The Picky Eater

Almost the instant the smell of meat spread through the room, Baobao, who had been lying motionless on the pillow, gave a sharp twitch of the nose.

The tail it had been swishing impatiently also froze in midair.

Very, very quietly, it turned half its head and locked onto the strip of jerky in Chen Guan’s hand with the corner of its eye.

Chen Guan said nothing. He simply waved the jerky around in the air on purpose.

The next second, a purple blur flashed down from the pillow.

Baobao rushed to Chen Guan’s feet and frantically rubbed its little head, topped with a diamond-shaped crystal, against his pant leg. A shamelessly ingratiating purr rumbled from its throat.

Its golden eyes were filled with pure, innocent light, and its two nacho-shaped ears were wobbling back and forth.

[Hahaha, I hereby declare that Baobao’s dignity is worth exactly one strip of beef jerky.]

[I’m dying. That change of attitude was way too fast. No wonder it was raised by Bro Coffin.]

[One second: “Don’t touch me.” The next: “Master! I’m hungry! Feed me! Feed me!”]

[Brother Coffin, a seventh-level powerhouse completely at the mercy of his little cat.]

[Brother Coffin: “I still prefer the way you acted all wild and untamed when we first met.”]

Chen Guan tore the jerky into thin strips and fed them to Baobao one piece at a time. He could have simply tossed the meat to it, but he enjoyed the process of feeding the little creature.

The little thing ate to its heart’s content, its tail spinning behind it like a propeller.

“What a picky eater.”

Chen Guan rubbed its little head, earning even more enthusiastic flattery in return.

After feeding it the last bit of jerky, he put away the expensive monster-core mash, washed up, and lay back down on the bed.

Baobao, full and satisfied, also leaped onto the bed. It curled up in a comfortable spot beside his pillow and soon began breathing evenly.

As an awakened spirit leopard, Baobao wisely kept its distance from its true body, leaving Chen Guan between them.

For one thing, if it moved closer on its own, Chen Guan would simply pick it up and put it outside. For another, it was a little afraid of that motionless human.

The dormitory fell completely silent.

Chen Guan stared at the ceiling with his eyes open, not feeling particularly sleepy.

With a thought, he brought up the forum interface.

The forum was buzzing with activity. Several highly popular posts were related to Yunlan City.

[Reasoned discussion: Do Black Tortoise’s actions qualify as a necessary evil?]

[Detail-analysis fans, get in here! I went through the footage frame by frame and discovered that Brother Coffin really was protecting civilians. He’s the gentlest terrorist I’ve ever seen!]

[Stop trying to whitewash him. A life for a life—that’s only fair. Even if he didn’t kill the mayor directly, the mayor’s death is still inseparable from him. He’s an accomplice!]

[Heh, a bunch of bleeding hearts. All I see is a ridiculously handsome villain. One hammer, one building—pure visual violence. He’s cool, and that’s all that matters. Who cares if one bloated, brainless politician died?]

Arguments, insults, worship, analysis.

Countless rivers of text streamed before his eyes.

The voices from another world, whether supporting him or condemning him, were separated from him by an impenetrable screen and carried no sense of reality whatsoever.

Chen Guan’s fingertip slid across the screen as he flipped through several pages, looking at the IDs that were arguing endlessly over him.

The usual familiar names from his fan club were still leading the charge. He said nothing and simply raised a hand to close the forum interface.

The virtual screen vanished, and the room sank back into darkness.

That was why he rarely browsed the forums. The forums were far more complicated than the livestream comments. It wasn’t hard to tell that quite a few old Yunli residents were mixed in among the users.

Whenever he opened the forums, he either found a battlefield of insults or some bizarre little horror story.

Over time, he had simply lost the desire to look.

He lay flat on the bed, watching his true body and Baobao sleeping beside him from the corner of his eye, their bodies rising and falling with each breath.

Chen Guan turned onto his side and reached out, gently brushing the ear with his fingertip.

Only the warm, steady breathing beside him was truly real at this moment.

…

Elsewhere, the lights in An Changqing’s dormitory were off. Only the cold glow of the screen illuminated his excessively focused face.

Long Ao was already asleep. An Changqing was the only one still working in front of the screen. Fortunately, Long Ao slept deeply and didn’t mind the faint light.

His fingertip slid across the screen. A confidential file marked in deep red lay quietly in the center.

Its title consisted of only two words:

Yunlan.

This was the preliminary report he had pulled from the Great Wall’s internal database. Although his access privileges were pitifully low, it was still enough to reveal information that hadn’t appeared in the news.

Large swaths of black censor marks, like ugly patches, concealed most of the crucial information.

But a few scattered keywords still slipped through the gaps.

Suspected spatial-type ability fluctuations. Attacker’s combat techniques clumsy. No civilian casualties at the scene. Possible intervention by an unidentified individual. Method of relocation unknown…

An Changqing relaxed slightly.

Chen Guan’s combat skills had nothing to do with the word “clumsy.” Apparently, he really had been overthinking things.

The thought left him feeling somewhat guilty. He had actually suspected his own friend.

He closed the screen, and the room fell into darkness once more.

…

The next day, in the cafeteria.

It was lunchtime, and the room was filled with noisy voices.

“That guy Han Yue accepted a C-rank mission. Something about hunting snowline wolves. He took off early this morning and hasn’t shown his face since.”

Long Ao shoveled rice into his mouth as he spoke, his words muffled.

Thinking about his current score, Long Ao felt that he ought to go out and stretch his legs too. Otherwise, he was going to fail the practical course.

An Changqing carried his tray over and sat down beside Chen Guan.

“A new batch of practical missions was posted today. I took a look, and the rewards are all quite generous.” An Changqing brought up the subject naturally, then swept his gaze over Long Ao and Chen Guan.

“Apparently, they were commissioned by the Great Wall. Most of them involve exploring and clearing out recently reclaimed lost zones. They’re fairly dangerous, but the rewards are definitely tempting.”

Long Ao stopped eating and looked up, interest appearing in his eyes.

For a battle maniac like him, nothing improved one’s strength faster than actual combat.

All those other missions—catching cats, finding dogs, and the like—were far too boring.

“I think we could form a team,” An Changqing said sincerely, making the suggestion in earnest as he looked at the two of them.

Because they were simply too strong, they usually accepted missions separately. Otherwise, they would be wasting manpower, since second-year assignments were too easy for them.

But for troublesome missions, it would be worthwhile to join forces.

After speaking, he looked at Long Ao.

Long Ao didn’t hesitate. Only after swallowing his last mouthful of food did he answer.

“Depends on the mission.”

That was a very Long Ao answer. The nature of the mission and the level of challenge were what mattered to him.

An Changqing nodded, then turned his gaze to Chen Guan, who had barely spoken from beginning to end.

“Chen Guan, what do you think?”

Only after hearing his name did Chen Guan raise his head.

He looked at the sincerity and anticipation written in An Changqing’s eyes, thought for a moment, and gave his answer.

“Depends on the money.”

He had a leopard at home that ate money for breakfast. If he was going to work, he needed to get paid extra.