Nighttime.
The stars shimmered, the moonlight was pure and bright, and the celestial radiance stretched across the sky like a river of silver, casting a faint glow over the dark night, lending it a touch of romance and charm.
The nightlight spilled onto the balcony of a villa, where the curtains had been gently parted by the wind, revealing a glimpse of a golden-haired figure seated at a desk. One hand held a fountain pen, while the other cradled a thick stack of documents.
This was Cornelia.
But unlike her usual playful, twin-tailed appearance, today she exuded an air of seriousness. Her hair cascaded in long, straight golden locks, and a pair of black-framed glasses rested on her nose, giving her an aura of intelligence mingled with aloofness.
The books on her shelf were even more impressive—An Introduction to British Sociology, A History of British Social Thought, British Social Leadership, and more. These were undoubtedly works that could deepen one’s understanding of how a nation functioned.
Of course, she couldn’t comprehend a single one of them. So instead, she was currently engrossed in a biography.
This biography meticulously chronicled the rise of historical female politicians—their lives, experiences, political philosophies, and even their leadership styles and struggles.
Ever since she had returned from delivering soup to Su Cheng, she had buried herself in books. The once internet-addicted girl had now transformed into a diligent scholar.
The truth was, her visit hadn’t just been about soup—it was about reaffirming a promise between them.
At the door, she had asked Su Cheng, and he had responded with certainty: "I remember. Of course, I remember."
From that moment, they had established a shared goal and set of values.
Though there was much she still didn’t understand, she knew that what bound them now transcended ordinary love and affection. It was something unshakable by external forces, and it filled her with boundless energy and motivation.
Even without the aid of Eight Walnuts (a brain-boosting drink), she felt as if a tiny sun had ignited in her mind, spinning at high speed, sharpening her thoughts beyond their usual agility.
Cornelia: [Intelligence: 4.9]
"Phew—"
After half an hour of intense study, Cornelia closed the book, rubbed her temples, then tucked it under her arm and headed toward the balcony.
Having finished the book, she realized that the women who came before her were undoubtedly among the most brilliant and capable.
But compared to them, she had one unique advantage—her identity.
This identity was the very foundation of her audacious dreams.
Her grandfather.
It was because of this lineage that she could turn the impossible into reality.
So, she already had a preliminary plan for entering politics—but putting it into action filled her with hesitation and doubt.
Because the first step required her to return home.
To Britain.
Back home, she could receive specialized training and education, leveraging her grandfather’s influence and reputation to carve out unique opportunities and platforms. With these resources, she could build visibility and lay the groundwork for her future.
But this decision weighed heavily on her.
"Phew—"
Step by step, Cornelia walked to the balcony, lifted her gaze to the stars, and took a deep breath before slowly exhaling.
This was a critical choice.
Now was the best time to return—but Su Cheng had asked her to wait until next year’s tripartite talks, where she would boldly declare her ambitions. Only then would he respond to her.
And that response meant everything to her.
"What should I do?"
Cornelia murmured to the stars, then shifted her gaze toward the neighborhood where Su Cheng lived—a cluster of ordinary apartment buildings.
As she stared, memories flickered through her mind, stirring her emotions.
But in the end, she shook her head.
"No matter what, I’ll still attend next year’s talks."
Just as she whispered this, a glimmer of light in the night sky caught her eye.
"A shooting star?!"
Cornelia watched as the star streaked downward, and she quickly clasped her hands together, ready to make a wish.
Instantly, a vision unfolded in her mind—a scene she had long dreamed of:
A plane descending slowly from the sky, surrounded by a welcoming party—officials in military uniforms, high-ranking dignitaries, and elegantly dressed figures holding bouquets of flowers, all cheering and applauding.
The cabin door opened, and she stepped out, greeted by a wave of cheers, shouts, and applause.
Beside her stood a man carefully supporting her—none other than Su Cheng, hailed as the "First Gentleman."
He accompanied her on state visits and official functions.
And her title?
Prime Minister of Britain.
Of course, this was all just a fantasy—a fleeting dream born from her wish.
Once the wish was made, Cornelia turned her eyes back to the sky—only to freeze in shock.
Because the so-called "shooting star" was now hurtling straight toward her neighborhood.
Within moments, it crashed somewhere nearby, yet... there was no sound. No impact.
Baffled, she blinked—then excitement flashed in her eyes as she bolted from her room.
"Where are you rushing off to at this hour?"
Her mother, returning to her own room, gave her a puzzled look.
"Mom, something just fell outside! I’m going to check!"
Cornelia flailed her arms in excitement but didn’t slow down. She couldn’t wait to see what this "shooting star" really was.
After all, it had landed just a short walk away.
"Oh? Well, be careful."
Her mother didn’t stop her, only reminding her to stay safe before heading to her own bedroom.
She assumed Cornelia had simply dropped something from the balcony again—her daughter was always so careless.
Cornelia sprinted outside and soon spotted the fallen "meteor," now just a few hundred meters from her home. But as she got closer, she realized it wasn’t a star at all, but...
Something strange.
The object had crumpled paper on top, a scorched box in the middle, and a half-deflated rubber balloon at the bottom.
"What is this?"
Cornelia crouched down, poking at the damp, wrinkled paper.
"Huh? It’s wet?"
She wiped her hand on her clothes in disgust, then pulled out her phone, using its light to inspect the mysterious object more closely.
"Turned the other way, it kinda looks like... a hot air balloon?"
Cornelia couldn't figure it out, so she used her phone's object recognition feature to take a photo of the item.
"Hmm, a sky lantern?"
The search yielded this result, so she looked up sky lanterns and learned that they were a type of mystical folk handicraft, used for making wishes and prayers.
All you had to do was write your heartfelt wish inside the lantern, release it, and let it float into the sky—then your wish might come true!
Once she understood its purpose, Cornelia grew excited because she had a wish she wanted to fulfill.
A wish she wanted to realize together with Su Cheng.
At this thought, she no longer minded the dirt and stains on the lantern. Instead, she eagerly searched it for any written wishes—but found none!
This delighted her.
It was an unused sky lantern—perhaps even a divine gift sent from above in response to her silent wish.
The idea made her even more thrilled.
She immediately pulled out her phone and messaged Su Cheng.
Cornelia: "Are you free tonight?"
She couldn’t wait to make a wish and release this lantern with Su Cheng!
While waiting for a reply, she kept herself busy by carefully cleaning the lantern, determined to wipe away all the grime.
"Why is this balloon so greasy? It won’t come clean..."
"Oh, I know—it must be flight fuel!"
With that realization, she stopped scrubbing the balloon part and focused on carefully drying the rice paper, then meticulously folded it into a neat square. Satisfied, she smiled and carried it like a lantern in her hand.
"Ding~"
Su Cheng (who disliked oranges): "Not today. Tomorrow?"
Though disappointed, Cornelia replied, "Alright then. Remember, I’ll call you tomorrow night!"
After sending the message, she skipped back toward her villa, swinging the lantern, her face brimming with anticipation.
Tomorrow, she would release her wish—one she wanted to share with Su Cheng. It would be so meaningful.
Someday, when she became prime minister and wrote her memoirs, this would make for a charming anecdote.
"Clang~"
As she stepped inside and closed the door, her mother’s voice drifted down from upstairs, tinged with complaint: "Where have you been? I was about to go looking for you!"
"I found an unused sky lantern nearby."
"Oh? A sky lantern? Let me see."