Lin Cheng’s home was in the Old District of North City.
The Old District was the most desolate part of the city. Compared to the bright lights of Rose Street, all that remained here were the dim yellow streetlamps flickering along the roads. He pedaled slowly down a moonlit street on a rental bike he’d scanned a QR code for.
He had wanted to grab a cola and some instant ramen on the way home, but the convenience stores were all closed. With a helpless sigh, he parked the bike and trudged back to his place.
The Old District had probably been even more rundown in the past. Five years ago, this area had seen the most Space Rifts open up. Every rift meant kill-bots from other worlds pouring in, so countless people had eventually fled. That all changed three years back, when that legendary figure single-handedly sealed the central Catastrophe Rift. Since then, Catastrophes had dropped by ninety percent worldwide.
Word was, the Old District was finally getting redeveloped—maybe even demolished and rebuilt. Lin Cheng stepped inside his home. He lived alone. Well, almost. There was also a cat.
A black cat lounging lazily on the sofa, grooming her paws.
For over a decade, Lin Cheng had lived by himself. His parents had died in a Catastrophe when he was seven or eight. From that point on, he’d been on his own in the world. Social welfare had gotten him through high school, but then, for various reasons, he’d dropped out, retired from service covered in injuries, and drifted aimlessly ever since.
The only instant ramen left in the house was beef flavor. He had been craving spicy ones.
He filled the battered kettle with water, tore open the seasoning packet, and added just enough below the fill line—that was the trick for the perfect soupy ramen. The fridge’s colas were gone, but there was still a can of beer.
Clutching the beer and ramen bowl, he sat at the table and opened a video site, scrolling through clickbait and shorts. Before long, he stumbled on an interview clip about an Alliance Adjudicator.
The subject was a silver-haired girl of seventeen or eighteen, dressed in the white Alliance Adjudicator uniform—this was casual wear, not combat gear. A little white blazer over a pleated skirt. Lin Cheng vaguely recalled voting on the women’s uniform design back in the day, and this was the one he’d picked. Guess peacetime had made it official.
Slurp slurp.
In the video, the girl sat primly in her chair, looking sweet and adorable. Her thighs peeked from under the skirt, pale and smooth; her calves were slender, clad in little leather shoes. She flashed a charming smile at the camera.
It suddenly clicked for Lin Cheng. This was the Alliance’s new idol push—meant to soothe the public and spread hope. Even bare-faced, she was stunningly beautiful, especially those big, dewy eyes. Pure as could be, yet they had this inexplicably captivating pull.
“A Psychic System ability user, huh?” Lin Cheng muttered.
In the interview, the girl shared her journey to becoming an Adjudicator. She spouted lofty stuff about protecting everyone, world peace, ability users upholding social order… Lin Cheng was about to close it for some borderline dance videos when he caught this through his earbuds:
“My dream is to become an Adjudicator like my idol.”
“And your idol is…?”
“The Adjudicator who sealed the Catastrophe Rift in that final battle three years ago.”
“I know, I know—you mean… Si Ming.”
“Yes! Saving the people around me matters more than saving the world. I’m no hero; I just happened to gain this power, so I’m shouldering the hero’s duty. I have no dreams of my own, but I can protect others’ dreams.”
Lin Cheng burst into a fit of violent coughing. The ramen had gone down the wrong pipe.
Who rips off lines that cringey straight out of middle school?!
The reporter’s eyes lit up. “I know, I know—that’s something Si Ming once said! It’s inspired countless Alliance Adjudicators, hasn’t it?”
“Of course. Si Ming is the idol of our generation of Alliance Adjudicators.”
“Si Ming vanished three years ago, and it was classified as an Alliance secret. Now that it’s peacetime… can the Alliance share anything about his ultimate fate back then?”
“He… shared his power with this generation of Alliance Adjudicators, so he could live as an ordinary person. That’s all.”
Lin Cheng quietly closed the video and flopped onto the bed, rolling around in agony.
He couldn’t take it!
After two minutes of flailing, he calmed down, returned to the computer, and finished his ramen. He polished off the beer, tossed the trash, and stood up.
