Not until the man’s figure disappeared around the corner of the staircase did Xia Zichen pull his gaze away. It was the first time he had ever stared at the back of a person like that — rude as it was, something instinctive in him hadn’t wanted to look away.
He turned to find An Jing staring at him with a puzzled expression. “What?” Xia Zichen asked, mildly confused.
“Do you know Gu Xu?” An Jing’s tone was full of surprise.
“Who is Gu Xu?” The name felt vaguely familiar to Xia Zichen, but he couldn’t quite make sense of what An Jing was getting at.
“That guy who just walked in.” An Jing clarified.
“You know him?” Xia Zichen was mildly surprised that An Jing recognized the man. A flash of memory surfaced — and suddenly Xia Zichen remembered why the name Gu Xu had felt so familiar. A while back, when he’d gone to help his senior record that piece, the girls had brought him up. Something about that person standing outside the door listening to him play the guzheng…
“I’m the one who was going to ask you that — how did it turn back around to me?” An Jing almost got turned around by him and pulled the topic back. “Do you know him or not?”
“No.” Xia Zichen replied. He genuinely didn’t — he’d only ever heard the name before.
“Then why did he greet you.” An Jing believed Xia Zichen wasn’t the type to lie, but if they didn’t know each other, what Gu Xu had just done was a little strange.
“No idea.” Xia Zichen went back to eating. He was a little puzzled, but not enough to spend mental energy on it.
“Little Zhen-zhen, do you have any idea how many people are trying to get close to him right now?” An Jing reached over without ceremony and stole a cut piece of steak from Xia Zichen’s plate. “Gu Xu actively nodded at you in greeting, and you’re sitting here telling me you don’t know him?”
“I really don’t.” Xia Zichen thought about it several times over and still couldn’t place any connection between them. But given An Jing’s tone, he seemed to know quite a bit about this person. Xia Zichen asked, “Who exactly is he anyway?”
It was the first time An Jing had ever been tempted to roll his eyes at Xia Zichen. “He’s a senior from our school’s finance department. He’s doing his graduate program now.”
So he was in the graduate school. When it came to University A’s finance department, Xia Zichen did have a certain admiration for anyone who got in. University A’s finance program was ranked at the very top nationally — only the most exceptional students made it in, people who not only had sharp minds but were highly adaptable and creative thinkers.
“Word is his family’s influence is enormous. I don’t know all the details, but apparently he started getting involved in the family business back in undergrad. His personal worth is on a level most people can’t touch.” An Jing continued recounting what he’d gathered through his various information-gathering channels. “Though he’s always kept a very low profile. He’s got that proud streak and isn’t the easiest person to approach, but he doesn’t put on airs. Incredibly sharp too, which is why he’s always had a great reputation among the people in his year.”
Xia Zichen listened quietly as An Jing talked. Someone like that was genuinely rare. Setting aside anyone farther away — just look at Shen Yicheng. Even after the four of them had grown quite close, you could still feel that young-master air Shen Yicheng carried, as if he always needed to hold himself just a notch above everyone else.
“You know quite a lot.” Xia Zichen smiled at An Jing, who was now talking with some animation. He didn’t know the specifics, but An Jing clearly had more than a surface-level picture. “You really should have studied journalism instead of advertising.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” An Jing said, looking entirely pleased with himself. “People actually working in journalism don’t necessarily dig up the real gossip. The best stuff always comes from the people behind the scenes.”
Xia Zichen could only shake his head helplessly at that and let it go.
After the main course, dessert and coffee arrived in turn. The two of them traded half-sentences back and forth about things going on in the game. Just then, the restaurant manager walked over wearing a smile that hit exactly the right note of warmth and professionalism.
“Pardon the interruption — this is compliments of Mr. Gu Xu.” The manager set two slices of chocolate cake on the table in front of them. “Please enjoy.”
