Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Sighing, Su Mucheng looked over to Ye Xiu who still had his gaze fixed on the screen in front of him showing Excellent Era's latest match. 

The match ended a few hours ago and the rest of the team had long since retired to their sleeping quarters. Leaving only Su Mucheng and Ye Xiu in the training room.

The match had been a disaster. The team had been running around like headless chickens who didn't know which way was up. They had been completely overrun by their opponents. Only Ye Xiu and Su Mucheng had been able to put up any form of resistance to the crushing defeat that had befallen them. 

It was to the point that it was just embarrassing to watch. Their teammates couldn't even follow simple instructions, and they were supposed to be professionals. What a joke.

If only they had competent teammates…

'No..' she thought  as she studied Ye Xiu’s hunched posture,  the bags under his eyes and the overall haggard appearance he usually did his best to hide. Especially from her. 'If only he had competent teammates…'

If he had, he wouldn't have to work himself into exhaustion every day just to make sure that the team would make it. To keep it from falling apart. 

If only her brother was still here…

She couldn't  help but to imagine a Ye Xiu with a strong team, one that would help him fly! That would be glorious to see! 

 A smile crossed her lips as she let her imagination run wild. 'What kind of team would it be? It would have to be a strong team. No, not just a strong one, the strongest! Only the best for her brother! But he was the strongest. Who would even be able to fully stand by his side without holding him back? 

With bright eyes she shared her thoughts with Ye Xiu.

"Wouldn't it be awesome to have a team of you?"

Ye Xiu turned to her, startled. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Wouldn't it be awesome to have a team of you?"  She repeated. Her smile grew as she saw his confused expression, before he schooled it to a neutral one as he turned back to the recording of the match. 

"Glory is not a one player game, how can I be a whole team?" He gestured to the match that was going on repeat "You and I together weren't enough, so how can I, alone, be?" 

She shook her head, still smiling. 

"If there were six of you, you wouldn't be alone!"

"If there were six of me?" His tone grew more and more dubious. Su Mucheng’s, however, was as bright as ever.

"Yes! What do you think?" 

"I think that you have watched too many dramas." He deadpanned.

She wasn't at all discouraged by his lack of enthusiasm. Even though his tone was dry, she didn't miss the slight upturn to his lips. She leaned toward him as she placed a hand on her chest to show her conviction.

" I think that the six of you would be the best team there ever was and ever will be!" 

Ye Xiu side eyed her for a moment before giving a huff of amusement.

" If there were to be more of me there would only ever be five."

"Why?" Curious, she leaned forward a bit more. Excited that he wanted to humor her. "A professional team needs six players, so why only five?" 

He cast her a warm and fond smile.

"Because there would always be a spot for you." 

Warmth and sadness bloomed in her. This lonely and beaten down God had done so much for her, even when he had nothing to his name he still looked out for her. Made sure she had a home and was cared for, even when it wasn't his job to do so. Even when he could hardly take care of himself. Even now, in a hypothetical fantasy future he still made room for her. Offering her a place by his side and letting her choose if she wants to take it or not. Though to her, there is never a question on what her choice is. If only she was just a bit more like her brother, she might have been able to better alleviate some of his burdens.

"Ye Xiu, I will always be by your side. Whether that is on the field fighting next to you or on the bench cheering you on. I will always have your back." She started seriously. She couldn't say this enough. Ye Xiu was so smart, but sometimes he could be so dense in social uptake, especially when he himself was involved. And he had a bad habit of letting everyone and everything come before himself if he valued it to be more important. Which, to him, everything involving Glory was. Which wasn't too healthy when he worked, ate, slept, and even breathed Glory every single moment of every day. Well the food and sleep were a bit optional for him. They were only relevant in the sense that if he didn’t eat and sleep,  he would be too weak to play Glory. And that was something he wouldn't let happen. At least… she hoped so.

She continued in a lighter tone though to lift the heavy atmosphere that had come with the subject. She wanted to lift his spirits,  not give him more grief. 

"We both know that you are a much better player than I can ever hope to be. And the team of the century, no! The millennia! Would definitely need to have six of you!"

With his laughter ringing in her ears, Su Mucheng believed that she had succeeded.

…………………. ..

"Your hair is growing long"

A distracted hum was her only reply as she carded her fingers through Ye Xius' hair.

"Are you going to let it grow out? I think you would look cute with long hair"

Even with a cigarette between his lips, it did nothing to hinder Ye Xiu from answering.  The field boss he was currently stealing in front of the noses of the other guilds however took a bit more concentration, though not enough to not answer Su Mucheng. 

"Not really" 

"Why not? You don't believe me?" She said with a teasing smile. "Afraid you will look too much like a girl?"

" No, more like that it would get in the way."

" You could just tie it back like I do, it won't get in the way I promise!"

"It would take too long to take care of. Time I could use to play Glory" If it had been anyone else she would definitely say that he was pouting. Su Muchengs smile grew,  mischievousness radiating of her in waves. 

"So… if I helped you to take care of it, you wouldn't have any objections to growing it out long?"

A withered glare was her reply.

"I'm not growing my hair out, Mucheng."

"Aww, but you would look so pretty!" She pouted for a second before her smile was back at full force. "So, you would have no problem looking like a girl then?" Su Mucheng didn’t dare mention if he minded looking like an omega or not. Even though he was one, she knew he couldn’t express or show any of it. Not here. Not now. No point in bringing it up and causing more problems for him.

Ye Xiu let out a sigh, eyes never once straying from the screen in front of him. "Yes, I don't really care how I look, and no one really knows me so what does it matter? What I wear does not affect how well I play." 

Giggling in glee, Su Mucheng skipped from Ye Xiu’s room and over to her own. She was sooo going to gossip with Chu Yunxiu about this! And maybe, probably, most likely, write some fanfics too. 

Left alone in his room, Ye Xiu hunched down in his gaming chair, trying to ignore the sudden shivers of doom running down his spine. He had the distinct impression that he said something that he shouldn't have. But no matter how many times he thought over his words, he couldn’t figure out what. 

With a huff he pushed the thought out of his mind, it was probably just a girl thing anyway. If it had been important, Su Mucheng would tell him. 

Turning his full attention back to the boss, he had soon depleted the last of its health, with the system announcement declaring Excellent Era the winner of this boss fight. 

Leaning back in his chair, Ye Xiu let a satisfied smirk show as he basked in the cries and complaints from the other guilds.

Su Mucheng’s odd departure long forgotten.  

…………………

Su Mucheng was back in Ye Xiu's room, keeping him company and waiting for him to finish exploring a potential map they might have for one of their upcoming home matches. If she joined him now, she would be more of a distraction and a hindrance than a helper. It was, after all, harder to see what the map looked like and find potential uses when the map was full of holes, like a block of cheese, from a launcher's cannon. 

She kept her Glory card close to be ready for when it became time to put theories to the test though.

So, keeping close but still out of the way, Su Mucheng had made herself at home on his bed. Piling up the pillows as a backrest she lounged against them while reading a fanfic Chu Yunxiu had sent her earlier. 

It wasn't one she would have usually taken notice of, but Chu Yunxiu had given it a very high rating and said she just had to read it. 

It had really intrigued Su Mucheng and her curiosity had won out. So now, here she was reading a very captivating story about Ye Xiu and the children that he had with Han Wenqing. 

This really wasn't a pairing she had thought would ever happen in real life. They were friends, yes. But it was a big step from being mutual friends to a romantic relationship with children in the mix. This writer though… they made it sound so believable! Even she was starting to feel that it might actually happen! 

Su Mucheng couldn’t stop giggling when she got to the part describing Han Wenqing’s toughest battle yet. One that couldn't compare to a wild boss fight against Ye Xiu with his guild behind him or a championship match:

With a stoic look on his mob boss face, he faced the difficult challenge head on, as was in his nature. Han Wenqing wasn't the most academically inclined, that did not mean that he was stupid. Far from it. He usually had no problem applying a strategy and for this particular battle he had felt prepared. He had read the guides and watched all the tutorials. He had felt ready to face this particular challenge. 

Now, however, standing in front of and lookin his adversary in the eye, he wasn’t as sure. He lost some of his momentum when his opponent applied a well executed distraction maneuver, of blowing bubbles.

His young adversary giggled and swung their arms at him.

Just how was Han Wenqing meant to change a diaper on a baby again?

Su Mucheng really had to send her thanks to Chu Yunxiu. This was hilarious.

Casting a considering glance at Ye Xiu’s back, she couldn't stop the widening of her smile even if she wanted to, not with her wandering thoughts running wild.

“Hey, Ye Xiu, have you ever thought of having kids?” She asked.

Ye Xiu gave a low hum, indicating he heard her.

“Aren't everyone in the alliance kids compared to me? Why would I need to get more?”

“Even Han Wenqing?” She replied lightly. Working hard to not let her laughter show in her voice. She would love to be a fly on the wall if Ye Xiu were ever to call the older Alpha a child to his face.

“No, not old Han” He conceded easily.

“So… You could say you two are the fathers of the Alliance?”

“You can say that. We are the only ones left that were there at the start, afterall.”

“That would make the rest of us your and Han Wenquing’s kids, right?” Even if this had taken a turn she didn’t think it would, Su Mucheng had too much fun to care. She really did love it when Ye Xiu would humor her whims.

“No, definitely not.” came Ye Xiu’s heartfelt denial straight away.

“Why not? You don’t want me as a kid?” She teased.

“You are not the problem. But I don't want to be that responsible for Huang Shaotain. Yu Wenzhou can keep him!”

Su Mucheng gave a light laugh at that, and privately agreed. Huang Shaotain could be such a handful on the best of days.

Her thought soon turned back to the fanfic, of how happy he had become with a family of his own. Of the pride and strength the author had described that he had found by being a father. Wasn’t that something Ye Xiu could need? She knew better than anyone that this fic was just that, a story. She still couldn't stop herself from wanting, hoping for something like it for Ye Xiu. If there ever was someone who deserved so much happiness, it was Ye Xiu. 

Knowing family is a sore subject for Ye Xiu, she chose her words with care and inquired carefully. She would probably get away with it even if she didn't, however she had no intention of hurting him just to sate her own curiosity. But this was something she needed to know, him too, if he would be open to taking the chance. To the opportunity and experience it could be.

“But.. have you ever thought of having children of your own? Small bright lives that look like you?”

He was quiet for a few seconds as he taped a way at the keyboard. Eventually he shook his head.

“No, not really. Maybe one day, but not now. Not with the way the team is now. This is not the time for it. Besides, I would first need to find a partner to have them with, wouldn’t I?” He said with a self despairing smile. 

“So.. after you leave Excellent Era you would be up for it?”

Ye Xiu sent her a look over his shoulder.

“You sound as if you are offering.” He deadpanned. 

“No.” She grinned at him. “Just wondering when I will be getting my little brothers and sisters.”

Ye Xiu gave a huff and turned back to the map.

“So is that a yes or a no?” She prompted.

“It’s a ‘We’ll see.’”

“Does it lean more towards the ‘yes’?” Her hopeful tone could not be missed. Turning he studied her closer.

“This means alot to you.” He ended up saying after a few tense moments. It was a statement, not a question. Su Mucheng nodded anyway.

"Of course! Your happiness means everything to me!” She exclaimed with conviction.  He studied her for a few more moments, before nodding and turned his back to her once more.

“Ok, then”

She wasn't a hundred percent sure just what he agreed to, but she likes to think that it was that he would at least try. Try to find the happiness she knew he deserved, even if he didn’t believe it yet, she would make sure to believe and pray enough for the both of them.

…………………

The truth hurt. 

This was something Ye Xiu knew very well. 

Especially this truth. 

He was getting old.

It wasn't something he could change, nor was it something he could run from. Not that that was his style. He liked to face his challenges head on if he could. But this? This was  something he could not change. Time waits for no man, and his? His was running out as a professional Glory player. 

But he also knew that it wasn't his time yet. He knew he still had more to give. 

He had more he wanted to do.  

He wasn't ready to give up just yet. 

His time was running out. 

This was an indisputable fact. 

The start of this season had gone worse than ever. Excellent Era was in the bottom half of the rankings. In fact, their current ranking was the lowest they had ever had through all the seasons up to now. 

Though, was it really that strange that their ranking was that low? Losing match after match. The team was so split they were spending more time and energy fighting each other then their opponents. 

Ye Xiu wasn’t oblivious to what was said about him. From enthusiastic fans, to haters. From experts to teammates. From opponents to his own management. 

All of them had something to say. Some said it delicately, wrapping their words in pretty sentiments. 

Others aimed to hurt. To cause as much damage and grief as possible. 

Ye Xiu liked the blunt ones the best. The ones who said it as it was. 

But in the end it didn't  matter how they said it. The message was still the same. 

He was no longer fit to lead Excellent Era. 

He was not as strong as he used to be.

He was getting old.

The truth hurt.

This he knew and understood very well. 

The saying, 'the truth will set you free', that, however, he did not. 

How can he be freed, when he wants nothing more than to stay?

His time was running out. Soon he would no longer be able to stay. 

Was it even the truth? Before, he would have said no. Now? Now he wasn't as sure.

He had always done his best. Done what he could. Now it wasn’t enough.

It felt like he let Su Muqiu down. 

He didn’t have long left, but he would do what he could. If only to prolong the inevitable.

If only he had more time…

If only… but what was the point in thinking like that? It would only hurt more.

…………………………………..

It did hurt. A lot.

To be kicked out of the team he had helped build—the team he had poured his heart and soul into—was more painful than Ye Xiu had expected. He had seen it coming. Had known it would happen eventually. He had always understood that he’d leave One Autumn Leaf one day. But not like this. Not so soon. Not when he still had more to give.

And yet, with Su Mucheng walking quietly by his side, Ye Xiu didn’t let any of that pain show.

Not because he didn’t trust her. If anything, she was the one person left in the world he trusted without hesitation. It was simply habit. A reflex carved deep into his being by years of masking his emotions—first by necessity, later by choice. From high-society dinners where he’d learned to read people’s faces and conceal his own, to post-match interviews and the calculated taunts of rival players, Ye Xiu had long ago learned how to smile when he was hurting.

It was a kind of armor. One he wore just as naturally as he once wielded Evil Annihilation.

Su Mucheng’s gentle voice broke through his thoughts. “What are you going to do now? Are you leaving Glory?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll rest for a year. Then I’ll come back.”

He gave a small, wistful smile. “I’m not done yet. I love Glory too much.”

Su Mucheng nodded quietly. She didn’t say what she was thinking—that she wished he didn’t have to go, that she wished he had another chance, or that her brother would have known what to do. She only watched as Ye Xiu walked away.

He kept turning back to wave at her, still trying to cheer her up in his own quiet way. Even as distance grew between them, and even though she could no longer see his face clearly through the blur of her tears, she knew he was smiling.

Then, just as he rounded the corner—

Light.

A sudden, radiant flash. So bright it turned the snowy sidewalk into a blinding sea of white. Su Mucheng threw up a hand to shield her eyes. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

And when the light faded—

Ye Xiu stood there, blinking in confusion.

But he was no longer alone.

Four children now stood beside him.

Su Mucheng rushed toward them, worry written across her face. “Ye Xiu, are you okay?”

He nodded slowly, still trying to comprehend what had just happened.

The children, too, seemed disoriented. But what truly stunned Su Mucheng was their appearance.

All four were young—around eight or nine, maybe ten at the most. One girl and three boys. Their golden eyes, their black hair, their soft, youthful features—

They looked… familiar. Too familiar.

Like Su Muqiu. At that age.

Except… they also looked like Ye Xiu. His coloring. His expressions.

If Su Muqiu and Ye Xiu had somehow had children together, this is what they might have looked like.

She stared. Then turned slowly toward Ye Xiu, who was now crouched down in front of the children, studying them with a stunned expression.

“Did you and Muqiu have children I didn’t know about?” she asked, more dazed than accusatory.

Ye Xiu didn’t even glance up. “If we did, this is news to me.”

His voice was even, but his eyes were full of something raw. Shock. Memory. Something unspoken.

As he looked at the kids, something stirred inside him. Feelings he didn’t have words for. They weren’t just reminders of Su Muqiu. They were… echoes. Living echoes.

They were small, like he and his brother had been at that age. Their clothes were scuffed and worn, but well-fitted—washed too many times, not outgrown yet, maybe all they had. It reminded him of his own beat-up hoodies and threadbare jeans back in his scrappier days. Comfortable, functional. Not flashy. Familiar.

“I’m Ye Xiu,” he said gently. “What are your names? Where did you come from?”

There was a beat of hesitation.

Then, the calmest of the boys took a small step forward. His golden eyes were assessing, logical, but laced with something… confused.

“I don’t know who I am right now,” he admitted, clear and honest. “But I remember being you. I was walking out of Excellent Era. They just made me retire. I told Su Mucheng I still loved Glory.”

The second boy stepped up quickly after him, eyes bright with interest. “I remember that too! That building had the ugliest carpet. And I was so mad. Oh! And when I left, I kept thinking I should’ve short-circuited the servers just to spite them.”

“That’s not logical,” the first boy said flatly.

“Neither was getting kicked out,” the second muttered with a pout.

The third boy was practically vibrating where he stood, trying and failing to keep still. “I didn’t get that part,” he said. “But I remember the wind and the cold, and saying, ‘I’m not done yet!’ I also remember slipping on the stairs and someone laughing.”

“That was definitely you,” the first boy deadpanned.

Ye Xiu’s mouth twitched.

The girl, standing a little behind the others, had said nothing, but her intelligent eyes watched carefully. Quietly. She gave a single, thoughtful nod.

Ye Xiu blinked.

“So you all… have my memories?” He asked carefully.

The first boy shook his head. “No. Just a part of them. Like fragments. My first memory was creating One Autumn Leaf and Autumn Tree.”

“It’s not super clear,” the second boy said quietly, scratching the back of his neck. “like a dream.” 

“Mine was editing Silver weapon stats,” He continued, shoving his hands in his pockets distractedly. “Also, I found a bug in the UI, which—wait, hey! Look!”

He tugged out a laminated plastic card and waved it in triumph.

“It’s an ID! My name’s Ye Min. And—whoa! It says my birthday’s tomorrow!” He paused for a second before his head snapped up. “It is the second of December today right?”

Ye Ming waited impatiently for Su Mucheng’s answer as the energetic one yanked out his own card and squinted at it. “Ye Shi!” he declared proudly as Su Mucheng noded with good humour at their antics. “Same birthday as him!”

The first boy blinked and produced his own card with much less flair. “Ye Li,” he said, nodding toward the others. “Same birthday.”

The girl spoke last, her voice soft but certain. “Ye Jia.”

There was a brief, silent pause.

Then Ye Shi beamed. “Nice! Welcome to the family!”

Su Mucheng laughed, a choked sound, bright with emotion. Tears welled in her eyes again—but this time, they didn’t hurt.

“I think I’m the one who should say that,” she said, stepping forward, arms open in invitation. “We’re happy to have you.”

She hadn’t thought she wanted a big family. Just her and Muqiu—that had been enough. Then Ye Xiu had crashed into their lives, and her heart had stretched wider without even realizing it.

Now she looked at these four impossible children—each a spark of something old and new—and something bloomed in her chest. Something warm. Fierce. Protective.

They weren’t copies.

They weren’t ghosts.

They were distinct. Alive. The way Ye Li’s eyes narrowed just like Ye Xiu’s when someone said something stupid. The way Ye Min fiddled with the edge of his ID card, probably already thinking of how to hack the database. The way Ye Shi had snow in his hair and joy in his voice. The way Ye Jia stood slightly behind them all, watchful, her hand brushing her brother’s sleeve like she’d step forward the second he needed her.

Su Mucheng turned to Ye Xiu, her voice barely a whisper, eyes shining.

“Glory must really love you too.”

…………………

Ye Xiu stood back, silent and motionless. Snow drifted down around him, catching on his coat, melting on his skin. He barely noticed.

He watched as Su Mucheng welcomed the children, her warmth so instinctive, so genuine, that it stung. He watched their smiles, their curiosity, their lives just beginning—and something inside him shifted.

Children.

That word echoed in his mind like a bell struck too hard.

A word that echoed with a weight he hadn't anticipated and with profound implications he wasn’t sure he was ready for. He had never planned for this. Never wanted it, never imagined it. The notion of having children now, nevertheless with Su Muqiu, had never been a part of his plans, never a chapter in the narrative of his life he had anticipated.  And yet… here they were. Even now, with them standing tangly in front of him, his mind still protested that this should not be possible. Children who bore his name, his memories, and traces of the person he had lost years ago.

The realization that these kids embodied a union of his and Su Muqiu's existence was only beginning to sink in, with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. Undeniably, he already felt a sense of responsibility for these kids, who were now, apparently his.

Yet, they were like enigmatic pieces of a puzzle he was only beginning to understand.

The children before him, their innocent eyes and familiar features, a reflection of Su Muqiu's youthful visage, struck a chord deep within Ye Xiu’s heart. He couldn't help but wonder how the fragments of his past had converged to create this inexplicable present.

Still, here they were. Ye Xiu couldn't deny the inexplicable connection that wove them into the fabric of his past. As he studied their faces, he glimpsed Su Muqiu's spirit in their innocence.

They were a mystery.

His mind retraced the steps of their shared history, from the early days of camaraderie in Glory to the more complex tapestry of emotions they had woven together. The memories of Su Muqiu's laughter and the shared dreams of championship glory were clear, but this new revelation blurred the boundaries between past and present.

Did I miss something? he wondered, as if searching the corridors of his own memories for a missing piece of the puzzle. Yet, the more he pondered, the more elusive the answer seemed.

 His mind drifted back to the days when the concept of family was as distant as the stars in the sky. Glory, dungeons, and championships had consumed his world, leaving little room for even the thought of parenthood, and that had been just earlier this morning…

The children's presence challenged the narrative he had constructed for himself after leaving Excellent Era. I love Glory too much, he had told Su Mucheng. But now, love took on a different form, a form he hadn't anticipated, a form that bore the faces of the past but represented the future.

The idea of fatherhood, once distant and abstract, now stood before him in the shape of Ye Min, Ye Shi, Ye Li, and Ye Jia. They were not just symbols of an unexpected twist; they were living, breathing echoes of Su Muqiu. They were a miracle.

A gift.

A responsibility he wasn’t sure he could live up to.

But even in his confusion and fear, he felt something tugging at him. A bond.

Ye Xiu's gaze still lingered on the children, the weight of realization settling upon his shoulders. The line between the Ye Xiu of now and the Ye Xiu of those memories blurred, and in that blurred line, he found both joy and an underlying uncertainty.

Su Mucheng, too, cast a glance at him, her eyes silently seeking understanding. In that shared moment, they acknowledged the profound impact these children would have on their lives. Ye Xiu couldn't help but wonder if Su Muqiu, in some celestial way, was smiling down at the family reunion unfolding in this quiet corner of the world.

Ye Xiu took a deep breath, choosing to immerse himself in the moment. The answers would come, he was sure of it. For now, he had these children, living reminders of the love and friendship that defined his past. The realization opened a door to a realm of possibilities and challenges he hadn't anticipated. The weight of the revelation settled in his chest, a testament to the ever-unfolding story that was his life.

He wasn’t sure where this path would lead.

But for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t walking it alone.

…………………………………………..

With the snow settling thick on the pavement and wind biting at exposed skin, there wasn’t much room for lingering goodbyes. Su Mucheng crouched to give each of the children a final hug, her voice soft and warm despite the chill, before brushing a hand discreetly across her eyes. The moment was quiet, but heavy.

Ye Xiu didn’t say anything. He simply gave her a nod—grateful, but distant—and turned toward the faint, flickering neon sign of the internet café across the street.

Four pairs of smaller footsteps followed close behind.

The warmth inside swept over them like a welcome tide. Bright lights, the steady hum of top-tier machines, and the clatter of keyboards filled the air. Bursts of cheers and groans spread up from the customers as well as laughter from their friends as they played. The space was lively, pulsing with energy. The café was clean and modern, its rows of polished computers and well-kept furnishings a clear sign of good business.

It was familiar and foren all at once.

It wasn’t home. But it was safe, and for now, that was enough.

Ye Xiu stood near the entrance for a moment, watching the frost melt from the kids’ hair. They weren’t shivering as much now, but the fatigue was starting to show. Their coats were thin, and their shoes soaked through. It struck him all over again: they were just children. Four children who, for some inexplicable reason, had looked him in the eye and called him "Dad."

He didn’t know what to make of it. Not really. His brain was still buffering, stuck somewhere between What the hell is happening? and Don’t let them freeze to death.

What he did know—what he couldn’t pretend not to feel—was that something in him had shifted the moment they looked at him. There’d been a strange flicker, low and quiet but undeniable. Recognition. Responsibility. Affection that hadn’t even had time to bloom properly yet, but was already taking root like it had always been meant to be there.

He wasn’t going to walk away.

He couldn’t.

Now, though, came the part he was equipped for. Problems to solve. Logistics.

He needed money.

He needed a roof.

He needed a way to keep four kids warm, fed, and safe—and ideally somewhere not a internet café lobby.

And for all of that, he needed a job.

Ye Xiu turned his gaze toward the rows of computers, their blue light reflecting in his eyes. The floor attendant was giving him the side-eye, clearly wondering if they were going to buy time or loiter.

“Alright,” he murmured, more to himself than the children. “Let’s get to work.”

He approached the counter, putting on his most casual smile—one he had learned from Su Mucheng—and tapped a knuckle against the desk.

“Hey, quick question,” he said, voice light. “You guys hiring?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

“Okay! Then You’re hired! Have you read the terms carefully? It will be in accordance with those. Meals and accommodations are both covered and the night shift gets an extra 300 per month.”

"Can my kids stay here too?”

Chen Guo blinked.

Excuse me, what?

Just who was this guy??? 

Who just asks if your kids can stay at your workplace right after he got employed?

"Kids?" She echoed, dumbfounded.

"They are very well-behaved, I promise" He gestured further down the lane to four small, black haired children gathered quietly around a computer station.

Chen Guo gawked.

“Aren't you too young to have kids that age?” The question was out before her brain had the chance to catch up. Her surprise and confusion could be clearly heard in her voice.

She winced. Realizing how insulting that question must be, Chen Guo quickly backtracked, embarrassed. “Not that there's anything wrong with that!”

She still remembered what she had seen on the ID card he had forgotten at the front desk and he was definitely younger than her, so he must have been what—sixteen? Seventeen? She couldn't help it; judgment bubbled up.

Irresponsible. Shameless.

“Why would they stay here? Where did they stay before?”

“They stayed with a family friend. Now they are here with me.” Ye Xiu shrugged, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Can’t they stay there now?” She challenged. It sounded like a lie in her ears. This was too unbelievable.

“No, they can't.” 

“Why not?” 

He sighed and gave her a flat look.

“Does it matter? It won't change the fact that they are here with me now.” 

“What about their mother? What does she say about all of this?” Even with Ye Xiu getting progressively more curt with his answers, Chen Guo wasn’t going to let this go. Her curiosity and drive for answers weren't going to let her.

“Dead.”

 … Never mind. She is letting this go.

“Oh… I'm sorry.” 

Her gaze drifted to the children again. So quiet. So small. She couldn’t imagine what they’d been through.

A single dad—jobless, homeless, dragging around four kids in the freezing night. Worn clothes. Pale face. Eyes like he hadn’t slept in days. Just how long had they been walking?

Her heart clenched.

She, herself, had grown up without knowing her mother. It had always been just her dad and her. She remembered how her father had always done his best to support them and it had at times been hard for them. So she felt like she could relate.

Still, her practical brain kicked in and she didn’t have any place to put them however. All the employee rooms were already taken and she had planned to put Ye Xiu in the room with the extra bed that served as a storage closet for the moment until an extra space could be opened up. But with four extra children? There wasn’t enough space. What should she do? 

She wanted to help, but at the same time, she couldn't help but to still be annoyed at him. Just how shameless can you be?!?

Seeing her hesitate, Ye Xiu tried to reassure her. 

“It’s ok. I will find somewhere else they can stay. But would it be ok if they can stay the night?”

Ugh. That made her feel worse.

How could she just throw four children out into the street when she knew that they didn’t have a home to go back to? Did he think she was a monster?

“Are you sure that you are ok with the night shift?” She asked instead of giving him an answer.

“Yes! No problem!”

She sighed. Long and deep.

Mind made up, she turned on her heel and waved over her shoulder indicating for him to follow. “Alright, follow me.”  

She led him up the stairs to the apartment.

“To be honest, my Internet Cafe isn’t really lacking people. With you, we don't have too many. Without you, we don't have too few. At the moment, the only free bed we have is this one” She said and opened a door in the apartment leading into a storage closet with a bed crammed to the side of the small room. “It’s a little lacking, just put up with it for now.” 

“It’s fine,” he said at once.

“If you’re willing to prove you can stay up and handle the night shift tonight, I have enough sleeping space for the children. One can take this bed” She waved a hand indicating the one in the storage room.”One on the couch and two can share the bed in my room.”

“Will you also be awake too?” He asked

“For a while at least. There is another person living here, but she is away at the moment, so I can use her bed for now.”

“Oh, so it’s like this! No problem, no problem. This is pretty good.” Ye Xiu declared at once and smiled like he’d just won the lottery. His approving attitude made Chen Guo feel very apologetic and made Chen Guo’s chest ache. This small storage room truly wasn’t a place for living, nor was the couch. And yet he was grateful.

“In your free time, you can use the computers and play. It’s not a problem, employees don’t have to pay.” Chen Guo stated.

“Boss, you’re very generous!”

They headed back downstairs, Ye Xiu trailing behind her with the same calm expression he’d worn since he walked in. Chen Guo rattled off the essentials—shift duties, cleaning schedule, what to do if a machine crashed—practically everything he needed to know about the Internet Café.

At the bottom of the stairs, she pressed a wad of bills into his hand.

“Go grab dinner. There’s a place still open down the street. Get enough for everyone working tonight.”

Ye Xiu looked at the money, then out the glass doors at the snow swirling past.

