novelraw Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Chapter 22
"Xiao Huan, looks like the last guests are gone. Where's Sis Tong?"
Yan Huan, stacking glasses and plates, turned at the question and glanced at the stool Tong Yingying had vacated. Her wine glass and bottle were still there, but the woman herself had vanished.
"I'll go find her."
He wiped his hands on a bar towel and headed toward the back.
The bar did have a second floor, but it wasn't open to customers—that was where Tong Yingying lived. Between the main room and the staircase stretched a long corridor; halfway down sat the single restroom.
He figured she'd gone upstairs to sleep it off, yet the iron gate at the top of the stairs was locked. He knocked twice and called her name—no answer.
"Seriously, what now?"
With an owner who guarded the booze this well, any dishonest employee could empty the place overnight. Lucky for her, Yan Huan was a model teenager—morals included.
He fired off a text on Plane. No reply. Checking the time, he called out to the front,
"Guan-sis, Tian brother, you two can head home! She probably crashed upstairs. I'll lock up."
"Sure, we'll stack the patio chairs for you!"
"Thanks!"
Back in the corridor Yan Huan tried calling her again. His phone rang on his end—no pick-up—but inside the restroom a ringtone chimed.
He raised an eyebrow, tapped on the restroom door.
"Sis Tong?"
The jaunty chorus of a Longguo folk song answered from within.
He sighed and pushed.
In the cramped single stall the door stood ajar. Tong Yingying sat on the closed toilet lid, dazed and swaying slightly.
At least she still had her pants on.
Relieved, Yan Huan stooped to pick up the phone that had slid to the floor and ended his own call. The lock screen lit up: 99-plus unread messages, all from "Mom."
He didn't read them, just locked the screen again.
He crouched closer. "Sis Tong?"
"Mmm."
She rubbed her furrowed brow and pushed her bangs aside. Her lovely face was flushed, eyes as lifeless as ever.
Her left hand dipped inside her jacket—fingers already wrapped around something—until she recognized the boy in front of her. The wariness drained away; she exhaled a warm, boozy breath.
"Yan Huan."
The tension left her shoulders and whatever she'd been clutching slid free: a stun baton that clattered onto her thigh.
"..."
Yan Huan stifled a laugh. "Seriously, Sis? You carry a stun baton in your pocket? If you'd zapped me by mistake—"
"Street stuff. Kids don't ask questions."
"Right, only you and Auntie Ye keep treating me like a kid."
Tong Yingying straightened with effort, tucked the baton back into her coat, and murmured, "They gone home?"
"Yep, last customer left ages ago."
"Mm."
Her head drooped again. Yan Huan offered, "Want me to help you upstairs?"
"Mm."
He exhaled, slid her phone into her pocket, and hauled her to her feet.
She fished in her coat, produced a key, and handed it to him. He unlocked the iron gate and the apartment beyond.
The room was chaos: tops, jeans, bras—everything piled on the sofa like a mountain range. He nearly tripped over a tangle of stockings on the floor. She'd clearly thrown the whole lot into the washer together.
"Sis, every time I come up here I'm amazed all over again."
He flicked on the light. A black electric guitar hung on the wall. Yan Huan knew nothing about instruments, but the workmanship looked expensive—there was even a gold-ink signature on the body.
"Mm."
She answered absent-mindedly, head lowered, red hair veiling her face. Then her hand, still on Yan Huan's shoulder, began to wander—first across his shoulder, then down his chest.
He seized her wrist and dumped her onto the bed.
For a moment he wondered if the Modifier had chosen her. If it had picked strangers like Ye Shiyu or Spencer, he could play along without hesitation—just another round of mental chess against the system. But if it snagged someone he knew, the familiar relationship twisting and cracking around him... that would be unbearable.
Especially when he was the one being targeted.
Fortunately, Tong Yingying was only drunk. Once on the bed she settled down.
Yan Huan chuckled. "You're really starving, huh? I'm ten years younger than you and you're still willing to bite?"
Tong Yingying snorted; the sudden jab seemed to rouse her a little. She opened her eyes and squinted at the boy standing at her bedside.
He wore the bar's uniform: brown waistcoat over a fitted shirt that outlined a lean, forbidden silhouette. She'd felt the muscle under the fabric—firm. And that face...
