Wenwei asked.

She’d checked the map. They were ten minutes from the base, then a few paths to the village—winding but quick. Better to rest here.

“Let’s do it. Ow!”

Lu Nan smacked her forehead. The tent fabric was with Gu Yue. She only had poles and stakes. Looking at the segments, she suddenly said, “We could learn from Little Dragon Girl—nail it to a tree and sleep on the frame.”

Song Wenwei rubbed her forehead. “Funny, but we’re doomed not to be Little Dragon Girls. I have the fabric. Let’s set it up and rest. We still have to carry this stuff to the village later.”

Lu Nan nodded. She wanted that.

They were midway up the mountain; downhill to the village was still a haul. A full bucket of dates plus fish and fruits—no rest, no strength.

Song Wenwei set down her bag, pulled out the fabric, and they pitched the tent.

“Time to reach the village should be fine, right?”

“Yeah. Sunset around five-thirty. It’s not even three, plus picking time—we’ll arrive just right.”

Lu Nan exhaled hot breath and chugged water.

“Hungry?” Song Wenwei pulled out the chocolate Lu Nan had given her that morning. “Want some?”

Lu Nan drank more water and mumbled, “I don’t eat chocolate. Bitter.”

Song Wenwei realized. Right—Lu Nan avoided chocolate not for bitterness, but because it made her dizzy. Back in school, one taste had floored her for half a day. Since then, she steered clear.

The wrapper was crinkled, the sleek bar dented by her nail.

She’d brought it specially for her—from chocolate to tent help to grilled fish. Knowing they were filming and couldn’t be overt, she still showed care her way.

She wouldn’t pretend nothing happened just because cameras rolled.

An uncomfortable feeling spread in Song Wenwei’s chest—indescribable, like emotions piling up, stuck midway, aching at a touch.

In truth, if Lu Nan hadn’t come, Song Wenwei would have picked and carried down that bucket of green dates all by herself, since there was no one else around—Xia Yubing had already vanished from sight by then.

At that moment, Song Wenwei desperately wanted to tell everyone about their relationship.

“What’s wrong?” Lu Nan saw her standing motionless, head lowered, so she bit into the peach she’d swiped from Song Wenwei and poked her with a finger.

“You’re even more aloof than I am,” Lu Nan added.

Song Wenwei shook her head and said, “It’s nothing.”

How could it be nothing? Lu Nan could see it plainly—it had to be because of what she’d just said.

“Nap time,” Lu Nan announced, raising her hands above her head to mimic a pillow. She closed her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Sleep for a bit first.”

Song Wenwei slowly closed her eyes, but she cracked them open just a sliver, using her peripheral vision to study the person beside her.

The woman had her eyes shut, her face serene, her breathing steady. She truly looked as if she’d drifted off into a dream.

Out of the camera’s view, one hand gently rested on her waist. Lu Nan didn’t open her eyes; instead, the corners of her mouth curved up slightly as her hand was covered by the other. Under it, her fingertips lifted in response.