“Now?” he asked, with a faint, almost mournful tone.

Chen Guo’s eye twitched. “Yes, now. Welcome to your first job errand.”

He hesitated.

“And before you ask—yes, your food’s included in your employment,” she added sharply. “But I know you’ve got those kids and you’re going to feed them too, aren’t you?”

He opened his mouth again.

“Don't argue with me!” She snapped before he could say anything and turned away from him. “Just go.”

He gave her a lazy salute at her retreating form and suffeld away muttering something about frostbite.

Chen Guo let out a deep sigh behind the counter. 

How did he already get on her nerves without even trying? 

She looked up again when she didn’t hear the faint jingle of the door opening.

Where had that guy gone to now?

She felt her anger rise again. Wasn’t this a simple task? How did he manage to get lost on the way to the entrance from the front desk? The door was right there! 

It didn't take long for her to locate her wayward new employee.

She took a deep breath and puffed herself up, ready to go over and give him a piece of her mind!

First day on the job, and she was already feeding him and his four little freeloaders too, and he couldn’t even complete such a simple task? She was beginning to regret this hire already!

Rounding the counter, she stopped in her tracks.

Her anger deflated like a popped balloon when she saw what he was doing. 

He was crouched by the computers, next to his children who were huddled around him.

She stood silently and watched as he reassured them that he would just be out on an errand and would be back soon. 

Ye Xiu stood and ruffled the kids' hair before trudging out the front door.

She sighed and rubbed her temple. Still, she couldn't stop the small smile tugging at her lips. 

Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

… maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

………………………………………

Outside, the snow had thickened into a lazy curtain of white, softening the world into something distant and slow. Ye Xiu adjusted the collar of his jacket and stepped into it without complaint, though his breath came in visible puffs and his fingers quickly went numb.

Lighting a cigarette with practiced ease, he let it dangle between his lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping to warm them up a bit. The cold bit through the thin fabric, but he didn’t hurry. It was the first moment of true quiet he'd had all day. He just stood there for a while, watching the smoke rise, and felt his budding headache slowly ease.

So much had happened in the last few hours, he hadn't had time to light a cigarette—much less time for himself.

Not since his room in Excellent Era.

He took a sharp breath and pushed all the unwanted feelings that rose up aside. It happened. He did his best for the club. Nothing more he could do about it now.

Still hurt, though.

And now he was a father. How did that happen?

Instincts he knew he had—but had never really experienced—seemed to have awakened all at once, loud and insistent, telling him this was right.

Somehow, that settled him.

And then there was Chen Guo—who had just handed him a job, food, and a roof for the night.

He wasn’t used to that kind of kindness. Didn’t know what to make of it.

Not yet.

Stability. What a novel thought.

He reached the small restaurant Chen Guo had mentioned and stubbed out the cigarette, tossing it into a nearby trash can before stepping inside—grateful for the warmth that met him.

……………….

When he eventually returned, Chen Guo gave him a flat stare from behind the counter.

“You took your time.”

Ye Xiu set the bags on the counter and dusted snow from his shoulders. “Sorry,” he said mildly. “Got lost on the road of life.”

Chen Guo blinked.

She blinked again.

“...What?”

He just smiled.

She stared, half a second away from a complete meltdown.

……………………………

After watching Ye Xiu get bossed around by the internet café owner, none of the children had dared to protest when she declared it was bedtime after dinner.
Honestly, after the whirlwind of the day, they were all exhausted. They went to bed without much fuss, leaving Ye Xiu alone with a fired-up Chen Guo, who was practically vibrating with energy, basking in the glow of her own excitement.

Trying to tune her out as she raved about the day’s events, Ye Xiu quietly logged in to QQ.

While Chen Guo had offered them shelter for the night, he knew it wasn’t a long-term solution. Sooner or later, they’d need a place of their own. To rent an apartment, he needed money—money he didn’t have.

Chen Guo had already been more than accommodating, but asking her for that kind of loan? That was another level. His skin was thick, but even he knew where the line was.

Still, he needed help.

He clicked open his contact list and began to scroll, quietly humming to himself as he searched for a name he could bear to ask.

The candidate had to be close enough to care, and financially stable enough to lend him the amount without too much strain. Just enough to secure a small place and cover the essentials for the five of them until his first paycheck came in.

Su Mucheng was out. Her money was hers, and the only reason she hadn’t already offered was because she knew he’d refuse. Which… he would.

Ye Qiu was the last resort. His brother would help him without question—and that was exactly the problem. He’d ask anyway. About everything. A million questions Ye Xiu didn’t have answers for yet.

He still didn’t know what to make of all this. One moment he was drifting from club politics and burned bridges, the next he was… a father? Somehow?

Instincts he didn’t know he had had kicked in hard and fast. The strangest part was how right it felt. Like a piece he didn’t know he’d been missing had quietly clicked into place.

Still didn’t mean he wanted to explain that to his brother.

Wu Xuefeng crossed his mind. He was kind, dependable—and most importantly, not nosy. But Ye Xiu wasn’t sure he had that kind of spare cash. Still, maybe for advice... he was a solid maybe.

Huang Shaotian was an immediate no. His mouth moved faster than his brain, and Yu Wenzhou, while more level-headed, was still part of the same info pipeline. No thanks.

Chu Yunxiu? Just… no.

Wang Jiexi? Maybe. He was mature, relatively private—but could still be a bit of a gossip depending on the situation.

Why were so many pro players such gossips, anyway?

He paused when he reached Han Wenqing’s name.

Old Han had the money. And more importantly, he had the integrity not to poke at things Ye Xiu didn’t want to talk about. He might not even blink before helping.

Ye Xiu didn’t like asking for help. Not for himself, anyway. But this wasn’t for him—not entirely.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he typed out a quick message:

Ye Qiu: You awake?

He closed the window almost immediately, already regretting his moment of weakness. Han was probably asleep. And even if he wasn’t, it wasn’t fair to bother him with something like this. Ye Xiu had made his choices—he could live with the consequences.

With a resigned sigh, he opened up a new browser tab and typed:
“short-term rental apartment—City H.”

Most of the listings were laughable. Some wanted deposits higher than Excellent Era’s annual budget for snacks. Others were deep in the outskirts—cheap, yes, but impossible to reach without a car.

Still, he scrolled, refusing to give up.

He found one.  

Two rooms. Semi-furnished.

Tiny. Dingy. But livable.
Barely.
And even that needed a deposit he didn’t have.

He leaned back, head against the chair, eyes staring up at the ceiling. The weight pressed down on him then, heavy and quiet. Four kids were upstairs sleeping like they trusted him with the world. Trusted he’d keep them warm. Safe. Together.

Ye Xiu wasn’t unfamiliar with pressure—pro matches, retirement, exile. He’d survived it all with a smirk and a cigarette.

But this?

This was different.

He was responsible now. For lives, not wins.

The moment stretched, silent and suffocating. His pride screamed at him to make do, figure it out, pull some miracle from thin air like he always had.

Then QQ chimed.

A single message.

Han Wenqing: I’m here.

Ye Xiu stared at the screen, stunned.

He hadn’t expected a reply—certainly not tonight. His fingers hovered before he tapped out a quick message, heart racing faster than he’d admit.

Ye Qiu: Sorry to bother you. I need a loan. Just enough for a small apartment. Nothing fancy.

The response was immediate.

Han Wenqing: How much?

Ye Xiu hesitated, then typed in the number. It was modest. The lowest he could manage without risking putting the kids in something unfit to live in.

Old Han’s reply came just as quickly.

Han Wenqing: You’ll have it in the morning.

Ye Xiu exhaled, shoulders slumping with unexpected relief. That went a lot better than expected.

Ye Qiu: Thanks. I’ll pay you back.

No response this time. But he didn’t need one.

Now he could go apartment hunting tomorrow, but for now, he needed to stay up the whole night so his new boss could see his work ethic.

…………

Ye Xiu had just finished another run through Spider Cave, the glow of the computer screens casting an ethereal light in the dim internet cafe. He stretched out the kinks in his back and took a look around, noticing the night shift manager had left and a new fresh faced employee was now behind the counter.

What was the time? He quickly clicked up the time on the computer screen in front of him. It was just past 8 am. It was time to get moving. 

Time had really flown by, he mused. It had been a long time since he could play so freely. To play freely without any expectations and to just have fun and level. Even if it had felt a bit disconcerting in the beginning, especially with the large number of people in the bustling starter village. It was hard to even get anything done in that crowd. But after that, when he had gotten the others to trust in his leadership, even if he was hard carrying them through the dungeon, it was… fun. It brought back fond memories from long ago. 

Saying goodbye to Seven Fields and the others, he shut down Glory and checked his account, ready to confirm the deposit and contact the real estate agent.

Then he blinked.

Froze.

Checked again.

He was expecting to see a modest deposit.

 But this?

“…The hell…” he muttered under his breath.

The number on the screen stared back at him, almost taunting. It was three times what he’d asked for. Not enough to buy luxury, but more than enough to lift the weight pressing down on his chest.

Ye Xiu quickly clicked on the transaction details, trying to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated it in a sleep-deprived haze.

There it was.

Sender: Han Wenqing
Amount: (ridiculously generous)
Message: Pick something safe.

Ye Xiu stared at the note.

Then leaned back and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Damn you, Old Han…”

That single line said more than anything else ever could. It was care, concern, and complete faith all rolled into three words—and Ye Xiu wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or immediately send the money back out of sheer pride.

He didn’t, of course.

He had kids to think about now.

But as he opened the rental listings again—with new filters this time—his hands trembled just a little less.

With this, he could afford a place with real insulation. A heater that didn’t rattle. A secondhand bunk bed. Maybe even a small sofa the kids could squabble over.

He still didn’t know whether to feel grateful or furious or ready to cry.

This wasn’t just a loan. It was trust. No questions asked. No strings attached.

It made everything both easier and harder at the same time.

It meant he owed Han Wenqing. And Ye Xiu hated owing anyone—especially someone like Han.

Still, as he called the real estate office and scheduled the visit, he kept thinking back to Han’s quiet message.
“I’m here.”

He always had been, hadn’t he?

Shaking his head fondly, he logged out from the computer and put out his cigarette. How he wished he could have seen the face of the administrator that handled the approval for the large transaction.

He couldn’t help but imagine Han Wenqing going to the bank with his mob boss face, saying he was transferring money with a message to “pick something safe”.

It probably wasn't what happened, but still, funny to think about!

With lightened spirits and a smile on his face, Ye Xiu headed for the front desk.

“Hi, I’m Ye Xiu. Chen Guo hired me last night—I’ll be taking the night shifts from now on,” he introduced himself once he reached the counter.

The man behind the desk looked up from his computer and greeted him with a friendly smile.
“Hello, and welcome! You can call me Little Lee, everyone here does,” he said good-naturedly. “What can I do for you, Brother Ye?”

“Could I buy four Glory account cards? And could I borrow a piece of paper? I need to leave a note for Chen Guo.”

“Sure, no problem!”

Lee pulled a sheet from the printer and placed it along with a pen on the counter, then turned to fetch the cards.

Ye Xiu quickly scribbled a message to Chen Guo, letting her know he’d gone apartment hunting and would be back later, leaving the kids temporarily in her care. He signed it simply and tucked it beside the staff computer.

After paying for the cards, he gave Lee a polite nod. “Thanks for the help. Just a heads-up—my kids will probably come down to play soon.”

Lee blinked at him in surprise, eyes going wide. “Kids…?”

Ye Xiu just waved cheerfully over his shoulder as he walked off.

………….

He didn’t get far.

Halfway up the stairs to the second-floor apartment, he was met by the very four children he’d been planning to check on.

“Dad!”

Ye Xiu froze. That word again. He was still getting used to it— would probably be getting used to it for a long time.

When Su Mucheng had brought up the idea of having kids someday, it had felt like a distant maybe. And now, just a few months later, here he was. Four kids. Half-grown, with their own minds, personalities, and stubborn streaks. They were his.

He still didn’t know how that had happened.

But right now, that didn’t matter. Their wellbeing did.

“Dad!” the call came again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

The four children skidded to a stop in front of him, grinning up at him like he’d hung the moon.

He crouched to their level with a soft smile. “Hey there, you four. How are you feeling today?”

He still half-expected them to disappear. But they hadn’t. Not yet.

“I slept great!” Ye Shi exclaimed, beaming.

Though all three boys looked nearly identical, Ye Xiu had already learned to tell them apart.

Ye Shi was all energy and grins, every gesture brimming with life.

Ye Min had sharper eyes, intelligent and quick, his smile carrying the same spark Su Muqiu used to have.

Ye Li, meanwhile, had his posture—laidback, just on the edge of lazy—with a smile that said he was watching everything.

And Ye Jia...

She reminded him of his brother Ye Qiu. Polite, careful, quiet. Always a step behind the others, watching instead of charging forward. Ye Xiu wasn’t sure yet if that was her nature or something else. He would have to keep an eye on it.

But for now, she looked content.

And in all of them, he saw hints of Su Muqiu. It was bittersweet—like a wound healing under sunlight.

Su Muqiu… you would’ve loved this. You would’ve thrived with a big family.

“I need to go out for a bit today,” Ye Xiu said, looking each of them in the eye. “I’ll be back this afternoon. In the meantime, please behave and don’t cause any trouble for Chen Guo, alright? She’s been very kind to let us stay here.”

Ye Li immediately straightened from his slouch, taking on a protective big brother air. “Don’t worry, Father. We won’t cause any trouble.”

He threw a pointed look at Ye Shi, daring him to disagree.

Ye Shi blew a raspberry in response.

Ye Xiu chuckled and ruffled both their hair. “Alright, alright. Settle down.”

“Do you want to play Glory while I’m gone?”

He didn’t even finish the question before all four pairs of eyes lit up like fireworks.

“Then these are for you.” He pulled out the Glory account cards. “Make sure to take care of them.”

They accepted them with wide grins and sparkling eyes.

“Thanks, Dad!” Ye Li said reverently.

“This is awesome!” Ye Min added, nudging Ye Shi.

“I’m gonna make the coolest character!” Ye Shi declared.

Ye Jia took hers with a quiet “Thank you, Father,” but the joy in her eyes said everything.

“Happy birthday,” Ye Xiu said, ruffling their hair again.

He watched them go, bounding downstairs in a rush of excitement.

“I’ll be down in a bit!” he called after them—not that they heard. They were already gone.

With a fond shake of his head, Ye Xiu continued to the apartment.

Inside, he placed the note for Chen Guo on the coffee table and began tidying up—gathering discarded wrappers, fixing the blankets the kids had slept under, making sure nothing was left askew. He didn’t want to cause Chen Guo extra work.

He paused once the apartment was clean and looked around.

“It’s a new start,” he murmured, remembering Su Muqiu’s words.

A wistful smile tugged at his lips.

He thought about the kids again—their laughter, their eager little faces.

The ache of grief was still there, but dulled. Surrounded by life, it was harder to be consumed by loss.

He’d figure this out. Somehow.

He had to.

Checking one last time, he stepped out and headed downstairs.

“This is a fresh start,” he whispered again.

Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll believe it too.

………………………………………………..

After arriving downstairs again, with little Lee’s help, locating his wayward children was no trouble at all. As he slowly approached, he couldn’t help but take note of their painfully familiar features. Now that they were in the light, it was more obvious than ever.

Midnight black hair, pale white skin that had almost never been kissed by the sun’s heated rays, and golden eyes that shone like stars in the glow from the monitors—these were all features they had inherited from Ye Xiu. While he knew them like the back of his hand, they weren’t what he focused on.

No, because what he saw was the high cheekbones in a heart-shaped face, the delicate nose bridge, and the beautiful shape of the eyes—creating a gentle, angelic look.

This… this was Su Muqiu’s face.
More childish and androgynous, but still undeniably Su Muqiu’s.

Even though he had seen some of these features in Su Mucheng over the years, it wasn’t quite the same. Even Ye Jia, whose features were more delicate than her brothers’, looked more like Su Muqiu than Su Mucheng in his eyes. With her slighter frame, she seemed more fragile—like a porcelain doll—than a living, breathing person. Su Mucheng, despite also having a slight build and a genuinely demure disposition, had never struck him as fragile.

To Ye Xiu, Su Mucheng was like a wild rose.
Resilient, able to grow and flourish in harsh environments, and absolutely beautiful to look at. But if you tried to pick on her, you’d find nothing but the sharpest of thorns.
She could be quite scary like that.

All four of the children were so engrossed in the game that they didn’t even notice his approach. They were busily working through the starter quests, with about as much success as he’d had last night. Which was to say—a long and painful wait with far too many players trying to complete the same quests at once. On the other hand, they seemed to enjoy themselves a lot more than he had.

They discussed, judged, and debated the different starter quests—the pros and cons, which were necessary, which could be skipped. They argued their points with increasing energy, a symphony of sound that few would be able to follow.

Luckily for him, Ye Xiu was one of the few who could.
And join he did, adding his own thoughts and experience from the day before.

They were amazing.
Pride swelled in his chest—along with something else, something warm. This united, friendly banter… the shared will to improve together… it was something he hadn’t been a part of in a long time.

Ye Min, with his analytical and methodical approach and clever, curious mind, wasted no time in dissecting the quests. He found every exploitable bug and shared his findings freely with his siblings.

Ye Shi, on the other hand, had run off on his own in excitement and, coincidentally, was also the furthest in levels. At first, Ye Xiu thought it was luck, but no one was that lucky without skill. A sharp, calculating mind hid beneath that happy-go-lucky attitude. He had a knack for seeing and seizing opportunities before others even noticed them. With that whimsical behavior, Ye Shi was probably the most dangerous opponent out of the four to meet in the arena. Maybe in real life too, now that he thought about it. He was excellent at distracting people from what he didn’t want them to see—so they’d never expect what came next.

Ye Xiu had been worried for Ye Jia at first, but maybe that had been unnecessary. The girl in front of him now had a calm and measured, almost regal, demeanor. She wasn’t afraid to speak up or correct one of the others if she thought they were wrong. Though she didn’t dominate the conversation, she absorbed everything like a sponge and spoke only when she had something worthwhile to say. Her insights were often things the others hadn’t even considered.

Ye Li bound them all together. His leadership shone through effortlessly with his calm and collected conduct. The others naturally looked to him. When disagreements arose, he mediated with wit and easygoing banter. His occasional sarcastic remarks added balance and drew out the best in all of them.

Ye Xiu added his own contributions—his deep well of experience, his understanding of people’s strengths, weaknesses, and habits. It was a work in progress, but they had already come a long way. It wouldn’t be long before they moved in a harmonious synergy not often seen, even in well-established teams.

Time flies when you’re having fun. A few minutes turned into hours, and it was already mid-morning by the time Ye Xiu left the internet café—much later than he had originally planned.

To talk to the kids on such a technical level… he hadn’t expected to find that outside of the professional scene. Even then, some pros wouldn’t have been able to keep up.

It had eased something in his heart. The depression and regret of no longer belonging to the alliance had weighed more heavily on him than he’d realized. Not until the load lightened did he truly understand how much it had bothered him.

It made him even more determined to find a good place for them.

Maybe—just maybe—a selfish thought whispered in his ear, it would make them more likely to want to join him in the game too.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Chen Guo woke up in a great mood.

She was well-rested, the sun was shining, and let’s not forget—the new server had just opened!

She quickly changed her scent patch before stepping out of Tang Rou's room. She expected to see the kids of the guy she had hired yesterday, but the apartment was empty. In fact, there wasn’t even a trace that they had been there.

Had she dreamt it?

The clock on the wall caught her eye.

11:15 a.m.

Oh. Was that the time? No wonder the children weren’t here. They must have woken up earlier.

What good kids, she thought, taking a closer look around the apartment. When she looked more carefully, she could see signs that things had been moved. So well-behaved, cleaning up after themselves!

Maybe it would be alright to let them stay a bit longer. They were no trouble at all!

Spotting a piece of paper with her name written on top, she picked it up and began reading.

There went her good mood.

Fuming, she crushed the paper in her hands.

This! This... man! How irresponsible!

To just leave his kids at an unfamiliar place and expect a person he had just met to look after them— without even asking first?! These well-behaved kids definitely took after their mother! How else could they turn out so polite with a father like that?!?

Wait.

A cold chill ran down her spine.

If he was expecting her to watch the kids— where were they?!

Horrified, she threw on her clothes and dashed out of the apartment.

By the time she reached the first floor, she was scanning the crowds frantically. The high noise level from the hustle and bustle of the joyous atmosphere assaulted her eardrums and grated on her already frayed nerves.

Thanks to the opening of the new server, there were a lot more people than usual in the café at this time of day. Normally, this would be a happy occasion—but right now? Chen Guo was anything but happy.

She didn’t see them. There were too many people.

Fear rose to a palpable level.

Had she lost the kids? Had something happened to them?!

Rushing to the front desk, she slammed her hand on the counter with a loud bang.

“ Where are they?! ” she demanded, borderline hysterical.

Chen Guo was too worked up to register that it was Little Li behind the counter, nor the fearful look he shot her.

“W-where are who?” he stammered.

She leaned over the counter, looking for all the world like she might strangle him for delaying.

“The kids!” she shouted. “Where are the kids?!”

Was he in trouble?

He knew underaged children weren’t allowed to use the computers here without adult supervision... But this time it had seemed okay. They were the children of an employee! And Ye Xiu had given his parental consent, right? Was he wrong?

“Section B, seat number—” He didn’t get to finish.

Chen Guo was already off like a rocket toward Section B. Li scratched his head as he was left behind by his boss.

What a strange day this is turning out to be…

Chen Guo rushed over as fast as she could, scanning the seats in Section B—row after row of computers.

Where in Section B did Li say they were again? She couldn’t remember.

The customers seemed to blur together and multiply before her eyes. Frustration swelled as the minutes ticked by with no sign of them. The lingering scent of cigarette smoke didn’t help, stinging her eyes and making it harder to fight off the frustrated tears.

Just where are they?!

There!

Four heads of black hair, shorter than the rest, just barely visible over the monitors on the other side of the aisle. Heart pounding, adrenaline high, she rushed over and skidded to a stop behind them.

It was them!

They were here!

Elated and out of breath, she practically collapsed in relief.

Thank god they’re safe!

Hands on her knees, huffing and puffing, she tried to catch her breath.

“Hi hi!”

The bright young voice pulled her back to the moment. Ye Shi waved at her, eyes sparkling with excitement, as he turned in his chair to greet her.

“Good... good morning!” Chen Guo wheezed between breaths. She tried to smile, but it came out more as a grimace.

Ye Shi gave her another cheerful wave and turned back to the virtual world of Glory.

Ye Li cast her a doubtful glance.

“11:30 is ‘morning’ to you?” he asked dryly, clearly skeptical.

Heat rushed to her cheeks.

She didn’t usually sleep this late, but she had gone to bed late last night... or was it technically this morning? Still! To be called out by a kid not even half her age?!

Embarrassed, she blurted the first thing that came to mind—something she would later blame on her current lack of oxygen.

“Everything before 12 a.m. is morning.”

All four kids turned to blink at her in silence for a second, before Ye Shi’s smile turned into a wide grin. Excited, he turned to his siblings.

“Do you think that excuse would work on Dad?”

A resounding chorus of “No” came from the others.

“Oh.” He pouted.

Chen Guo stood by, awkward and mortified, as they went back to playing.

What was this? Why did I rush down here again? How did I think they were polite?

A spark of anger ignited in her chest. She had been so worried for them!

Well, with this, she no longer had to wonder how Ye Xiu could be their father. His influence was right there.

Still... they were kids. A certain level of sass came with the territory.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly let it out—along with her building frustration and embarrassment.

She was a respectable, responsible adult. She could let something small like this go. She would.

Pep-talking herself into patience, Chen Guo decided to try a different approach.

“Is this your first time playing Glory?” she asked.

Ye Shi was about to answer, but Ye Min cut in sharply, “No. It isn’t.”

The lie came so naturally that Ye Shi’s annoyed glare at being interrupted barely registered. Ye Min didn’t care. Chen Guo didn’t even suspect that it might not be true.

And really—it was a lie. None of them had actually played Glory before today. They had the memories, sure, but that wasn’t the same. There were... complications.

Their new bodies didn’t match the muscle memory from their past lives. Their smaller fingers couldn’t quite reach certain keys, and their coordination was off. It kept tripping them up.

There was no quick fix. Only training and time.

But there was no way they could explain their deep in-game knowledge without sounding suspicious. It was simply easier to pretend.

Stepping behind them, Chen Guo saw they were running the first dungeon: Green Forest. The same dungeon she had seen their father clear last night.

A perfect chance to break the ice!

“Oh! You’re running Green Forest! Your father got the first clear on the hidden boss there!”

“We know!” Ye Shi blurted joyfully, startling her.

He flashed a victorious smirk at Ye Min, who stubbornly ignored him.

Stunned by the outburst, Chen Guo was left speechless again. How did they know? Did Ye Xiu tell them this morning?

Ye Li took pity on her.

“The first clears are listed at the dungeon entrance. Glory’s official site is also reporting all of the first clears so far.”

Curious, Chen Guo turned to him. “But how do you know Ye Xiu is playing Lord Grim?”

“Lord Grim isn’t a new avatar,” Ye Li answered softly. “And not just anyone can play him.”

“Why not? Isn’t it just another character? What’s so special about Lord Grim?”

The kids exchanged a look. Chen Guo felt like she had missed something big.

“It’s not the avatar that’s special,” Ye Li said at last. “It’s his weapon.”

“Oh, you mean the umbrella?” she asked, recalling the strange weapon. Ye Li gave a small nod.

“Yes.”

Chen Guo waited for more explanation—but none came. The silence stretched. She realized she had once again stumbled into another awkward pause.

This isn’t going at all how I thought it would…

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the only girl of the group. So far, she’d mostly listened quietly.

Maybe I can bond with her? Girl to girl?

“Have you decided what class to play?” she asked Ye Jia, stepping closer.

“Yes. Sharpshooter.”

The tone was neutral, but Chen Guo remained hopeful. She turned up the enthusiasm.

“Oh! A gunner! I play one, too! I’m a Launcher, just like Su Mucheng—the best female player!”

Chen Guo studied Ye Jia for a moment, then grinned. “Actually, why not switch to Launcher? Then we could play together and exchange pointers!”

“Su Mucheng isn’t the best female Glory player.”

“…Sorry?”

“The best female player is Chu Yunxiu, Captain of Misty Rain. She’s an Elementalist.”

“What?”

“Besides,” Ye Jia continued before Chen Guo could gather a rebuttal, “if I’m going to play with Aunt, I can’t choose Launcher. Two Launchers on the same team would mess with team balance.”

Happiness welled up in Chen Guo. Yes! Girls really did understand each other best! She was already inviting her to play—this was the perfect way to bond!

“Okay! Wait a sec and I’ll grab a new account card so I can join you!”

Ye Min watched her rush off, then turned to his ever-serene sister.

“…Weren’t you talking about Aunt Mucheng?”

“Yes, I was,” Ye Jia said with a calm nod. “But Dad said to be nice, and she seemed so happy—I didn’t want to ruin it for her.” She glanced toward the computer screen and smiled. “Besides, it could be fun.”

Ye Min grinned back, just as sharp.

“Great! Extra manpower!”

…………………………………….

Li Mei sat nervously behind her desk, making sure everything looked perfect in case someone came in.

She had graduated not long ago and had just managed to land a job in a small retail office in H City. Her employer—mentor, really—had called in sick today, leaving Li Mei to handle everything on her own.

While Li Mei knew what to do—this was what she had studied for, after all—this would be her first time completely alone in the office. And if a client came in, it would be the first job she handled solo from start to finish.

She was proud that her boss trusted her enough to try it already (even if it was more out of necessity than confidence), but she was also so nervous she thought she might vibrate right out of her seat.

To calm herself, she double-checked everything, making sure each brochure, folder, and pen was in its proper place. If someone came, she would be ready.

The morning ticked by slowly. Sitting on pins and needles, Li Mei was hyper-aware of every creak, every footstep, every person who so much as glanced at the entrance.

But no one came in.

Still, she didn’t let it get to her. She knew there were slow days. So, she reviewed everything once more and kept waiting.

It was almost lunchtime when the office door finally opened and someone stepped inside.

Yes! A client!

Elated, she practically jumped to her feet and rushed to greet him.
“Welcome! My name is Li Mei. How may I be of assistance today?”

Her enthusiastic greeting didn’t seem to faze him. He gave her a calm, almost lazy blink before responding, “I'm Ye Xiu.”

She ushered him in, motioning for him to take a seat in front of her desk, and offered him a beverage—following her self-made client protocol to a T.

Once seated again, she took a deep breath and tried to collect herself, reigning in her bubbling nerves. Through her lashes, she studied her first client as he took a sip from the water she had handed him.

At first glance, he had looked incredibly ordinary, but now that she had time to really look, she saw the truth. Hidden under his slightly haggard appearance were some very handsome features. His eyes, for example, were a striking golden color—something she’d never seen before. His hands were elegant, his posture relaxed. The ruffled hair and worn clothes hid just how attractive he really was. With his understated air, he could easily vanish into a crowd—until you looked closer.

My first client! , she squealed inwardly.
Still, she made herself stay calm and professional.

“How may I be of service today?” she asked with a warm business smile.

A flicker of wariness passed through his golden eyes, subtle but unmistakable, despite his otherwise calm demeanor. Still, he began explaining his housing needs.

Li Mei listened attentively, jotting down notes and nodding here and there to show she was following. As he mentioned the four children he was caring for—kids nearing their teenage years—Li Mei couldn’t help but feel a mix of sympathy and admiration. It was clear that Ye Xiu was doing everything he could for his family, and her resolve to find him something good only deepened.

She carefully combed through the system, filtering results by budget and location. One property matched his criteria exactly. Expanding the range slightly, she found two more.

After printing out the listings, she passed them across the desk.

“Since you want to move in as soon as possible, these are the only ones currently available that are within—or close to—what you’re looking for,” she said apologetically.

