In the late-night fast-food joint, an odd pair sat in an inconspicuous corner.
One was an ethereally beautiful, coldly elegant noble young lady, and the other—her ravenous, deadbeat sidekick.
"Eat up, Miss. Why’re you staring at me? Weren’t you starving earlier?" Ye Cheng spoke through a mouthful of chicken drumstick.
"Miss, munch munch, who even invented this stuff, munch munch…?"
Shen Qinghan: "…"
"Has no one ever taught you not to talk with your mouth full?"
Ye Cheng shook his head. "Nope. Why? munch munch…"
Shen Qinghan: "…"
She had meant to subtly reprimand him, only to realize Ye Cheng was immune—because he was an orphan. No one had ever taught him anything.
The fact that Ye Cheng had grown up relatively normal, without severe moral distortions, was nothing short of a miracle.
Shen Qinghan sighed.
"Never mind. Just keep eating. But stop talking to me."
She lifted her chin, her snow-white neck arching like a disdainful swan’s, her icy aura practically radiating.
Ye Cheng nodded—then began signing to her.
Yes, he knew sign language.
He’d learned it in the orphanage, where most children had congenital disabilities. Healthy kids like him were the outliers. The majority had deformities; the "lucky" ones were just deaf or mute.
Sign language was practically a mandatory subject there.
At least, for Ye Cheng. He was quick to learn, mastering it fast enough to help with meals and communication.
And, of course, to sneak extra portions during food distribution.
Such was the survival strategy of a true opportunist—Ye Cheng never shortchanged himself. Learning new skills was all about securing better meals.
Ideally, landing a cushy government job someday.
Blissfully leaching off the system like a tiny parasite.
Now, with the drumstick still clamped between his teeth, his hands flew into motion.
"Miss, where are we staying tonight? Wanna just crash here at the fast-food place? (Sign language)"
Shen Qinghan: "…"
What the hell was he doing?
After a pause, she recognized it as sign language.
He even knew this?
Ye Cheng’s signing was fluid, professional, on par with certified instructors. But his speed was absurd—his hands moved like he was performing ninjutsu seals. At one point, he even signed two different phrases simultaneously.
Shen Qinghan was stunned. So was the nearby employee wiping tables.
She was no sheltered heiress; she spoke multiple languages, albeit with varying fluency. But Ye Cheng’s rapid-fire signing was utterly foreign to her.
Silently, Shen Qinghan reached for the ketchup packets on Ye Cheng’s tray.
She tore them open.
Squeezed them out.
One. Two. Three…
She didn’t stop. More and more met their demise, her frustration at this "mute" almost pushing her to vocal protest.
Finally, as she targeted the last packet, Ye Cheng broke.
"Spare that one! It’s just a kid!"
He shielded the final ketchup packet like a treasure—these were hard-earned freebies, after all.
Shen Qinghan’s face remained impassive, but a flicker of triumph glinted in her eyes.
She’d never admit she couldn’t understand sign language.
For young mistresses like her, conceding inferiority was unthinkable—especially for someone like Shen Qinghan, whose pride ran bone-deep.
But she was fair.
She wouldn’t force compliance through intimidation.
She had her own ways to win.
In this unspoken duel with Ye Cheng, she hadn’t lost.
She dropped the matter of his talking, quietly eating her burger while gazing at the street outside.
Then a sound made her frown. She turned to see Ye Cheng dunking his bun into the ketchup smears she’d left on the wrappers.
He glopped it on thick and took a bite.
"What are you doing?" Shen Qinghan demanded.
Ye Cheng blinked. "Eating? What’s up, Miss?"
"If you wanted more ketchup, why not just get some from the counter?"
Her tone carried an edge she hadn’t intended.
This wasn’t the outcome she’d wanted.
Her actions had, in essence, humiliated Ye Cheng—those ketchup packets were his spoils from sweet-talking the staff, and she’d wasted them. It felt like invalidating his effort.
Ye Cheng raised a brow. "Oh, I’ll grab more later when we leave. No way I’m wasting this, though."
He grinned, the picture of shameless thrift.
Shen Qinghan fell silent.
An odd discomfort settled in her chest.
"Something wrong, Miss?" Ye Cheng studied her sudden quiet.
She looked away.
"Stop nagging. I said no talking during meals."
"Yes, Miss! (Sign language)"
His hands resumed their frantic "seal-making."
Dinner ended swiftly. Despite devouring five burgers and ten drumsticks, Ye Cheng finished faster than Shen Qinghan, who’d only ordered one.
As the payer, she headed to the counter. With Ye Cheng’s support, she scanned the payment code. Meanwhile, he eyed the ketchup and gloves, ready to hustle.
Before he could speak, Shen Qinghan’s icy voice cut in.
"Give me ketchup."
"Um… ma’am, the ketchup is—"
"I said, give me ketchup. Now."
Her tone sharpened, her glare lethal.
The cashier flinched, hands flying to her chest as she retreated half a step, eyes welling up under Shen Qinghan’s intimidation.
Ye Cheng: "???"
This wasn’t the plan.
He’d intended to sweet-talk freebies—but the young mistress went straight to armed robbery!
No niceties whatsoever.
