Chapter 9
The floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse had been polished mirror-bright; morning sunlight poured in unhindered, gilding the glossy floor, the brand-new Italian sofa, even the thriving pothos in the corner. The air still carried the faint scent of new leather, a citrus whiff of cleaning spray, and the ghost of coffee—Lao Wei’s last pot before he left.
Ho finally felt like a fortress. Every trace of chaos had been erased; the shattered window was now thicker bullet-proof glass—Lao Wei’s non-negotiable upgrade—and the carpet had been replaced with sothing so soft my feet sank like into clouds. Xing Dian and Yue Fei’s halos circled the pothos, indigo and cherry-white sparks flickering over the leaves like they were running so photosynthesis-optimization experint, adding a subtle pulse of life to the room.
I was in baggy cotton loungewear, cherry-white hair loose, barefoot on the carpet, hugging a cushion and staring blankly at a brain-dead variety show on the huge TV. Chip bag: empty. Cola can: empty. A lazy, almost decadent calm wrapped around —financially free, no monsters in sight, contract signed, and Lao Wei... well, he was in the next room packing; the soft rustle of his duffel was the background music to my peace.
Buzzzz.
My phone shattered the balance—Lao Wei’s custom ring, urgent as a fire alarm.
I swiped lazily, voice still gravelly with sleep and banter. “Yo, finished packing? Move your ass. Want to fold your boxers for you?”
Two seconds of silence. Then, instead of the usual barked coback, ca Lao Wei’s voice—low, sandpaper-rough, each word a lead weight:
“...Kid. Sothing’s happened back ho.”
My slacker grin froze. Arms tightened around the cushion, knuckles whitening.
“Mom... heart attack. They’ve taken her to hospital. Dad can’t handle it alone. I’ve... gotta go. Now.”
A cold fist clamped my heart. Lao Wei’s mom—the auntie who always smiled and stuffed with giant at-zongzi, who slipped local specialities into my bag...
“How bad?! Did they operate? Is she stable?!” I shot upright, voice cracking, all laziness vaporized.
“Stent surgery just finished. Docs say she’s stable for now, but she’ll need care. Dad’s business...” He inhaled, exhaustion leaking through the speaker. “I’ve booked the next high-speed train. Gonna be... a while.”
A while...
The room went hollow; only the TV’s canned laughter remained, loud and obscene. Sunlight still blazed outside, but a chunk inside caved in.
“Right... then... go. Go fast.” My own voice ca out dry, small. “Tell Auntie I’ll visit. Text when you arrive.”
“...Mm.” He hesitated. “You... gonna be okay alone?” Then the usual drill: food in fridge, property manager on speed-dial, lock the windows, don’t ss with the bracelet, 110 if he doesn’t pick up...
“Yeah yeah yeah—so naggy! I’m not three!” I snapped, loud and fake-irritated to drown the sudden chill of being left behind. “Hurry, you’ll miss your train. Give Auntie my love!” My last sentence wobbled.
“...Got it.” Click. Dial tone. Countdown over.
I sat there, phone hot against my ear, until the TV laughter felt like static. Outside, the city roared on; inside, the brand-new fortress felt vast and draughty. The gruff, gunpowder-scented wall nad Lao Wei had been yanked away.
Xing Dian’s indigo flicker hovered anxiously. “Master... the scary big guy... Big Wei left? Is his mom okay?”
Yue Fei landed on the sofa arm, violet eyes calm. “ow. Mortal illness—routine in the human world. The guardian has stepped out; ti to solo the instance.”
Solo.
Panic vine-wrapped my heart. I’d grown used to Lao Wei like I used to oxygen—his bark of “Food!” or “Don’t touch that!”, his looming grouchy silhouette. Now the oxygen was gone, and I was alone with monsters and secrets still hiding in the world.
No! Yun Xi, you wimp! You used to pull all-nighters debugging, duel investors, get chewed out by clients—solo! Now you’re financially free, plus two cheat-grade spirits. Scared of a few days alone? Pathetic!
I shook off the weakness, injected myself with chicken-soup code: Enjoy the true slacker-emperor life! Ga till dawn! Nobody to nag!
Reality punctured the dream—stomach growling. Breakfast coffee had evaporated. Fridge held only frozen dumplings and mineral water Lao Wei had stocked. Need fresh supplies.
Go out.
As “Yun Xi”... alone?