Ye Xiu glanced over the sheets and nodded. “That’s fine. These are good.”

“Would you like to see them now?” Li Mei asked, watching him flip through the pages.

“Sure, sure. The sooner, the better.”

“Great! Let me just inform the landlords and we can be on our way,” she said, giving him a bright smile.

In the short time she’d known Ye Xiu, she’d already come to appreciate his easy-going attitude. He wasn’t pushy, didn’t complain about things she couldn’t control, and his relaxed confidence had calmed her more than she expected. The anxiety she’d felt earlier about being alone in the office had completely faded.

Eagerly, she picked up the phone and began making calls, hoping one of the places would turn out to be the right fit for Ye Xiu and his kids.

………………………………………………………………

The building was older, paint peeling slightly on the stair railings, but it had a quiet, homey air. As Li Mei and Ye Xiu arrived at the first apartment, small for five people but cozy nonetheless, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline met them at the entrance. He had the permanent squint of someone who didn’t trust easily.

“I’m Mr. Chen. You’re here to see the place?” He gave Ye Xiu a once-over, lips curling in a half-snort. “Well, don’t expect anything fancy.”

“Simple is good,” Ye Xiu said, unbothered. “I’m looking for something practical, something we can make a home.”

“Hmph,” Mr. Chen grunted, already turning toward the stairs. “Follow me, then.”

They trailed after him. As they walked, he threw a glance over his shoulder. “Where do you work?”

“Night shift. Internet café. Just a few blocks from here.”

That earned a visible sneer. Mr. Chen didn’t bother to hide it. Li Mei saw it clearly, and she caught herself frowning. But Ye Xiu either didn’t notice or chose not to react.

Inside the apartment, Li Mei gently nudged things along by showing Ye Xiu around. Mr. Chen stayed in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes tracking them like a hawk. The rooms were tight but clean, and there was a little sunlight through the kitchen window. It wasn’t ideal, but it was something.

When they returned to the hallway, Li Mei turned to Ye Xiu. “What do you think? It’s a bit tight, but do you think it could work?”

Ye Xiu nodded slowly. “It’s small, yeah. But for the price, it’s reasonable.”

That seemed to light a fuse.

“So you're looking to rent,” Mr. Chen cut in, voice turning sharp. “You alone?”

“No,” Ye Xiu replied, still calm. “I have four kids.”

The man blinked. “Four?” He barked a dry laugh. “What, you're starting a daycare?”

“They’re my children. Teenagers, nearly.”

Mr. Chen’s face twisted. “Teenagers are worse. You think they won’t destroy the place? I’ve rented to families before. Every time—damaged walls, noise complaints, unpaid rent. No sense of responsibility.”

Li Mei tensed. “Ye Xiu is a responsible father. I’m sure—”

“What’s with the single dad routine, anyway?” Mr. Chen interrupted. “You don’t even look old enough. Couldn’t keep your family together?”

Ye Xiu didn’t flinch. “Circumstances change,” he said mildly. “I’m doing my best for them.”

“You expect me to believe you can handle four teenagers on your own? In this space? What’s their mother doing, skipping town?”

“Mr. Chen,” Li Mei said firmly, “We’re just here to view the place. There’s no need to—”

“I have to ask these things!” he snapped. “This is my property. I’m not handing the keys to some guy who couldn’t keep it in his pants. I need tenants who won’t trash the place or disappear when rent’s due.”

Ye Xiu gave him a small, unfazed smile. “We’re not here to cause trouble. We take care of our home.”

But Mr. Chen wasn’t listening anymore. “Excuses, that’s what this is. ‘Oh, life is hard, oh, poor me.’ That’s how you justify anything, isn’t it? You people always have a story.”

That was too far.

Li Mei stepped forward. “That’s enough. We’re clearly wasting your time—and ours.”

She turned to Ye Xiu, apologetic. “Let’s go. There are better places than this.”

Ye Xiu simply nodded. “Sure.”

They stepped out into the hallway, the tension lifting slightly with every step away from the door. But Mr. Chen wasn’t done.

“I won’t rent to a disgrace like you!” he shouted after them. “Don’t bother coming back!”

Li Mei’s face burned with a mix of embarrassment and anger. She glanced at Ye Xiu, ready to offer a thousand apologies, but he was lighting a cigarette with an unreadable expression, eyes distant.

“You’re really calm about all that,” she said, almost in awe. “How do you stay so composed?”

Ye Xiu exhaled smoke slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Life’s full of surprises. You learn to adapt.”

She studied him as they walked. At first, he’d seemed so ordinary. Now she wasn’t sure how she’d ever thought that. Calm in the face of insults, completely unshaken. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of life made a person that steady.

“I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely, bowing her head. “I didn’t know he’d be like that.”

Ye Xiu waved it off with a smile. “Not your fault. On to the next.”

As they made their way to the next apartment, Li Mei kept up a cheerful stream of chatter to fill the silence. It turned out Ye Xiu wasn’t just calm—he was clever, funny in a sort of dry, out-of-touch way. He didn’t know half the pop culture references she tossed his way, but he made up for it with sharp observations and sarcastic commentary that made her laugh out loud more than once.

It was strange. She felt more like she was walking with an old friend—or an unusually quiet younger brother—than with a client.

……………………………

The landlord of the second apartment was nothing short of a whirlwind. The moment they arrived, Wang Fang twirled into their path, her floral skirt fanning dramatically as she spun—twice—for no apparent reason.

"Welcome, welcome!" she chirped, already foisting pamphlets into Ye Xiu’s hands. "This place is perfect for children! Safe, friendly, vibrant! We've got parks, we've got libraries, we've got after-school activities, art clubs, chess clubs—oh! And a community garden, you'll love it!"

Ye Xiu blinked as the paper pile in his arms grew with each enthusiastic sentence.

“There’s even a playgroup that meets every Tuesday morning! Oh, and the neighborhood watch is run by a former police officer, such a lovely man, you'll meet him if you stay long enough. Not that there's any crime here, of course—unless you count the tragedy of Mrs. Liu’s overcooked dumplings, ha!”

Li Mei stood off to the side, watching the chaos unfold with no small amount of amusement. Ten minutes in, and Wang Fang had not stopped talking once—not even to breathe, it seemed.

Ye Xiu wore the expression of someone caught in a typhoon of good intentions. Amused, slightly dazed, and utterly trapped. He finally managed to cut in when Wang Fang paused to inhale.

“Can I look at the apartment now?”

"What? Oh, heavens yes!" she gasped, as if the idea had only just occurred to her. She spun again and gestured grandly. “Right this way! You’ll love it!”

As Wang Fang led the tour, Li Mei hung back, keeping a discreet distance. Ye Xiu’s tone and posture remained relaxed and pleasant, just as it had been earlier with Mr. Chen. But his attempts to offer polite comments were quickly steamrolled as Wang Fang dragged him from room to room, extolling the virtues of the kitchen tiles, the durability of the windows, the importance of teenage privacy, the danger of bunk beds for growing spines, and the benefits of monthly neighborhood potlucks.

Li Mei was fairly certain he saw all of the apartment within the first fifteen minutes. The next ninety were spent in a full-blown lecture on raising children and local community life.

By the end, Ye Xiu looked like a man who had been through battle. She considered stepping in several times, unsure whether he was genuinely listening or simply too polite to escape. Eventually, she found her moment.

“Ye Xiu,” she interjected gently during a rare lull in Wang Fang’s monologue, “do you want to see the last apartment before making a decision?”

He glanced at her like she was a life raft tossed into open water. “That’s a good idea,” he said, nodding his thanks.

Wang Fang clapped her hands and beamed. “Of course, of course! But you must come back if you have questions. I have a great feeling about you and your family! You’ve got good vibes!”

Ye Xiu offered a polite wave without turning. Li Mei was almost certain he sped up as they left.

She stifled a laugh, letting her amusement show just enough to tease. “She seems… friendly. What do you think?”

Ye Xiu didn’t take the bait. “It’s within my budget, and larger than the last. However, I was informed that four children—soon to be teenagers—should not share one room, especially if they’re of mixed genders. Something about development and boundaries.”

He said it all with a straight face, but Li Mei thought she saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

“For now, though, they can manage. The real drawback is how far it is from the city center. I’ll decide after I’ve seen the last one.”

Li Mei nodded and led him toward the taxi she had called to take them to their next stop. Her earlier levity dimmed slightly as she glanced at his tired expression. She couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

She was supposed to be the professional here. This wasn’t a friendly outing—it was work. She’d let the situation run away from her, forgetting her role while Ye Xiu quietly bore the brunt of the chaos.

It was supposed to be her job to look after the client. But instead, Ye Xiu had handled everything—gracefully, even when being verbally steamrolled.

She resolved to do better.

……………………………………………………………….

As they entered the apartment building for their final destination, Li Mei gave Ye Xiu a sheepish but sympathetic smile.

“This last place is outside the budget you gave, but it’s close to your current workplace, and honestly… I think it could be a great fit for your family. Let me show you around.”

The landlord of the third apartment was waiting just inside. Yan Zhen was an elderly woman with silver-gray hair swept into a neat bun, a soft cardigan draped over her shoulders, and the unmistakable energy of someone who used to run a kindergarten and never quite stopped. She had both the stature and disposition to be correctly described as a little old lady .

“Oh! Hello, dearies, welcome! Come in, come in.” She ushered them inside with gentle insistence, her voice warm like a heated blanket in winter.

Then she turned to Ye Xiu, reached up, and patted him fondly on the cheek.

“So beautiful! It’s wonderful to meet you, dear. You remind me so much of my granddaughter—same fine features, same pretty eyes. Are you living all on your own, sweetheart? You really must be careful. The world’s a dangerous place for someone as delicate as you.”

Ye Xiu blinked, then smiled politely as the elderly woman fretted over him.

“No need to worry. I have four children, so I won’t be alone.”

Li Mei gave him a sideways glance. While Ye Xiu certainly looked like someone a strong breeze could knock over, she wasn’t sure four ten-year-olds were the added security Yan Zhen was looking for. Still, the older woman didn’t comment further, just clasped her hands in delight.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, dear! It always warms my heart to have little ones around. The building could use a bit of youthful energy again. Now come along, come along—let me show you the place. I think you and your children will love it here.”

Ye Xiu followed obediently as Yan Zhen led the way, her pace surprisingly spry for her age. She launched into a proud and breathless tour, pointing out the refurbished floors, the wide windows that let in natural light, and the building’s quiet, friendly neighbors.

As they walked, Li Mei started to notice Ye Xiu’s expression shifting. At first, he’d looked attentive, mildly entertained even. But with each passing minute, his brow creased a little deeper, his eyes losing focus, his polite smile turning slightly…pained.

She frowned. It wasn’t Yan Zhen’s fault, surely. If anything, Ye Xiu looked rather fond of her—his expression softening every time she got particularly enthused. No, it couldn’t be her. And if he’d noticed she’d mistaken him for a woman, he hadn’t shown it. In fact, Li Mei suspected he hadn’t noticed at all.

So what was bothering him?

Her gaze swept over the apartment again. It really was the best one they’d seen today—by far the nicest, the biggest, and in the best location. Spacious enough that two of the children could have their own rooms, while the other two could comfortably share one of the larger ones. It even had a small alcove he could use for work or storage. It was perfect.

Except, of course, for the price.

She bit her lip and hesitated before speaking.

“What do you think?” she asked, voice low and careful. “I know it’s outside your budget, and I’m really sorry I don’t have any other apartments ready at the moment. If you’d rather wait, I can keep an eye out and let you know when something more suitable opens up?”

Before Ye Xiu could respond, Yan Zhen chimed in brightly, beaming at him.

“Oh, don’t worry about a job, dearie!” she declared with sudden cheer. “My granddaughter is always looking for a beauty like you! She’s a designer, you see—makes her own clothes! She’s been looking for someone to model them for her.”

She reached up and patted his cheek again. “I’ll contact her straight away. Someone like you shouldn’t be out in the cold. Not with little ones to care for!”

And just like that, she swept out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in her wake.

Li Mei stared after her, momentarily too stunned to even move. Ye Xiu didn’t move either. He stood rooted to the spot, still facing the direction Yan Zhen had gone, as if hoping this was all a strange dream and standing still might make it end.

Then, after a long pause, a visible shiver ran through him—like a bucket of cold water had just been dumped down his back.

“What have I gotten myself into?” he muttered, voice hollow with dawning horror.

Li Mei watched him, torn between sympathy and laughter. How was she going to save this? Things had gotten completely out of hand.

This was not how she imagined her day would go.

But at least— at least! —he had a solid apartment. Spacious, affordable enough if he stretched a little, with a landlord who clearly liked him. That had to count for something. Right?

…Right?

Well, at least her boss would be happy.

……………………………

When Ye Xiu could finally return to Happy Internet Café, he was completely drained. It had been much harder to find a place than he had first assumed. He had never had to do something like this before.

When he ran away from home, he’d drifted from place to place, staying for a night or two before moving on. It wasn’t until he met the Su siblings that he settled down more permanently—though even then, it was in their apartment. He hadn’t been involved in the actual process of getting it.

After that, he moved into the dorms at Excellent Era, which had already been part of his contract with Tao Xuan. So even then, there was no need to go apartment hunting or argue with eccentric landlords.

The first two landlords he met today hadn’t been much trouble. Being insulted or cursed at wasn’t exactly a novelty in his line of work. He’d had it thrown at him by fans and opponents alike for years. More recently, even from his own teammates.

Wang Fang had reminded him of a female, non-Glory-playing Huang Shaotian. 

Though Wang Fang’s level of intellectual conversation was a lot higher than Huang Shaotain’s, who practically only had PK on his mind. Plus she had been very informative, even when her words came a mile a minute. Still, the resemblance had been uncanny. 

It was the third landlord—Yan Zhen—who completely stumped him.

Sure, he was beyond exhausted. He hadn’t slept in two days, and the only thing he’d eaten was a light breakfast on the go before heading to the rental office. His energy was at an all-time low.

But even so… he shouldn’t have been steamrolled as badly as he had been by a sweet old lady.

How embarrassing.

Ye Xiu was just glad no one in the Glory community would ever know how he—the Battle God, the Glory Textbook, the Master Tactician—had been thoroughly outmaneuvered by a kind little old woman with poor eyesight and a gentle smile.

He just hadn’t been able to say no to her.

So now, somehow, he was scheduled to be a model for her granddaughter.

So much for avoiding anything resembling commercial promotion after leaving Excellent Era. He’d only been out for a day and already landed a job like that.

Hopefully it would be nothing big. Hopefully no one who knew him would ever see it.

Still… it had solved his problem rather neatly.

Now he wouldn’t have to go crawling back to Han Wenqing for more money. That would’ve been even more embarrassing.

He hadn’t realized just how far off he’d been in estimating how much the housing market had changed since the last time he paid attention to it. He knew things could change in eight years—of course he did. He just hadn’t realized how much.

He’d padded the number he gave Han Wenqing, basing it on the rents he had seen earlier and what the Su siblings paid for their place all those years ago. Even with the extra Han Wenqing had sent, it had barely been enough to cover the cheapest apartments big enough to house all five of them. The search had started to feel hopeless.

So when Yan Zhen dropped a solution in his lap—strings attached or not—Ye Xiu wasn’t in a position to say no. Not anymore.

He had four young lives to look after now. So what was a little discomfort on his part, in the face of that?

Still extremely exhausting though.

Finally arriving outside of Happy, Ye Xiu spotted Chen Guo standing in the cold. She’d taken shelter near the wall, half-hidden from view by the drifting snow.

What is she doing out here?

As he moved closer, he caught sight of the tear streaks glistening on her cheeks. She was crying.

“Are you alright, Boss?” he asked gently, careful to keep his voice low enough not to draw attention.

Chen Guo looked up, startled. She quickly wiped at her face, then masked her tears with anger.

“You! You—where have you been?” she snapped.

“Looking for an apartment,” Ye Xiu replied, unfazed by the sudden shift in mood. “We can’t move in until tomorrow though. Is it okay if we stay here one more night?” he asked, utterly shameless.

“You—!” she growled, jabbing her finger at him, trembling with frustration. But after a few seconds, she deflated with a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But only for tonight. The girl who uses the other room is coming back tomorrow, and there won’t be enough space for all of you.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Thank you, Boss. You’re very generous. This is more than enough,” Ye Xiu replied cheerfully.

“Can you not be so happy right now? They just announced that Ye Qiu has retired.”

He fell silent, watching her dab at the fresh tears tracking down her cheeks.

“Do you have a tissue?” she asked, looking up at him through lashes damp with emotion.

He rifled through his pockets, eventually coming up with an empty cigarette box. “Will this work?” he offered sheepishly. Distraction wasn’t working here, nor was deflection.

He really wasn’t good with crying women. He’d been lucky that Su Mucheng wasn’t the tearful type.

“You—!” Chen Guo’s anger flared again, and this time, she looked on the verge of throttling him.

“I—I'll go get some from the front desk,” he cut in hastily, already turning to flee before she made good on that threat.

But stepping into the internet café was no relief.

He’d never seen so many people crying outside of a funeral.

The lights had been dimmed. On one of the walls, a large screen projected a solemn tribute: highlights from Ye Qiu’s most iconic moments, one after another. Cheers, kills, brilliant tactics, final victories—each one a chapter closing.

A stab of pain twisted in his chest.

That feeling returned, sharp and undeniable—he wasn’t done. Not yet. His time would come… but not now. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Glory.

And he never intended to become the club’s training partner, either. But of course, the club knew that. That was exactly why they arranged it this way. They wanted him out. This retirement wasn’t a clean break—it was a dismissal, wrapped in sentiment.

That they had gone to such lengths proved it: they knew he wasn’t finished. They just didn’t want to face him from across the battlefield.

His heart was heavy, and the club’s cruelty lingered like a bitter aftertaste… but maybe this wasn't the worst outcome. Not with everything going on. Not with four children suddenly depending on him. One year away from competition might actually be a gift in disguise.

Quickening his steps, he grabbed a handful of napkins and hurried back outside.

The cold wind cut against his skin, stripping away the heat that had gathered around his eyes and cheeks. Hiding the evidence.

He took out a new packet of cigarettes and lit one. Taking a deep, slow breath, letting it settle him before stepping up to Chen Guo again. He held the napkins out to her.

“You really feel nothing?” she asked, sounding almost angry, as though his calm was a betrayal. Her eyes scanned his face, searching for any cracks.

“You want me to cry?” he asked flatly, expression unreadable.

She shook her head and turned away, dabbing at her face in silence.

“You’ve got good kids,” she said finally. Then, standing, she shoved the rest of the tissues into his hand.

“You haven’t slept yet, right? There’s still a few hours until your shift. Go lie down. We’ll leave some food for you when you wake up.”

Ye Xiu didn’t move. He didn’t watch her go.

He stood alone in the snow, watching as flakes drifted down from the night sky. He brought the cigarette to his lips and exhaled, the smoke curling and vanishing into the cold.

The ache in his chest hadn’t left. But maybe—just maybe—his situation wasn’t as hopeless as it had seemed.

…………………

After the announcement of Ye Qiu’s retirement, Su Mucheng’s QQ had been going off nonstop. Since it was a known fact by everyone in the pro-circle that it was notoriously hard to get a hold of Ye Qiu. It had become a habit for most to write to Su Mucheng instead if they wanted to get answers. 

A habit everyone seemed to now make a use of. 

All at the same time.

She had only answered the bare minimum and what was PR correct without singing to their tune or giving away anything Ye Xiu wouldn’t want her to say. She wasn’t crass or unprofessional enough to throw Excellent Era and their management under the bus even if she wanted to. Even if she didn’t have a contract and a reputation to maintain, she knew that Ye Xiu wouldn’t want her to. He still loved Excellent Era for what it once was, and she couldn’t do that to him.

She had spent most of the day training by herself to avoid her traitorous teammates and to keep her mind off of this whole ordeal in case she would lose control of her emotions. She was so angry at the club as a whole. Even if she and Ye Xiu knew this was coming, it didn’t make it better. 

But what was unexpected was the four kids that had suddenly showed up out of nowhere. 

It worried her.

Ye Xiu could barely remember to take care of himself some days. How would he deal with supplying for children? He was basically broke too… 

Scrolling through her QQ messages she pulled up her chat with Ye Xiu. His last message had been last night, informing her that he had found a job and a temporary place to stay. It relieved her somewhat. As well as amused her. Only Ye Xiu could literally go across the street to find a job and a roof over his head only an hour after he had been kicked out from his previous one. 

Still, she sent off a message— “Are you all okay? Did the kids settle in?” —before preparing to shut off the app. That was when she noticed the unread message, tucked right below Huang Shaotian’s 99+ desperate pings.

Han Wenqing (1):
Was the money enough for a good apartment?

She stared.

Money? Apartment?
Had Ye Xiu told Han Wenqing about the kids? That didn’t make sense—Ye Xiu never shared personal things unless he absolutely had to. Even then, you had to pry it out of him with a crowbar . So if Han Wenqing knew about the apartment, Ye Xiu must’ve told him directly.

But why ?
Just how close were the two of them?

Her brain unhelpfully flashed back to that fanfic —the one with Ye Xiu and Han Wenqing dating, marrying, having kids… She’d laughed it off at the time. But maybe she’d laughed too soon?

Before she could stop herself, she hit the call button.

Han Wenqing picked up almost immediately.
“Yes. What is it?”

“Hi hi!” she chirped. “Do you have time to talk?”

“…Yes. What is it?” he repeated, unchanged.

“I saw your message,” she said smoothly. “About the apartment?”

“Then, was the money enough?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me about it.” She tilted her head. “When did he ask you?”

“Last night.”

“Oh.” So Ye Xiu had gone to Han Wenqing immediately . “Why him?” she murmured aloud, then cleared her throat. “I mean… why do you think he came to you?”

“He needed money. I sent it. But then I couldn’t reach him, so I messaged you.”

“Oh, I see. He borrowed it from you.” That explained a lot. “Thank you. He wouldn’t accept mine.”

“I figured.”

Han Wenqing paused. When he spoke again, his voice was edged with irritation.
“I know he’s a leaky faucet when it comes to money, but I thought he was more responsible. If he had no savings, why did he retire?”

Su Mucheng almost snapped at him—but bit it back. This wasn’t an insult, not really. Han Wenqing was frustrated. Probably worried, too.

“He does his best, you know,” she said gently. Then, mischievously, “But being a single parent hasn’t always been easy on him.”

“…What?”

She froze.
Oh no. He didn’t know? Ye Xiu hadn’t told him about the kids?

“Wait—sorry! I thought he told you—since the money was for the kids’ apartment!” She panicked. “I mean, obviously he wouldn’t need a whole apartment just for himself, right? I assumed you knew!”

“…May I ask what happened?” Han Wenqing’s voice had changed. Lower. Gentler.

Su Mucheng exhaled, trying to calm herself.
“Their other parent was my older sibling. They died just before the first season of the pro league. Ye Qiu ended up taking care of us—me and the kids.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago.” She hesitated. Then, impulsively: “Say, do you want to meet them?”

There was a long pause.

“Meet who?” Han Wenqing sounded almost dazed. “The kids? Why?”

She nearly laughed. It was rare to hear him this caught off guard.

“Don’t you want to meet them? You’re paying for their care. And they are very cute.”

“I’m a team captain,” he said gruffly. “I can’t leave whenever I want.”

“Oh? So you want to? ” Her grin widened, teasing.

“…”
He didn’t answer right away.

She sobered slightly. “You really care, don’t you?”

“Of course I care.” This time, his voice held real heat.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Didn’t mean it that way, Captain Han. It’s just… it’s been a long time since anyone cared like that. Ye Qiu and I—we’re not used to it.” Her voice turned quiet. “But I wasn’t suggesting you abandon your team. I just meant… the All-Stars are coming up. If you’d like to meet them then?”

Silence again. Long enough to make her nervous. But when he finally sighed, she felt a weight lift from her chest.

“…That would be fine. But can you even get him to go? He hates it there.”

“Oh, I have my ways,” she said smugly. “Little sister privileges come with perks.”

“Hmph. I’ll take your word for it.” A rare flicker of amusement crossed his tone before fading back into seriousness.
“If any of you need anything, ask. That includes you.”

That took her off guard. For a second, she couldn’t speak. Then:

“Thank you, Han Wenqing. Really.” Her smile came unbidden, warm and real. “I’ll let you get back to work. Take care.”

“You too.”

The line disconnected.

Su Mucheng dropped her phone onto the bed, then flopped down beside it, staring up at the ceiling.

That had been… more emotional than she’d expected. She hadn’t realized how much she needed someone else to care, too.

And apparently, she had a strong supporter in Han Wenqing.
Not bad, Captain Han.
She smiled, the earlier tension fading from her chest.

…Now she just needed to break the news to Ye Xiu that his old rival knew about the kids.

Leaving a QQ message should be fine… right?

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

To Bai Yanfei, this day had started out just like any other day. Nothing strange had really happened.

The guild department had been a little more active than usual — a natural result of the tenth server launching. Not that it affected him directly. As a professional player, things like new server hype were background noise. His job was to stay sharp, train hard, and prep for the next match.

And so today, like every other day, he did exactly that.

Morning team meeting. Strategy updates. Progress checks. Training drills. Lunch. More training. Then optional training.

Tyranny’s internal schedule was as rigid and time-tested as Zhang Xinjie’s spreadsheets, and under Han Wenqing’s iron presence, nobody deviated. No one dared. Not even Han Wenqing himself.

Which was why Bai Yanfei noticed it immediately — when everything changed.

It wasn’t like the heavens cracked open or a server exploded. No, it was something much, much worse.

Han Wenqing answered his phone.

In the training room.

The training room.

It wasn't even during an official break. Sure, it was after team training  — but still in the sanctified Temple of Focus where no one touched their phones unless someone was dead or the Alliance was literally on fire. Zhang Xinjie had gone for his regularly scheduled bathroom break (exactly 4 minutes allotted, no more, no less), and Bai Yanfei had just finished a perfect combo chain when the silence cracked.

Han Wenqing’s phone rang.

Not on silent. Not with a gentle buzz. Rang.

Then, without hesitation, Han Wenqing pulled out his phone and answered it.

Bai Yanfei actually missed his next input. That never happened.

And then — then — the real madness began. Because they could all hear Han Wenqing’s side of the conversation.

Bai Yanfei hadn’t even realized what he was hearing at first. He’d just half-noticed the rustle of motion behind him, a low murmur of “Yes. What is it?”

And then again, firmer: “...Yes. What is it?”

Which wasn’t weird, except... it was Han Wenqing. And Han Wenqing didn't talk during cooldown. He grunted , at most.

That was when Bai Yanfei tuned in fully.

He wasn’t the only one. Another teammate glanced up from his screen. Someone else slowly removed one headphone.

Han Wenqing (calm, clipped):
“Then, was the money enough?”

Bai Yanfei blinked.

Money? What money?

“Last night. He needed money. I sent it. But then I couldn’t reach him, so I messaged you.”

Who needed money?! WHO WAS HE TALKING ABOUT?

Bai Yanfei felt his skin crawl. Was this a secret relative? A family scandal?

“I know he’s a leaky faucet when it comes to money, but I thought he was more responsible. If he had no savings, why did he retire?”

Retire?! Bai Yanfei’s mind began racing. There was only one recent retirement everyone had been whispering about.

No. No way. Not Ye Qiu , right? Not that Ye Qiu?!

But that was today, right? What happened yesterday??

Han Wenqing kept talking, unaware of the growing hysteria in the room behind him.

“...May I ask what happened?”

His voice changed — gentler. Softer.

“...I’m sorry.”

Bai Yanfei's jaw dropped. He apologized?! Captain Han Wenqing , destroyer of egos, apologized over the phone?!

“Meet who?” A pause. “The kids? Why?”

THE KIDS?! WHOSE KIDS?!

Someone behind Bai Yanfei made a choking noise.

Someone else dropped a mouse.

“I’m a team captain. I can’t leave whenever I want.”

He wanted to leave. To meet the kids.

Bai Yanfei was going to pass out.

“Of course I care.”

That was emotion. Real, raw, parental emotion .

“...That would be fine. But can you even get him to go? He hates it there.”

“Hmph. I’ll take your word for it.”

“If any of you need anything, ask. That includes you.”

“You too.”

Han Wenqing hung up.

There was a heavy silence, thick with implication.

And then, in a final nail-in-the-coffin moment, Han Wenqing muttered quietly, almost to himself:

“Maybe I should send some more money for childcare…”

The silence that followed was thick . Charged. Dangerous.

Zhang Xinjie returned from the bathroom, glanced around, and immediately narrowed his eyes like he knew something had happened. He probably did. The man had a sixth sense for off-book behavior.

Han Wenqing pocketed his phone and continued on with his training as if nothing had happened.

Bai Yanfei stared at him like he was seeing the man for the first time.

“Did you hear that?!”

“Was that… a woman’s voice I heard on the other end?”

Bai Yanfei’s voice came out as a breathless whisper:

“Guys… he has children.”

A rookie gasped so loudly it echoed. Someone muttered a quiet prayer to the gods of gossip.

“Like. Real children,” Bai Yanfei said faintly. “With a woman .”

Zhang Xinjie’s pen snapped clean in two.

Bai Yanfei stared at his captain with wide, horrified eyes.  One of the younger players looked on the verge of tears.

“Do you think he was—like—secretly married?”

“Or worse… SECRETLY DIVORCED.”

“I thought he was just… married to his keyboard.”

“Wait—wait, wait, wait—what if it’s not his wife? What if it’s his ex?! And she’s dumping the kids on him now?!”

“No, no, think about it — ‘he hates it there.’ That’s gotta be one of the kids. Maybe the older one. A rebellious teen.”

“ How many kids does he have?! ”

“Oh my god…”

Bai Yanfei sat there, stunned.

He wasn’t one to gossip — okay, he was absolutely one to gossip, but only privately . He valued his life.

But this was different. This was... Team-level intel.

“He said he sent money! But they needed more. Do you think one of the kids is sick?!”

