novelraw Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Deep in the night, South District, inside Yan Huan's rented flat.
A desk lamp cast a soft, steady glow across scattered pages. Yan Huan lay on his bed, face pale, mind blank, mouth slightly open, while translucent symbols and text still drifted across his vision.
Suddenly, as if a stubborn math problem had finally cracked, he clapped both hands to his head. Black bangs slipped through his fingers.
Blood-shot eyes gleamed with excitement, the spark of newfound clarity.
"I think I've got it. If I just integrate—"
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the phantom text in the corner of his sight, ticking down.
[Learning Conqueror – Stacks: 10, 1m 28s remaining]
Instinctively he tried to sit up and return to the desk, desperate to keep the buff alive.
A black cat leapt onto the mattress and stared at him.
"Yan Huan, you need to rest."
He blinked at Meow-chan.
The cat's words yanked him back to reality, and with it came every ache in his body. His head throbbed; his limbs felt like lead.
Kidney deficiency always hits after overwork.
"Tch—"
Yan Huan hissed, rubbing his shoulder. "What time is it?"
"Almost two in the morning, meow."
Meow-chan swiped his tail across the phone Yan Huan hadn't touched in hours. The screen lit up: 1:48 a.m., plus a string of new Plane messages.
"You started at five yesterday evening. That's nearly eight straight hours. You have school tomorrow—keep this up and your body will file a complaint."
Yan Huan arched an eyebrow, scratching the cat behind the ears with a helpless laugh.
"I didn't expect the buff to be this insane. That feeling of knowledge clicking into place is straight-up addictive."
Learning itself isn't boring; curiosity is hard-wired into humans. The problem is the lack of obvious feedback. Spend hours—or days—on a single math concept and still feel like you've gained nothing. So "study" becomes a synonym for "tedious."
What if every thirty minutes delivered an unmistakable dopamine hit? Then studying would be no different from any other obsession.
That was exactly what Learning Conqueror did. The deeper the focus, the faster the progress, the more concepts snapped into focus. At ten stacks a sudden surge of brilliance let him untangle every loose thread at once. Hooked.
And then there were the "stacks." Maybe a touch of OCD, but every time he thought about taking a break and saw the countdown about to reset, he forced himself to stay focused.
Still, enough.
Yan Huan yawned as the timer finally hit zero. His mind, once razor-sharp, felt sluggish, as if someone had poured sand into the gears. His natural intelligence hadn't changed, but having tasted genius, he now understood the saying:
"Even among prodigies, there are tiers."
He dragged himself to the computer, saved his notes, closed the half-finished e-textbook, and shut the lid.
"Meow-chan, how about a late-night snack?"
"Meow?"
He knelt, popped open a tin of cat food. Meow-chan recoiled.
The cat glanced at the tin, then at Yan Huan's expectant face. A paw tapped his arm, as if urging reason.
"Eat up. Little kittens grow round and fluffy on this stuff."
"Meow."
Meow-chan blinked, then grudgingly approached the bowl. One tentative lick.
Hmm—tolerable.
Slurp, slurp.
Yan Huan smiled, ruffling the cat's head.
He unlocked his phone; hours in focus mode had muted Plane. First stop: the council group chat.
Lady Yua Lina: "Weekend trip to the Linmen Game Expo—who's in?"
Sakuramiya: "Sounds fun. Count me."
Perfect—student-council bonding weekend.
He backed out without pinging anyone at this hour, then noticed a red dot on the Contacts tab.
A new friend request.
Tap.
Username: "Xinyi"
Request message: "Would like to add you as friend."
Source: Plane ID search.
A single musical note for an avatar.
Probably Bai Yi. Her mom already had his account; finding him wouldn't be hard.
He accepted, said nothing, and went to brush his teeth.
By the time he returned, Meow-chan had licked the bowl clean and was washing a paw. No litter box needed—divine pets truly are next-level. Though, strictly input-only... more like a pixiu than a cat.
"Bedtime, Meow-chan."
"Meow~"
Lights off. Yan Huan dropped onto the mattress, massaging his temples.
Meow-chan hopped up beside him, bright green eyes blinking.
"Didn't you message your boss earlier? Still no reply?"
Half-asleep, Yan Huan fumbled for the phone.
Right—Tong Yingying hadn't answered.
Whole evening, radio silence. Where had she vanished?
He stared at the empty chat window, then set the phone aside and pulled the cat close.
"I'll ask her tomorrow. Whatever it is."
