Human-Dragon Unity: When are you posting the rules and background?
Pass One Charm: When are you posting the rules and background?
Pigeon: Yeah, I’m heading out in a couple of days. It’ll be a real hassle without a computer or my character sheets.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: I haven’t decided on the module yet, but I can share the rules first.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: We’re using 5E rules this time. Go ahead and build your characters—backgrounds can come later.
Bai Bai: But how are we supposed to choose classes without a background?
Pigeon: Exactly.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Can’t pick classes without a background? Aren’t you being a little too min-maxey?
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Have you forgotten the true spirit of tabletop RPG?!
Don’t Play Holy Slash: You won’t find any joy in it like this!
Human-Dragon Unity: In that case, I’ll play Rogue.
Bai Bai: Then I’ll play Rogue too.
Pigeon: Uh… then me too?
Pass One Charm: ? If you’re all playing Rogue, won’t I look out of place if I don’t?
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Four Rogues? Fine, I’ve decided. We’re running Descent into Avernus.
Human-Dragon Unity: That name sounds perfect for Holy Slash. I’m going with Holy Slash.
Bai Bai: That name sounds perfect for Light Cleric. Light Cleric it is.
Pigeon: That name sounds perfect for Paladin. Paladin for me.
Pass One Charm: Uh… this party’s clearly short on arcane casters, so I’ll play Wizard.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: ? Hey? Read my name.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: What happened to those four Rogues? I don’t see a single one.
Pigeon: I’m playing Paladin, not Holy Slash. Take it up with Xiao Yi if you’ve got a problem.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Xiao Yi? (Friendly smile)
Don’t Play Holy Slash: I trust you wouldn’t do something as dumb as double Paladins, right?
Human-Dragon Unity: What’s wrong with two Paladins? Did they eat your rice or something?
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Once you get to H University, it looks like I’ll need to bond intimately with you and share some feelings.
Human-Dragon Unity: But come to think of it, one Paladin is more than enough. Two would overlap too much in roles, so I’ll switch to something else.
Pigeon: Aww, chickening out.
Pass One Charm: Aww, chickening out.
Human-Dragon Unity: You wouldn’t understand. This is me considering the DM’s experience running the game.
Bai Bai: Fair point.
Pass One Charm: So what are you playing?
Human-Dragon Unity: Like I said before—Rogue.
Pigeon: Heh.
Pass One Charm: Heh.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Heh.
Human-Dragon Unity: ? What’s that about? Banning Paladins from Rogue now too?
Pigeon: I just get the feeling you’re up to no good, but I’ve got no proof.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Sounds good to me. Rogue it is.
Bai Bai: I remember the module doesn’t have any towns right at the start.
Human-Dragon Unity: ? Then I’ll play Fighter instead.
Pass One Charm: Knew you were up to no good.
Human-Dragon Unity: No proof—don’t slander my good name.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Bai Bai, why’d you go digging into the module to tip him off?
Bai Bai: I didn’t read the full thing. Just saw a quick summary online once.
Don’t Play Holy Slash: Whatever. Play what you want—just submit your character sheets soon.
Truth be told, there was no real need to rush. School was still almost a week away.
But from another angle, he had been cooped up at home for two and a half months already.
And as everyone knew, staying home too long tended to wear on parents’ patience, no matter if you were a good kid or a troublemaker, no matter if you helped with chores.
Eventually, they just started looking at you sideways.
You’d get nagged for not going out and socializing, or grilled about why you didn’t have a girlfriend yet.
And if you did head out—even after giving advance notice—you’d catch flak for playing around so wildly that you forgot to come home.
It had gotten especially bad since his mom got promoted to supervisor. She was home more often now, with plenty of free time and energy to spare.
Maybe managing a few people had amped up her urge to oversee things.
The result? He couldn’t even sit down to write articles in peace.
The debt was gone, sure, but he still wanted to build up some savings to get things done.
Like opening a little shop for his parents, for instance.
The scholarship money and that personal bonus from the dean wouldn’t cut it.
So he made up his mind.
“Mom, I’m heading back to school.”
“Huh? When?”
“Tomorrow, probably.”
“So soon? Isn’t there still a week left?” Zhou Xiuqin blinked in surprise, her voice tinged with reluctance.
There it was—the classic routine.
They’d gripe about you hanging around too much when you were home, but the moment you said you were leaving, suddenly they couldn’t bear to see you go.
Mo Xiangwen swallowed his inner monologue and smiled. “Figured I’d take a little trip along the way, relax and see some sights.”
Zhou Xiuqin looked a bit downcast, but she perked up quickly and pulled out her phone. “All right, then. Mom will transfer some money for tuition and travel expenses.”
“I told you before—I made a bit writing articles online, and I’ve got the scholarship too. It’s plenty.”
“Save it for you and Dad. Buy something nice to eat and drink. That way, Dad won’t have to work so many construction sites.”
“Ai, you silly boy. If he doesn’t work, where’s the money coming from to get you a wife?”
“I don’t really have…”
He caught the chill in her expression and backpedaled fast. “I can make my own. See? I’m already pretty quick at cranking out those articles.”
“Sigh, that kind of job’s not reliable. Who knows when it’ll dry up? You need to focus on school and land a solid career.”
The internet had spread to every corner of the country by now—everyone used it. But the older generation still didn’t know much about it.
No point trying to explain.
Some things were better kept to himself. Arguing with his parents just led to fights.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Mo Xiangwen nodded. “I’ll go pack my things.”
“Go on, go on.”
He shut his bedroom door and finally let out a breath.
His parents were the same as ever: nagging when he was home, fretting when he was gone and wishing he’d come back.
Kids weren’t so different, were they?
After drifting far from home for too long, you’d start missing it terribly. But once you were back, the nagging felt sweet at first—until it dragged on and wore you down.
Either way, he’d stayed long enough. It was time to move on.
Mo Xiangwen gave his room one last sweep, confirming he’d packed everything except the desktop computer.
The PC wasn’t coming along—it was too bulky anyway. He’d just buy a laptop later.
The next day, he said his goodbyes to his parents and boarded the high-speed train, racing off into the distance.
