Chapter 21
Spencer was still cursing under her breath as the security guards hauled her away. Yan Huan didn't bother watching; the mont she left, the average IQ of the surrounding air seed to jump ten points. While he and Sakuramiya Hitomi headed back to the gym to collect their things, his mind kept circling the Modifier.
Just like the mory edits hypnosis produced, the episode in the equipnt room now looked perfectly ordinary—unless you had resistance, you'd never notice anything off. Apparently the Vice-President's mories had been smoothed the sa way.
The setting sun angled itself as if it felt sorry for girls; it tucked Sakuramiya into the long shadow cast by the teaching building while Yan stood full in the light, his face painted gold.
They walked side by side. Sakuramiya tucked a loose strand of black hair behind her ear and asked casually, "Did that girl say anything to you, President?"
Yan's train of thought snapped. He glanced at her. "Why do you ask?"
"She took photos of us out of nowhere and looked like the type who'd never really delete them."
"I scared her; she deleted them. Never seen her around before, though. Total blank." Yan smiled, deciding not to drag Sakuramiya into the Modifier ss, and lied.
Huh...
Blackmailed by a blonde a minute ago, now lying straight-faced to Sakuramiya.
The déjà vu was getting ridiculous.
"Probably a transfer student," Sakuramiya answered, outwardly calm, her mind racing. If the girl was harmless, how had she shattered the Boundary? A bug in the skill? And why had it snuffed the sparks she was sure had almost flown between her and the President?
I need to examine this power properly. No more slip-ups. At least the mory edit worked—he didn't notice anything after half an hour locked in the room.
They reached the gym lockers. Yan slung his backpack and uniform over one shoulder; Sakuramiya carried her clothes in a simple cloth bag.
"The locker room's already closed," she said. "Want to change in the office, President?"
Yan checked the ti on his phone. "No need. I'll head ho early and catch the South-District shuttle."
"All right, President."
Sakuramiya tilted her head, puzzled. On most Mondays Yan stayed behind for mahjong club, then caught a late bus. She knew his habits inside out, but this ti she kept quiet.
Fine by —he won't be stuck with those shaless won who insist on hand-shuffling even though the club owns two machines, claiming "only official mbers can use them."
Can't even shuffle properly—looks more like they're washing their hands!
After one visit Sakuramiya had decided the club should be disbanded for corrupting minors.
"I'll head back to the office, then. See you tomorrow, President."
"See you tomorrow, Sakuramiya."
As soon as she left, Yan sprinted for the school gate, timing himself on his phone. Today he had to stop by Sis Tong's pub. It wasn't his scheduled shift, but losing four hundred yuan for skipping the weekend still stung. He planned to make up both days by working Monday and Tuesday back-to-back. Seven consecutive nights—such was the resolve of a world-saving ti traveler.
He caught the South-District shuttle just in ti. Air-conditioning humd, and the after-school chatter was louder though the bus was half-empty. Yuanyue dismissed students after the last elective; so stayed for clubs, most were whisked away by parents to cram school or pricey enrichnt classes. Hashimoto was absent—he belonged to the cram-school battalion.
Linn followed a Newman-style system: university admission was by application. A unified exam existed, yet it carried nowhere near the crushing weight of the old gaokao. Extracurricular excellence, relevant coursework, and glowing recomndations were what mattered. On paper it escaped the sea of exam drills; in practice the competition simply shifted, dragging parents into the fray—spectacular cross-fire of gods and demons.
The South-District line saw the heaviest afternoon ridership for a simple reason: most families here couldn't afford those expensive classes, so the kids just went ho. When they did scrape together the money, it was by cinching several belt holes tighter. Yan's lot was worse—after repelling Modifiers all day, the transmigrator still had to clock in for rent money.
He suddenly recalled a from his past life: the Joker and Harley Quinn grocery shopping after a long day of fighting Batman. Not everyone could be Bruce Wayne.
Auntie Ye, oh Auntie Ye... if Ye Shiyu hadn't barged into my room at midnight, I'd still be happily mooching off you.
Yan shook his head, popped in his Bluetooth earbuds, and queued up so music. On the empty seat beside him, a round black cat sat with regal poise—ow-chan. It had appeared, as usual, ready for a debrief on the Modifier incident, but Yan scooped the plump cat up without preamble.
"ow~"
He looked into ow-chan's wide eyes and declared, "Let pet you for a sec."
"ow?"