"Meow~"
He closed his eyes.
Rewind the clock to Thursday night, Jinghe District.
Soft lamplight flooded a spacious first-floor room of the villa. An electric guitar lay plugged into a computer; other instruments lined the walls. The screen glowed with a professional DAW, its timeline packed with multicolored tracks—almost a finished song.
It had been a full year since her last single. Not for lack of trying—between jobs she had sketched melodies, arranged layers—but titles and lyrics remained blank. Too busy, and her mother's constant dismissal had seeded doubt.
Yesterday she learned that the boy her mother kept mentioning—Yan Huan—was apparently her fan.
Was he lying?
But why would he lie?
Until now she had only ever seen him through Indifference mode; the two of them were strangers. He had no motive at all.
Besides, he was one of the most dazzling figures in school—he could outshine her in any audition on looks alone.
And yet... he was waiting for her new song?
"Uwah—!"
Burying her face in the plush she'd been hugging, Bai Yi rolled across the bed in her skirt. White-socked feet kicked the mattress in frantic little taps. She rolled twice more, black hair fanning like petals around her flushed cheeks, then lay there grinning like an idiot.
Calm down, Bai Yi!
You're an idol!
You have to keep your image—and work even harder!
She straightened her expression, but the smile crept right back out the corners of her lips.
She set the plush aside and padded to her desk. On the screen, the Plane profile she'd copied from her mother's phone glowed softly. One tap would send the friend request.
Bai Yi pursed her lips, both index fingers hovering above the button—unable to press.
"Ah, no, I can't... I just can't."
She clapped cool hands to her burning cheeks.
It's too weird.
What if he asks when the new song drops? What if he wants to know if I'll sing at the weekend game expo?
She hadn't finished the lyrics, and Mommy would never let her perform anyway.
She thinks singing is beneath me.
The warmth drained from Bai Yi's face. She bit her lip and stared at the silent waveform on her DAW—an undragoned dragon, lifeless on the screen.
"You're back already?"
Keys rattled in the lock, followed by Mrs. Zuo's voice.
"Yeah. When I heard Yiyi ran away from home, I dropped everything and flew back to Linmen."
The reply came from a middle-aged man—Uncle Jiang, Mrs. Zuo's second husband.
"It's just a tantrum. She'll be fine. She even attended the event today; I'm sure she realizes her mistake."
"Even tantrums can be serious. Is Yiyi asleep?"
"Dunno. Probably." Footsteps approached. Bai Yi turned toward the door as a soft knock sounded.
Knock knock.
"Yiyi, are you asleep?"
Bai Yi hesitated, then answered, "It's open, Uncle Jiang."
Click.
The door swung wide to reveal a scholarly man whose hair was half silver, wrinkles gentle behind his glasses. He glanced around the room and smiled.
"Your mom says you ran away the day before yesterday?"
"Mm. But it's okay now."
Arms folded, Uncle Jiang gave a noncommittal hum. "Is that so."
Seeing the silence stretch, Bai Yi asked, "Will taking off suddenly hurt your work?"
"On the contrary, everything's great. The big boss at Ye International sent his daughter to Linmen. Business here's about to explode, and I might be able to get in on it."
"Ye International? That's huge. Can you really connect?"
"Others maybe not, but your uncle has friends."
He stepped inside, left the door ajar, and pulled up a chair.
"That new manager, Ye Lan, was my senior by one year back in college. I even gave a wedding gift when she got married. Poor taste in men, though—her husband fooled around while the kids were still small. Senior caught him and kicked him so hard he can't father children anymore, so she took the kids and left with nothing."
Bai Yi's eyes widened. "Ye International... and your senior came from money. How dare he cheat?"
"Complicated. Rumor says Ye International was struggling when she was in school, and with siblings competing for funds she lived hand-to-mouth. Later, when things improved, she brought the guy home, but her family looked down on the 'poor boy' and refused the marriage."
Bai Yi blinked. "So..."
"So her parents didn't attend the wedding. Probably sensed the guy was bad news."
Bai Yi's expression turned thoughtful. "Adult life is messy."
"Exactly. That's why I want you to spend more time with kids your age and less on work."
Bai Yi caught the implication and muttered, "But idols have to keep working. If I fade, what then? Mom says strike while the iron's hot."
"You'll never finish chasing money, Yiyi."
Uncle Jiang removed his glasses and smiled.