Bai Yanfei looked around, panicked. “Should we—do something?!”

“Send toys?”

“Soup?”

“A motivational card?!”

“Wait—who even makes Han Wenqing’s children?! What are they like?! Are they born glaring?!”

“Do they fistfight out of the womb?”

“Guys,” Bai Yanfei whispered, clutching his head. “This is a private crisis. We need to respect it. Quietly. Discreetly. This is clearly a family matter.”

Everyone nodded, solemn.

Then a beat of silence.

“But also we need a plan.”

“ Yes! We need to act. We have a responsibility now.”

“To do what?!”

“To protect the Captain’s honor. To support his—his secret family!”

“We should send gifts. Vitamins. Socks. Wait—do kids still wear socks?”

“Should we... knit something?!”

Bai Yanfei clutched his head. “I can’t knit!”

“But you can believe,” someone whispered dramatically.

He stared across the room where Han Wenqing sat hunched over his keyboard - still practising, suddenly overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotions.

Tragedy. Sacrifice. Single fatherhood.

The man was a warrior on the battlefield — and now Bai Yanfei knew he was also a warrior in life. Protecting small, sick children while maintaining top-tier competitive form. Never missing a day of training. Never asking for help.

He felt tears prickling in the corners of his eyes.

“...Captain,” he whispered reverently, “you really are the strongest.”

“…But like. We’re definitely going to find out more, right?”

“Obviously.”

And across the training room, Han Wenqing continued his training exercise, completely unaware of the rapidly forming Tyranny Mutual Aid Society for Misunderstood Children and the Brave Captain Who Raised Them.

Nor did he know that Zhang Xinjie started creating backup financial spreadsheets marked “Emergency Education Fund.”

……………………………

Ye Li steadily ignored the crying and outrage around him. It had now been almost an hour since the tribute video to Ye Qiu and One Autumn Leaf stopped playing. The time had yet to cool down tempers, and hardcore fans were still in an uproar. 

Stedingly ignoring it and using his time more productively he focused on running through the spider cave dungeon with his Battle mage - Capability of Autumn. Yes, the name was a bit on the nose. No, he didn’t care. 

Besides, it wasn’t like his siblings had named theirs any better. 

Seriously. 

His gaze flickered to the party list:

Sharp Autumn – Qi Master (Ye Min)

The Leaf’s Autumn – Striker (Ye Shi)

Home in Autumn – Sharpshooter (Ye Jia)

Subtle, they were not.

“So… any ideas?” Ye Shi asked again.

Ye Li let out a sigh and glanced over at his siblings. Just because he was ignoring the elephant in the room didn’t mean that the others followed his example.

After that farce of a press conference, Ye Min and Ye Shi had been up in arms, while Ye Jia had happily added fuel to the fire. The last idea came from Ye Shi. Something about storming Excellent Era while singing a “Glory War Song” To demand a duel to liberate Su Mucheng, One Autumn Leaf and Dancing rain and to force Excellent Era to retract their statement and reimburse their father the compensation he deserved.

Admittedly, the last part had been added by Ye Jia, but Ye Shi took it and ran with it. 

“Didn't I just answer that question?” Ye Shi asked, confused. 

“You did” Ye Min nodded solemnly.

“Then, why are you asking again?”

“I'm looking for a different point of view “

Ye Shi frowned at him.

“Can't you just say you didn't like my answer?”

“I didn't like your answer” Came the fast rebuke.

“... I didn't mean that literally”

Ye Shi smiled brightly back.

“I did” 

“Come on, concentrate on the fight” Exasperated, Ye Li reminded them again. 

Though they had the memories of how to play, actually playing was a different matter. Not that such a low level dungeon was particularly hard, but with only four people and with not many skills, the risk of having all your skills on cooldown was a real concern if your head wasn’t in the game. And with his siblings more concerned about bickering and competing over who could come up with the most ridiculous ideas - they definitely weren't. 

Ye Shi glared at him “Aren't you angry at all, Ye Li?” 

“Ofcourse I am” He glared right back, “But storming Excellent Era will only get us and Dad into trouble.”

Ye Shi huffed in response. “I don't hear you coming up with any better ideas.”

“Let's just ask Dad what he wants,” Ye Li sighed, deadpan. “Radical, I know.” He was so done with this conversation.

“He wants to return to glory.” Three heads snapped to their quietest sibling. “To stand on the pro stage again.” Ye Jia stared right back at her brothers, face full of seriousness. “So let's create a team and take him there.”

“You want to create a team ?” Ye Li asked in astonished bafflement, as if he’d misheard. “Do you know how hard that is?”

“But didn’t Dad sign the retirement papers?” Ye Shi asked, scratching the back of his head. “doesn't that mean he can't join again for at least another year?”

“No, wait—she’s onto something!” Ye Min yelped suddenly. Without warning, he alt-tabbed out of the game.

“Hey!” came the chorus of outrage from his siblings.

Ye Min ignored them. He was already typing, face intent.

Details like “we’re fighting the boss” were clearly less important than this .

“I read about this before,” he muttered, pulling up the Glory Pro Alliance homepage, steadfastly ignoring the frantic tapping of keyboards next to him. “It should be here somewhere…”

He scrolled quickly, scanning through blocks of text with laser focus.

“Here! Found it!”

He leaned in toward the screen, triumphant.

“He can’t join a professional team until the next winter transfer window — that’s true. But the rules don’t bar him from the Challenger League . If we create a grassroots team and build it up from the bottom, then there’s no problem.”

Ye Min turned to them, practically glowing with the thrill of discovery. “No contracts. No transfer limits. If we start now—”

“—that’s great,” Ye Li cut in, “now LOG BACK IN BEFORE THE BOSS KILLS YOU!”

Ye Min finally logged back in—just in time to see his health bar sitting at a dangerous sliver.

“You’re welcome,” Ye Jia said flatly. She didn’t even look over, but the smugness in her voice was impossible to miss.

“See? Teamwork,” Ye Min said cheerfully. “Now, about the team—”

Obviously,” Ye Shi said, puffing up with pride. “With a team with Dad as the ace and us as the secret weapons, it’s bound to be awesome!”

Ye Li hummed thoughtfully “We’ll need a name. Something strong. Something bold. Something that says revenge but also inspiration .”

Ye Shi jumped in again. “Team Dad’s Cool Kids!”

“…No.”
“Hard no.”
“Absolutely not.”

Ye Shi folded his arms. “You’re all cowards.”

“Like ‘The Autumn Crusaders,’” Ye Min suggested.

“No,” Ye Li said immediately.

“What about ‘Autumn Reborn’?”

“No.”

“Autumn Warriors?”

“Stop.”

“Fine, you try then.”

Ye Li gave them all a flat look. “We’re not calling ourselves anything with ‘Crusaders’ in it. We’re not a historical drama.”

Ye Min leaned back in his chair, thinking. “We could go poetic. Something like Fallen Leaf Rising .”

“Sounds like a tea brand,” Ye Jia murmured.

“Oof,” Ye Shi winced. “She’s not wrong.”

“What about something that sounds like a revenge quest?” Ye Jia suggested. “Like, ‘Autumn’s Wrath’ or ‘Season of Reckoning’?”

“…You’re not helping,” Ye Li muttered.

“How about Autumn’s Return ?” Ye Li offered, more seriously. “It’s a reference. But it doesn’t scream it.”

Ye Min looked intrigued. “Like… One Autumn Leaf returning, but also us? A second generation?”

“It’s kind of dramatic,” Ye Shi said approvingly.

Ye Jia tilted her head. “ Return makes it sound like we’re repeating the past. What about Autumn’s Rise ?”

They fell quiet.

Ye Shi tilted his head. “I kind of like ‘Autumn’s Rise.’ It sounds like a comeback.”

“…Okay, that’s actually good,” Ye Min admitted. “It still ties to Dad’s legacy, but it’s about forward momentum.”

“New team,” Ye Li said, nodding. “New generation. Same fire.”

“ Team Autumn’s Rise, ” Ye Shi said, trying it out. Then he grinned. “Sounds like we’re going to conquer the league.”

Ye Jia nodded once. “We will.”

“Settled, then.” Ye Shi grinned. “Autumn’s Rise.”

“Now we just need money, materials, better gear, silver weapons, a long-term strategic growth plan, and—eventually—a cleric,” Ye Min summarized with an overly bright smile.

“Oh, is that all,” Ye Li deadpanned.

“No, really,” Ye Min said, serious now. “We’re fine for now with a DPS-only party. We can solo and dungeon just fine between the four of us. But Dad’s account is a material black hole. We need to feed it if we want Lord Grim to stay competitive.”

“And we’ll all need silver weapons by the time we even think about the Pro League,” Ye Jia said. “Without sponsor backing, we’ll have to build them ourselves.”

“That means farming like crazy,” Ye Shi said, cracking his knuckles.

“Then we farm,” Ye Li said, resolute now. “Level up. Stockpile. Get our gear. Run dungeons. Make a name for ourselves.”

“For Dad,” Ye Shi said, grinning wide.

“For Glory,” Ye Min added dramatically.

“For honor,” Ye Jia said dryly.

Ye Li rolled his eyes. “Just shut up and grind.”

………………………………

Ye Xiu yawned as he rolled out of bed half an hour before his first shift would officially start. By that time, the sky outside had dimmed into night and the streetlights cast long shadows across the floor. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough for him to see where he was going.

He had only slept a few hours and after the day he had it was far from enough, but there was nothing he could do about it for now. Instead, he stumbled sleepely into the bathroom - hoping a shower would be enough to wake up properly. But stopped short as he spotted a note by the sink. 

Figured you didn’t bring anything. Don’t get cavities.

— Boss

Under it sat a brand new toothbrush still in its packaging and a neatly folded clean towel. Next to it, he spotted four other toothbrushes that, too, looked new.

Ye Xiu stared at it for a beat, mouth twitching at the corners. He pocketed the note, washed up, and took a fast shower, before putting on a new scent-blocker patch. Once done, he padded back downstairs to look for his four little gremlins, feeling much more refreshed and just a little lighter.

The kids were still at the PCs, eyes glued to their screens, fingers flying across keyboards, whispers sharp and fast—murmuring over drop rates and cooldowns like tiny, overworked guild leaders. Ye Min was gesturing wildly with one hand while typing with the other, Ye Shi was practically lying sideways in his chair to avoid being hit. 

Ye Li seemed to be in a deep discussion with someone about loot splits and Ye Jia looked so determined doing… something. He almost didn’t dare interrupt.

But interrupted he did. 

“All right, that’s enough glory for one night,” Ye Xiu announced, dryly. “Log off, my little minions. Your shift’s over.”

Predictably, the protests started immediately.

“But I just found a — ”

“We’re running a dungeon—”

“We're not done—”

Ye Shi drowned out the others with a loud groan, like he’d been sentenced to death. “But we just figured out the rotation for—”

Ye Xiu arched an eyebrow. He didn’t even say anything.

Three seconds later, they all began the logout process with varying degrees of grumbling.

When the last screen dimmed and chairs scraped back, he crossed his arms and gave them a long look. “So. Did you behave?”

“Of course!” Ye Li  answered at once.

“Totally!” Ye Shi added, smiling far too brightly.

“Like angels,” Ye Min beamed.

Ye Jia just blinked large eyes at him, face serene and guileless.

Ye Xiu eyed them suspiciously. They were glowing with such suspicious innocence that it almost hurt to look at. “Really,” he drawled.

“Really,” they chorused.

They were so obviously up to something that he almost laughed. Instead, without thinking, he reached out to them, ruffling their heads one by one—Ye Li took it in stride, Ye Shi yelped dramatically, Ye Min leaned in eagerly for the contact and Ye Jia moved forward to wrap her arms around his waist in a silent hug.

Ye Xiu paused for a beat, hand hovering midair before settling gently against her head. Something instinctual in him relaxed, grounding itself.

Seeing their sister, the others stepped forward too—hesitant, almost shy. He opened his arms wider, inviting them in. The kids leaned into him with quiet sighs of contentment.

Ye Xiu smiled, warmth curling in his chest. His instincts purred with satisfaction at having his kids close and safe.

After a few moments, he stepped back and looked them over again. “Did you eat?”

They nodded, a bit more seriously this time.

“We did,” Ye Li confirmed.

“Jia made sure,” Ye Min said.

Ye Shi added. “She said we needed protein or our stats would drop.”

Ye Jia gave a tiny, dignified nod. “Chen Guo got us food.”

Ye Xiu smiled at their answers. He made a mental note to thank Chen Guo for looking after them. “Nutrition is important.”

“Have you eaten?” Ye Jia asked softly, eyes narrowed like she’d be very displeased if the answer was no.

Ye Xiu paused. “…I was planning on it.”

“That’s not a yes,” she replied flatly.

“All right, all right. I’ll eat in a minute.” He herded them away from the PCs with a flick of his hand, the same way he used to wave off overzealous rookies in training rooms. “Bed. Go. Get some sleep and be ready to move tomorrow.”

They started toward the stairs, then Ye Min suddenly turned on his heel and darted back.

“Wait! Before I forget—here.” He shoved his character card into Ye Xiu’s hand.

Ye Xiu blinked. “What’s this?”

“You need materials, right? All the stuff we gathered is on my account,” Ye Min beamed, puffing up with pride. “Take what you need. We gathered it for you!” 

The others stood back but nodded along, smiling with unmistakable pride.

Ye Xiu stared down at the card, then let out a long breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “You little gremlins.”

Warmth bloomed in his chest—fierce, protective and something more - something unfamiliar. 

He held the card protectively against his chest for a moment before sliding it into his coat pocket. “Thanks.”

The kids grinned like he’d handed them gold stars.

Ye Xiu stood there for a long moment after they’d rounded the corner and vanished from view. Even then, he didn’t move. 

That warmth in his chest… it felt so good it made him ache. Still, he couldn't help but to take the opportunity to bask in it. So comfortable. So relaxing. 

Has he ever felt like this before?

Had they really changed him this much in such a short time? Or had this always been inside him—feelings and instincts that just never had a chance to spring forth?

Almost in a daze, he wandered over to the front desk. He waited patiently by the side, as the little sister on shift finished her drama on the dot and waved goodbye to him as she passed him. He waved back absently as he took the seat she just vacated. 

Chen Guo had already given him a rundown of the job, so he wasn’t too worried—even if he’d never done anything like this before.

Getting comfortable, he started by logging in to QQ, wondering idly if Su Mucheng had messaged him.

She had.

Multiple times.

At first, he didn’t think much of it—yes, she’d sent him a message. Multiple, in fact. But cold sweat prickled down his spine the further he read

Su Mucheng:

• Sorry!
• I’m sorry!!!
• Please don't be mad!
• I misunderstood!
• Call me? Please? I can explain!
• Don’t push Han Wenqing away, ok? He cares more than you think!

This… this… just what happened? 

What did Su Mucheng have to do with Han Wenqing?

More importantly—what did Han Wenqing have to do with Su Mucheng ?

Since when were they talking?

He turned, slightly dreading the blinking notification beside Han Wenqing’s name.

Han Wenqing:

• Did you find an apartment?
• Was the money enough?
• Why did you retire?
• Are you okay?
• Answer your damn messages.
  
  
• I sent more money. Call it child support or something.
• Don’t let them go hungry.

Ye Xiu stared.

Then he actually laughed. Out loud.

“ Child support? ” he muttered, shaking his head. “Since when did you become a sponsor, Old Han?”

Still chuckling, he pulled Lord Grim into the game and checked his inventory. With the kids’ haul, he just needed the skeleton warrior’s saber and the blood gunner’s blood rifle to complete the lv.15 upgrade. 

He cracked his knuckles and leaned forward.

Time to move to the next phase. He couldn’t let his own kids outdo him completely—not yet. They’d learned everything from him, after all.

He steadfastly ignored the slight flicker of delight at the fact that Han Wenqing cared enough to check in. Just as he ignored the despair from the slow-building weight of debt—not just financial, but emotional—that was starting to press heavier against his chest.

One boss fight at a time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Ye Xiu leaned back in his chair and exhaled a thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. The ashtray beside the keyboard was half-full already—he’d clean it before the next shift, like he promised. Chen Guo had made her stance very clear: he could smoke at the reception desk only if she never smelled it in the rest of the café and never once had to pick up after him.

Fair enough. Seemed like a decent trade, everything considered.

The shift hadn’t been hard, exactly. Most of it had passed in a haze of quiet keyboard clacks, dim lighting, and the occasional snack order from the night owls tucked deep in the café’s back corners. A couple orders for bubble tea and late-night instant noodles. Nothing too demanding. He didn’t mind running a few drinks or sandwiches to the regulars, and with no major incidents, it had been—by Happy standards—a pretty peaceful night.

He started the night by running the Skeleton graveyard dungeon between tasks for customers. All to get the hidden bosse’s saber drop he’d needed to upgrade the sword form of the Myriad Manifestation Umbrella.

He managed to get it too.

Right after that moment, early in the shift—around 10:40, just as the café had gone comfortably quiet. He’d been half-lost in thought, combat muscle memory and eyes flickering between cooldowns while giving orders in the team chat, when a pale shape drifted into his peripheral vision.

White.

Silent.

Mask-faced.

Ye Xiu had slammed his hand down on the keyboard hard enough Lord Grim spasmed on the screen. 

Chen Guo doubled over laughing as Ye Xiu stared at her, completely deadpan now, as if he hadn’t just jumped bad enough to disrupt his playing. One second of unfiltered panic, and then it was like nothing had happened. Not even the faintest trace of embarrassment.

He had steadfastly ignored the concerned questions from his teammates and the laughter from his boss and instead calmly gave out instructions on how to continue the dungeon run like nothing happened.

He still wasn’t sure what had startled him more—the mask or the fact that he of all people had jumped. He’d lit up three cigarettes in a row afterward just to shake off the residual adrenaline.

Later, Blue Brook’s in-game guild hired him to help set a record run for Frost Forest. One that would beat Herb Garden. That had been a lucrative deal on his part. They were satisfied enough to give him more materials than he asked for. 

Now, with the sun edging up outside and his shift finally over, Ye Xiu stood tiredly from his seat and took a look around. The café was still half-full—early risers replacing late-night grinders, the shift change barely noticeable except for the sleepy college student with earbuds already in, now settling behind the counter beside him. Getting ready to leave Ye Xiu flicked his last cigarette into the ashtray before emptying it. Making sure that everything was as it should before leaving.

Ye Xiu gave the guy a nod and a lazy wave “Good luck,” he said. The other worker just blinked at him, half-awake. Ye Xiu took that as acceptance and made his way toward the back stairs.

He climbed up slowly, shoulders rolling with the effort. The comforting scent of his temporary nest, faint and warm—coffee, shampoo, kids, cheap detergent, a hint of Chen Guo’s orange-scented hairspray—drifted down to greet him. Ye Xiu closed his eyes for a second and just breathed it in. His body was tired in a way that reached the bones, but the knowledge that everyone was safe. That was enough.

The apartment was quiet when he stepped inside, dim morning light filtering through the curtains, the floor was scattered with remnants of late-night snacks and a few castoff socks.”

On the couch: Ye Shi, wrapped like a dumpling in three layers of blankets, had still somehow managed to wiggle out an arm, which was now hanging over the side. On the storage room cot: Ye Min, drooling on his pillow and muttering something about cooldown times. In Chen Guo’s bed: Ye Jia and Ye Li, back-to-back like tiny sentinels guarding opposite directions.

Ye Xiu smiled. Now reassured, he quietly stepped around them like a seasoned rogue avoiding aggro.

A storage room and couch weren’t optimal for sleeping in the first place, and Chen Guo was going to need her bed back now that Tang Rou was returning. It was time. They needed their own place—not just somewhere to crash, but a home.

He really hoped they would like the apartment he had found for them and that it would become just that. Their home.

Still moving quietly, Ye Xiu padded to the bathroom, changed out of his clothes, took off his scent-blocker patch, and jumped into a cold shower. The shock helped. A little.

He dried off and lingered in the mirror for a second. His face looked paler than usual, shadows under his eyes deep enough to hold side quests. Now free, his pheromones were calm, scent curled low and tired—no irritation, no warning signals. That was good. His instincts had relaxed, which meant the kids had, too.

He checked the time. 7:25 AM. A few hours to rest before things started moving again. He could pick up the keys for their new home at 10:00, and after that… well, the day would only get busier.

Ye Xiu put on a new patch - hiding his pheromones, before stepping out of the bathroom and surveyed the tiny apartment again. Their temporary nest had served its purpose. But kids needed space. Beds. Privacy. A routine.

They needed to feel normal.

And to do that, he was going to have to pull off something much harder than carrying a team to championship with a self-made unspecialized character.

He was going to have to be a parent.

............

He thought that he would have to wake up the kids.

But it turned out that it wasn’t necessary after all. Ye Min stumbled out of the storage room like a disoriented gremlin and nearly bowled him over.

“Weoponpendantsilkspeed—” Min muttered incomprehensibly, hair flattened on one side, eyes still closed. He didn’t get far. A moment later, he tripped over the couch leg and collapsed bodily on top of his younger brother.

Ye Shi, having been sleeping peacefully cocooned in a pile of blankets, let out a shriek worthy of a horror movie. “GHOST! GET IT OFF—”

The apartment exploded into chaos.

Ye Jia and Ye Li came running in from Chen Guo’s room, both looking like they'd rolled through a wind tunnel.

Ye Xiu leaned against the wall off to the side with a flat expression.

A part of him was glad that he didn't have to bother with the waking of sleepy pre-teens, on the other hand… nope, he was glad he didn't have to bother with the waking. This was a lot less effort and clearly more amusing. 

His lips twitched up at the sight of Li and Jia. Ye Li’s normally pristine hair was stuck up in all directions; Ye Jia’s eyes were sharp and wild like she was ready to throw fists first and ask questions never.

He didn’t think it would be so funny to see these two stoic kids look so flustered. 

They quickly scanned the room and calmed down upon seeing him laughing close by. 

Then Chen Guo emerged.

Like a vengeful wrath she stormed into the room with a shriek, drawing everyone's attention.

“What's going on?!?”

Disheveled hair, bathrobe barely put on, and a look of murder in her eyes as she scanned the room. 

Her scent hit everyone in the room like a sledgehammer. Everyone froze.

Fear, worry, annoyance was soon replaced with relief when she registered that there was no danger.

Omega - his instincts whispered.

Ye Xiu blinked. He didn’t know Chen Guo was an omega too. 

Not that it was strange that he didn’t know. It wasn’t something that was talked about openly. 

Her scent patch must have peeled off halfway during the night, and she hadn’t noticed yet.

This was awkward, he thought. Turning his head to the side a bit and scratched at his own patch, not saying a word.

Chen Guo seemed to understand though, her hand flew up and slapped over the faulty patch. Face flushing bright red.

S-sorry! How rude of me, just give me a minute—”

“No need,” Ye Xiu said, cutting her off calmly. “We’re the guests here. You don’t need to apologize in your own home.”

Her face turned a deeper shade of red, but she nodded stiffly and turned away, muttering curses as she stormed back to her room.

“Alright, everyone up,” Ye Xiu said, clapping his hands once. “Get dressed. We have a busy day today.”

“Yes! Glory!” Ye Min scampered off his still struggling brother and dashed back into the storage room to change his clothes as fast as he could.

His siblings were not far behind him in complying. 

“No,” Ye Xiu said calmly, but clear so they could still hear over the ruckus they were making. “First we are going to get breakfast and then you are going to pack your things. We are moving today, remember”

“Oh yeah! That was today? I forgot..” 

The murmured reply from the storage room wasn’t loud, but the pout in Min’s voice was still unmistakable. Ye Xiu couldn't help but smile fondly at the similarity to Su Muqiu. He too had had the same single mindedness when it came to Glory. 

“Then Glory?!” Min asked hopefully as he popped his head around the corner.

“Do we even have computers in the new place?” Li asked, now dressed and much more put together than before. 

“Right, that reminds me,” Ye Xiu turned to Chen Guo who just opened the door - now dressed and a new scent-blocker patch firmly in place. “Does the cafe have 5 computers to spare?” 

He wasn’t worried about the quality. Even the old computers here were of a good standard. So if Chen Guo had any to spare they would have no problem running Glory.

“What?” Chen Guo stared blankly at him, mind not keeping up with his thoughts and to her, random question.

“I can pay” He said, way too cheerful for her taste and not at all helpful.

“What do you need computers for?”

“For Glory”

“Please Aunt Guo!” Ye Shi asked pleadingly with wide eyes. “Do you have some to spare?”

Li, Min and Jia stood behind their brother, all with puppy-dog eyes pleading with her as well.

Ye Xiu watched impressed as his kids got Chen Guo to fold like a house of cards in the wind. 

She sighed and rubbed at her head like she had a headache. “Sure, fine. I will see what I can find.” 

“Now go. Shu, go bother someone else.” She waved them away and made a hasty retreat out the front door.

“Yay!” Min cheered “Let's go play Glory!”

“No, Min” Ye Xiu sighed, he was really going to have to keep an eye on this one. “Breakfast, then packing.”

“Do we really have to move? Don't we have everything we need right here?” Li asked. 

“Chen Guo has been nice and let us stay here until we could get a place of our own. This was never meant to be permanent.” Ye Xiu patiently explained.

“But just because it wasn't meant to, doesn't mean it has to.” Jia chimed in.

“The new apartment isn’t far, just a few blocks away. If you like it here, you can always come to visit after school.”

Silence

“School?” Min asked in surprise.

Ye Xiu blinked. “Yes, school.”

“I’m not going to school.” Li declared, arms crossed, like his word was final. 

“Oh? And why is that?” Ye Xiu asked, half amused, half exasperated. 

“We’re helping you,” Jia said, voice soft but sharp. “You need help more than we need school.”

“It’s not your job to do so. Your job is to learn, meet other kids and make friends.”

“You’re not being fair!,” Jia said, mirroring her brother by crossing her arms. “We can help you. We want to. Why won’t you let us?”

“Because I’m the adult.”

That didn’t win him any favors. Four pairs of eyes locked onto him like he’d betrayed them.

“Look,” he said, voice softer now, “We’ll talk more later. Right now, we don’t have time to fight. I need to go get the keys from the landlord. You guys pack up and we will pick up some breakfast on the way.

“And school?” Li asked, his voice dripping with mutiny

“We’ll discuss it. Later.”

…………………………..

The walk to their new home was spent in tense silence. 

None of the children were willing to bring up the earlier discussion nor were they willing to give in.

They wouldn’t even have any computers for another hour or so. 

Chen Guo had found some computers for them. But since it was a rush job, only two would be arriving around lunch. The other three wouldn’t get there until tonight. 

Bored out of their minds, they couldn’t even fidget with bag straps or anything like that. All of their things had fit into one bag- a bag they got from Chen Guo. A bag that was now slung over one bony shoulder of their father, who was walking leisurely in front of them, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Which wasn’t helping their rising ire any.  

Though he might seem like it, Ye Xiu himself wasn’t in a great place. 

The closer he came to the building housing their new home, he felt himself tensing up and the bag on his shoulder began to feel more like restraints. 

He hadn’t forgotten Yan Zhen. His greatest adversary masquerading as a little old lady.

The one currently holding the title of his new landlord. 

The one who had bulldozed him so completely he had hardly gotten a word in edgewise. 

Yes, Ye Xiu was not in a good place. He was gearing up for a tough fight.

So, charged silence it was.

It was almost the appointed time of 10 am when they finally arrived.

The building was older, but clean. The kind with sun-warmed brick and window flower boxes that someone clearly still tended. It even smelled a little like chrysanthemums. Ye Xiu was just starting to relax—until the front door burst open.

“There you are, dearie!” A small whirlwind of pastel pink and lavender barreled toward him.

Yan Zhen was barely up to his chest, but she moved with the purpose and velocity of a toddler chasing pigeons. Her hair was done up in a silver bun so tight it didn’t sway an inch when she marched straight into Ye Xiu’s personal space.

“You're late, young miss! I was beginning to worry!”

Ye Xiu twitched, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Uh—”

“Oh, and these must be your darling babies!” she cooed, turning away from him entirely and squatting down—impressively fast for someone her age—to pinch Ye Shi’s cheeks. “Ohhh, I can already tell you’re the rascal of the family!” 

Ye Li and Ye Jia shared a glance behind Ye Xiu’s back. Mischievous grins forming on their faces.

Ye Shi beamed, leaning into the touch like a pampered kitten. “Mama says I’m full of potential.”

“Mama?” Yan Zhen turned her head just enough to give Ye Xiu a fondly pitying glance. “Raising four little ones on your own! You poor dear. What a strong woman you must be!”

Ye Xiu, throat tight, opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“We try not to bother her too much,” Ye Jia added sweetly, standing just close enough to Ye Xiu to rest a hand on his arm. “She works so hard at night. It’s bad for her body, you know.”

Ye Xiu inhaled like he’d been punched.

“Be careful out there, dearie!” Yan Zhen wagged a finger at him sternly. “Night jobs are hard on your womb!”

“Yes, It would be nice to get another sibling in the future, so don't work too hard, Mom.” Ye Min piped in nonchalantly.

“I don’t—” Ye Xiu gave the kids a look. All four of them were the picture of innocence. Li even offered a silent thumbs-up behind Yan Zhen’s back.

“Oh hush now,” Yan Zhen said, grabbing his wrist and pressing the apartment key into it. “Let’s get you dearies settled. I’ve already turned on the heater and aired out the sheets!”

Ye Xiu blinked.

Inside, the apartment was… actually very nice. Modest, but clean, with big windows and a little balcony overlooking the street. 

For a moment, he thought they had the wrong floor. The place smelled faintly of soap and jasmine, the sunlight catching on polished wooden floors and white curtains that swayed gently in the breeze. It felt… safe.

Yan Zhen busied herself pointing out every last detail while the kids explored.

“This will be your room, dearie,” she said, opening the door to the one with neutral furniture and a spare wardrobe. “You need a quiet place to rest that hardworking body of yours.”

Ye Xiu didn’t even argue anymore. He was trying to focus on remembering how to breathe.