The two exchanged a surprised glance. An Jing had just been about to call the manager back, but the man had already moved away, and making a scene wasn’t exactly appropriate. Xia Zichen looked at the cake dusted with chocolate powder and furrowed his brow slightly. Something settled quietly in his chest — there was something that felt very familiar about all of this, but he couldn’t get a hold of it.
Then, in a flash, the image of a white trench coat, seen from behind, passed through his mind. Xia Zichen suddenly understood why that silhouette had felt so familiar. Back at the café, the person who had let him have the hot cocoa — that must have been Gu Xu.
“Did you just think of something?” Seeing that he’d gone quiet, An Jing asked.
“Nothing.” Xia Zichen had no intention of mentioning it. There wasn’t really anything to say — after that day, there had been no real connection between him and Gu Xu. They were still strangers.
“Nothing, and yet Gu Xu sent cake over?” An Jing was clearly not satisfied with being brushed off.
“He sent it to both of us, not just me. Think back yourself — maybe you’ve crossed paths with him at some point.” Compared to his own more reserved social life, An Jing had a wider circle. It wasn’t impossible.
“No way.” An Jing said decisively. “From the moment he walked in, his eyelashes didn’t so much as flicker in my direction. What kind of connection would we have?”
Xia Zichen was out of things to say. He picked up his fork and said quietly, “Stop overthinking it. Just eat.”
He clearly wasn’t going to get an explanation out of Xia Zichen, and An Jing knew it, so he buried himself in the cake instead. Someone else was paying for it — leaving it would be a waste.
When they left the restaurant, the manager had applied a discount on their bill, and they ended up not spending very much at all. An Jing’s eyes grew even wider as he stared at Xia Zichen, and Xia Zichen had no way to explain it. He figured he’d deal with it later.
December arrived, and N City got its first snowfall of the year. It wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to make the cold truly felt. University A’s heating system ran generously every winter though, and inside the dorm you couldn’t sense the chill outside at all — it just made everyone even less inclined to drag themselves out to class.
To attract more players and the incoming winter holiday crowd, and to make the game more engaging, Sword Soul unveiled its long-awaited marriage system to enormous anticipation, with an official launch set for one week later. As a warm-up and promotion for the marriage system, the game also launched a seasonal couples event.
The winter couples event wasn’t particularly difficult — just time-consuming. Two players had to complete a whole series of tasks together. Even though marriage was limited to opposite-gender pairs, same-gender characters could still participate in the couples quests. Completing the quest chain rewarded a matching pair of couple’s bracelets with solid stats, so from the moment the event launched, it was met with enthusiasm across the player base. Every event area was packed daily, and the energy was lively.
Coming out of the arena, Xia Zichen checked the time — just a little past eight. With nothing pressing to do, he was thinking about what to do next. Since the couples event launched, guild members had been rushing to finish the quest chain — with only one week, dungeon runs had been put on hold for the time being. The world channel was dominated by couples event chatter every day. Players without a romantic partner were broadcasting in world asking for someone to team up with, while those already in relationships were preparing everything needed for the marriage ceremony, all hoping to be among the first to wed on the day the marriage system went live.
Xia Zichen was very much in the spectator camp on all of this. The bracelets he already had were better than the event reward, so even completing the quest would be pointless stat-wise — and besides, he had no romantic partner. The couples event seemed like something entirely removed from his world.
In truth, getting married in the game wasn’t simple either. Beyond needing a five-star affinity rating between the two players, both also had to complete a linked chain of quests together before gaining the eligibility to marry — several times more involved than just registering a marriage in real life. But for two people already in a relationship, even the hassle was probably part of the fun.
[Party] [Canmo Wuhen]: What do you want to do next?
[Party] [Chenxi]: Haven’t decided. You?
[Party] [Canmo Wuhen]: Actually there is something I want to do. I’m not sure if you’d want to join.
[Party] [Chenxi]: What is it?
[Party] [Canmo Wuhen]: Come do the couples quest with me.
Xia Zichen paused for a moment before replying.
[Party] [Chenxi]: You don’t even need the bracelet, do you?
[Party] [Canmo Wuhen]: I don’t. But I want it.