Tch.
Her slow, appraising scan made Yan Huan shift uncomfortably.
"Sis Tong?"
After a long silence she pushed herself up, reached for the bulging wallet on the nightstand, and commanded, "Sit."
Yan Huan dragged a chair over and sat.
She flipped the wallet open and began peeling off bills. Then she held out a small stack.
He didn't take it, just blinked at her.
When he hesitated she tossed the cash onto the bed. At some point her fingers had found a metal flip-lighter; she produced a cigarette pack and asked without looking up,
"How's Sis treat you usually?"
"..."
Why did this feel like the part in a gangster flick where the boss sends the kid on a suicide mission?
"...so-so?"
Tong Yingying paused mid-draw and looked at him. Yan Huan grinned and corrected himself.
"Joking, Sis."
She lowered her gaze again, and he added,
"Actually, pretty badly."
"?"
She raised her eyes; even her famously dead gaze widened.
Yan Huan closed the cigarette box she'd opened and counted on his fingers.
"You dump everything on me, threaten to dock my pay every other day, insult my taste, swear like a sailor—"
"What else?"
Tong Yingying nodded, hand already reaching for the stun baton.
Yan Huan flashed a smile.
"That's it. Besides that, you're great, Sis."
Too tired to banter, she jerked her chin toward the cash on the bed.
"Take the money. I need a small favor."
"Let's hear it first—what do you want me to do?"
"My parents are pushing me to get married. They know I'm single, so they call every other day to shove me into blind dates. If I ignore them, relatives start whispering that Mom and Dad are so upset their health is failing."
"...Acting gig?"
"Exactly. I'm stuck abroad; if I fly home over this nonsense, I'll lose my mind."
Tong Ying-ying sighed, cupping her pretty face. "So I've got a plan, Yan Huan."
"Shoot."
"You play my boyfriend. When they video-call, pop into the frame, act lovey-dovey, help me stall them."
Yan Huan listened, eyebrows climbing. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Seeing his expression, Tong Ying-ying paused. "Something on your mind?"
"Sis Tong, you're a genius at terrible ideas."
"Excuse me?"
"Last time business was slow, you booked a heavy-metal band without checking their genre. Neighbors reported the noise, and the bar got pelted with eggs and lettuce—remember? I had to sweet-talk the angry aunties and uncles."
She blinked, recalling the incident.
"Then there was the promo where you misprinted a decimal on the online coupon. Somebody noticed and bought a ton—customers milked the deal dry for a month."
Tong Ying-ying opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Sober, she was razor-sharp; tipsy, she became the Idea Fairy—except the ideas only ever sounded good after the third drink. Worse, she had a bizarre mental block: once the alcohol brainstormed a scheme, her brain treated it like a binding contract. Even sober, she couldn't see the flaw.
Yan Huan braced himself the instant she said, "Hey, Yan Huan, I've got an idea!"
Silence stretched between them. Tong Ying-ying raked a hand through her red hair, loosening the knot so it spilled over her shoulders.
"So what do we do? They call every day—my head's going to explode."
Yan Huan propped his chin on his hand. "I've got three plans—upper, middle, and lower. Which do you want first?"
"Lower."
Classic drunk Sis Tong logic. He smiled. "Lower plan: we fake the relationship. Works short-term, but paper can't wrap fire. They want marriage, not dating. You'll just swap one headache for another."
Tong Ying-ying frowned, flicking her lighter faster. "Middle plan?"
"Middle plan: go full ice queen. Ignore them, block the numbers."
"..."
"Truth is, you're upset because you care what they think. If you truly didn't, they'd have no leverage."
She stared at him, then sighed. "If only I could be that cold. They're my parents—farmers back home who scraped to send me here. I can't just..."
Her voice cracked, anger creeping in. "But this ultimatum—break my heart or break theirs—is stupid."
"Easy, Sis. Upper plan left."
"Let's hear it."
Yan Huan raised a finger. "Why do they keep pushing marriage?"
"Old-fashioned ideas."
"That's part of it. I think another reason is you're a walking disaster. They want someone to look after you."
"Have you been brainwashed by my mom?"
She narrowed her eyes as if suspecting possession.