Min and Shi immediately claimed the biggest room with twin beds, cheering and bouncing on the mattresses. “Best room goes to the smartest brothers!” Shi crowed. “Sorry, Mom!”

“I’ll be next door,” Ye Li said with a shrug, already pulling out his bag. “Mother likes things quiet when she plays Glory.”

Ye Jia placed her bag in the farthest room without a word, but as she passed Ye Xiu, she murmured, “Should we call you Mama or Mom in public?”

“I hate all of you,” Ye Xiu replied in a whisper.

“Language, dearie!” Yan Zhen said from the kitchen, not even looking.

Ye Xiu closed his eyes.

“We could always get a sign,” Ye Shi mused aloud, sprawled out on his new bed. “'Beware of Mother. She bites.’”

“I will evict all of you,” Ye Xiu muttered into his hand.

…………

“I believe that is everything for now, dearie. I will take my leave and let you get some rest. Remember I'm just downstairs if you or the little ones need anything.”

Ye Xiu managed to muster up a tired smile at her. “Thank you for all you help”

“Oh it's nothing dearie. You are doing such a good job with these kids. Though you should consider getting yourself a good strong alpha to help support and protect you and the little ones. No need to overdo it yourself, alright?” Yan Zhen said, patting Ye Xiu gently on the cheek while giving him a stern look. 

Ye Xiu said nothing. The last of his spirit had quietly expired.

“Oh! That's right! You haven't got any food here yet right? Don't worry, I will whip something up for all of you. Then we can go meet my granddaughter after lunch. Oh it’s going to be perfect! I can't wait for her to meet you! She is just going to love you!”

“Can I help you cook Old Grandma Yan?” Ye Shi piped up from behind Ye Xiu’s elbow, making him startle in surprise. Ye Shi then turned large eyes on Ye Xiu. “Is that alright for you too, Mom?”

“Oh, what a sweetheart! Of course you can help me! You are going to be a real heartbreaker when you grow up, I just know it! Come on then, let’s get started. Make sure to get some rest now dearie!”

“Don’t worry Old Grandma Yan, I will make sure she does.” Ye Jia called, coming out of her room to stand beside Ye Xiu and gave a winning smile.  

“You sweethearts take such good care of your mother, it really warms my heart.” Yan Zhen gushed.

Ye Xiu stared at the door as it fell shut behind the two.

Oppressive silence filled the apartment in their wake. 

“You really are little gremlins, you know that?” he asked.

Ye Li and Ye Min had come out of their rooms and now stood beside Ye Jia with wide grins on their faces.

“Yes, Mother!” came the unified reply.

“... I'm going to rest”

“Yes, Mother!”

 Hopefully his headache would be better after a nap.

…………..

Ye Shi skipped into the apartment with a bag of something warm and delicious held proudly in his hands.

“I’m back!” he announced, voice bright with triumph.

“Shhh!” Ye Min hissed from the living room couch. “Dad’s asleep.”

Ye Shi blinked. “Oh.” He lowered his voice. “That’s good. He looked really tired.”

He held up the bag. “Look what I got!”

Ye Li eyed him from across the room, suspicious. “Where did you get that?”

“Old Granny Yan. She made lunch. Want some?”

Min was already halfway across the room before Ye Li could answer. “Ooh, thanks! I’m starving.”

They all sat cross-legged on the living room floor, spreading out the neatly packed food like it was treasure. For a few minutes, they just ate. Quiet. Comfortable. Like they used to.

But it didn’t last.

“I still can’t believe he wants us to go to school,” Ye Min said around a mouthful of steamed bun.

Ye Li frowned. “I thought, of everyone, he’d get it.”

Ye Shi picked at his food, suddenly not so hungry.

“Typical adults,” Min muttered. “They don’t listen, but they still want to decide everything for you.”

“Doesn’t he get that we want to help?” Shi asked quietly. “That we’re not just playing?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want our help,” Ye Li said, the words landing heavy.

“But he let us help with the materials,” Min pointed out, brow furrowed.

Ye Shi didn’t say anything right away. His hands twisted in his lap. “Maybe… maybe he was just humoring us.”

Both his brothers looked at him. Not with judgment—never with that—but something softer, something steadying.

“He’s not like that,” Ye Li said finally. “Not really.”

“I don’t know what he’s like,” Ye Shi muttered. “Not yet.”

Silence settled again, this one more uncertain. Shi hated that. So he changed the subject.

“Where’s Jia?”

“With Dad,” Li answered.

“I thought he was asleep?”

“He is.”

“…She too?”

“No.”

That was all he got.

Ye Shi huffed and stood, grabbing one of the lunchboxes. “I’ll go check on her.”

………..

The hallway was quiet. The door to Ye Xiu’s room stood ajar, the air inside cool and dim. He peeked in carefully.

His father was curled up under the covers, completely still.

Ye Jia sat beside the bed, notebook balanced on her knees, writing something with smooth, deliberate strokes.

Ye Shi padded in and sat beside her, offering the food.

“Hey. How is he?”

“Asleep.”

“I see…”

She didn’t look up. Just kept writing.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked.

“Aunt Guo. I asked her.”

“What’re you writing?”

“None of your business.”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine! I’ll go then.”

He turned away, catching the tiniest twitch at the corner of her lips. His own mouth twitched back before he hid it behind a huff.

He was curious, but not enough to push. Jia didn’t keep secrets to be mean—if she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.

Besides, he had other things to think about now.

……….

Ye Shi made his way to the room he now shared with Ye Min.

It was bright, with twin beds and actual blankets. Real walls. Not a borrowed couch, not some weird storage closet bed. But still, close enough to everyone else that he didn’t feel… too far away.

He liked sharing. He liked knowing someone was there.

The couch had been fine. But even with doors on either side, he’d still felt a little lonely. Just a little.

They needed to do something. Get more attention. Draw people in. Make people see them.

Glory didn’t care how old you were. If you were good, you were good.

And they were good.

Better than good.

His eyes narrowed, ideas already forming. They’d need a plan. Something smart. Something loud.

Maybe it was time to remind the world that the four of them existed.

..........

“I have to go now, but by the time I get back, think of what you want to do. No school is not an option.”

“He doesn't really have time for us, does he?”

It was said so quietly he almost missed it. He obviously wasn't meant to hear it. The door had already closed behind him before the meaning of them truly hit home. 

He turned around, hand was already on the doorknob - ready to march in there and gather his kids up in a hug and never let go.

“Come on, dearie!”

An over enthusiastic landlady grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the door. Away from his kids.

“Come on dearie, this is a hectic career, so it's not good to be late! Oh, my granddaughter is just going to love you!”

………………………….

The studio was a converted loft—high ceilings, industrial pipes, and a scatter of white screens, reflectors, and fabric backdrops hanging from movable tracks. The air smelled faintly of hairspray and matcha.

Ye Xiu blinked blearily under the overhead lights, not fully awake, coat still half-buttoned and a faint pillow crease running across one cheek.

"Here we are!" Yan Zhen declared, bustling him forward like a prized lamb to market. "Darling, I brought you your model!"

A young woman in black wide-legged pants and an oversized sweater turned around from behind her camera. She had clipped bangs and earrings that looked like safety pins, a pencil tucked behind one ear. She blinked.

“…Wait. This is the model?”

Ye Xiu gave a small wave. “Hi.”

There was a long pause.

“I thought you said she was pretty,” the granddaughter muttered.

Ye Xiu raised a brow, not even blinking. “I just woke up.”

“No, no, it’s not an insult! I just—” Her eyes narrowed, then lit with inspiration. “Hold on. Don’t move.”

She circled him like a predator with a vision. “Soft bone structure, sharp eyes, tall, neutral frame… oh this is going to be fun. ”

Ye Xiu looked at Yan Zhen, who gave him a cheerful thumbs-up. “Have fun, dearie!”

Before he could protest, he was being shoved into a chair. Foundation, primer, powder. Cool brushes swept across his face. Someone tugged gently at his scalp—extensions. He felt something being clipped to his ears, then his collarbone. His sleep shirt disappeared, replaced by a cascade of silk and pinstripes and layers that blurred gender in the most expensive way possible.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

“…This is a lot,” he murmured.

“You’re glamorous ,” the granddaughter replied, tightening a belt at his waist. “Androgynous Parisian runaway. You’re a poem. You're a statement. ”

Ye Xiu sighed. “I’m just trying to pay rent.”

“You’re about to make it fashionably.”

They tried several looks—wide-legged suit sets, long coats over sheer turtlenecks, a dramatic floor-length dress with pants underneath (“Layers are power,” the granddaughter had said, cackling). Throughout it all, Ye Xiu let them pose him like a mannequin, half-lidded eyes, expression flat and almost disdainful. It worked better than any smolder he could have faked.

Every now and then, the granddaughter would pause, peer through the lens, then quietly mutter, “…Wow.”

By the end of it, she was flushed and breathless. “You’re insane,” she said, laughing as she clicked through the shots. “Like. Not fair. Do you know what you look like right now?”

Ye Xiu glanced over. “Tired?”

She snorted. “Devastating. I’m going to win awards for this.”

…………………..

“He doesn't really have time for us, does he?” Ye Shi asked quietly, as they watched their father disappear out the door.

The silence that followed was heavier than it should’ve been.

“Well,” Ye Li finally said, stretching like it was nothing. “If he doesn’t have time for us, then maybe we should talk to someone who does.”

“What do you mean?” Shi turned to him, frowning.

“Dad doesn’t have any money, right? So where did all of this come from?” Li gestured broadly to the apartment around them.

Ye Min narrowed his eyes. “You know something.”

Li smirked. “Of course I do. I checked Dad’s bank statements. It's not hard when I know his bank details.”

Min groaned. “Then stop being dramatic and spit it out.”

Li’s grin sharpened. “Remember what Old Granny Yan said? That Dad should find a good, dependable Alpha to take care of him?”

Shi gasped. “You’re saying—”

“I’m saying that a ‘Han Wenqing’ wired two large sums of money into Dad’s account. One covered the apartment. The other said ‘Child support.’ And unless Dad made a new friend recently, the only Han Wenqing we know is the one from Team Tyranny.”

Ye Jia blinked. “Wait. You think they’re… together?”

“I don’t remember anything about this,” Shi added, brow furrowed.

“Neither do I.” Jia crossed her arms. “But if the payment came after Excellent Era kicked him out, maybe it’s a… courting gift?”

“Seems a little crude,” she added after a beat, wrinkling her nose.

“You’re all missing the point!” Li snapped. “It doesn’t matter if it’s about feelings or not—”

“I think that’s a pretty big point,” Min muttered.

“Can I finish?” Li asked, exasperated. No one apologized.

He forged on. “The point is, Dad cared enough to tell him about us. And Han Wenqing cared enough to help. That means something. It means he might listen.”

“Sooo… you’re saying he might tell Dad to let us play Glory instead of going to school, because he’s a pro player?” Min said, eyes narrowing in skepticism.

“Exactly!” Li beamed.

“I’m in,” Min said without hesitation.

“Me too!” Shi jumped in, almost bouncing.

All three looked at Jia.

“…It couldn’t hurt to try,” she said at last.

There was a beat.

“Sooo… do any of you know his number?”

…………………………

Han Wenqing was halfway through a protein bar when his phone rang again.

He didn’t recognize the number.

That, in itself, wasn’t strange—strangers messaged him often. Usually for autographs. Sponsorship. Slander.

He debated ignoring it. But something—an instinct honed over years of reading game maps and life alike—told him to pick up.

He tapped accept , pressed the phone to his ear.

“Han Wenqing.”

A child’s voice. Soft, composed:

“Father?”

Han Wenqing froze mid-chew.

The entire lounge went still.

Han blinked. “…Yes?”

A clang rang from the lounge. Someone had dropped a spoon.

“I’m Ye Li,” said the boy. “I saw you’re paying our child support.”

Han blinked. He opened his mouth.

Behind him, Bai Yanfei looked up from the couch.

Han, not noticing, said aloud: “Yes. I pay child support.”

Someone behind him gasped audibly.

Han got up and stepped out of the lounge, into the corridor.

“Can I talk to you? Dad isn’t listening,” the boy— Ye Li —said, and his voice suddenly wavered. “He doesn’t really have time for us.”

Han turned slightly away, lowering his voice. “Where is he?”

“Usually he works nights. But he’s working an extra job right now. Some kind of modeling job,” Ye Li said. “The landlord got it for him so we can stay. He didn’t want to do it. But she said it would pay the rent.”

Han’s knuckles whitened.

Landlord-arranged modeling work… against his will?

Just what the hell kind of situation had Ye Qiu gotten into?

Han’s grip tightened on the phone.

“He’s always tired. We’re trying not to bother him.”

“But we don’t blame him. He’s just doing his best.”

Ye Qiu, Han thought, is working night shifts and posing for strangers just to keep a roof over their heads?

Han thought of their last match.

Ye Qiu had smiled at him that day—tired, distant, unreadable.

He hadn’t said a thing.

He felt something cold settle in his chest.

“We don’t want to upset him,” Ye Li said quietly. “But we don’t know what else to do.”

Han shut his eyes. “You said he doesn’t have time for you.”

“…He always says he’s fine.”

That wasn’t an answer.

Han Wenqing exhaled slowly through his nose. “Do you feel unsafe?”

There was a startled silence. Then: “What? No! We’re okay! We’re just… we want to help him.”

Han’s chest ached. 

“He wants us to go to school.”

“You don’t want to.”

“We don’t need to,” Ye Li said urgently. “You understand, right? We already know what we want. He just won’t listen. You’re a pro. You know how hard it is. How much it takes.”

The voices began piling on.

“He says school is important, but he never even finished!”

“We’re wasting time!”

“He’s too tired to see it!”

“He needs help,” Ye Li said simply. “He won’t ask for it, but you’re the only one he might listen to.”

Han’s chest tightened. His jaw clenched.

“Please,” Ye Li said. “Talk to him.”

There was a beat.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gone from “Captain of Tyranny” to “Designated Other Parent Figure.”

“I’m not sure this is my place,” he said cautiously.

“But it’s not not your place, right?” Ye Li said brightly. “You did send child support.”

“I…” Han paused. That was true. “...That was for necessities.”

“Exactly!” Ye Min chirped. “Glory gear is very necessary.”

“We also need emotional support,” Ye Shi added.

“From a role model,” said Ye Jia.

“…And possibly new chairs,” Min added, then whispered, “These ones squeak.”

There was a brief scuffle of elbows and someone being shushed.

“Please talk to him? You’re the only one he might listen to. You’re our other father, after all.”

Han rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’ll… consider what you’ve said.”

“Really?” Li asked. “You mean you’ll talk to him?”

“I said I’ll consider it.”

“We’ll take it,” Min said. “Thank you, Father Han!”

“Father Han?!”

“Bye, Father Han!”

 “Thank you. We love you. Bye.”

click.

Han lowered the phone slowly.

Ye Qiu, what the hell are you doing over there.

He stared at the wall for a long moment.

And then, in a daze, walked back into the lounge.

He was halfway through sitting when someone whispered, reverently:

“Father?”

He turned in his chair, only to see half the Tyranny team staring at him with open mouths and misty eyes.

Every pair of eyes turned toward him.

Bai Yanfei gave him a thumbs-up.

Zhang Xinjie walked over, slapped a neatly labeled folder onto the table in front of him, and said, “Revised budget for online homeschool support. I anticipated this.”

“There’s also a ten-year development curriculum, arranged by aptitude,” Zhang Xinjie said.

Han stared at the color-coded tabs in horror.

“I am not their father.”

“Of course not, Captain,” said Zhang Xinjie, already queuing an online parenting course.

Han Wenqing’s eye twitched.

He picked up the rest of his protein bar,

And resumed eating.

Behind him, Bai Yanfei screamed into a cushion.

When he finished, he got up and left for practice. No one missed the fact that he took the folder with him.

Silence reigned for half a second.

Then the room exploded .

Someone pulled up childcare subsidies. Someone else started researching nutrition kits. A third pulled out knitting needles like they’d always been ready for this moment.

Tyranny Mutual Aid Society for Misunderstood Children and the Brave Captain Who Raised Them just got into full swing.

After that day, Han Wenqing’s unofficial title in Tyranny became: Captain Dad .

……………………..

Chen Guo looked up from the front desk as the bell above the internet café door jingled.

Then she froze.

The person in the doorway had glowing skin, lashes for days, collarbones that could slice fruit, and hair flowing like a shampoo commercial. He—or she?—was in a long cream coat over a soft mesh top and wide-leg slacks that shimmered slightly in the light.

“…Who—wait. WAIT.”

Ye Xiu took off the sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. “Hey.”

Chen Guo shot to her feet. “YE XIU?!”

The cup in her hand wobbled and hit the desk with a splash. Someone choked on their noodles in the background.

“Did you get mugged by a runway show? ” she demanded, half-horrified, half-impressed.

“Modeling job,” Ye Xiu replied, deadpan. “My landlady set it up.”

Chen Guo looked him up and down, mouth agape. “I—? How much did they pay you?”

Ye Xiu took a long pause. “…They fed me a sandwich.”

A beat.

“Go upstairs,” she said. “Before you cause a riot.”

“I work here.”

“ Not like that, you don’t. ”

“Then are the last three computers ready to go?”

“The delivery left about 15 minutes ago.”

“Great,” he said, already turning back toward the front door. “I’ll go home, check on the kids, and change. I’ll be back before my shift.”

The door opened for him with another cheery chime, still looking like the ghost of a fashion week finale, the hem of his coat swishing behind him like mist as he disappeared out of sight.

A customer near the front leaned sideways in his chair, whispering, “Was that...a K-pop star?”

Chen Guo slowly lowered herself into her seat, staring blankly at the screen in front of her.

“No,” she said, numb. “That was my night shift manager.”

………………………..

The apartment was dim and warm when Ye Xiu stepped inside. The smell of soy and ginger clung to the air—someone had cooked. Maybe all of them had. He kicked off his shoes, slung the long coat over the back of the couch, and quietly checked the rooms.

All four kids were in the living room, gathered around a cheap folding table covered in instant noodle bowls, highlighters, and a lopsided paper map of Glory's in-game continents. Ye Min had a pen between his teeth and Ye Jia was sketching something that looked suspiciously like a team logo. Ye Shi had claimed the top of the couch, upside-down. Ye Li looked up first.

“Welcome back,” he said, neutral.

“Hey,” Ye Xiu replied, and slowly sat down cross-legged on the floor beside them. His voice was calm, softer than this morning. “Let’s talk.”

The kids went still.

Ye Xiu let the quiet stretch for a breath. Then another.

“I shouldn’t have started that conversation in a rush,” he said at last. “You deserve better.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Being heard without force was something he’d learned early—when raising your voice as an omega only gave people permission to talk over you.

The weight in the room shifted. Ye Li lowered his eyes. Ye Jia’s pencil paused.

There was a faint undercurrent of remorse in the air—muted, but real.

“I’m not mad,” Ye Xiu added. “But this is important. So tell me—what do you want?”

A beat of hesitation. Then Ye Min burst forward like a dam breaking - eyes bright and hopeful.

“We want to help you!” he said, too fast, words tumbling over themselves. “You’re building something again, right? We can tell. We’re not just kids, and we know Glory. We have years of memories of it. We can grind, run support, run stats—”

“Ye Min,” Ye Xiu said, steady but warm. Something in the boy’s eagerness brushed against an instinct he didn’t let himself name—protective, anchoring, just there.

Ye Min stopped, cheeks pink.

Ye Li picked up smoothly. “We know we’re not pros. Not yet. But we’re not useless. We’re fast learners. We want to be in this with you.”

“It’s not about being useful,” Ye Xiu said. “It’s about growing up right.”

He looked at each of them in turn.

“I started too early,” he said. “I dropped school. I didn’t have a choice. You do. I won’t take that from you.”

The room fell quiet again. But no rejection this time—just quiet absorption. Listening.

Ye Jia spoke softly. “But...can’t we do both?”

Ye Xiu studied her. She didn’t look away.

“…Maybe,” he said. “If you’re serious. School first. Always. And if you want to help with Glory, we do it the right way. Together.”

“Online school?” Ye Li asked.

Ye Xiu nodded. “Start in the mornings. Homework done before the afternoon. Then Glory.”

Ye Min was already halfway into a grin. “Deal.”

But Ye Xiu’s eyes were on him now, steady and sharp. “And if I catch any of you slacking—”

“We won’t,” Ye Min said quickly.

“We’ll be good,” Ye Jia added.

“Studious,” Ye Li said.

“School is the true endgame,” Ye Shi announced solemnly. “The final boss is math.”

Ye Xiu groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “I walked into that one.”

They laughed. Not loudly. But enough to fill the corners of the room and the warmth of it pressed against his chest.

He stood, gathering the coat again. It smelled faintly like noodle broth and ink and something indefinable—something warm and lived-in. Not pheromones, not his instincts talking. Just...home.

He contemplated for a second, there were still a few hours before his shift began.

“Did the computers arrive?” He asked.

“Yes,” Ye Li drawled. “Installed and ready to go. But we don’t have a router, so no internet. Why do you think we’re sitting here with pen and paper?”

“Hmm, alright. I will get one tomorrow.”

Behind him, the kids were already shuffling papers, sketching a rougher schedule. It wasn’t perfect. It wouldn’t always be smooth. But it was a start.

Something deep in his chest—a knot wound tight from years of uncertainty—began to loosen.

He paused at the door and looked back.

“Alright. Don’t stay up too late.”

“Night, Mom, ” Ye Shi sang sweetly.

Ye Xiu rubbed his forehead. “I’m never shaking that, am I?”

None of them answered. Just a wave of quiet, unconcerned affection.

If they knew what it meant—for an omega to be called that out loud, even jokingly—they didn’t show it. Or maybe they did. And didn’t care.

He curled up in bed, hoping for a few more hours of sleep.

Balance wasn’t easy. But they were getting there.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

The café was quiet in the early light, only a few customers clicking away at their keyboards in the corner rows. Ye Xiu had claimed one of the back machines, a little farther from the door and close enough to the wall to avoid being noticed unless someone was looking. He sat with a steaming paper cup of tea and a borrowed USB stick, blinking away the weight of an overnight shift.

The past few days had been hectic to say the least. Yet, somehow, even though he had hardly slept and had gone from one job to the next, he still felt more at peace, energetic and happy than he ever was in the Excellent Era this past year.

A small smile graced his lips as he pulled up a new web page with a slight hum.

Time to figure out homeschooling.

He clicked on the browser and started his search: national programs, flexible curriculums, independent pacing, low costs. It didn’t need to be fancy. It just needed to work.

“Hey.” Chen Guo slid into the seat beside him with her own cup of hot beverage and a frown like she hadn’t slept much either. “You’re looking into schools now?”

Ye Xiu nodded without looking away from the screen. “They need something stable. And something official. I don’t want them slipping through the cracks.”

She made a noise of agreement. “You looking for accredited platforms or just ones that won’t ask too many questions?”

“Yes,” he said, dry as dust.

A few taps later, they had nearly a dozen tabs open. One curriculum had interactive lessons and parent dashboards. Another was barebones but well-reviewed, with flexible pacing and optional exam prep modules. The third claimed to “revolutionize learning” through digital avatars and daily quests.

“This one’s a trap,” Chen Guo said, pointing. “It’s half game, half marketing funnel.”

Ye Xiu sighed. “Ye Shi would never log out.”

A few rows over, Tang Rou was logged into her own station, quietly leveling her new Battlemage. Her fingers moved fast, but not smooth yet. Ye Xiu watched her miss a juggle combo, then leaned over his armrest.

“You’re not spacing skills right,” he said. “Falling Flower Palm is stronger if you can get your opponents in the air before you use it. Try combining it with Sky Strike to lift them first.”

She adjusted her rhythm, and the combo landed cleanly the second time.

“Thanks,” she said simply, eyes still on the screen.

Then, after a pause: “My cousin does online school. I can send you their syllabus.”

Ye Xiu blinked. “Really?”

“You’re trying to raise four pro players,” she said. “The least I can do is keep them literate.”

Chen Guo snorted over her mug. “She’s not wrong.”

Ye Xiu huffed a tired laugh, clicked print on three programs that looked decent, and jotted down their sign-up info on a piece of paper he had taken earlier from the printer. One was heavy on testing and self-pacing, another offered tutoring hours and flexible course loads, and the third had optional live seminars with actual instructors.

He capped the pen and leaned back.

“I’ll let them look through it,” he murmured. “Pick the one they can see themselves sticking with.”

“You think they’ll go for it?” Chen Guo asked.

“If they don’t,” he said, sipping his tea, “they’ll have to explain why to their teachers themselves.”

“Now that’s parenting,” she muttered. He smiled faintly, gathered the printed brochures and tucked them into his coat pocket. It still smelled faintly of soy and ginger from last night, bringing back feelings of belonging, acceptance.

Here they had a start.

Now came the follow-through.

……….

The apartment was quiet when Ye Xiu got home, but not asleep. Voices drifted from the living room—Ye Min narrating something with far too much energy for this hour, Ye Shi dramatically gasping at intervals, and the soft scratch of Ye Jia's pencil on paper.

He slipped off his shoes, padded inside, and dropped the stack of printed pamphlets onto the coffee table with a dull thud .

“School’s in session,” he said.

Four heads turned. Ye Min sat up straighter. Ye Jia blinked, then reached forward first.

“There’s three options,” Ye Xiu said. “Read them all. We’ll vote.”

The kids gathered around. Ye Min read out loud with theatrical importance. Ye Shi peered over his shoulder like he couldn’t read unless he could see the page upside-down. Ye Li skimmed the bullet points in silence. Ye Jia flipped to the last page, where the curriculum breakdowns and testing schedules were listed.

After some debate—Ye Min favoring the one with minimal exams, Ye Jia insisting on one with a proper science lab module—they settled on the one with live tutoring and instructor feedback. It was balanced, structured, and flexible enough to accommodate their afternoon Glory sessions.

“All right,” Ye Xiu said, leaning over the table with a pen. “I’ll fill out the parent forms and—”

He stopped.

Scrolled back.

Read the form again.

Under “Parent/Guardian Eligibility” was a single line in bold:

Applicants identifying as omega will not be accepted for supervisory roles.

Ye Xiu stared at it, expression unreadable.

Ye Li frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Ye Xiu didn’t answer. He just set the pen down with exaggerated care and leaned back like gravity had grown heavier.

Ye Min peered over. “What? Is it expensive?”

“No,” Ye Xiu said blandly. “I just can't sign this on my own.”

The room stilled.

Ye Min sat back, annoyed. “So now what? Do we have to pick a different one?”

“I’ll keep looking,” Ye Xiu muttered. “There’s always fine print like this somewhere.”

Then, casually, Ye Shi said, “Then what about Father Han? Can’t you just get him to sign it too?”

The silence that followed was immediate and complete.

Ye Xiu slowly turned his head. “Who?”

“Father Han,” Ye Shi said brightly. “We told him about the apartment. And the computers. And that you got a job. He sounded very impressed.”

Ye Xiu stared at the pamphlet again, then raised an eyebrow. “You called Han Wenqing?”

Ye Min shrugged, trying for casual and failing completely. “Well, technically Ye Li did. But we were all there.”

Ye Li cleared his throat, mildly horrified. “We were just being polite—”

Ye Shi said proudly. “I called him Father Han. ”

Ye Li groaned and pressed a hand to his face. “We told you not to say that.”

“He didn’t sound mad!” Ye Shi protested. “He sounded confused. That’s different.”

Ye Xiu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did he give you his number?”

“No,” Ye Jia said. “We found it.”

“You what ?”

Ye Min waved a hand. “It was in an old press release. You can contact team captains through official lines. It wasn’t hard.”

Ye Xiu made a noise that could have been a sigh or a slow descent into acceptance. “You cold-called Han Wenqing like he’s tech support.”

“He picked up!” Ye Shi said.

“Of course he did,” Ye Xiu muttered. “He’s responsible like that.”

A pause.

“Do I even want to know how you got a phone?” He asked, exasperated.

“Oh, we went to Old Granny Yan. Said we needed to call our father Han.” Ye Li said flippantly

“Your Alpha.” Ye Min chimed in with a snicker.

Yeah… he really didn't want to know. 

Ye Xiu glanced toward the router box sitting by the door—he’d picked it up on the way home from his shift, just like he said he would. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to shake off the feeling of pending doom.

“Well,” he said dryly, “if he’s already been introduced to fatherhood, no sense in wasting the opportunity.”

Ye Min perked up. “You’re going to call him?”

“I’m going to log into QQ,” Ye Xiu said, rising. “And then I’m going to make him deal with the school. That sounds like a ‘father’s’ job, doesn’t it?”

Ye Shi pumped a fist in victory.

Ye Jia looked thoughtful. “We should draw up a custody schedule.”

Ye Li groaned again, louder.

Ye Xiu just shook his head and went to set up the router. “If this ends with me in court for joint academic custody with Han Wenqing, I’m blaming all of you.”

From the living room, four voices called in cheerful unison:

“Okay, Mom!”

………………

Han Wenqing was in a dilemma.

After the call from the kids yesterday, he couldn’t stop thinking about what they said. 

He was worried. There was no point in denying it. But what could he do? 

Even if he tried calling Ye Qiu, the odds of him picking up were near zero on a good day. If he was truly as overworked as the kids believed, then the odds were nonexistent now.

And it wasn’t like Han could just leave to check on him in person. He still had duties and responsibilities here to the team. 

Should he call Su Mucheng? She had her own struggles, true, but she was in a better position to check in, wasn’t she? More likely to answer him—and more likely to give an honest account than Ye Qiu ever would.

Now he didn’t know if he was hallucinating or not. 

The team had just returned from lunch and practice was in full swing. 

Then—his phone rang.

He blinked.

Only two contacts were set to ring audibly. One was Su Mucheng, and she had practice now. The other—Ye Qiu—never called.

Oh.
Right. He’d set the kids’ number to ring if they ever needed help. It must be them.