Chenxi smiled despite herself. There was something about the way Canmo Wuhen said it — a kind of composed, unhurried willfulness. He wanted it, so he was going after it. Nothing wrong with that.
[Party] [Chenxi]: Then let’s go.
So the two of them, still in the same party, headed to the NPC in the main city to pick up the quest.
Perhaps to symbolize the everlasting nature of love, the couples quest was divided into nine stages that had to be completed in order to finish the full chain. Xia Zichen skimmed through them — three had some actual difficulty to them, while the rest were mostly gathering and delivery tasks that just took time.
The first few stages went smoothly. Then the first of the genuinely challenging tasks arrived. This one required killing a mini-BOSS out in the open world. The BOSS had a one-minute respawn timer.
Killing a BOSS was no challenge at all for Canmo Wuhen — by all logic, there shouldn’t be any difficulty involved. But the problem was that hundreds of players were all camped at the same respawn point, and actually getting the kill credit was the real challenge.
Even though the couples event had been running for several days already and most of the early-rush players had long since finished, there were still plenty of people who’d deliberately held off to avoid the initial crowds. As expected, by the time the two arrived at the BOSS’s respawn point, a significant crowd had already formed, surrounding the spawn area so densely that the BOSS would barely be visible the moment it appeared.
[Party] [Canmo Wuhen]: So many people.
[Party] [Chenxi]: The event window is limited. Everyone wants to get it done, naturally there’d be crowds.
[Party] [Canmo Wuhen]: What do we do now?
Even though Canmo Wuhen was a formidable fighter against BOSSes, fighting for BOSS credit in a crowd wasn’t necessarily his forte.
[Party] [Chenxi]: Steal it.
Xia Zichen typed the single word with no hesitation and pushed into the crowd. Canmo Wuhen followed.
When the BOSS spawned, it was claimed in the blink of an eye by someone unknown. The player who got the credit immediately let out a victory shout in the nearby channel while the rest could only stare and wait for the next respawn.
Xia Zichen started timing the moment the last BOSS fell, and when he estimated about ten seconds remained before the next spawn, he activated his AoE attack skill. Jingning Hall, being a healing sect, naturally had very low attack power. It only had two offensive abilities — a single-target strike and an AoE — and between the two, the single-target was noticeably stronger. Many healers never bothered putting the AoE in their skill bar at all, let alone using it.
It made sense — attack was already low to begin with, and triggering the AoE risked pulling a swarm of nearby mobs, which would be outright suicidal. Better to single-target kill while simultaneously topping yourself off, managing both sides at once.
Even if nobody else wanted to use it, Xia Zichen had always kept it in his skill bar. The AoE had an effective radius of ten feet, automatically selected the six nearest hostile targets, and dealt a small tick of damage every half second for a duration of thirty seconds. If the player moved during the channel, the effect would break.
In the typical approach to stealing BOSS credit, players would wait for the BOSS to spawn, then select the target and fire a skill — for slower hands this process took about two seconds, for fast hands maybe one second. But this AoE ticked every half second and auto-targeted. The area around this BOSS’s respawn point had no other small mobs nearby, and since Xia Zichen was a neutral player, attacking other players wasn’t possible — so the skill’s auto-targeting would land entirely on the mini-BOSS.
Exactly as anticipated — the moment the BOSS spawned, the sustained AoE fired and locked in the credit at the fastest possible speed.
In the game, if a BOSS or mob didn’t belong to you, its HP bar would display a red X, indicating it was claimed by another player. No X meant it was yours. Whoever landed the first hit was automatically recognized as the owner, and ownership wouldn’t transfer unless that player died mid-fight.
Once Chenxi secured the mini-BOSS, she quickly backflipped behind Canmo Wuhen, threw a heal on herself, and Canmo Wuhen stepped forward and finished the BOSS in two moves. He then swept Chenxi up onto the horse, leaving behind a crowd of players glaring daggers at their retreating figures as they rode off without a backward glance.