Under the Mask, Which Face Will It Be

As for how to strike up a conversation?

Su Qi already had a startling guess in his mind.

If his speculation turned out to be true...

Well, that would be downright hilarious.

"Speaking of last night, I was on the forum..."

Yet, the moment the words left his mouth, Su Qi could feel Yun Huang's gaze sharpen instantly, as if the air around them had frozen solid.

An invisible pressure bore down on him—one more second, and he felt he’d be crushed by that force.

But just as quickly, it dissipated without a trace.

"That’s a very cliché pickup line. Words can be dangerous."

Su Qi nearly jumped out of his skin.

So this was a ‘Pathseeker’?

Even though they were both at the sixth tier, his instincts screamed that if she decided to act, he wouldn’t stand a chance—not even a sliver of resistance.

Of course, that was assuming Su Qi didn’t resort to his trump cards.

But come on, he was once considered half a ‘prodigy’ himself.

"If this card is your attempt to flatter me, get close to me, or curry favor with the Yun family, save it."

With that, Yun Huang tossed a bank card at him.

"540,000 inside. The password. ‘Robe of Annihilation’ is a six-star rare card. That’s roughly its market price."

Su Qi: ???

What the hell?

When had he ever given the impression he was trying to suck up to her?

This level of narcissism…

Ugh, what a turn-off…

Wait a minute—

Years of galgame experience told Su Qi something was off.

There was a trap here.

He replayed the exchange in his head.

First, the Robe of Annihilation—540,000 was indeed the right price.

But the number itself felt… deliberate.

Putting himself in her shoes, if he were the young master of the Yun family, the amount could’ve been 500,000, 700,000, or even a flat million. Anything but 540,000.

She was after this card, and he’d accidentally snatched it first, sure.

But if she’d anticipated someone else taking it, she should’ve prepared an offer no one could refuse.

540,000? That was laughably uncompetitive.

In other words, if this card held even the slightest value to Su Qi, he’d never sell it for that.

So then…

540,000. The password.

It reminded him of a scenario—

Someone scribbling ‘HELP’ on cash and scattering it everywhere, hoping someone would notice.

…What kind of encryption was this?

It couldn’t be T9 predictive text, could it?

Surveillance?

[Shine +3]

Bingo.

A prompt popped up.

Clearly, Su Qi’s guess was right.

What she meant was ‘surveillance.’

The Pathseekers’ Association was a high-security zone; of course there’d be cameras.

But the way she hinted at it suggested it wasn’t just the usual monitoring.

Pretending to size her up, Su Qi spotted a tiny camera hidden on one of her buttons.

He didn’t dare linger, afraid of drawing attention.

So it was her.

That netizen from last night, the one who went by [Huang].

The same person who refused to even call her ‘mother,’ referring to her only as ‘the woman who gave birth to me.’

"Too low. Is the Yun family this stingy?"

"How about adding another 370,000? Round it up to 800,000—wait, no, 360,000? Whatever, you get the idea."

Su Qi had no idea if she’d catch his drift.

If not, he’d have to bide his time and hope for another chance.

Worst case, he’d have to engineer an encounter himself.

Hearing his words, Yun Huang abruptly lifted her head. Her expression remained unreadable, but something flickered deep in her eyes—something she was desperately suppressing.

"Your phone number. I’ll transfer it to you."

"180…"

…

Yes, no one would ever guess that this girl, hailed as the strongest of Jiangxia’s younger generation, was buckling under the weight of the title ‘Pathseeker.’

Yun Huang had spent her life shouldering the expectations of those around her, striving relentlessly to meet them.

In the end, she stood at the pinnacle of Jiangxia’s youth.

But then, their expectations shifted—now, she was to defeat the strongest from another city.

For two months, that pressure nearly crushed her.

Yet, she succeeded again.

Over and over, expectations piled up, and over and over, she forced herself to deliver.

She wasn’t aloof—just numb.

The world took it for granted that she’d keep rising, oblivious to how suffocated she felt.

Her only solace was retreating to quiet corners to lick her wounds alone.

To everyone else, she was the untouchable, peerless genius—

‘Born a phoenix, blessed by the land.’

A prodigy like her was supposed to care only for strength, untouched by mortal desires.

But in truth, she was just a girl shackled by others’ dreams, too exhausted to keep playing the part, teetering on the edge of withdrawal.

She could be a Pathseeker—just not the kind who was whipped into the role by ‘that woman,’ the one who birthed her.

If you asked her greatest wish?

She’d tell you: "To wield a blade and hold back the crumbling sky."

But if you somehow disabled the three surveillance devices and four recorders on her, she’d say: Kill that woman, then find a quiet place to die.

Ironic, isn’t it?

The ‘Pathseeker,’ a title meant to evoke a savior, secretly loathed the world and nursed quiet suicidal thoughts.

As for the surveillance?

When she learned ventriloquism, recorders appeared.

When she mastered lip-reading, cameras followed.

Every word, every move—transparent to ‘that woman,’ who might be watching from a control room right now.

One wrong gesture, and a panel of ‘experts’ would dissect her intentions frame by frame.

Thankfully, that woman used Wubi input, not Pinyin.

This little act of rebellion might fly under the radar.

Even if it didn’t—so what?

Just another beating.

She’d done this before.

Pointless.

Phrases like ‘I only want what’s best for you’ and ‘Would your own mother harm you?’ wove tighter and tighter, until she couldn’t breathe.

Orphans envied her for having a mother. She envied them for having none.

No malice—just pure, simple longing.

Having a mother didn’t always mean being treasured.

Her name was Yun Huang.

A Pathseeker with a scripted life.

Last night, honestly, she shouldn’t have posted that thread.

But then she saw that signature in the same channel—

And for a moment, her vision blurred.

She’d wanted so badly to catch that person’s attention, even for a few words.

Even if she’d have to block him later, just in case ‘that woman’ noticed at the wrong time.

Should life be an endless wilderness? Or a set of unyielding tracks?

Her answer: My life is the tracks. But god, how I long to glimpse the wilderness—just once.