He reached for his phone, expecting to see “Ye Kids” on the caller ID.

He was wrong.

Startled, he answered quickly—just in case the caller changed their mind and hung up. With that person, it was entirely possible.

“Yeah?”

“Hi Old Han. Got a moment to talk?”

Ye Qiu

Casual as ever—but Han heard it. The exhaustion, barely hidden beneath the light tone.

Han Wenqing didn’t really have to think about it. He had been trying to come up with a way to get a hold of this elusive person, there was no way he was just going to let that go.

“I’ll find somewhere private. I’ll call you back.”

“Okay~ I’ll wait~” came the teasing reply.

click

The tone had been playful, but Han’s frown deepened. If even Ye Qiu couldn’t hide how tired he was in such a short exchange, then the kids hadn’t exaggerated. If anything, they’d downplayed it.

He stood up and steadily ignored Zhang Xinjie’s disapproving frown for deviating from schedule and interrupting practice. 

He was aware the moment the ringtone sounded, the entire room had gone quiet.
Well. He wasn’t one to stand on ceremony, anyway.

“Continue training. Zhang Xinjie’s in charge until I return.”

And with that, he left the room in brisk strides.

The door had barely shut before murmurs rose behind him.

His scowl deepend. He knew this was unprofessional of him. So he had no right to criticize the others for gossiping, but it has gotten worse lately. Especially after yesterday's call with the kids. 

He hadn’t expected the kids to call, nore that they would so loudly proclaim him “Father”. Loud enough for the others to hear. 

After that no one had said anything to his face. But he wasn’t deaf. He heard the whispers and giggles echo in the corridors. The conversations that suddenly quiet down at his approach. The looks. The name they had been calling him behind his back when they thought he couldn’t hear. 

Captain Dad

Scowl still firmly in place he entered his room and firmly shut the door before quickly starting up his computer. 

Logging in on QQ and pressing the video call on Ye Qiu’s ID took a matter of seconds. 

The call connected after one ring.

“Wish to see me so badly, Old Han?” Was Ye Qiu’s greeting, referring to the video call.

“I wanted to see for myself” He answered, not explaining anything. Why should he explain that he wanted to check on him, see how he was doing? None of them were the mushy type anyway. Still seeing him sent a pang of pain in his chest. 

It had been a while since they saw each other but without a doubt Ye Xiu looked more haggard than before. Thinner, more frail and the dark circles under his eyes were more prominent. 

He could really understand the kids' worries now.

“You have good kids. Stop worrying them, and take better care of yourself.”  

Ye Qiu stared at him, contemplating.

“I heard the kids called you yesterday. Sorry about that.” He almost sounded sincere.

“It's fine” He huffed

“So... Father Han, huh? Should I also call you that?” The tone was light. Teasing. Like their banter usually was. 

But there was an undercurrent there now that had never been present before. 

Scared, assessing, waiting. 

A test.

“Do as you wish” He replied evenly.

Ye Qiu blinked at him in slight surprise, before a slight laugh slipped out. It wasn’t a happy laugh. Not really. 

“Then, Father Han, take responsibility for the kids and sign them up for homeschooling.” 

Ye Qiu’s typical smirk was in place. Shamelessness oozing from him in waves. Yet his eyes told a different story. Vulnerability.  

… he saw expecting to be rejected. 

Han Whenqing couldn’t help but cast a look at the folder Zhang Xinjie had given him yesterday. “Revised Budget for Online Homeschool Support.” He hadn’t read it yet, he had plans to do it after this week's match when he had more time. He turned back to the screen, confusion plain to see. “Why?”

Ye Qiu’s smirk turned self-deprecating, “Apparently, I’m not a good enough parent to manage it myself.”

Han Wenqing has known Ye Qiu for over 10 years now, never in that time has he ever sounded so pained before. So small. So—

Defeated.

Nor had he ever known him to ask for help before, not outside of glory.

“Have you decided which one to apply to?”

Another pain stabbed at him when he saw the naked surprise in Ye Qiu’s eyes. He really hadn’t expected help even after asking.

Su Mucheng’s words rang in his ears.

“You really care don't you?

It’s just… it’s been a long time since anyone cared like that. Ye Qiu and I—we’re not used to it.”

He hadn’t realized how true those words were before now.

“Yeah, the kids picked it. They liked the curriculum. Strong in STEM, flexible hours.” He glanced up, tone wry. “Care to lend a name to the cause?”

“Send me the forms. I’ll look them over.”

Ye Qiu didn’t say anything more, but he seemed to be almost hesitating before sending the files over.

Han read quickly. The school seemed ordinary. Nothing he could see that would be a problem—
Until he reached the parent/guardian signature line.

He stilled.

So that’s it.

Everything made so much more sense now.

He skimmed through all his previous conversations and actions with Ye Qiu. Everything he knew about him. 

His club must have found out. That is the only reason he could think of for them to suddenly treat Ye Qiu so poorly. 

Han looked back at the screen. Ye Qiu was sitting slouched, trying to look casual—but Han could read him better than most. And it was easier than usual to read him, which said so much more than any words could. 

Especially when what he saw was - Defensiveness. Fear. Resignation

Han Wenqing straightened up instantly and said outright. “I am an Alpha.”

It went against social norms to do so, and made one vulnerable to others but he had never made it a secret that he was one. Never really been seen as vulnerable.

It wasn’t the same, Alpha and Omega.

But if he could even the field and close this gaping chasm that just opened up between them, even just by a little, he would do it.

If only to show Ye Qiu he was sincere.

By the slight loosening he could see of Ye Qiu’s posture, his message must have come through. Ye Qiu’s “I know” was just as bland as ever though.

“I will take care of this.” He said with finality.

Ye Xiu smiled—not his cocky gamer grin, but something smaller. Warmer. A little tired, a little grateful and completely real.

“Thanks, Old Han.”

“Are you sure you are ok, though? The kids said-”

“Old Han.” Ye Qiu interrupted. Body tense again. “I don’t know what the children said to you, but I’m fine.”

Han Wenqing snorted. “That is actually just what they said.”

“They also said you are working two jobs. One you don’t really want to do.” He said leadingly. Hoping to get an answer he knew would never come. 

“Of course. It doesn't involve Glory.”

He sighed at the deflection. Expected. Still—it hurt.

His instincts screamed - protect- provide.

“I will send you some more money.-”

“No.” The rejection was swift. Firm. Final.

Han’s hands curled slowly into fists. Not with anger—but shame.

He hadn’t thought. Hadn’t remembered.

Offering money now wasn’t the same as before.

He'd overstepped. Crossed a line.

He had never meant to imply control. Never wanted power. But his gesture… it had looked exactly like that.

Like the horror stories. Alphas trapping omegas in dependence. Debt disguised as kindness. Chains disguised as generosity.

“I hope you know me well enough to understand I’d never put you in that kind of position,” he said at last, voice carefully neutral, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between them. 

“Su Mucheng said you weren't used to someone caring for you and I’m not good at expressing myself. So I will put it plainly.” He took a breath. “This is me, caring.”

Ye Qiu blinked owlishly back at him. “Wow, so eloquent, Old Han!” 

Han’s eyebrow twitched. So much for having a serious conversation with this man. Well, at least he seems to have returned to normal, he thought with a dray smile. 

“I will fill out the application and let you know when I get a reply. And Ye Qiu?”

“Yeah?”

“…Call. If you need anything. Please.” He knew his tone was slightly exasperated and desperate. But at that moment he didn’t care. Not when Ye Qiu’s “Thanks Old Han” Sounded so soft and vulnerable back.

When the call ended, Han Wenqing stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then he filled out the forms.

And returned to practice.

Strangely, being called “Captain Dad” didn’t bother him quite so much anymore.

………………….

Ye Jia sat with her note book by the kitchen table, pen scratching lightly against paper. Her notes were half-written—observations from last week’s pro fights, a list of recent dungeon clears, two lines from a poem she hadn’t decided if she liked yet.

Dad was just finishing his conversation with Father Han. 

She looked up from her note book as Ye Min and Ye Shi sneaked back into the kitchen to try and pretend that they hadn’t been eavesdropping on the entire conversation. She stifled a snicker at their cluelessness. Dad already knew they were there. If he had wanted a private conversation, he wouldn’t have had it here with them home. 

She looked up again when dad came in. She could read Ye Xiu’s exhaustion in the way he walked—slow, like the floor might give way beneath him. 

“What did he say?” she asked quietly, rising to meet him halfway, arms wrapping around his waist.

He almost collapsed against her with relief as the stress in his body drained away by her touch. 

Warm arms wrapped gently around her in response, and for a moment, she felt safe, protected. Home. 

“He will handle it.” His voice was soft and hoarse. 

“Thank you Mom.” She whispered into his chest.

His arms tightened around her for a second before releasing her.

“Where is Li?” He asked as he went over to her brothers and gave them a hug each as well.

“He went to take a bath.”

Ye Xiu gave them a nod. “I’m going to sleep now, wake me up if something comes up, ok.”

“Yes Mom.”

Giving another nod at their agreement he left them alone.

They sat in silence until his door clicked shut behind him.

“Alright!” Ye Shi whispered with ferocious glee, practically vibrating with energy. “Time to move!”

Ye Min looked up from his place by the table. “Already?”

“We have a window,” Ye Shi said. “You wanna waste it?”

Ye Li emerged from the bathroom with a towel over his head. “What is he plotting now?” he asked no one in particular.

“Guild,” Ye Min said.

Ye Li’s brow rose. “A new one?”

“Yeah.” Ye Shi’s grin was sharp. “Blue Brook just set a new dungeon record this morning. If we can break it under a new guild tag, we’ll make waves. No history, no legacy—just pure skill.”

“That’s reckless,” Ye Min muttered, but he was already logging in.

“That’s the point.”

“You know dad was the one who helped them set that record?” Ye Li asked as he sat down in front of the computer.

“Even better!” Ye Shi crowed. “That means that there won't be anyone else that will be able to come near our time if we can beat it.” 

Ye Jia rose quietly and took the computer next to the window, beside Ye Min.

“Strategic timing,” Ye Min hummed, already grabbing his keyboard and muttering calculations under his breath. Jia couldn’t help but to cast him an amused smile.

She didn’t open Glory.

Instead, she opened Weibo.

She had gotten into the habit lately—lurking more than posting, reading through match analysis threads and player speculation. Sometimes it was entertaining. Sometimes it was infuriating.

Today, it was the latter.

The post had thousands of likes. It claimed to analyze a high-level match from last week: Blue Rain vs. Misty Rain. The tone was smug. The conclusions were wrong.

So wrong.

Ye Jia stared at the thread, eyebrows drawing together. Misread timing. Misattributed skills. Wild guesses dressed up as authority. She wasn’t even mad for herself—she was mad for the pros who had been misrepresented so carelessly. The praise piling on below only made it worse.

One comment read:

“Incredible analysis! I never noticed that positioning trick before!”

Another:

“Explains why Blue Rain lost. Their summoner was completely useless.”

Ye Jia blinked, slowly. Her expression didn’t change. But inside, something flared—hot and steady. She was angry for the pros—misread, misquoted, misunderstood.

She clicked away. Created a new account.

She just wanted it to exist. Something true.

No name. No picture. Just words.

She didn’t know if anyone would read it. She didn’t care if they did.

She didn’t want recognition. But if truth had weight, maybe her words could tip the scale, even a little.

Her first post read:

[GloryNotes]
Mispositioning didn’t cost Blue Rain the match. It was a calculated risk based on Misty Rain’s known support habits. If you don’t understand how bait strategies work, you’re not analyzing—you’re guessing.

☑ The Summoner wasn’t “useless.”
☑ The Cleric wasn’t “too slow.”
☑ The decision wasn’t “desperate.”

It was calculated, aggressive, and nearly worked.

Summoners don't fail by not summoning everything they have at the start. It is better to wait for the right time to preserve mana. It's called being tactical.

Strategy isn’t always about winning—it’s about forcing the opponent to play your game. Misty Rain barely held on. That says more than the final scoreboard.

This time Blue Rain made a miscalculation. But knowing Yu Wenzhou, this new tactic Misty Rain came up with won't work on them again.

She stared at it for a moment.

Then posted.

Across the room, Ye Shi let out a victorious whoop. “We have a guild name!”

“Let me guess,” Ye Li muttered. “Something tasteful and understated?”

Ye Shi grinned. “ Mom’s Little Nightmares. ”

Ye Min made a strangled noise. “Absolutely not.”

Her brothers’ antics tugged at the corners of her mouth, her smile growing with warmth.

Loud, ridiculous, familiar. Her brothers.

A notification blinked up on her screen.

One like. Then two. She didn’t look to see who it was. It didn’t matter.

(But it did—a little.)

Ye Jia didn’t say anything even as her brother’s voices grew louder, nor did she look up, she was already busy writing her second post.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

The Next Morning

Ye Li’s eyes snapped open the moment he heard the soft click of the front door unlocking.

Dad's home.

Or Mom , as they all called him now. At least at home. Ye Xiu didn’t seem to mind anymore—had even smiled a little the last time Ye Shi shouted “Mom!” across the living room—but Ye Li hadn’t forgotten. Couldn’t forget. The wrong person hearing that... it could change everything.

He threw the covers off and ran, bare feet cold against the floor. The hallway light was still dim, the apartment hushed. Ye Xiu had just stepped inside, one hand bracing against the wall as he tugged off his shoes, when his eyes met Li’s.

Startled. Tired. Alive. Here.

Ye Li launched forward and wrapped both arms around him before he could say a word, burying his face in Ye Xiu’s shirt.

His dad was here. Safe. Whole. Still breathing.

Ye Li clung tighter, letting himself soak in the warmth, the scent, the steady rhythm of breath. That familiar, faint trace of smoke and something like old paper and night air—it wrapped around him like a shield. Everything in him had been buzzing since last night, a low-key panic he couldn’t name. He hadn’t even known what he was afraid of exactly—just that something could go wrong. That someone might find out. That someone might take him away.

That someone might hurt Ye Xiu.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Welcome home,” he murmured, voice muffled against his father’s chest. He tried to sound casual, like he wasn’t trembling a little. Like this was normal.

“I’m home,” Ye Xiu replied softly. But in Ye Li’s ears, it sounded like something else.

I’m here.

Ye Li’s arms tightened. He was the oldest. He wasn’t supposed to do this. Wasn’t supposed to need like this. If his siblings saw him like this, he’d never hear the end of it. But for now, he stayed.

Ye Xiu didn’t say anything—just wrapped both arms around him and held him there, steady and silent. Not asking questions. Not pulling away. His hand came up after a moment and began to gently card through Li’s hair, smoothing the sleep-mussed strands in slow, rhythmic strokes.

Safe.

Protected.

Li let out a long breath and let himself lean in just a little more. It was stupid, how close he was to crying. He blinked fast and kept quiet, his fists still curled in the fabric of Ye Xiu’s shirt.

Eventually, he stepped back. Slowly. Carefully. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes, pretending it was nothing—just tired. Just up too early. His father didn’t say anything about it, only looked down at him with a soft, knowing smile. No teasing. No pity. Just quiet reassurance.

I see you. And it’s okay.

Something loosened in his chest.

Maybe... maybe Dad really did understand them better than he thought.

“How was work?” Ye Li asked at last, the question a peace offering, a signal: I’m okay now.

Ye Xiu’s mouth twitched upward. “Eventful,” he said, voice lightening as he reached over to ruffle Li’s hair with his usual mischief. “Took down Blood Gunner Yagg. Got the last piece I needed to upgrade the umbrella.”

They migrated to the couch without speaking about it. The shift was natural—fluid—and Li curled up beside him, close but not clinging this time. He let his father’s voice wrap around him, low and steady, as he told the story.

“Three great guilds showed up. All trying to snipe the boss. And in the end, guess who walked away with the kill?”

“You?” Li murmured.

“Obviously,” Ye Xiu said, smug. “But not alone. I met this guy. Steamed Bun Invasion . Total weirdo. Complete chaos. But weirdly useful. He tried to Sand Toss the boss in the back of his head!”

Ye Li let the story wash over him. He could picture it all—his dad dodging spell circles, baiting the boss, stringing the guilds along like puppets on a wire. For the first time since waking up, the knot in his chest fully unraveled.

They were okay.

Everything wasn’t fixed. But this—this moment—was safe.

………………………

They sat there longer than they meant to. Over an hour. Just talking.

It wasn’t even about anything big anymore—just little things. Ye Li found himself listening as Ye Xiu described the ridiculous antics of Steamed Bun Invasion in minute detail, or the way some Blue Brook guild member had spammed crying emotes after losing the loot. Ye Li didn’t say much, but that was okay. Just sitting there, warm and close, was enough.

It wasn’t until Ye Li’s stomach gave a loud, unmistakable growl that they stirred.

Ye Xiu blinked, then laughed, easy and unbothered. “I think we better feed that little monster before it wakes the whole building.”

Heat rushed to Ye Li’s face, but he couldn’t help smiling. He ducked his head and trailed after Ye Xiu into the kitchen, bare feet padding softly on the floor.

Ye Xiu wasn’t a chef. Far from it. He could barely navigate a stove. But he could make sandwiches, and for now, that would do. He bent to peer into the fridge, muttering to himself as he sorted through half-labeled containers and mystery leftovers. Then, with his head still buried in the fridge, he spoke—voice casual, like it was nothing. “Can you go wake your siblings? I’m sure their monsters are getting hungry too.”

Ye Li hesitated. He almost didn’t want to move—didn’t want to break the quiet stillness hanging over the morning like a blanket. But he nodded. “Okay.”

The apartment was still dim as he padded down the hall. His sister’s door was cracked; he nudged it open further and peeked inside.

Ye Jia was already sitting up, a book propped on her knees. Her eyes flicked up when she saw him. “He’s home?”

Ye Li nodded. “He’s making food.”

She closed the book without being asked.

Ye Min and Ye Shi’s room was a little harder. Ye Li opened the door to find a fortress of pillows and blankets draped over the twin beds, and a distinct rustling sound that meant someone was hiding.

“Breakfast,” he said into the dim, and got a muffled groan in reply.

Ye Shi popped his head out from under a pillow a second later, wild-haired and grinning. “What kind?”

“Sandwiches.”

“Boring,” he declared, but scrambled out of bed anyway. Ye Min emerged more reluctantly, blinking and yawning.

By the time they made it back to the kitchen, Ye Xiu had three plates lined up on the counter—improvised sandwiches stacked with whatever he’d managed to find. A little uneven, slightly lopsided, and somehow still perfect.

“Morning, my little gremlins,” Ye Xiu greeted as the kids filed in. He sounded more alive than he had yesterday—lighter. Ye Li felt something loosen in his chest again.

They gathered around the small kitchen table—squeezed in close, still sleep-rumpled and yawning—and ate together.

It wasn’t fancy. The bread was a little stale, and the fillings were mismatched, but no one complained. Ye Shi tried to barter his cucumber slices for extra ham, and Ye Min snuck mustard onto Ye Jia’s plate when she wasn’t looking. She retaliated with silent, methodical violence—switching his sandwich with hers and finishing hers in two neat bites before he noticed.

Ye Xiu sat back with his own sandwich in hand, watching the chaos unfold like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.

Ye Li didn’t say much. He just ate, and watched, and let it wash over him.

This—this was what safe felt like.

It didn’t erase the worry, didn’t undo the fear from earlier. But it made it bearable. Made it feel like maybe they really could keep going. That maybe, despite everything, they were going to be okay.

Ye Xiu caught his eye for a moment and gave him a small nod. Not a word passed between them. Just quiet understanding.

Ye Li nodded back and took another bite.

For now, that was enough.

………………..

After breakfast and after Ye Xiu finally drifted off to bed—curtains drawn, door shut, his faint snoring a steady rhythm through the wall—the apartment went still.

Well. Mostly.

Ye Jia sat cross-legged on the living room floor, wrapped in a blanket like a cocoon, back to the couch. A mug of something suspicious and steaming sat beside her, the result of Ye Min’s ever-evolving “early morning science.”

Her tablet—which she had gotten from Old Granny Yan, something about a youngster such as themselves making better use of it—glowed in the dark, casting her face in shifting hues as she scrolled.

“Anything?” Ye Min asked, yawning as he dropped beside her.

“Forum’s a mess,” Jia muttered. “Everyone’s arguing about the new Frost Forest record.”

Ye Min blinked. “Wait— record ? Didn’t Dad—?”

“That was at lv.20.  These guys are at the dungeon’s cap. There is a massive qualitative change there. But even so…They beat it.” Her voice was flat. Cold.

Ye Li came around the corner, rubbing the last of sleep from his eyes. “Who did?”

Ye Jia didn’t look away from the screen. “Excellent Dynasty. Beat every server's record by over a minute.”

Silence fell.

Even Ye Shi, who had been upside-down on the armrest pretending to be asleep, sat up.

“They cheated,” Ye Min said immediately. “They had to. No way they did that legit this early.”

“Unless they used pros,” Ye Jia said, finally turning the screen so the others could see. “Which they did. That spellblade has got to be Liu Hao. With that time, at least two others should also be pros.

Ye Li's expression tightened. “They’re trying to humiliate him. Publicly.”

Ye Jia nodded. “They couldn’t stop him from playing, so now they’re making sure everyone knows Excellent Era’s still better. That they are better without him.”

Ye Shi, for once, didn’t crack a joke. He just said, “We should destroy their guild.”

“That’s not a real option,” Ye Li muttered, but his fists were clenched on his knees.

“Do they even know it’s him?” Ye Min asked.

There was a beat of heavy silence. Then Ye Shi straightened, determined. “It doesn't matter if they know or not! They can't be allowed to win!. We need to beat it.”

Ye Jia looked at him. “What?”

“We beat their record,” he said, eyes gleaming now. “We can do it.”

“Us?” Ye Li said doubtfully. “That’s four. Dungeon needs five.”

“We can’t ask Dad,” Ye Jia said. “He needs sleep.”

They all looked at each other. Then Ye Shi grinned slowly.

“Auntie Mucheng?”

Ye Min perked up instantly. “She’s online.”

Jia was already pulling up the app on her tablet. “I’ll message her.”

They huddled around her screen, all four of them watching as Jia typed out a quick message:

[Ye Jia]: Auntie Mucheng, do you have time to talk? It’s important.

The status dot blinked green. Then a pause. Then the typing bubble flickered to life.

[Su Mucheng]: Morning, dears! Give me two minutes. Let me find my coffee.

Two minutes stretched into five. Ye Shi sprawled across the couch in exaggerated agony, groaning about betrayal. Ye Min kept pacing and muttering strategies under his breath. Ye Li sat stiffly at the edge of the coffee table, fingers clenched.

Then the QQ icon rang out with an incoming video call.

All four scrambled to crowd into frame.

“Auntie Mucheng!” Ye Shi shouted as soon as the call connected, giving her a dramatic wave.

Su Mucheng blinked at the sudden chaos on her screen, then laughed, cradling a steaming mug. “Well, good morning to you too. What’s going on, little troublemakers?”

“We need your help!” Ye Min jumped in before Ye Li could stop him. “We’re gonna beat Excellent Dynasty’s record in Frost Forest.”

Su Mucheng tilted her head. “Oh?”

“It’s personal,” Ye Jia said simply.

Su Mucheng sipped her coffee. “I figured.”

“So?” Ye Shi leaned in. “Will you help?”

For a moment, she looked like she might say yes. Then her smile turned a little apologetic.

“I’m flattered you thought of me,” she said gently. “But I’m afraid I have to say no. Your dad already asked me to take that record—for Tyrannical Ambition. He’s got first dibs.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“For Tyranny?” Ye Li repeated.

Ye Min narrowed his eyes. “Wait... is that because of Father Han?”

Su Mucheng choked mid-sip. “...Father what?”

“Oh no,” Ye Jia murmured.

Ye Shi was already nodding solemnly. “It’s what we call him now. Out of respect.”

“For what?” Su Mucheng asked, laughing despite herself.

“For putting up with Dad,” Ye Min replied seriously.

Su Mucheng nearly dropped her mug.

Ye Li groaned and put his face in his hands.

“He’s corrupted you,” she said into the camera, clearly grinning now. “I leave you alone with Ye Xiu for one week and suddenly it’s ‘Father Han’ and dungeon revenge plots.”

“Are you sure you can’t help?” Ye Shi asked, eyes wide.

Su Mucheng chuckled, but shook her head. “Sorry, sweethearts. Your dad called dibs. And believe me—he takes record-breaking very seriously.”

“He’s so unfair,” Ye Min muttered.

“You think he’s unfair?” Su Mucheng raised an eyebrow. “You little gremlins just tried to hijack a professional for a dungeon speedrun. I’m telling him.”

“No!” they all chorused at once.

“I’m absolutely telling him,” she said cheerfully.

Ye Li sighed, but couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at his lips.

Even if it hadn’t worked, it had been... nice. Familiar. Like a piece of the old world sneaking into the new one, just for a moment.

Before they hung up, Su Mucheng leaned forward toward the camera and softened her voice.

“Good luck, though. I mean it. If anyone can do it without me... it’s probably you four.”

The screen went dark a second later.

They sat there quietly for a moment.

Ye Min grinned first, but this time, it was quieter. Less about revenge and more about possibility.
“So what do we do now?”

Ye Li looked at the screen for a moment longer, then leaned back and folded his arms.
“We wait,” he said simply. “Dad’s handling it.”

Jia nodded, thoughtful. “So we let him go first.”

Ye Shi perked up. “And then we beat his record?”

That pulled a faint smile from Ye Li.
“If we can.”

Their father didn’t do things for pride. He didn’t chase records or pick fights to defend his name. If he was going after Excellent Dynasty’s time, there was a reason behind it. Something strategic. Thought through. Calculated.

And that was enough for now.

They settled back into the couch, the edge of urgency gone. They didn’t have to fight for him this time. He was already moving.

Ye Li let his eyes drift toward the hallway, toward the closed door where their father slept.

For now, they waited.

Not because they couldn’t move—but because he already had.

……………………….

Later that night, Excellent Era had their first match without Ye Qiu in the lineup.

Chen Guo could barely sit still. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening!” she gushed, practically bouncing in place as she logged into the stream. “Their new ace—Sun Xiang—this is his debut! And against 301 Degrees, no less! This is going to be amazing!”

She turned to Ye Xiu, eyes sparkling. “I’m really glad you let the kids come, you know. This is the kind of thing every Glory fan should experience at least once—watching a pro match live in a full café. The hype, the atmosphere—there’s nothing like it!”

Ye Xiu made a noncommittal noise from where he sat behind the front desk. A thin trail of smoke curled from the cigarette between his fingers.

Unfazed, Chen Guo leaned closer. “So what do you think? How’s it going to go? What do you think of the new lineup? Think Excellent Era will pull it off?”

Ye Xiu didn’t even glance away from the game window he had open. “We’ll see.”

“We’ll see? That’s all you have to say?”

He took another drag from the cigarette, then offered a shrug. “Anything can happen in a match. Nothing’s certain in Glory.”

Chen Guo stared at him for a moment, then sighed in exasperation. “You’re so boring sometimes, do you know that?”

Ye Xiu made no effort to deny it.

With a huff, Chen Guo got up and went to find someone who might actually be excited to talk about the match.

The kids had taken over a cluster of nearby computers. All four of them were busy—Li was in the arena grinding for points, Min was deep in the equipment editor, and Shi had started a stream of his Glory game play, the overlay proudly titled: Mom’s Little Nightmares .

She spotted Jia last, seated with one leg tucked under her, fingers dancing quickly over the keyboard as she typed into a blog window.

“Hey, Jia,” Chen Guo said, pulling up a chair beside her. “What do you think? How do you think the match is going to go?”

Jia didn’t look away from the screen. “If Excellent Era’s smart, they’ll put Su Mucheng first in the group arena and start with Sun Xiang for the individual rounds. But they probably won’t.”

Chen Guo blinked. “Why not? Wouldn’t that be the smart thing to do?”

“They’ll want to show off their new ace. Show confidence. Even if it’s a bad idea.” Jia leaned back and glanced at her. “Liu Hao will probably be the anchor in the group match. That wouldn’t be terrible.”

“Wait, wait,” Chen Guo said. “Why put Sun Xiang in the individual rounds? Isn’t he strong? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have him open or close the group match? Anchor the team?”

“Maybe—if he were more experienced and more used to the team. Or facing a different opponent. But this time they’re going up against 301 Degrees. Yang Cong’s team.”

Chen Guo frowned. “What does Yang Cong have to do with it?”

“He plays an Assassin. And he strategizes like one.” Jia’s voice had a flat, analytical cadence, like she was reciting a weather report. “He sets up his matches to go for the kill. If Excellent Era is stupid enough to put Sun Xiang first in the group match, 301 Degrees will most likely do everything they can to knock him off rhythm. And if he’s out of sync, the rest of the team will struggle in the arena match.”

“But surely the others could adjust?”

“No,” Jia said simply. “Sun Xiang is young, impulsive, insolent, brash, audacious, self-assertive, presumptuous, impertinent, brazen, and rash.”

One of her brothers—Min, probably—turned his head with a look of mild disbelief. “Are you done, or should I grab you a dictionary so you can keep going?”

Jia smiled sweetly. “No, I’m good for now. Thank you, though. Very thoughtful of you.”

Chen Guo stared between them, halfway between amused and horrified. “Wait—are you saying Excellent Era is going to lose? Because of Sun Xiang?”

“No,” Jia replied, turning back to her blog. “I’m saying 301 Degrees has better teamwork and a better strategist than Excellent Era currently possesses.”

……………

Just like Jia said, Su Mucheng went first.

She played beautifully—graceful, precise, like her Launcher moved on music instead of commands. Every shot hit its mark with the rhythm of a symphony. Her win in the opening individual match sent a cheer through the café, and Chen Guo joined in wholeheartedly.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” she exclaimed, spinning in her chair to face Ye Xiu. “Did you see that follow-up combo? That timing! That’s what a real pro looks like, right?”

Ye Xiu, back at the desk, didn’t even look over. He just raised an eyebrow. “Mm.”