A few streets away from Yan's rented flat, the South District's storefronts were just opening. In front of a tasteful European-style pub hung a wooden sign: Tong Yao. A striking woman with red hair tied back was carrying tables and chairs outside. A black denim jacket over a white shirt tucked into slim jeans gave her an easy, careless grace.
After setting down a couple of tables she leaned against one, resting. A flip-top lighter danced across the fingers of her left hand. She tilted her head; crimson bangs slid across one eye. The eye that showed carried a listless glint—life was okay, death would also do. She rubbed the tal hoop in her earlobe, about to call the kid who usually helped, then rembered he didn't work Mondays. The rest of the staff wouldn't arrive for another hour.
"Mm."
Well, better this way.
She lowered her head, a slim cigarette between her lips.
Click.
The lighter sparked, a blue fla blooming.
Just as the tobacco was about to catch, a hand shot out and plucked the cigarette from her mouth. The woman's battle-worn eyes flared; one eyebrow arched in surprise. She turned to see a handso boy in a tracksuit twirling the cigarette between his fingers.
"Sis Tong, didn't you swear off these? Said you quit, then sneak one the minute I'm gone?"
The woman in front of him was Yan Huan's boss, Tong Ying-ying—whom he always called Sis Tong. A grown-up who'd stopped being fun.
"Tch. You actually believed an adult?" Tong Ying-ying replied, unruffled. She snapped the lighter shut and studied the boy she hadn't seen all weekend.
Crossing her long legs, she asked, "Why rush here after class? And what's with the cosplay-athlete outfit?"
"I ca straight from school—didn't have ti to change."
"What's the hurry?"
"Missed you, Sis Tong."
"Ha. You missed the four hundred they docked you for the weekend, more like."
Yan Huan blinked, then smiled. "I really ca to see you—truer than pearls. Believe , Tong sis."
Tong Yingying didn't bother exposing his act. She rose and walked deeper into the dimly lit bar. "Locker room first—change clothes, then set up the tables and chairs."
That was his cue to clock in.
Yan Huan glanced at the cigarette she'd just had between her lips, realized what it ant, and followed her inside.
"Co on, Tong sis, it's not even five."
She shuffled behind the bar without much energy, moving on autopilot to grab glasses and ice. Without looking, she ran pale fingers along the bottles lined up on the back shelf, as though listening for the one that wanted to be chosen. The hand stopped at an already-open bottle of fruit-candy whisky—Allan 10-year.
"I'm in a lousy mood. Just got up; figured a drink would wake ."
She poured as she spoke—rare for her to explain anything to Yan Huan.
"Wake you up? Fat chance."
He tossed the lipstick-stained cigarette into the trash and leaned over the counter. "So what's bugging you? Tell ."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because it'll cheer up."
"Salary docked—two hundred."
Tong Yingying didn't even look at him. The cold verdict nearly cracked his smile.
"I'm sorry, Tong sis."
"Dumb monkey—don't you know this month's pay hasn't even been issued yet? Trying to climb over ?"
They were only joking; they always bickered. After nearly a year here Yan Huan knew her well. Aside from a few bad habits she had no airs, and she paid generously.
"Still, Tong sis, from experience: the fastest way to feel worse is to keep it inside."
"From my experience," she said, swirling the glass so the ice spheres danced like crystal balls, "telling soone your sorrows just hands them a knife for later."
She took a sip, exhaled, and waved him off.
"Go change. You skipped three shifts last weekend and left the boss running around. This week I'm wringing you dry."
"Tong sis, even monkeys have rights."
Yan Huan surrendered pitifully. In his head he gave her the finger and used the nickna he'd coined back when they first t—Nan Qu Yu Qian—South District' answer to the codian who smokes, drinks, and sports a perm.
Though she'd since quit smoking and perms, she'd never give up the bottle. Yan Huan suspected she opened the bar just to have an excuse to drink on the job.
Seeing the boss already sampling the wares, Yan Huan headed to the back to change: white shirt, black slacks, brown waistcoat.
While he was dressing, voices drifted in from the bar.
"Afternoon, Tong sis!"
"Tong sis, you're starting early today!"
"Bad mood. A drink'll fix it."
Yan Huan stepped out to find a guy and girl leaning on the counter, chatting with Tong Yingying as she twirled her glass. Both were students from the community college across the district: Tian Li and Guan Rong, a couple who also worked here. Guan had a beautiful singing voice and was the resident vocalist; Tian mixed cocktails custors loved, though Tong rarely drank his concoctions—she preferred her own recipes.
