Chapter 65

Not only had Nan Qi ended her romantic relationship with Bo Ranying, but she had also changed her in-game nickname.

She swapped the matching “Crayon Squinty-Eyes” for the straightforward “nq111”.

She added a few extra numbers to avoid duplicates.

The four of them paired off into twos, each duo immersed in different games, with very little conversation between them. Nan Xi was probably the only one truly absorbed in his game and genuinely enjoying himself.

The others all felt a subtle unease in their moods, to varying degrees.

Bo Ranying hadn’t played Honor of Kings in a long time, and her skills had grown rusty. Her hero pool in the shop had expanded by several rows, and the current meta heroes were no longer the ones she once knew so well.

Time flies, pushing everyone forward relentlessly, with no exceptions.

Little Qi was moving forward too, wasn’t she?

Bo Ranying had always firmly believed she was part of that forward march, but in this moment, she suddenly realized with a daze that she might be the one trapped in place—

Her throat felt a little dry, and a faint bitterness rose in her mouth.

With her eyelashes lowered, she selected a hero she had been good with in the past on the hero selection screen.

The countdown ended.

The game began—a 5v5 ranked match.

She picked a mage, while Nan Qi chose a shooter.

Normally, these two roles synergized well and could significantly dent the enemy team’s economy in the early game.

But with all the game updates since then, the heroes had gone through numerous reworks, and their skills had become more fluid and skill-intensive.

Bo Ranying kept messing up her operations, and she had no chemistry with Nan Qi. They frequently died to enemy fire, their health bars draining to zero.

A thick wave of frustration welled up in Bo Ranying’s chest. She remembered how seamless their teamwork had been in the past when they duoed ranked matches in Honor of Kings—they had even achieved a twenty-win streak. Back then, her roommates and classmates all wanted to team up with them for easy rank-ups.

The complete opposite of their current performance.

Bo Ranying gritted her teeth. She wanted to prove that things were still the same—that she and Nan Qi could keep winning.

That the outcome wouldn’t change.

She discussed tactics with Nan Qi.

“Little Qi, hide in the bush first and don’t let the enemies spot you. I’ll bait Jiang Ziya and lower his guard.”

“Then we’ll circle to the top lane and steal the tower.”

She desperately wanted to win.

But the later the game went, the more hopeless it felt. She and Nan Qi didn’t manage to snag even a single star.

Bo Ranying tapped open their match history and stared at that string of red “Defeat” notices, her eyes stinging.

She thought back to not long ago, when Nan Qi and Tang Lian had teamed up for It Takes Two—a game that truly required two-player cooperation to clear.

Once Tang Lian and Nan Qi got past the initial awkward phase with the controllers, they powered through level after level, both of them looking thrilled and fulfilled. Even as a bystander, Bo Ranying had felt their joy.

Little Qi had even smiled at Tang Lian—a relaxed, beautiful smile.

Bo Ranying was so jealous she wanted to snatch Nan Qi right back.

Fortunately, her wish came true later on, and she became the one playing games with Nan Qi.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recreate the vibe Nan Qi had shared with Tang Lian during their sessions. All they managed in this game were failure after failure, death after death.

Bo Ranying felt depressed about her own clumsiness.

At this rate, no matter the game, Nan Qi surely wouldn’t want to play with her anymore.

Bo Ranying wrinkled her nose in distress, her finger hovering shakily over the quit button, not daring to invite Nan Qi to the next round.

She wished she could pray to the gods to pause time right here or fast-forward to the future, anything to stop the awkwardness from spreading further.

It seemed the gods had truly heard her plea.

Divine mercy pities all, gently granting her wish.

Zhou Ru had dinner ready and called out from the living room for the kids to come eat.

Everyone set aside their games, washed their hands, fetched chairs, and helped Zhou Ru carry the dishes from the kitchen to the table. They gathered around, ready to dig in.

Zhou Ru had heard beforehand that Bo Ranying and Nan Qi had some falling out, but she didn’t know the specifics of their argument. Nan Qi had an indifferent personality and always processed her emotions alone, never sharing her troubles. And Bo Ranying was keeping mum this time too, refusing to explain.

So Zhou Ru had racked her brains and deliberately seated Bo Ranying right next to Nan Qi.

She wouldn’t meddle directly in the kids’ affairs but hoped to give them a stepping stone to air out their issues.

When they sat down, Nan Qi picked up on Zhou Ru’s intention but said nothing, calmly taking her seat.

Bo Ranying’s heart rose and fell with Nan Qi’s movements.

As Nan Qi passed in front of her and paused, Bo Ranying genuinely feared she might head to the other side of the table.

Only when Nan Qi sat down did that frantically pounding heart finally settle.

Tang Lian came back after washing her hands and saw that the seat next to Nan Qi was already taken by Bo Ranying. A flicker of regret passed through her, and her gaze lingered there wistfully, but she quickly adjusted her mindset. Tonight’s arrangement was perfectly reasonable, after all.

In Zhou Ru’s eyes, she was the newcomer.

Tang Lian pursed her lips and sat down across from Nan Qi. The moment she settled, she shot Nan Qi a soft, lingering look that seemed to draw silken threads through the air, conveying her regret at not being able to sit closer.

Nan Qi caught the message and gave her a sidelong glance, signaling her to cut it out.

Their eye contact was all seen by Bo Ranying, who sat just inches away. She gripped her wooden chopsticks tightly, pressing hard on the weakest spot with such force that she nearly snapped them in half.

Next to Tang Lian sat Zhou Ru and Nan Xi.