“Come on,” she groaned. “Could you be any less excited?”

Before he could answer, the second match began. The crowd settled in again, hopeful. And then… 301 Degrees began dismantling Excellent Era.

The next two individual rounds ended in quick, clean defeats—no flashy trades, no comeback moments. Just quiet, clinical losses.

The tension in the café shifted like a dropped plate. A hush fell. Even the lighting felt colder.

Chen Guo winced. “Okay… well. It’s fine. The group match is where they’ll shine. They’ve had time to warm up. This is where we’ll really see what Sun Xiang’s made of.”

And Sun Xiang delivered.

He opened the group arena with a blistering offense—aggressive, relentless. The raw hand speed was dizzying. His combos blurred together, beautiful and brutal. He cut through the first opponent like paper. The second followed not long after. The mood in the café lifted again, hesitant cheers bubbling up like carbonation. Chen Guo clapped once, twice, unsure if she was relieved or just stunned.

But she couldn’t help but cheer when she saw Xu Bin’s Knight running from One Autumn Leaf.

She glanced between the screen and the kids. Ye Jia sat perfectly still, her face unreadable. Chen Guo’s smile faltered.

When the match ended, Sun Xiang stood alone. A 1v3. Victorious.

The café exploded . Cheers rang out, someone near the front whooped loud enough to make the floor shake.

“Yes!” Chen Guo shouted, swept up in it. “That’s what I’m talking about! He pulled it off!”

She turned toward Jia with a grin—and froze.

Jia’s expression hadn’t changed at all.

“…That wasn’t the plan, was it?” Chen Guo asked, her voice already soft with dread.

Jia didn’t take her eyes off the screen. “No. That was the trap.”

“A trap?”

“He raised his hand speed too high in that fight,” Jia said, calm as ever. “They egged him on. He took the bait.”

“I… don’t understand,” Chen Guo admitted after a beat.

Jia finally looked up. “First they drove up his APM. Then they followed with a fast match, to hype him up. To keep his momentum going. Then they put in Xu Bin. The Grind King. His job was just to make it last. To wear him out while forcing him to stay in that unsustainable rhythm. He’s going to carry that same speed into the team match—whether he can control it or not remains to be seen. And even if he can, his team definitely can’t.”

Chen Guo turned back to the screen, a pit forming in her stomach.

She glanced at Ye Xiu again, hoping he’d correct her. Offer some quiet counterpoint. A silent shake of the head. Anything.

Ye Xiu met her eyes for only a moment, then turned back to his monitor.

She turned away, jaw tight.

The team arena loaded.

Sun Xiang rushed forward ahead of his team—and then the lights flickered.

Everything shut off.

The room plunged into darkness, emergency lights humming faintly to life above. The café fell utterly silent for a moment.

“What the hell—?” someone muttered near the front.

“What happened to the match?!”

The café filled with a low, unhappy buzz. Screens dead. Routers silent.

“No, no, no—come on…” Chen Guo fumbled at the terminal. “Power grid’s dead. Router too.”

“Power cut,” Ye Xiu said flatly, already heading for the back. “I’ll check the breakers.”

“I’ll call the technician,” Tang Rou offered, already dialing with the calm ease of someone used to small disasters.

The kids were already packing up. Some of the regulars groaned and filed out, muttering about lost dungeon progress and missing the match.

Min muttered as he slung his bag over one shoulder. “Guess that’s it for tonight.”

“We can log notes later,” Li said, practical as ever.

Shi stretched with theatrical flair. “My viewers will live. If they don’t, they aren't worthy.”

Chen Guo’s gaze drifted back to Jia, who hadn’t moved. Her screen was black. She still sat there, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Don’t say it,” Chen Guo muttered.

Jia tilted her head, innocent. “Say what?”

“You know what.”

Jia smiled faintly. “Would you feel better if I lied and told you I was surprised?”

Chen Guo groaned. “You’re evil.”

“Just honest,” Jia replied, finally standing. “Anyway, I’ll write a summary when we get back. Li wants the breakdown for team planning.”

Chen Guo rubbed at her eyes. “How is it that a kid is more analytical than half the pro commentators?”

“That’s not my fault,” Jia said sweetly, and followed her siblings out the door.

The café felt cavernous once they were gone. Dark. Hollow.

Chen Guo sank into one of the front chairs, the screen in front of her still dead.

“You think so too, don't you,” she said quietly, not turning around. “That Excellent Era will lose. That Sun Xiang wasn’t ready.”

Ye Xiu returned from the back, leaned against the counter. His cigarette had long since burned out, but he didn’t light another.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just remembered what it felt like… when people stopped playing like a team.”

Chen Guo glanced up at him, but his face was unreadable. She looked away.

“I didn’t think it would feel this weird,” she whispered. “Watching Excellent Era without Ye Qiu.”

He said nothing.

The silence stretched again, soft and heavy. Tang Rou passed by, still on the phone, quietly relaying repair estimates.

Chen Guo slumped deeper into the seat, exhaling hard.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she said. “This was supposed to be their comeback.”

Ye Xiu didn’t argue. He just said, quiet as anything, “Anything can happen in a match.”

It wasn’t comforting.

And it wasn’t meant to be.

………………….

The gym was quiet.

It was early, and most of the team was still asleep.

Han Wenqing liked this time of day the most—when it was just him and the gym. When he could work his body and let his mind drift. Center himself before the day began.

He finished his cooldown and sat on the bench next to his bag, pulling out his earbuds to let the silence settle in. He grabbed the towel draped nearby and ran it once over his face before letting it hang around his neck.

Then he checked his phone.

07:25.

Time to get moving. Practice started at 08:00.

He was just about to put the phone away when he noticed the notification.

One unread email.
Subject: Enrollment Confirmed – Full Access Begins Monday
Sender: New Leaf Online Academy

He opened it and read it through twice.

Everything had gone through. The four kids were officially enrolled. Class access would open Sunday night. The full schedule began Monday.

He didn’t smile, not exactly—but his shoulders eased.

He wasn’t sure how much he could actually do for Ye Qiu. His obligations to the team didn’t leave him much room to spare. But at least he could help with this.

He stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary, then typed out a quick message.

[Han Wenqing]: School confirmed. Full access Monday. Logins arrive Sunday night.

Ye Qiu’s QQ status dot was red—unavailable. He never changed it, even when he was obviously online. Han Wenqing wasn’t surprised. Ye Qiu had been like that for as long as he’d known him.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the showers.

Afterward, he checked his phone again. No reply.

Not even the read receipt.

A flicker of irritation stabbed through him. Couldn’t Ye Qiu at least try to be reachable, especially when he knew Han Wenqing was going to contact him?

Scrolling through his contacts, he tapped on the number saved as Ye Kids —the one they’d used last time. They might still be asleep, but they were more likely to answer than Ye Qiu. A safer bet, at least.

He called.

It rang twice.

“Hello? This is Yan Zhen speaking.” The voice was warm and kindly, clearly that of an older woman.

Startled, he let the silent stretch for a few seconds. Who was this? Wasn’t this the kids phone? Han Wenqing cleared his throat. 

“...Good morning.” He began politely “My name is Han Wenqing. Ye Li called me on this number yesterday. Is he or -

A sharp inhale cut him off.

“Oh. So you’re that Father Han.” The kindness vanished, replaced by a tone as sharp as a knife. “So you do know how to pick up the phone and make a call.”

He blinked, surprised “...Pardon?”

“I knew it!” she snapped, “I knew something was going on. You’re the alpha, aren’t you? The one those sweet children kept defending? Hah. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“…What?” He asked, perplexed. He stared at the phone for a moment, caught off guard. 

Who was this woman? What did she know about him? A sliver of unease creeped up his spine. 

“I see,” she said, almost more to herself than Han Wenqing. Her voice tightening like a drawstring pulled taut. “So you’re the alpha who’s been running poor Ye Xiu ragged. Do you know how exhausted she is? Barely sleeping, dragging herself home from work every morning like a ghost, and you — you think a few bank transfers make it okay to leave her to handle everything alone?!”

Han opened his mouth. Closed it. 

Ye Xiu? She? What is going on? Really? She called Ye Qiu - she? Does she know? Are we talking about the same person??

“I don’t care how busy you are, dear,” she barreled on, “if you’ve taken in a family, you take care of them. Not just financially! Ye Xiu may be too polite to say anything, but I’ve seen the circles under her eyes. I’ve seen how her children hover—like little sentinels, worried out of their minds. You think it’s easy, being left to carry everything while their alpha struts off with a paycheck and zero emotional support?”

What in the world—

But the woman was still going. And her voice wasn’t just scolding—it was furious , righteous, protective in a way that made his chest twist. Twist right into something fierce rising up to meet these outrageous accusations in indignant fury. How dare she-

“I bet you haven’t even seen the new apartment! You think being an alpha means sending money and calling it love?” she demanded. “You think that’s enough while she freezes her fingers off, scraping meals together and dragging herself through every day alone? You’re lucky she hasn’t collapsed! And those little darlings, oh they pretend they’re fine, but they hover. They worry. ”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t say anything! That’s the problem!” she huffed, cutting him off again. Not letting him get a word in to defend himself. “You should be there. Helping with breakfast. Doing laundry. Helping with homework. But no. You’re probably off doing push-ups while she handles everything like some war widow in a soap opera!”

“I’m not—” Han tried, then faltered.

Not what? Their family? Not their alpha? Not part of this?

 What even was he?

There was no clean answer. Not anymore. 

“Not what? Not in love?” she barked. “Then stop confusing the poor dear. Not the alpha? Then explain why they call you ‘Father Han’ and why Ye Shi lit up like a firecracker when your name came up. Honestly. Men. ”

Han pinched the bridge of his nose and stayed silent, trying to rein in the flare of temper rising in his chest.

This was spiraling fast. And not in a direction he was equipped to handle.

There was no point trying to argue, not now. This whole thing was just becoming more complicated by the minute. He was just calling to let them know about the school, not to get lectured by an old woman he didn’t even know who she was.

“There’s more to caring for someone than money,” she snapped. “If you’re serious about Ye Xiu, you show up. Drop by. Bring soup. Don’t think you can buy your way out of being present.”

Children. Family.

The words hit harder than they should have.

Han stared down at his protein shake, sitting untouched beside him on the bench. He let her rant.

“…You still there?”

“Yes,” he bit out, sounding harsher than he meant to. He exhaled slowly, letting go of some of his built up frustration. “I’m here.”

“Hmph. Good. I was going to give you a piece of my mind whether you liked it or not.”

“I gathered,” Han said dryly, and part of him—the part that had watched Ye Qiu sit hunched on his chair in front of the computer two days ago, looking so tired and frail — couldn’t even deny her words. 

Ye Qiu had been more scared and desperate than Han Wenqing had ever seen him. Just what happened for him to lose his way so? Was this what Excellent Era had turned him into? Or had Han simply failed to see this side of his old rival until now?

He didn’t know.

It wasn’t something he could change now. 

Maybe not ever.

He didn’t have the right. He wasn’t their alpha. He wasn’t—

Did he want to be?

He had never thought of Ye Qiu in a romantic way. Never imagined them in that kind of relationship. But… family. That word struck a chord with him, tugging at something deeper. Something he didn’t quite have a name for.

He didn’t know what it ment yet. He needed to settle his own thoughts first, before he did or said something he couldn’t take back.

“That poor darling is asleep now,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “Worked another night shift. I won’t wake her.” She paused, then added, almost reluctantly. “But the children are up.”

There was another pause. Then a softer breath.

“…Would you like to speak to your family ?” 

It shouldn’t have caught him off guard.

But it did.

He barely noticed the barb in her phrasing.

There was that word again.

Family

His grip tightened around the phone.

“Yes,” he breathed out. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure why his chest felt tight. This conversation had been so strange from the start. He had almost forgotten why he called.

If only he could hurry this up so he can leave this conversation behind him.

No, he wasn’t running away. Just… retreating. A strategic withdrawal. Like walking away from an over talkative Huang Shaotian when he didn’t have the option to PK him. 

“I’m watching you,” she warned. “And if I find out you’re stringing her along, I will personally chase you down with a broom, I mean it. ” 

He didn’t doubt her.

He took some deep breaths as he waited.

The line was quiet for a while, just the muffled sound of footsteps.

A faint knock made him tune in again.

Distant voices, a bit of shuffling.

“Tell him to come visit properly next time,” someone muttered.

“Father Han!”

The voice was bright and loud—so loud Han winced and held the phone away from his ear.

He waited a few seconds before cautiously bringing it back.

“Good morning,” he said carefully.

“Morning, Father Han!” Ye Li’s calm voice came through, a welcome contrast. 

Han was thankful. This was safer ground.  

“I’m calling to let you know your school application has passed,” Han said. “You’ll start on Monday.”

“Thank you, Father Han, for your help with this.” Ye Li said sincerely, then muffled the mic, yelling, “Guys! We start school on Monday!”

The distant cheering made Han frown slightly. Had they changed their minds so quickly? 

“...This sounds very different from our last conversation,” he said. “Did something change?”

“Ah—yeah.”  Ye Li sounded a little embarrassed “Dad talked to us and… um… we came to an agreement. Of sorts.”

“An agreement?” Amusement colored his voice.

“Yeah. An agreement.” Li said, firmer this time. “We’ll do school in the mornings, and help Dad in Glory in the afternoons.”

“Hm.” He hummed, relieved. “Sounds like things are working out.”

A pause. Then Han asked, more gently, “By the way… why did the lady earlier call Ye Qiu ‘Ye Xiu’?”

There was a beat of silence.

Han immediately regretted asking.

“This... it’s inconvenient to explain.” He began haltingly, then in a rush he pushed out. “Did you know Dad set a new record for Frost Forest? Beat the previous by over a minute! Best across all the servers!”

This was so clearly a subject change, and a clumsy attempt at that. But Han Wenqing didn’t mind. He shouldn’t have pried in the first place. 

“Oh?” He said instead, offering the boy an out.

“Yeah!” Ye Li’s voice brightened with relief.

It was clearly the right choice. He sounded so relieved in just that one word, Han Wenqing felt guilt well up in him. It hadn’t been his intention to cause the child such stress with his question. So instead he let him patter on, Li’s excitement grew the more he spoke.

“Yeah!” Ye Li repeated, “It’s amazing. Everyone’s talking about it!”

“Excellent Dynasty thought they could get away with it. But they didn’t! Dad is so awesome! He took a group and set the record under Tyrannical Ambitions name. And you know what? Some in that group were even complete noobs! They haven't been playing Glory for even a whole week yet!”

Han Whenqing’s mind ground to a halt.

What was this?

Was it a coincidence that Ye Qiu set the record under Tyrannical Ambitions name? Or did it mean something more? Before, Han wouldn't have reflected over it, it’s part of the game. But now? When he knows ? This is different. 

There are so many different implications he doesn't even know where to begin. 

Is Ye Qiu opening up and this is his way of saying he wants to try a courtship? Or is Han Wenqing reading too much into it?

Just what was this mess? He sighed and rubbed his temple with one hand and tried to tune in again into what Ye Li was saying. 

“- then we are going to beat it!” Li said excitedly.

Han Wenqing had no idea what he was talking about. So he settled on “Good luck.” He figured that would be safe enough. 

“Thanks, Father Han!” It seemed like he made the right choice.

Sigh. Realy, what is his life now?

The old lady’s words came back to him then. If you’ve taken in a family, you take care of them.

He didn’t know what his and Ye Qiu’s relationship was now, nor did he know what it would be in the future. But something hard and resolute settled in him.

“So, do you think you can come and visit?” The quiet and hesitant question hammered it in. 

Han closed his eyes for a second. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” came Yan Zhen’s voice from seemingly nowhere. “and tell Ye Xiu you love her!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

The apartment door creaked open.

“Dearie~” Yan Zhen called in her sing-song voice, peeking her head into the kitchen with a beaming smile. “Phone call for you!”

Ye Xiu looked up from where he was helping Ye Min sort through a stack of worksheets for school. “I don’t have a phone.”

“Well, I do,” Yan Zhen said, patting the pink glittery case clutched in her hand. “It’s my granddaughter. She says it’s urgent. And something about ‘bones’?”

Ye Min blinked. “What kind of bones?”

“I assume fashionable ones,” Ye Xiu muttered, already standing. “Thank you, Aunt Yan.”

She handed him the phone like it was a bouquet of roses, then trotted off, humming.

Ye Xiu held the phone up. “Hello?”

“ There you are! ” came the whirlwind voice on the other end—Yan Zhen’s granddaughter, already in mid-sentence. “Listen, I showed the draft shots to a friend of mine—he’s a creative director, works with a concept label in Shanghai—and he’s obsessed. Obsessed. I didn’t even finish editing them, just dumped the RAWs into a folder and he swooned. He wants you for a lookbook. Or a campaign. Or a runway piece. I said yes, obviously.”

Ye Xiu blinked. “…You what?”

“I said yes. It’s fine. You’re free this Wednesday, right?”

“That depends on how fast your mother walks back up those stairs to collect her phone.”

“Oh, she’s not getting it back until you agree. I need you, Pretty Bones.”

Ye Xiu sighed. “I told you I’m not a model.”

“And I told you I don’t care. I’ve never seen bone structure like yours outside a Prada ad. And the camera loves you. You were made for this.”

“I was made to sit behind a screen and click things until I win.”

“Then consider this winning with better lighting.”

“Look—” Ye Xiu’s voice caught. He pressed his fingers to his temple, like it could hold the pressure in. The hallway was quiet except for the creak of socks on floorboards. Four heads peered around the edge of the wall. Watching.

Pretending not to. But watching.

Ye Xiu looked away.

He used to give his winnings away. Quietly. To the players who burned out, the ones who didn’t make it, the ones who had to retire and start over with nothing. It hadn’t mattered then. He didn’t need much. A hot drink, a chair, a login screen.

Now he needed school fees. Rent. Four pairs of shoes that would be too small by spring. Enough food to stretch through a week without ramen.

And the debt of Han Wenqing’s transfer still sat upon his shoulders. Heavy. Too much. A favor too large to return casually. His account too empty to even think about starting to pay it back, with most of the money having gone to the downpayment of the apartment. 

That just made everything worse.

He didn’t like owing people. But he hated owing him.

Especially now.

Especially when everything had changed—when the word omega felt like a brand carved into his skin, whether anyone saw it or not.

He needed that money. He needed it now.

“…What do I have to wear?” he asked, voice rougher than before.

“Oh, nothing awful. I promise. Just a little neon vinyl. Maybe a collar.”

Ye Xiu closed his eyes. “…Why would you say that.”

“…I’m kidding. Mostly. Anyway, it’ll be brilliant! I’ve already started sketching concepts and pulling pieces. You agree, right? Great! That’s all I needed, see you there!”

Click.

Ye Xiu stared at the phone for a long moment.

Then he walked downstairs and handed it back to Yan Zhen with a pained smile. “Your granddaughter is terrifying.”

Yan Zhen beamed. “She takes after me.”

………………………

Monday morning started bright and early and it was not a good day for Ye Min. 

Today was the dreaded day. The day they started school. 

Mom had already gone over all their account information - passwords, what was where and so on - last night.

And today they gained full access. 

When Ye Xiu had come home, he had gotten them all out of bed, made sure they ate, then marched them straight to the computers. He now stood behind the four of them like a general directing his troops instead of going to sleep like he usually would. 

Ye Min stared at the loading screen like it had personally betrayed him.

The cursor blinked. So did he.

“This is a cruel and unusual punishment,” he muttered, slumping in his chair. “Isn’t this illegal? Starting school on a Monday?”

“It’s always Mondays,” Ye Li said, not looking away from his own screen. “That’s how weeks work.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“Be nice,” Ye Xiu chided mildly from behind them. He was sipping coffee like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes were open, technically, but barely.

“We didn’t even do anything wrong,” Ye Min whined, dropping his face to the keyboard. “Why are we being punished like this?”

“You’re not being punished,” Ye Jia said, already halfway through her orientation module. “You’re being educated.”

“Same thing,” Ye Min mumbled into the keys.

On the far end, Shi had muted his screen entirely and was instead sketching out character builds on a notepad beside his keyboard. His learning strategy, apparently, involved ignoring the instructions until someone yelled at him. Probably Ye Jia.

“Shouldn’t you be watching the intro video?” Ye Xiu asked, squinting over Shi’s shoulder.

“I am watching it,” Shi said, flipping the page. “I’m just… watching it in my mind.”

Ye Xiu raised an eyebrow. “You’re watching a mandatory tutorial in your mind .”

“I’ve seen tutorials before.”

“It’s not a video game, Shi.”

“Well, it’s not not a game.”

“Do I need to call Han Wenqing?” Ye Xiu took a long sip of coffee. He wasn’t mean enough to threaten them with Glory. Well… not yet anyway.

Four heads snapped up.

“No,” said Min quickly.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Li.

“He’s very busy,” added Jia.

Shi made a face. “Traitors.”

Satisfied, Ye Xiu nodded once and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Then get started. No distractions until your morning sessions are finished. If I see a single browser tab that doesn’t look like school, I’m calling him anyway.”

A chorus of groans met him, but they turned back to their screens.

For a few minutes, there was silence—punctuated only by the soft clicks of mice, the occasional deep sigh from Ye Min, and one brief argument between Shi and the AI tutorial bot that did not go in Shi’s favor.

Ye Xiu rubbed the back of his neck and glanced toward the kitchen, where the rice cooker was still keeping warm the congee he’d somehow managed to scramble together before dragging them out of bed. 

That he had even managed to get the rice cooker to work was a mystery in and of itself.

It was probably due to luck. That thing was an illogical monstrosity, and he had no idea how it worked.

He should get something to eat. Or sleep. Or both.

Instead, he found himself watching them.

He didn’t mean to linger. Just five minutes. Just long enough to make sure they weren’t blowing anything up, or eachother.

Four kids, four desks, four different approaches to the same start.

Li read everything twice. Jia skipped what she already knew. Shi pretended not to care. Min made dramatic dying noises every five minutes. And yet… They were doing it. No tantrums. No tears. No one had stormed out yet.

He could work with this.

Maybe things were looking up.

………………………

Ye Xiu fell asleep not long after settling all four kids at their computers, each one properly seated and working on their assignments. He made it as far as the couch, curled up into a ball, and was out like a light.

That left them on their own.

Ye Jia had gone up and got him a blanket from his room before returning to her studies. 

And, unfortunately, Shi still wasn’t done.

“Just write something,” Ye Min said, chin in hand and voice already thinning with exasperation. “It’s one question.”

“It’s not even a hard question,” Ye Jia added, not looking up from the forum thread she was scrolling through.

“I’m thinking,” Shi said, chewing on his pen and staring dramatically at his screen.

“You’ve been thinking for forty-five minutes,” Ye Li said. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m strategizing.”

“You’re procrastinating,” Ye Min muttered. “You do know we’re not allowed to log into Glory until you’re done, right ?”

At that, Shi groaned like a wounded animal. “Why are all of you so mean to me?”

“We’re not,” Ye Jia said. “We’re enforcing the law.”

Shi slid further down in his seat, his nose barely above the edge of the desk now. “What if I fail? I’m too young to fail.”

Ye Min rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to fail. Just type anything and edit it later.”

“Easy for you to say,” Shi muttered. “You finished in, like, ten seconds.”

Ye Min looked away at that.

He hadn’t finished in ten seconds. Not like Jia, who always seemed to know exactly what to click, where to go, and how to get there faster than anyone else. Not like Li, who double-checked everything and still finished first somehow. Even Shi, for all his slacking, always managed to pull something clever out at the last second—like it was easy for him.

But Ye Min… He had to work for it. He had to reread everything twice, guess what the question really meant, delete his answer, and rewrite it from scratch. Sometimes he caught up. Sometimes he didn’t.

He wasn’t dumb. He knew that. But sitting between a genius gremlin, a know-it-all, and a stoic prodigy was doing a number on his self-esteem.

Ye Jia didn’t look up, but her scrolling slowed.

Then stopped.

“…Huh.”

Ye Min glanced over. “What?”

“They beat it,” Jia said.

That got all three boys’ attention.

“Who did?” Ye Li asked.

“Excellent Dynasty,” she said, tapping the screen. “They made a new record for Frost Forest this morning. Twelve minutes, fifty-five seconds, forty-two milliseconds.”

“That’s ten seconds faster than Dad’s,” Ye Min said, already leaning toward her monitor.

Shi bolted upright. “Wait, what?! I thought he had the fastest time!”

“He did,” Ye Jia said, eyes narrowed as she skimmed the post. “Until now. This run was clean. They probably had a full team of pro players.”

“Of course they did,” Ye Min muttered. “It’s not like they even had a chance at getting close if they didn’t.”

Ye Li leaned back, thoughtful. “That’s almost the max limit, isn’t it?”

“Close,” Jia said. “There’s not much left to shave. Maybe three, four seconds, tops.”

Shi whistled. “So… we’re gonna beat it, right?”

No one answered.

Because the unspoken truth was this: Lord Grim had already outleveled the dungeon. They couldn’t rely on Ye Xiu’s overpowered unspecialised to count on. If they wanted that record back… they’d have to do it themselves.

Ye Min looked at his keyboard.

“…We are going to need better weapons,” he said quietly.

Jia looked at him.

“So help me finish,” Shi said, seizing the moment. “Come on, come on, teamwork, let’s go—”

Min didn’t argue. He leaned over and was about to help Shi type out his final answer when—

“Ye Shi. Do your own school work.”

They all jumped and whipped around to the voice.

“You’re awake,” said Ye Min. “How long were you—?”

Ye Xiu was still curled up into the couch, his back to them.

Ye Shi slowly leaned over to whisper to Ye Mini.

“Does he have eyes in the back of his head?” 

Ye Min gave a confused shrug back. “I thought he was asleep.”

………………

Ye Xiu blinked awake to the low hum of voices and the faint scent of congee still warming in the rice cooker. His neck ached, one arm had gone numb, and someone—probably Jia—had draped a blanket over him at some point. 

He took the opportunity to just lay there basking in their calm presence. This serene feeling still felt so foreign to him. So much has happened lately, it is hard to imagine that it has only been a few days since he left Excellent Era. That he became a father. 

Now, he can’t even imagine his life without them. Everything now just feels so right.

He almost dozed off again when he heard the kids' voices change. From quiet happy banter, to tense, strained words. 

It was a small shift, but enough to set his instincts instantly ablaze.

His children were distressed!

He started to rise—only for the actual words to register.

It was just about a dungeon record. Breathing out a sigh of relief he relaxed into the sofa again. 

False alarm.

That’s when he heard Ye Shi’s voice—

“So help me finish. Come on, come on, teamwork, let’s go—”

He couldn’t stop the smile spreading over his face, even if he tried.

They were so cute. 

“Ye Shi. Do your own schoolwork.”

His voice was hoarse from sleep, not very loud, but the talking behind him halted instantly. Their whispered disbelief only made his smile widen. His little gremlins really were too cute.

Ye Xiu sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to massage out the kinks.

“So you want to try for the record?”

“How much did you hear?” Ye Li asked, already pulling up the schematics off the dungeon.

“Enough,” He answered lightly. “Do you have a plan?”

“We have the start of one” Jia chimed in from her seat, turning to her brother. “Min, you have been playing around in the equipment editor right? How is it going?”

“... it’s going” He shrank down in his seat, mirroring Ye Shi from earlier.

“What’s wrong?” Jia asked, confused “Didn’t you have many ideas?

“All the best equipment is silver equipment, but not all silver equipment is good ,” Ye Min said a bit dejectedly. “Just because I make equipment doesn't mean that they are the best.”

Ye Xiu came up behind Ye Min and placed a steady hand on his shoulder, can you show me what you have so far? Maybe I can help.”

Silently beside them, Ye Li was already logging in to check their guilds inventory of materials. With Ye Xiu here, he figured the ‘No Glory before school’ rule was redundant now.

“This is a really good start, Ye Min,” Ye Xiu said, ruffling Min’s hair affectionately. “Those weapon ideas of yours—keep them coming. You’re on the right track.”

“Aunt Mucheng has agreed to help us with the dungeon!” Ye Shi cheered from the other side. “The catch is we have to wait another six days before we do it. Aunt’s character just left Tyrannical Ambition and can’t join our guild until then.”

“That gives you plenty of time to finish your assignment,” Ye Xiu said without looking up from Ye Min’s screen. “And it gives us plenty of time to complete these weapons.”

Shi groaned, but obediently reached for his keyboard again. 

Ye Xiu settled beside Min and let the hum of their chatter fill the room.

Yeah. This felt right.

………………………

Later that night, Ye Xiu dropped into the chair behind the reception desk. The café was quiet—just the soft hum of machines and the occasional clack of keys from the night crowd.  The kind of ambient noise that didn’t demand anything from him. Just enough to remind him the world kept turning.

It was nice. Peaceful. 

After the chaos of getting all four kids through their first day of school, and then into bed, he could finally breathe. Not that he didn’t adore them—he did—but even he needed a moment of stillness.

He opened his messages out of habit, eyes flicking down the list. One unread notification stood out.

Han Wenqing:
How did it go?

Ye Qiu:
Everyone survived.
Even me.
Aren’t you happy?

Han Wenqing:
Maybe.
Did you eat?

Ye Qiu:
…How does that make you happy?

Han Wenqing:
It doesn’t.
Not now that I know you haven’t.

Ye Qiu:
How would you know if I have or haven’t?

Han Wenqing:
Because if you had, you wouldn’t be dancing around the question like an idiot.

Ye Qiu:
Maybe I’m just doing it to piss you off. 🙂

Han Wenqing:
Mission accomplished.
Go eat.

Ye Qiu:
Yes, Dad.

Han Wenqing:
I’m blocking you.

Ye Qiu:
You won’t. You’d miss me too much.

Han Wenqing:
Debatable.

Ye Qiu:
Good night, Father Han~

Han Wenqing:
Go. Eat.

Ye Xiu huffed a laugh, the sound half-buried behind one hand. Honestly. Who would’ve thought Old Han had it in him to be such a worrier, once given the chance?