"Xiao Huan, it's Monday—aren't you off?"
"No rest today, Guan sis. Making up shifts."
"Well, look at you—handsor every weekend. Tsk tsk tsk."
"Really?" Must be the Charm Fragnts kicking in.
By now Tong Yingying had downed the whisky and reached for the bottle again. Tian Li watched his base liquor disappear, too timid to protest—she was the boss.
After small talk, it was ti to work. Yan Huan briskly set out stools; Tian and Guan changed and began tidying the bar. Tong Yingying took bottle and glass to a corner table and played the hands-off proprietor.
Each ti Yan Huan passed through the back room he saw her drinking more than usual, one thumb flying over her phone. At first he worried—starting this early was abnormal—but as night fell the street-front trade picked up. Two orders of caral pudding later, he was too busy to worry. In the kitchen he whisked egg until it smoked. Exhausting, yes, but not without perks; at least the pudding he'd once made for Sakuramiya Hitomi and Ye Shiyu had turned out exceptional.
South District nights were never quiet. Neon bled into car horns and restaurant steam, turning the streets loud and chaotic. Venture into the alleys alone and you'd likely trigger a hidden event. Fortunately, Linn had strict gun laws; you wouldn't suddenly feel sothing hard pressed to your back while your wallet and phone vanished, followed by the charming question: "Do you like Uncle's big pistol?"
Guan Rong strumd her guitar and sang, weaving a llow atmosphere. anwhile Tong Yingying had slipped from her corner. In the corridor leading to the restroom she staggered, pale, one hand on the wall. She'd overdone it.
Inside the single-occupancy restroom, face flushed from alcohol or the phone's glow, she doubled over the toilet. Her stomach lurched; she gagged. The phone slipped from her grasp, screen lighting up the chat history.
Li Xiui (Mom):
"."
"I don't care—I already arranged it. Get back here and et him. He's a fine catch; coming to see you is a favor, and you're still picky every day."
"Not coming. You go if you want to."
"Almost thirty and still irresponsible. Look at you! If you don't marry soon I'll bash my head against the wall. Get ho now!"
"He's way older—what blind date? Stuff it. You want to date him, you go."
"Age gap isn't a problem; older n have better prospects, they're considerate."
"I need his prospects? Am I broke? I'd rather find soone ten years younger—call sis, strong and useful. Why would I need his consideration? Get lost! I said no!"
"How dare you talk to your mother like that?"
"Sorry, not sorry."
"."
The screen auto-locked; darkness swallowed the rest of the ssages. Tong Yingying clutched her mouth, dry heaving. Hundreds more texts lay below, from her mother and well-aning relatives she wanted to block forever.
Gurgle.
As she retched, a serpentine tattoo writhed beneath her clothes, as though responding to her mood. It slithered along her arm and slid out between her fingers, dropping to the floor— a tiny, snow-white cobra.
It flicked its forked tongue, sizing up the woman before it with what looked like satisfaction.
[Of all the candidates I've considered, you're the only one who can bear my power.]
[Woman, do you want to beco the protagonist of this world? Do you want to satisfy your filthy desires? Do you want to possess everything you've ever craved?]
The phantom voice whispered in her ear, making Tong Yingying freeze.
[Beco my host. Let share with you the power to manipulate sensations - all sensations.]
[Pleasure, pain, anything you can imagine. Everything.]
[As long as you use , I'll grant all your wishes.]
[Don't be afraid, don't doubt. I'll help you.]
Tong Yingying looked up at the semi-transparent creature standing upright beside her - sothing serpentine yet not quite a snake. The voice in her head was coming from this thing?
The phantom white serpent flicked its tongue again, crackling with what looked like constant electrical currents running through its body.
Tong Yingying opened her mouth, then muttered, "I must be drunk. Seeing things again, haha. If I'm drunk, then even snakes - the thing I'm most afraid of..."
The white serpent watched Tong Yingying's fists slowly clench, and suddenly felt a terrible premonition.
[Shit!]
It tried to turn and flee, but Tong Yingying, already on the edge of rage, sprang up and slamd her foot down with a furious face.
"Die, all of you!"
Boom!
With that devastating kick, the phantom white serpent vanished like the hallucination it claid to be, leaving no trace behind.
(End of Chapter)
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