Zhou Ru had made three dishes and a soup for the evening, but after Tang Lian arrived, she added one more dish and another soup, not wanting to seem inhospitable to Nan Qi’s new friend.

She had a good impression of Tang Lian—who didn’t like a sweet-talking girl? “Auntie didn’t know you were coming over, or what you like to eat, so I just whipped up whatever.”

“Tell Auntie what you want next time, and I’ll make it for you.”

“Thanks, Auntie. I already love what you’ve made tonight.” Tang Lian’s smile deepened as she immediately ladled herself a bowl of loofah and egg soup. After a sip, she looked utterly content. “My tastes are just like Big Sister Nan Qi’s.”

Her sincere display warmed Zhou Ru’s heart to no end. The praise hit right on the mark for her cooking, and she felt deeply satisfied seeing someone devour her food.

But Tang Lian’s casual, familiar way of calling her “Big Sister” caught Zhou Ru’s attention even more.

Zhou Ru immediately looked to Nan Qi for her reaction, only to see her expression calm and unchanged—which meant she had tacitly approved the nickname.

Nan Qi wasn’t the type to bother with sisterly bonds outside of formal matters. If she even spared someone an extra glance, that counted as her being warm.

From childhood to now, her only close friend had been Bo Ranying.

Zhou Ru had thought Bo Ranying was the exception.

To think she could get this close to someone besides Ranran—it instantly elevated Tang Lian in her eyes.

Like any fretful parent, Zhou Ru pulled Tang Lian into small talk, deeply curious about how she and Nan Qi had met. Naturally, she asked, “Little Tang, how did you and our Nan Qi get to know each other?”

“How we met?” Tang Lian echoed Zhou Ru’s question, her smile darkening with mischief, her eyes brimming with slyness. She enunciated each word: “Through Bo Ranying.”

Zhou Ru quickly followed up: “Related to Ranran?”

Snap—

The moment Tang Lian finished speaking, the chopsticks teetering on the edge in Bo Ranying’s hand finally broke in two. Half clattered to the floor with a crisp sound, drawing everyone’s attention.

“I didn’t hold them steady. They broke.”

Bo Ranying offered a stiff explanation.

Her mind flashed repeatedly to that night at the bar when Nan Qi had come to pick her up, and to the moment she, egged on, had forwarded Tang Lian’s WeChat to Nan Qi.

The former was fuzzy—she’d been drunk that night, everything hazy around her. She hadn’t paid clear attention to the people or events nearby. When Nan Qi arrived after the call, all her focus had been on Nan Qi, coquettishly clinging and depending on her, with no spare attention for Tang Lian beside them or the spark of affection Tang Lian had shown upon seeing Nan Qi.

The latter memory was sharp and vivid.

She desperately wanted to time-travel back, grab a bucket of cold water, and splash her addled past self awake.

How could she have pushed Little Qi into someone else’s arms?!

How had she let things spiral this badly?

Every time she recalled it, a deep regret sank into her.

At that moment, when Tang Lian brought it up as if to show off—or worse, to mock—Bo Ranying’s heart felt as though it had been stabbed through. Drafts of wind whistled through the gaping wound, each gust stirring up excruciating pain.

She bent down to pick up the chopsticks, but Zhou Ru stopped her.

“Ranran, don’t trouble yourself. What if you get scratched by a splinter later? Little Qi, go grab the broom.”

“They’re wooden chopsticks, Aunt Zhou. It’s no trouble at all.” Bo Ranying’s expression was gentle yet firm. She deflected Zhou Ru’s concern and kept Nan Qi from getting up.

She pulled back her chair and bent down to retrieve the chopsticks. Meanwhile, Zhou Ru and Tang Lian picked up their conversation where they’d left off.

The dinner table seemed a picture of harmony, warm and cheerful.

Bo Ranying deliberately slowed her movements. Tang Lian’s laughter and chatter filled her ears, but she tuned it out, unwilling to make out the words. All she wanted was a legitimate excuse to escape, even if just for a moment.

The chopsticks had fallen quite a distance away. She gauged her arm’s reach and realized she’d need to scoot closer under the table.

Bo Ranying smoothed her skirt and leaned toward the chopsticks’ position, stretching out her hand.

Her calculations proved spot on. Her fingers closed around one corner of the chopsticks. She twisted her head to pull herself back out when her gaze inadvertently landed on something.

Bo Ranying’s face drained of color in an instant. Her body went rigid, frozen in place. She had stumbled upon a scene she would never forget, and in her shock, she forgot what she was even doing.

There, in plain view beneath the table, Tang Lian’s foot dangled half out of her slipper. Her bare calf swayed lazily, teasingly brushing against Nan Qi’s leg—now close, now withdrawing in a playful hook and retreat.

Nan Qi sat perfectly upright, deftly evading Tang Lian’s brazen advances. She anticipated each drop of that probing toe and sidestepped it with calm composure.

It wasn’t going the way Tang Lian wanted.

It was like a game of cat and mouse, advance and retreat.

Bo Ranying had no idea how long this had been going on. Throughout the meal, she hadn’t noticed a thing.

The sight pierced her like a blade.

A storm of pent-up frustration churned in her chest, with no outlet in sight. She bit down hard on her lip until the tender flesh broke, the metallic tang of blood flooding her tongue. With immense effort, she suppressed the urge to yank the two apart and flip the table over. She squeezed her eyes shut and took several deep breaths to steady herself. Only then did she finally stand, fetch a fresh pair of chopsticks from the kitchen, and sit back down.

Yet even the exquisite dishes Zhou Ru had so carefully prepared now tasted like ash in Bo Ranying’s mouth. She had lost all appetite.