I glanced down: baggy ho-wear, bare feet, bird-nest cherry-white hair, and—oh hell—the pimple on my right cheek now glowed like a mini-volcano after a night’s sleep. Flashbacks: Zhao Kai’s slimy stare, the Survival Guide’s warnings about “male visual lock-on” and “necessity of elegant concealnt”.
Girls’ going-out protocol... was a whole different codebase from hoodie-jeans-sneakers-cloud-run. Disaster waiting to happen.
I bolted to the bedroom mirror. Silver seaweed hair, zit shining like a beacon, eyes screaming “ERROR 404: OUTFIT NOT FOUND”. Step one: clothes.
Wardrobe held:
- Cream wool dress (sealed—mories of signing-day social death)
- Smart smoke-grey joggers
- Innocent-looking pale-blue hoodie
- Pink sheer lace set—“every girl needs this” according to Lao Wei’s cave-man logic.
Forr uniform: T-shirt (black/gray), jeans, sneakers. Colour palette: #000000 to #555555.
I lifted the blue hoodie—soft, sky-coloured, harmless. Bottom? Joggers = neutral, mobile. Skirt? None, except the cursed cream one. Lace horror? Pass—looks like it would tear if I breathed.
Decision paralysis. I clutched hoodie, joggers, white cotton tee like a noob before a boss fight. Mirror verdict: a... delicate high-schooler heading to study hall? Zit deducted major points—whatever, “flaw doesn’t hide jade” (self-deception edition).
Hair—epic boss. Forrly: five-finger comb, done. Now: waist-length silk that screams “target” if left loose. I fumbled a high ponytail, failed, ended with a low saggy bun that might unravel in a breeze. Face-wash, toothbrush, glower at the zit.
Shoes—white sneakers, familiar anchor.
Load-out: phone, keys, folded cash cramd into jogger pockets—lumpy, thigh-rubbing, but “pragmatism wins”. No bag (the only one was a chain-strapped artifact—too weird for groceries).
Door handle felt ice-cold. Deep breath. Slacker emperor marching to war!
...
Noon sun blazed. The instant I left the climate-controlled lobby, a hot gust of exhaust and asphalt slapped . I squinted, hand shading forehead—then froze: I’d never “shielded” myself as Yun Xi; felt... embarrassingly girly.
Every passer-by glanced. So appreciative, so curious, so... oily. A middle-aged guy walking his golden retriever raked head-to-toe twice, smirking. Cold fury spiked; the bracelet’s silver-blue shimred dangerously. I ducked my head, speed-walked, keys biting my palm.
“Master—chin up, steady pace. Panic feeds predators,” Yue Fei murmured.
I straightened, stared ahead like an ice sculpture broadcasting “back off”.
Inside the supermarket, AC hit like a shield. I beelined for produce. Cart felt awkward; eyes still prickled my back.
“Miss, need help? Organic milk on sale—great for skin!” A grinning male clerk cornered , voice sticky-sweet.
“No... thanks.” I veered away. He followed, pushing strawberries.
“Really NO!” I snapped louder, escaped between shelves of cooking oil.
Checkout: cashier auntie scanned my basics, grinning. “Cooking for yourself? So capable! Got a boyfriend?”
I grunted, cheeks burning, zit throbbing like a beacon.
Two plastic bags cut into my fingers; arms ached after one block. Joggers sagged under the weight; I had to hitch them up every few steps, almost dropping the groceries.
“Suggestion: small cross-body next ti,” Yue Fei sighed.
Back in the fortress, I collapsed on the kitchen floor, soul smoking. SS-tier ntal dungeon cleared—solo.
Ate self-heating rice (tasted like cardboard), swore not to sleep dayti—then almost face-planted into keyboard.
Ding!
Lao Wei: “Arrived. Mom’s awake, cursing Dad for being clumsy.” Photo: auntie smiling weakly, Dad bemused, Lao Wei half-face, flashing a crooked V.
The stone in my chest finally settled, sending warm ripples all the way to my toes.
I fired off a string of texts, fingers practically dancing: “YES! Thank heaven! Tell Auntie to rest up and stop worrying! And go easy on Uncle—light roast only! LOL hug-emoji.”
Old Wei pinged back instantly: “Copy. You okay?”
“All good! Just got back from a supermarket sweep—fridge is stuffed. Ready to activate Ultimate Slacker-Emperor Evolution Mode™ smug-sticker salt-fish-flip.” I threw in the smuggest sticker I had, trying to chase the last cloud away.
“...Right. Don’t stay up. Later.”
I set the phone down and felt the boulder in my chest finally roll away. Sleep, though, crashed over like a tsunami.