"Even my Ye International senior has a pile of troubles. Finish what's on your plate, then take fewer gigs. Life's long—go to school, hang out with classmates, read more books. Grades don't matter; perspectives do.
"And when you have free time, do something you love."
He twirled the plush toy once, then tossed it back.
"We're neither rich nor poor. Worst case, we won't starve. Relax. Be brave."
Bai Yi caught the plush and stared at him, speechless.
Upstairs, Mrs. Zuo's voice cracked like a whip.
"Whatever you're doing down there, go shower! Clean up and get to bed!"
Bai Yi blinked; Uncle Jiang's knees almost buckled. Sweat beaded on his forehead—apparently the signal for something dire.
Hands trembling, he pushed the chair back and managed a wry smile.
"Off to bed, then. You too, okay?"
"Mm, Uncle Jiang."
He left, closing the door behind him.
Be brave, huh.
Bai Yi turned to her phone. The screen still showed the profile named "Huan."
She pursed her lips, reached out, and tapped "Add Friend."
A gentle press—
"Friend request sent!"
Success.
Bai Yi clutched her phone like a live grenade, staring at the contact request still waiting for approval. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Would he accept?
Or would he—
Reject?
She flopped onto the bed, cheeks burning, eyes glued to the screen.
One minute.
Five minutes.
A nervous laugh escaped her. He's probably just busy. Hasn't even seen it yet, right?
She opened a short-video app and started scrolling. Every five clips she flipped back to Plane to check if the request had gone through.
Still nothing.
Why did I send that friend request in the first place? Is there really no way to take it back?
Burying her face in the pillow, she rolled back and forth, mortified.
One moment of bravery, a whole night of second-hand embarrassment.
She had no idea that, right now, Yan Huan hadn't even noticed her request. His world revolved around one thing: studying.
Meanwhile, in South District, Linmen—Tongyao Bar.
The doors were locked, the "Closed for Today" sign swinging on the handle, the metal shutter pulled all the way down. Whatever was happening inside was for insiders only.
"Yingying, you have to help us!"
Inside the dim lounge, a circle of burly men—each wearing a wing tattoo—looked on with lazy amusement at two battered figures kneeling on the floor. Knife cuts, burn marks, bruises—fresh and ugly. Yet the injured men ignored the pain, eyes fixed straight ahead.
On a leather couch sat a red-haired woman in a black tee and jeans, legs crossed, gaze half-lidded. Around her, glamorous women in furs and qipaos smoked and sipped cocktails, watching the show like it was dinner theatre.
Tong Yingying said nothing. One of the henchmen barked a laugh.
"Oi, you didn't even call her Tong sis. You want favors without manners? Learn the rules."
"Tong sis, Tong sis," one of the kneeling men blurted, shuffling forward on his knees. "You have to help us. Get us out of town. Please!"
Tong Yingying exhaled, bored. "Funny. When profits were rolling in you never remembered me. Now that you're bleeding, you suddenly know my name."
The tattooed men roared. The women drifted closer, giggling.
"Tong sis, you're the brains here," a beauty purred. "None of us want to dirty your hands. But these two really messed up. Everyone knows you used to ride with White Mommy—her contacts are all yours now. Any chance you can ship them out?"
Yingying still didn't answer. She pulled out a slim cigarette and placed it between crimson lips. While she searched for her lighter, a dozen clicks sounded around her.
Every qipao-clad woman flicked a flame to life, leaning in with reverence to light her cigarette. The sudden constellation of fire illuminated her dead-fish eyes, turning them predatory.
"Tong sis~"
"After you~"
A breeze from their polished nails flickered the flames. No one ever dared snatch the cigarette away—only one brat had ever done that.
Yingying hesitated, then plucked the unlit cigarette from her mouth. The women giggled behind manicured hands.
"Tong sis, want one of ours instead?"
"Forget it," she sighed. "I'm quitting."
The lighters snapped shut one by one. The women kept smiling, silent.
Yingying leaned back against the cushions, studying the two bloodied men. All eyes waited.
Then she brightened, raising a finger.
"Hey, I've got an idea."
Everyone else wore the look of impending doom; only the two outsiders perked up.
"Ah?"
They thought rescue had arrived. Yingying's smile widened—shark-like.
"You know this is serious, right? Not just Linmen police after you—your rivals as well."
"Y-yes..."
"I can get one of you out of Linmen."
"R-really?!"
Yingying rested her chin on her hand, the smile now chilling.
"Yes. But only one of you leaves.
"You two decide who."