As a solo dweller, his place wasn’t exactly spotless—things were scattered everywhere. Full and buzzed, he headed to the two-square-meter bathroom. While dressing, he glanced at his reflection.
Yeah, staring at that face in the mirror, Lin Cheng figured it was understandable why that woman called Xiaoxiao had mistaken him for a rent boy.
Everything last night had been in the dark, and he’d woken before Lu Xiaoxiao that morning. She hadn’t seen the scars crisscrossing his chest, abs, and left shoulder—dozens of them, scabbed over and twisted into something grotesque.
Ugly as hell.
Scars were a man’s badges of honor, he told himself. He pulled on a loose white T-shirt and crashed on the bed with his phone, bingeing the latest anime episodes. Full belly, video scrolling—a simple, lazy kind of bliss.
When drowsiness hit, he tossed the phone aside, closed his eyes, and drifted off. Tomorrow would be another good day.
He woke at noon.
Lin Cheng’s sleep was always poor. He had bizarre dreams—flames raging, severed limbs everywhere, blurred faces smeared with bloody tears, eyes burning with stubborn resolve. They felt so distant; no matter how he reached, he couldn’t touch them.
He shuffled to the window, where a ray of sunlight warmed his cheek.
Catastrophes were history now. Humanity had turned the page into a new era of peace. Sunlight bathed every corner evenly. Lin Cheng realized he’d slept in—no street crepes for breakfast.
As a twenty-year-old jobless drifter, his routine was clockwork: late nights, late mornings, gaming, videos, phone scrolling. When loneliness hit at home, he’d sell flowers or croon at a bar, giving his empty soul a scrap of solace.
He grabbed 1,900 yuan from his room, pocketed his bank card, and headed to deposit it.
Only Alliance folks still carried cash like this. Every member’s Identity Ring had storage space, crafted by the Alliance Vice Leader with her abilities. Thanks to ability users, the Alliance hoarded cutting-edge tech not yet public. Litchi had mentioned last time that their virtual reality was advanced enough to upgrade that game from a decade ago—from pod to helmet connection, with way more immersion.
Lin Cheng was intrigued. Wonder if his old Alliance account was still active… He’d been a one-shotting 9999-damage god in there, with tons of gear.
Just idle thoughts for now.
After depositing, he checked his balance: 3,600 yuan. Twenty-five days until Litchi sent next month’s allowance. Without Lu Xiaoxiao’s two grand yesterday, he’d be scraping by till month-end.
Money was bliss—too much could be a curse.
He grabbed rice noodle rolls from a roadside stall for brunch. In the afternoon, he hit a decent nearby internet cafe. His home PC lagged on games. Not broke enough to upgrade, but too lazy—make-do worked fine.
Making do often boosted life’s happiness quotient.
Holiday crowd packed the cafe. Front desk said only private booths were left—meant for two. A woman was already in one. Seeing the clerk’s awkward look, Lin Cheng shrugged with a grin. “How about I chat with her? See if we can share?”
The clerk eyed his face, nodded, and led him over. She opened the booth door. Lin Cheng stared at the woman in a pink Razer cat-ear headset and JK uniform—snowy profile, eyes locked on-screen. He blanked for three or four seconds.
Was the world really this small?
Or was he the protagonist of some light novel? Destined for a second fated encounter with a drop-dead beauty?
“Hey, that’s Xiaoxiao. We’re friends,” Lin Cheng told the clerk. He’d even nailed the nickname. She’d registered Lu Xiaoxiao’s ID earlier, so she nodded, took his for check-in, and left. Lin Cheng slipped inside and shut the door.
Lu Xiaoxiao, headset on and deep in a teamfight, didn’t notice him. She was playing League of Legends. Lin Cheng fired up the PC like he owned the place and sat quietly watching. Rule one: don’t bug gamers mid-match. He was polite like that.
Her teamfight ended; screen went gray. Then Lin Cheng spoke. “Close, but you’ve got another shot. They didn’t take the tower.”
Lu Xiaoxiao leaned back, startled by the voice. She turned, and her eyes landed on his face.
She looked like she’d seen a ghost.