I kneaded my temples—throbbing, ready to burst—and my finger brushed the stubborn volcano on my right cheek, the one silently yelling, Pay your sleep debt, loser.
Pimple... debt of sleepless nights...
Frustration surged. I bolted to the bathroom mirror and howled at the girl staring back—panda eyes, dull skin, a crimson zit like a dal of sha. “Aaaargh—when will you JUST LEAVE?!”
I’m supposed to show this face for the “social-boba experint” in the Survival Guide?
I was one second from popping the little volcano when—
Bzzzt...
A lazy, ethereal ripple slid through my mind, like a flashlight beam in midnight water.
“Aw～ my cute self～” ng Yun Xi’s teasing lilt floated in, a sigh across dinsions. “Scowling and baring fangs at your ‘debt-collector’ won’t fix the root problem～ You’ll just leave battle-scars～”
“Ancestor!” I yelled inside my head, clutching the life-line. “Perfect timing! Ergency protocol! One-hit KO spell? Fairy zit-zap? Online, urgent!”
“Haste burns the tofu, kiddo～” She laughed, savoring my panic. “One tiny over-energized volcano and you want to burn Eternal Dream: Pri Abyss juice? Using a nuke on a mosquito? Save power for real flies.”
“Then what?!” I was almost crying; the zit felt bigger.
“Since you finally went outside—ssy but brave—here’s a reward.” Her voice turned mock-grandiose. “Catch: Hocoming Yun Xi – Ancestor’s Gentle Painless At-Ho Zit-Be-Gone Guide.”
A crisp four-step slideshow slamd into my brain.
Step 1: Ti-Cold Compress!
Visual: the Hengng Shiyuan bracelet on my wrist glowed ice-blue. A sliver of arctic ti-essence peeled away, sparkling on my fingertip like a frozen star.
Voice-over: “Wake the surface layer of ti-chill—ONE sliver only; frostbite isn’t covered under warranty. Dab around the volcano, avoid the crater, 10 seconds on, 1 minute off, repeat thrice. Freeze the riotous capillaries into submission.”
I focused; the bracelet answered. A thread of soul-freezing cold gathered at my index finger. Tap-tap around the red mound—brrr, brutal, but the burn shrank like a scolded fla.
Step 2: Star-Purify Rinse!
Visual: tap water shimred as a grain of indigo starlight dissolved into it.
Voice-over: “Running water, humble and fine. Call Xing Dian, borrow one micro-dose of star-purification—just enough to wash a face. Rinse away the oily gri and ‘heat’ residue, unclog the battlefield.”
“Xing Dian, drop of purify, please!”
“Roger, Master! Sparkle mode on!” A barely visible indigo dot rged with the water in my cupped hands. I washed; grease and gloom swirled away, skin breathing again.
Step 3: Moon-Silk Seal!
Visual: one plain drop of jojoba oil in my palm absorbed a pale pink moonbeam.
Voice-over: “One drop carrier oil—no more, or you’ll shine like a disco ball. Summon Yue Fei, blend one strand of moon-nourish. Warm between palms, press over face, siege-zone included. Repair, hydrate, fortify—no souvenir craters.”
“Yue Fei!”
“ow, understood. Elegant repair comncing.” A cool pink speck blended into the oil. I pressed; moon-kissed softness rolled in, swelling vanished to a faint, harmless bump.
Step 4: The Hard Truth! (Blood-and-Tears Edition)
Visual: giant red X’s slashed icons of late-night snacks, milk tea, fried chicken, chip feasts. A single glittering “SLEEP EARLY” hovered over tranquil stars.
Voice-over – Ancestor’s drill-sergeant timbre: “Steps 1-3 treat symptoms! Cure? Only one:
“EARLY! TO! BED! EARLY! TO! RISE!
“WARM! PLAIN! WATER! CLEAN! SIMPLE! FOOD!
“Or—”
Scene cut: the tiny pimple morphs into an erupting mountain range of lava-pus labeled “COMPOUND-INTEREST REVENGE!”
“The debt-collector brings cousins, aunts, and rolling interest—The Zit Avengers—coming for you. Got it?!”
I stared at the mirror: pale-pink speck, skin calm, apocalypse fresh in my head...
ssage received, Ancestor. Loud and clear.
Tonight, 10 p.m. sharp—date with Duke Zhou. Even the emperor can’t stop my face-saving bedti.
The reluctant wellness journey of the salt-fish witch begins now, under threat of pimple doom and ancestral wrath.
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