While Ye Cheng stood dumbfounded, Shen Qinghan doubled down.
"Are you deaf? I said ketchup!" Impatience laced her frosty demand.
"B-but ma’am…" The cashier’s lip trembled before she burst into tears.
Ye Cheng: "…"
Minutes later, he carried Shen Qinghan out of the store.
In her hands, alongside the smoking-rabbit plush, was a bulging bag of ketchup packets and disposable gloves.
"Here."
Shen Qinghan lay sprawled on Ye Cheng's back, swinging a plastic bag filled with ketchup packets and disposable gloves in her hand.
Ye Cheng froze.
"For me?"
"Yeah, for you." Shen Qinghan nodded.
Ye Cheng was stunned. So the ruthless young mistress had just "raided" the front desk for ketchup… for him?
She really—ugh, I could cry!
Ye Cheng was moved for exactly one second.
"Young Mistress, freeloading is an art—there’s a whole philosophy to it. If you want to learn, I can teach you."
Ye Cheng chuckled as he carried the scheming underworld princess on his back, strolling down the street.
Shen Qinghan neither refused nor agreed—because she didn’t say anything.
Luckily, Ye Cheng was already used to this dynamic. If the ruthless young mistress stayed silent, he’d just keep talking.
Ye Cheng: "By the way, Young Mistress, where are we staying tonight?"
Shen Qinghan: "Dunno. Any hotel nearby."
Ye Cheng: "Hotels are expensive. I know a few great spots—wanna hear?"
Shen Qinghan: "Talk."
Ye Cheng: "Under a bridge, a park bench, or the airport lobby—solid choices..."
Shen Qinghan: "..."
end. Thus one must continue to cultivate, and become a saint or great emperor, in order to prolong one's life. Chen Xia, however, completely reversed this. Since his transmigration, he has gained immortality, and also a system that awards him with attribute points for every year he lives. Thus between the myriad worlds, the legend of an unparalleled senior appeared. "A gentleman takes revenge; it is never too late even after ten thousand years." "When you were at your peak I yielded, now in your old age I shall trample on you." - Chen Xia
] [Lone Wolf, No Male Gaze] [Protagonist is pursued early on; extreme protagonist-stans, stay away!] The "Carnival Paradise" descends and slowly devours the real world in the form of a game. By chance, Zhu Yan awakens the talent [Roleplay], becoming one of the first beta players. He thought he could develop safely, but after clearing the first instance, he is branded by humanity as the chief culprit behind the game's spread—a traitorous villain. A villain? Who would ever... become one! He'll be the villain! From then on, Zhu Yan is not only a player but also a lackey for the Carnival Paradise. Between the straight path and the crooked path, he chooses the con. With his left hand, he dons the villain's mantle, staging scenes within instances, infuriating players who decry him as a despicable traitor, all while the game happily promotes him. With his right hand, he joins the non-human organization "Fangcun Mountain," which opposes the Carnival Paradise, transforming into a mysterious player who slaughters game bosses, earning cheers of "Long live the expert!" from fellow players. Gradually, Zhu Yan rises to become an S-rank human player in Fangcun Mountain's archives, while also being the Carnival Paradise's certified top game Boss. But when the final war erupts and both major factions place their hopes in him— Players tag his various aliases: "Experts, this offensive depends on you." The Carnival Paradise's supreme Boss throws an arm around his neck: "Bro, you're the iron, I'm the steel; you can't let me down again!"
ut it can buy an entire year of absolutely perfect training results! Su Yu stared at his empty wallet and decisively opened up various online loan platforms. “Borrow a thousand bucks! Recharge my vitality!” Boom! His vitality broke a hundred points, shattering the limits of the human body! “Borrow ten thousand bucks! Recharge my combat skills!” Boom! A basic punching technique so common it was everywhere instantly maxed out, revealing the ultimate assassination technique of Five Elements Unity—Inner Force! When a rich kid hired assassins for a midnight ambush, aiming to break both of his legs, they instead ran headfirst into a monster—a human-shaped tyrannosaur, brimming with dragon-like vitality. With just two fingers, Su Yu snapped a steel staff reinforced with alloy. Staring at the killer’s stash of stolen cash—a staggering quarter-million dollars—he showed a corporate-sincere smile: “Thanks for the pre-exam gift pack, Mr. Zhao! I’m gonna go re-invest this!” Three days later, at the National Martial Arts College Entrance Exam, while everyone else struggled just to reach the passing line, Su Yu threw a single punch—and more than a thousand vitality points literally detonated the entire arena!
ing gift was a patch of barren land, and disciples were all picked up along the way. He spent fifty years diligently building three "ramshackle little sects," thinking he could finally live a carefree life relying on his disciples. But right at the fifty-year mark, he was suddenly swept away by a spatial rift and exiled to the Chaos Desolation, the Disorderly Ruins. There was no spiritual energy there, only slaughter. Relying on the cultivation feedback from his disciples, Gu Changyuan hacked his way through a sea of blood for eleven hundred years. When the system finally fished him back out, he discovered the ramshackle little sects he'd built back then had developed a rather... unusual style. Hold on... I vanished for a thousand years, so how did my ramshackle little sects become holy lands?!