"Think, Sis. You stay up all night, binge-drink, chain-smoke, never answer calls—your schedule's chaos. On video calls you look like a Qing-dynasty zombie. Anyone would think Linmen's cursed."
"..."
"Before the marriage pressure, I heard them worrying. They figure marriage might fix you."
Yan Huan watched her freeze, then continued. "Upper plan: quit smoking, cut the drinking, fix your sleep, get out of this crypt more often. Show them change—they'll back off."
Tong Ying-ying blinked, realizing Yan Huan had been doing exactly that: snatching her cigarettes, stopping her drinks. Since he started, she'd cut back—still not normal, but better.
No wonder her parents thought he was a good influence.
But why was he so invested?
Does he... like me?
She hesitated, voice soft. "So... why've you spent a year nagging me to quit?"
The question wavered.
Yan Huan didn't catch the nuance. He grinned, sunny as ever. "I hate cigarette smoke—you stink when you light up. And when you drink, your brain goes on vacation. I'm afraid you'll bankrupt the bar and I'll be out of a job."
"..."
Her look shifted from gloomy to homicidal. As she pulled out the stun baton, Yan Huan jumped up.
He glanced at his phone. "Right, I'm off shift. Downstairs is clean—enjoy your night, Sis."
As he turned, she called, "Hey, wait."
"What now? You're not actually going to zap me, are you?"
"Idiot."
Tong Ying-ying counted out cash from the bed and handed him a stack. "This month's pay. Might as well give it early."
Yan Huan raised an eyebrow, counted. "It's more."
"Weekend counts as worked, plus today—extra six hundred."
"Love you, Sis."
"Say that again and I'll fry you."
She brandished the baton without looking at him.
"Got it. I'm outta here."
Yan Huan pocketed the money and left. Tong Ying-ying flopped back on the bed and shouted downstairs,
"Lock the door for me!"
"Got it!"
A moment later came the metallic clank of the gate shutting and locking, then the fading echo of Yan Huan's footsteps.
Tong Yingying lay on the bed, the stun baton still in her hand. She stared blankly at the ceiling.
I really should change my lifestyle...
Yet she couldn't make herself move, trapped in the cozy swamp of lying around and letting everything rot. Old habits die hard; she'd grown used to this half-life.
Maybe quitting smoking and drinking is step one.
She must've drunk herself into a hallucination—she could have sworn she saw a talking... white snake?
—
Linmen, Luoqiao District.
In one of the residential compounds, inside a third-floor apartment, a black-haired girl in pajamas was fiddling with a plastic box. Inside sat a leopard gecko staring up at her with unblinking eyes.
"Xiao Yun, come out and play."
Her loose pajamas couldn't hide the generous curve of her chest. Fresh from the shower, she tucked damp strands of hair behind her ear, revealing flushed cheeks.
An Le, Year 1 Class C at Yuanyue Academy, was usually invisible at school. Only in the privacy of her room did her true, lively self emerge. She kept reptiles—geckos, lizards, insects—anything exotic. Most nights she lost herself in online videos about them.
But the gecko called Xiao Yun only tilted its head, unmoved.
"Not in the mood?" She smiled, never forcing her pets, and set the box back on its shelf.
Guess I'll check the forums—see if any new games dropped.
Things have been so tame lately.
She slipped on anti-blue-light glasses and sat at her computer. A quick click brought up her favorite resources site, and she scrolled to the "R-18 Games" section. The search bar still held her last query—words that would raise eyebrows anywhere else.
Yes, An Le was a seasoned otaku, just... with very specific tastes.
"Hmm, this mechanic's outdated—simple invasion and whipping is so last year."
"This one? Ugh, the hero's ugly, and he only gets worse—wait, there's a human form? Might be worth a look."
"Ooh, tentacles. This could be fun."
As she browsed, faint sounds drifted from the windowsill—soft hisses and gurgles.
An Le blinked and turned. "What was that?"
She rose to shut the window, but stopped short. Curled on the sill lay a thin white snake, motionless. A few scales were missing; it looked hurt.
"A snake? How did you get here?"
The serpent opened its eyes weakly, gave her a pitiful look, then closed them again.
An Le hesitated, mouth half-open. A moment later she returned wearing bite-proof gloves and gently scooped the creature into her hands, carrying it back inside.