Still, it was… oddly nice. Comforting, even.

Still smiling faintly, he stood, stretching. He had eaten—but maybe he’d grab something small anyway. Just to be safe.

And maybe to keep a certain someone from sending reinforcements.

He covered a yawn as he made his way out from behind the counter, brushing hair from his face as he went—and stopped in his tracks when he spotted Chen Guo exiting the break room, drink in hand.

An idea flickered to life.

“Boss,” he called, voice casual.

She turned, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “What.”

“You’ve got an account card on Server 10, right? What level is it?”

She frowned. “Level 23. Why?”

“Oh! You’ve worked hard, Boss!”

“I’ve been keeping the kids company,” she said proudly, lifting her chin. “Of course I’ve been leveling.”

“That’s good, that’s good.” He nodded solemnly. “Can you power-level it to 25?”

“Why?”

“My kids need it.”

She gave him a look. “Don’t they have their own accounts?”

“They do. But they need one more to set a dungeon record.”

“And you want to use my account for that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so from the start?” Her whole face lit up like it was Christmas morning. “I’ll get it leveled right away!” She spun on her heel and made a beeline for the nearest free computer station.

Ye Xiu watched her go, scratching the side of his head.

Was a low-level dungeon record really worth all that excitement?

He shook his head, a tired smile tugging at his mouth.

Apparently, it was.

……………..

As quickly as she could, Chen Guo logged into her Server 10 account: Chasing Haze .
The same name as her main account—the one she created five years ago.

Five years…
Sometimes it felt like a lifetime, other days like just yesterday. But in all that time, she had never once been announced by the system.

So how could she possibly pass up this opportunity?

Sure, she wouldn’t be the one at the controls when it happened—but that didn’t matter. It would be her character. She had raised it. And Chen Guo would absolutely be part of the achievement.

A record. 

On a new server.
Using her account.

Her name.
On-screen.
On TV.
On the official site.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, launching Chasing Haze into the next leveling area without hesitation.

“Let’s go, girl,” she muttered, grinning so wide it hurt. “This is our chance.”

The monsters didn’t stand a chance.

Even if it wasn’t her fingers that broke the record, she’d still be a part of it. Part of Glory history.
Part of something first .

It would be her name.

And she couldn’t wait.

…………………..

The morning light peeked through the gray winter clouds as the city below slowly stirred to life.

Ye Xiu, however, was looking forward to sleep after his long night. He’d spent most of it leveling Lord Grim between his duties as the night café manager. Chen Guo and Tang Rou had also stayed up leveling, their excitement and drive outstripping even his. The café had been livelier than usual because of it.

Ye Xiu felt his lips twitch in amusement as he watched the smoke from his cigarette curl gently upward. Chen Guo had looked so proud when she presented him with her character card this morning, which now stood at level 25.

He had already messaged Su Mucheng about the change of plans. She hadn’t replied, but he hadn’t expected her to. They’d see each other tonight. Anything that needed saying could be said then.

He stomped out his cigarette when he reached his apartment building and flicked the butt into a nearby bin before heading inside.

“Darling! There you are!”

The warm grandmotherly voice of Yan Zhen had him pausing mid-stair.

“Here, here,” she urged, rushing toward him with a large bag of food containers. “I made some food for you and the little ones,” she gushed, pressing the bag into Ye Xiu’s arms. He stumbled back a step under the weight, given no chance to politely decline.

“...Thank you?”

“No problem, dearie. You work so hard, it’s the least I can do,” she said, patting his cheek before huffing. “Though that alpha of yours should really take some responsibility too. But that’s not your fault, dearie.”

“Now, now, go on. You need to eat and rest. You’re nothing but skin and bones.”

Yan Zhen shooed him up the stairs, disappearing back into her apartment in a swirl of bathrobe as quickly as she’d appeared.

Blinking owlishly after her, Ye Xiu sighed and continued upstairs.

The apartment was quiet—still in the way only early mornings could be.

The floor felt a little farther away than usual as he bent down to untie his shoes. He toed them off by the door and padded silently down the hallway.

He set the heavy bag on the dining table with a grateful sigh, then stretched his arms overhead. His shoulders ached from sitting too long. His bones, lately, had begun to protest more than usual.

Today, he was especially thankful for Aunt Yan. He wasn’t sure he had the energy to make anything edible for the kids.

He unpacked the containers one by one, lips tugging upward despite himself. Aunt Yan had gone overboard again—there was enough for lunch and probably dinner, too.

He was more grateful than he let himself admit.

There were still moments when the weight of it all caught up with him. When he remembered how far they’d come in so little time. When the ache in his muscles wasn’t just from sitting too long, but from years of keeping everything running on borrowed energy.

But it was a good kind of tired. Better than it used to be.

He rubbed his eyes, exhaled, and turned toward the bedrooms.

Time to wake the little gremlins and break the news.

…………………

“Uhhhh... can’t the time go any faster?” Ye Shi complained for the umpteenth time.

“I wish it could go slower!” Ye Min complained right back, pulling at his own hair. “How am I supposed to finish this in just a few hours?!”

“Just do what you can,” Ye Li said, trying to mediate. “One more weapon is better than none. We’ll bridge the rest of the gap with our skills.”

“You say that like it’s easy,” came the grumbled response.

“Well, complaining won’t make the work go any faster.”

“No, but it makes me feel better.”

“When did Mom say Aunt Mucheng is coming again?”

“Sometime after four. She needs to finish her own work first. From what I understand, she’s spending tomorrow with us too.”

“Huh? Why?” Shi asked, confused. “Not that I don’t want her here or anything!”

“Something about individual training. And since Mom’s going away for work, she’s coming over,” Jia said absently, browsing the forums while she waited for her brothers to finish their assignments so they could log into Glory .

………………………..

Ye Min was a wreck by the time four o’clock came around.

He’d all but shoved Ye Shi into finishing his schoolwork early, trying to squeeze every last minute for weapon crafting. He had just finished the guns for Jia’s sharpshooter and the lance for Li’s battlemage. Now he was racing to complete Shi’s gloves, fingers moving furiously across the keyboard, fighting against the clock.

When the doorbell rang—twelve minutes past four—it might as well have been a death knell.

Shi, on the other hand, lit up like fireworks. He scrambled to the door so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet, flinging it open without hesitation.

“Aunt Mucheng! You’re here!” he shouted joyfully.

“Hello!” Su Mucheng chirped, stepping inside with a smile that chased the cold from the air. Wind had tousled her hair, and her cheeks were still flushed pink from the chill. She bent to untie her boots but was immediately ambushed by a flying hug from Shi, followed closely by calmer greetings from Li and Jia.

Behind them, Ye Xiu emerged from the kitchen with a steaming mug of tea, leaning in the doorway with his usual languid posture. He watched the scene in silence for a moment, expression soft. The fondness in his gaze ached more than his shoulders ever could.

“You made good time,” he said eventually, voice low. “Did you run here?”

“I couldn’t resist the temptation of spending more time with my adorable niece and nephews,” Su Mucheng replied with a wink. “So—are you ready to take the record?”

“Yes—”

“NO!”

Everyone turned at the shout. Ye Min had stood up so abruptly that his chair nearly toppled. His hands were clenched at his sides, breath coming fast.

“I’m not done! I’m not ready! I’m not—”

Li, unshaken, reached over and gently closed the notebook in front of Min. It was covered in tiny, frantic scribbles: weapon schematics, material ratios, and statistical calculations.

“It’s okay,” Li said calmly. “What you’ve made is more than enough. If we don’t get it today, we can try again tomorrow.”

“But—”

“It’s not a life-or-death battle,” Li interrupted, quiet but firm.

“But it is!” Min burst out, eyes wild. “After what they did! After Excellent Era—”

He cut himself off, lips pressed tight. He took a shaky breath.

“After what they did,” he said again, quieter this time, voice rough with emotion, “they can’t be allowed to win.”

His eyes were burning.

“And they won’t,” Li answered, serene as ever. “That’s why we’re doing this.”

Ye Xiu sighed and rubbed his temple to dull the ache forming behind his eyes, then crossed the room to lay a steady hand on Min’s trembling shoulder.

“There’s always meaning in winning or losing,” he said quietly. “But only if you give it weight does the stakes truly matter. At the end of the day, Frost Forest is a low level dungeon. Don't burn yourselves out for something that doesn't really matter in the long run. Take what you can from this and learn from it.”

“But—!”

“Min.” His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “You’ve already done more than anyone expected. You’ll have time to upgrade more later. But for now… you are a part of the team. You are not alone, that’s what matters.”

Min’s breathing slowed. His eyes locked on Ye Xiu’s. He nodded, shakily but with resolve.

“All right,” he said. “Okay.”

“Then let’s start!” Shi shouted, fists in the air. “That record is ours!”

……………………

Evening, Excellent Dynasty Guild Headquarters

Chen Yehui stretched his arms overhead and leaned back in his chair, satisfaction oozing from every pore. His whole body hummed with the smug, exhausted glow of a plan executed perfectly.

On his screen, front and center, the system announcement still gleamed like a crown.

Frost Forest – New Record Set!
Team: Excellent Era – Time: 12:55:42

He smiled.

Not a polite, professional smile—no, this was a full-bodied grin. The kind that felt like vindication straight to the bone. Like payback. Like finally dragging a ghost out of the shadows and pissing on its grave.

“That’s more like it,” he muttered, fingers drumming on the desk. “Let’s see Tyranny beat that .”

Midnight had struck with server precision, and not long after, the system banner had flashed in brilliant gold across the top of every player’s screen. And that name— Excellent Era —sat at the top where it belonged.

A few other guild members were murmuring in agreement behind him.One or two even came over to slap him on the back. Chen Yehui barely noticed. His part had been played, and it had been played well.

It had already been over twenty-four hours—now closer to forty-eight—since the record was set, but the high was still fresh. He’d watched the numbers roll in real-time, watched the competition fumble their runs one after the other.

Yes. It had been worth it.

Dragging Liu Hao out of whatever pitiful little corner of the game he was sulking in? That had felt beneath him at first. A man like him didn’t beg for scraps. But he hadn’t even needed to ask, not really. Just a casual message. A mention of the record.

A name.

Ye Qiu.

The reaction had been instantaneous. Like a spark to dry tinder.

Liu Hao had snapped to attention like a dog hearing a rival bark. It hadn’t taken much after that. A few drinks. Some old war stories. A subtle reminder that Ye Qiu—Ye Qiu of all people—was the one currently holding the record. And worse: that Tyrannical Ambition had helped him do it.

Chen Yehui’s grin stretched wider just remembering it.

Two birds. One stone.

That had been all it took. Liu Hao had leapt at the chance like a starving man at a banquet. Pride, bitterness, ego—Chen Yehui had weaponized them all. The man still had some fight in him, even if it was all teeth and no spine.

The pro team had logged in precisely at midnight. Two of Liu Hao’s buddies had even come along, too full of confidence to question him. The team had gone in as planned. Efficient. Professional.

And then, minutes later, the record belonged to Excellent Era once more. 

The result?

12:55:42.

He savored the sight of it.

A beautiful number and completely unbeatable. A clean, merciless kill. And best of all: set just minutes after the reset. The first team in. Planting their flag like pioneers.

And Ye Qiu? He was finished.

Too proud to join a guild. Too stubborn to ask for help. Too high-leveled now to even reattempt the run. The dungeon’s optimal window had passed, and his shot at reclaiming it had passed with it. He’d made his move too early, too loud. A flare in the dark.

And Chen Yehui had snuffed it out.

He chuckled, the sound low and satisfied, and took a sip from his tea. It was lukewarm by now, but he didn’t care. The bitterness just emphasized the sweetness of victory. No more last-minute tricks. No more miracle runs with fake IDs and one-man shows.

“The Tenth Server belongs to us now,” he said aloud, just loud enough for the nearby interns to hear.

He should have been preparing for the next dungeon window, but instead he lingered, basking in the glow. Admiring the leaderboard. 00:13 —the first timestamp after reset. A perfect number.

It had been worth it, he told himself again. Even if it meant lowering himself to deal with Liu Hao, even if it meant tolerating that smug bastard for a night.

Let Ye Qiu see it. Let him rot behind some greasy café desk, watching his legacy crumble piece by piece. Let him remember what real teams looked like. Let him—

Frost Forest – New Record Set!
Guild: Mom’s Little Nightmares – Time: 12:46:27

Chen Yehui’s cup slipped, tea splashing across his lap. He didn’t even flinch.

His mind registered the number before his eyes did.

12:46:27.

Nine. Seconds. Faster.

“No,” he breathed.

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then leaned in, hunched over the monitor like proximity would change the result.

12:46:27.

It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t .

His hand fumbled for the mouse. He opened the detailed record panel, pulse thudding against the base of his skull.

No known guild tags.

No recognizable usernames.

Just five strangers. All clean. All coordinated. Efficient builds. Synchronized classes.

And that name— Mom’s Little Nightmares.

“What kind of idiotic name is that?” he snarled, but his voice cracked mid-sentence. It sounded thin, strangled.

He clicked through the list, hands shaking.

No pros. No affiliations. Four of them with Autumn in their names—a blatant mockery. A taunt, pointed straight at Excellent Era. Their success felt engineered for maximum insult.

He switched tabs. Opened Lord Grim ’s page. Level 26.

Still too high for Frost Forest.

But this had his fingerprints all over it. The precision. The surgical timing. The humiliation delivered with an exacto knife.

Chen Yehui sat frozen as realization settled like a blade against the back of his neck.

Ye Qiu hadn’t run it himself.

He hadn’t needed to.

He’d trained them.

The record they’d just set—what Chen Yehui had bought with groveling and borrowed pride—had been nothing but bait. A rope dangling in front of Excellent Era’s pride, luring them into wasting resources and blowing their shot on a dungeon that no longer mattered.

12:46:27.

The numbers glared back at him like a curse.

He slammed a palm onto the desk. “ Find out who these bastards are! ” he snapped, voice hard and sharp enough to send the nearby interns scattering like frightened birds. His chair toppled behind him as he surged to his feet.

His fists clenched. White-knuckled.

That bastard.

He knew . He waited .

Ye Qiu had let them scramble. Let them throw manpower at a dungeon that would never be theirs. Let them brag. Let them celebrate . And then struck, like a knife between the ribs, in silence and anonymity.

A fake team. No prestige. No audience.

Just five nobodies.

And a time— 12:46:27 —glowing like acid on the screen.

Mocking him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Early Wednesday morning came the dreaded time.

Ye Xiu stood by the door, shoulders hunched under a hoodie that had seen better days, glaring at the rising sun like it had personally offended him. Which, in fairness, it had. Waking up before noon was already suspect. Standing in front of a camera before noon? Criminal.

And yet here he was.

He still wasn’t sure what part of his brain had short-circuited enough to agree to this—maybe the part shaped like rent. Or kids. Or guilt. Or Han Wenqing. Pick one.

He heard the clatter of heels on the stairs and considered bolting.

Too late.

“Good morning, Pretty Bones!” sang a far-too-awake voice. Yan Zhen’s granddaughter practically burst into view in a swirl of fabric, sunglasses, and caffeine. “Are you ready to suffer in the name of art?”

“No,” Ye Xiu said flatly.

She beamed. “Excellent. You’re carrying the garment bag.”

Ye Xiu blinked at the sheer size of the thing she handed him. “…This is a sleeping bag.”

“That’s a coat.”

“That’s a lie.”

“That’s fashion.”

He sighed through his nose, adjusting the strap as she tossed a travel cup into his hand without warning. It was coffee, sweet and blistering hot. He took a cautious sip, then another. It didn’t help.

“You know,” he muttered, following her out onto the street, “I still don’t know your name.”

She gasped like he’d slapped her.

“I’ve told you at least six times!”

“I wasn’t listening at least six times.”

“It’s Shanshan,” she said with a dramatic twirl. “Yan Shanshan, stylist and personal chaos courier. I answer to Shan, Goddess, or Hey You With The Neon.”

“I’ll stick with ‘Yan’s granddaughter,’” Ye Xiu said.

She grinned. “You’re adorable. No wonder the camera loves you.”

Ye Xiu sighed. “It’s a camera. It’s not capable of taste.”

They made it across town by bus, subway, and one memorable sprint down a block when Shanshan spotted a street vendor selling pork buns and refused to let them pass by without “creative nourishment.” Ye Xiu suspected it was actually her second breakfast.

By the time they reached the building, he was exhausted in spirit if not in body.

The studio was on the third floor of what used to be a warehouse—big windows, white walls, steel beams, and more plants than strictly necessary for any one room. A ring light blinked to life as they entered, casting eerie halos across mannequin heads in various states of decapitation.

Ye Xiu paused. “Is this… haunted?”

“No,” Shanshan said cheerfully, unlocking the rolling rack. “But it is rent-controlled, so the vibe is part of the charm.”

A man in a draped cardigan and precision-shaved undercut appeared from behind a backdrop stand. He looked Ye Xiu up and down like an appraising auctioneer and clapped once.

“Gorgeous,” he declared. “He looks even more tragic in person. You didn’t oversell him at all.”

Ye Xiu blinked. “Thank you?”

“Compliment,” Shanshan stage-whispered. “That’s Jiang Lan, creative director, aspiring poet, and professional user of the word ‘visceral.’”

“It’s not aspiring if I publish,” Jiang Lan said airily, circling Ye Xiu. “Where did you find this face? The cheekbones. The chronic insomnia. The soft but haunted omega energy. It’s giving feral widow in a snowstorm .”

“I am not feral,” Ye Xiu muttered.

“He’s a gamer,” Shanshan added helpfully. “So yes, he is.”

Ye Xiu pinched the bridge of his nose. “I regret every decision that led to this moment.”

“No regrets,” Jiang Lan said, snapping his fingers. “Regret is out this season. Now get changed. First look is the coat. You’ll hate it.”

“Fantastic.”

............

Fifteen minutes later, Ye Xiu emerged from the changing corner wrapped in something neon green and deeply structural. It had angles. Possibly its own postal code.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror and nearly turned around.

“You can still run,” he told his reflection. “You haven’t lost all your dignity yet.”

“Too late,” Shanshan called, already aiming a phone camera at him. “You agreed to wear the traffic cone of destiny. You’re committed.”

“I feel like a street sign.”

“You look like a high fashion crime scene,” Jiang Lan said, snapping pictures. “Now tilt your head. No, more. Like you’ve just heard something tragic in French.”

Ye Xiu closed his eyes. “This is fine,” he said to no one. “This is fine.”

Then he opened them again—and met the lens.

For a moment, everything stilled. The world sharpened.

He didn't smile. He didn’t pose. He just was .

And the camera—unfortunately— did love him.

Even Ye Xiu could tell when Jiang Lan made a quiet, reverent noise behind the shutter. Like a cultist watching a miracle. Shanshan squealed. Someone tripped over a light stand.

It was going to be a long day.

…………….

The coat shoot ended in a blaze of shutter clicks, artistic shouting, and a near-miss with a fog machine someone thought would “add mood.” Ye Xiu thought it added asthma.

He had exactly twelve minutes of reprieve before Shanshan shoved another hanger into his hands and announced, “Next look!”

He stared at it.

“…Is this a dress?”

“It’s a silhouette-forward, gender-neutral asymmetric drape piece ,” Shanshan chirped, already fishing through a makeup kit the size of a toddler. “Paired with a layered mesh underskirt, knee boots, and—ta-da—extensions!”

She held up a waterfall of glossy, perfectly styled hair.

Ye Xiu took a long breath through his nose. “That’s a wig.”

“It’s a clip-in weave,” Shanshan said sweetly. “Because I care about your scalp.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“…I’m not wearing a dress.”

“You said you weren’t a model, either,” Jiang Lan called from behind the lighting rig. “And yet here we are. Come on, Pretty Bones—give the people something to talk about.”

Ye Xiu stared at the ceiling like it might crack open and swallow him whole.

It did not.

Fifteen minutes later, he emerged again—this time with floor-length black hair, smoky eyeliner, and a long, fluid ensemble that shimmered like oil under studio lights. The boots had a heel. The makeup was perfect. His soul had left his body.

“…I hate how good this looks,” he muttered, catching his reflection mid-slink.

“You should ,” Jiang Lan sighed, enraptured. “You’re devastating. It’s giving poisonous muse . It’s giving final boss disguised as a saint . It’s giving omega who breaks hearts for fun and writes poems about it later .”

“I don’t do poetry.”

“You do now.”

The photos flew fast. At some point Shanshan cranked up music in the background—a strange mix of old pop and electronic strings—and Ye Xiu stopped thinking.

He tilted a shoulder. Shifted his weight. Met the camera with narrowed eyes.

And something clicked.

It wasn’t performance anymore. Not entirely. It was still him .

It just wasn’t the version he usually let people see.

Later, when the shoot wrapped and Ye Xiu shuffled off toward the changing area to finally claw the fake hair off his head, Shanshan stopped him.

“Oh, right,” she said innocently. “Can’t take it out yet.”

“…Why.”

“I mean technically you can , but I had it sewn in for stability. It’ll take like, an appointment. And some solvent.”

Ye Xiu turned to her, flat and slow. “You glued hair to my head.”

“I bonded it,” she said, extremely unrepentant. “You’re welcome.”

He closed his eyes.

“Shanshan.”

“Yes, my tragic muse?”

“I will never forgive you.”

“That’s fair,” she beamed. “But you’ll look incredible for days.”

……………………

By the time Ye Xiu dragged himself back into the apartment, the long day of chaos clinging to him like secondhand glitter, he barely managed to toe off his boots and shove the door shut behind him.

“—Xiu-ge?”

He looked up. Su Mucheng stood in the living room holding a mug, eyes wide, eyebrows slowly climbing as she took him in.

Ye Xiu opened his mouth to explain.

She raised a finger. “Don’t move.”

Click. Click click click.

He blinked. “…Did you just take a picture of me?”

“Several,” Su Mucheng said cheerfully, already scrolling through them. “You look like a tragic noblewoman returning from war. I love it.”

“I’m not even wearing the dress anymore.”

“It’s the makeup,” she said. “And the hair. Is this permanent?”

“No.”

“How long?”

“…A few weeks.”

“Perfect,” she beamed. 

Then a beat. Her eyes narrowed. “Wait. Did you say dress ?”

Ye Xiu exhaled slowly, already regretting his entire existence.

Su Mucheng’s eyes lit up like she’d been handed a free weapon. “What kind of dress?”

“Red,” he muttered, defeated. “Floor length. Slit to the thigh.”

Her grin nearly split her face. “Oh, I would’ve paid to see that.”

“Yeah, well,” Ye Xiu muttered, already shuffling toward the couch. “Too late.”

“Is it, though?” She said, in the tone of someone who knows where the bodies are buried. Then she turned and called toward the hallway “ Kids! Come look at your mom! ”

“ Su Mucheng! Don’t you— ”

Too late. The stampede arrived. Ye Xiu’s tortured plea got swallowed in the chaos. 

“Whoa—Mom??” Shi skidded to a halt in socks, staring. “Wait, you’re so pretty ! Like a villainess in a drama!”

Li squinted. “Is this part of the modeling?”

Jia gave a cool nod. “Very tasteful. Ten out of ten. You should keep the hair.”

Ye Min jumped over the couch and landed next to Ye Xiu: “Wow, you really look like a mom now.”

“So,” Su Mucheng said, taking a sip off her tea, “none of the kids have proper winter jackets. And Ye Xiu, your clothes are still mostly threadbare clothes and pajamas.”

“They work fine,” Ye Xiu said, already curled on the couch and trying to hide behind his hair.

“Nope.” She clapped her hands. “Family outing. You’re all coming with me. Shopping. I have money, I have taste, and I’m dying to dress you like a person with a social life.”

“I don’t have a social life.”

“You do now,” she said. “I’m invoicing my little sister rights.”

…………………

The mall was already bustling by the time they arrived, a low thrum of music pulsing under bright ceiling lights. Families, couples, and the occasional teen horde milled around the storefronts, clutching bubble teas and shopping bags. Su Mucheng adjusted her face mask and sunglasses with practiced ease.

Ye Xiu, by contrast, stood frozen just inside the entrance, hoodie tugged low, hair brushed and falling like silk around his shoulders. He felt… visible. In a way he hadn’t in years. The long hair itched at the edge of his vision; the tasteful makeup still clung stubbornly to his skin no matter how many times he’d tried to scrub it off.

Beside him, Ye Min tugged his sleeve. “Mom, can I hold the list?”

“We don’t have a list,” Ye Xiu said, voice dry.

“Exactly,” Su Mucheng said, sweeping past like a force of nature. “We’re going in blind and we’re coming out better people.”

The kids scattered like ducks in a line behind her. Ye Xiu followed, slowly. Warily.

“Why is everyone looking at us?” Jia murmured at one point, clutching a mall directory.

“Because we’re fabulous,” Su Mucheng said. “Obviously.”

“No,” Jia said, squinting around. “They’re looking at you two.”

Correction: they were looking at Ye Xiu .

And why wouldn’t they? Four kids in tow, a woman in a face mask, and Ye Xiu—dressed down but still very much styled, long dark hair swaying, a softness to his face that read as something intentional. Not soft and sweet like Su Mucheng’s beauty, but something quieter. Sharper. His sweater was borrowed from Shanshan’s stylist kit and hung just a little too perfectly.

Strangers smiled at him. A few waved. One middle-aged woman leaned over to whisper to her friend, eyes wide.

Ye Xiu stared at a rack of coats and pretended not to notice.

He hated this. Being looked at. Not for his skill, or what he could do , but for how he looked .

“I could cut it off,” he muttered under his breath, tugging at a strand of hair.

Su Mucheng appeared beside him with two coats and a thermal vest. “You’ll do no such thing.”

“This is weird.”

“It’s new,” she said gently. “Not the same thing.”

He didn’t answer. Just shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how carefully he was holding himself. Shoulders drawn in. Chin low. Every instinct told him to duck and disappear, to slip away into anonymity like he always had.

But the kids needed clothes. And he… he’d promised to try.

They started with winter coats.

Ye Shi found a puffy one in bubblegum pink and insisted on trying it on over his hoodie. “Look! I can barely move!”

“That’s the point,” Su Mucheng said, hands on her hips. “You’re not supposed to move. You’re supposed to survive a blizzard. ”

“I’m not cold-blooded,” Shi protested, “I’m warm all the time.”

“Then wear layers,” Jia said, holding up a black wool coat like she was evaluating a suit of armor. “Or you’ll catch something and die , and then we’ll be sad. And I’ll get your computer.”

“That’s not fair—!”

“Focus,” Li interrupted mildly. “Do we need gloves too?”

“I’ve got a cart,” Su Mucheng said, materializing with said cart already half-full of jackets, scarves, socks, and something that might have been designer earmuffs. “Jia, black suits you. Li, you need thermals. Shi, get one that zips, not buttons. Min—where’s Min?”

“Trying on sunglasses,” Jia said without looking up.

Ye Xiu drifted a few steps behind them, one hand curled around the cart handle like an anchor. He’d expected a quick in-and-out—essentials, nothing more. But Su Mucheng had taken one look at their sad little wardrobe and declared war. And worse, she was good at it. She scanned for discounts with a predator’s focus and vetoed half of Ye Xiu’s choices on sight.

“I’m not letting you leave this place in a threadbare hoodie again,” she said, flinging a soft, navy peacoat into the pile. “You’re not a cryptid. You’re someone’s mother now.”

“That wasn’t the deal,” Ye Xiu muttered.

“It is now.”

Somewhere between the coat aisle and the sweaters, she slipped in a dress.

A very nice one. Soft wine-red knit, long sleeves, floor length, subtle slit. The sort of thing that clung in all the right ways and whispered quiet elegance with a wink.

Ye Xiu stared at it for a long moment.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Su Mucheng said.

“I highly doubt that.”

“You’re thinking, ‘how dare she.’ And also, ‘I bet it’s warm.’”

“…It does look warm.”

“And it’ll look incredible.”

“I’m not wearing that in public.”

“Didn’t say you had to,” she said, all innocence. “But if you’re going to be stuck with long hair for a few weeks, you might as well explore the options. Just saying.”

Ye Xiu opened his mouth to argue, but Shi popped up beside him holding a gray turtleneck. “Mom, can we get this? It’s soft.”

“Yeah,” Ye Xiu said, distracted. “If you like it.”

Shi beamed and ran off again.

He let out a breath, turned back—and found three more dresses in the cart.

He gave Su Mucheng a flat look.

She just winked over her face mask.

But even with the banter and the occasional scuffle over scarves, something was shifting. The longer they stayed, the more heads turned. A few teenage girls whispered and pointed. A little boy tried to ask Ye Xiu if he was a TV star. A couple walked past twice—just close enough to stare.

Ye Xiu’s hands tightened on the cart handle.

It wasn’t dangerous, not yet. No one recognized him. But they saw him. And the weight of their eyes was piling up like snow.

It started slowly.

A few more people in the aisle. A woman brushing past Ye Xiu’s arm, then turning back for a second glance. Someone trying to sneak a picture from behind a rack of jeans.

Ye Xiu lowered his head and steered the cart closer to the others, but the group had scattered a little—Min and Shi were arguing over gloves, Jia was holding up two scarves to Li like she was hosting a fashion show, and Su Mucheng had pulled a store employee aside to ask about sizes.

“...Do you have this in a medium? Or large. Or both.”

“Are you buying for your sister?”

"Oh, yes! ”

Ye Xiu didn’t hear the rest. He stepped sideways to dodge a couple cutting through the aisle, but it was a mistake. His path curved around a clearance bin, and in two breaths, he was on the wrong side of a shelf full of folded coats, just out of view from the others.

He turned back—then froze.

A crowd had formed.

Not a mob, not yet. Just enough people to feel it. Five, maybe six shoppers hovering nearby with their phones out, pretending to look at displays. A kid whispered something to his dad and pointed.

Ye Xiu looked for an exit. Forward, maybe—backtrack, loop around—but every direction had more people. All of them trying not to look like they were looking.

He shifted his weight. The dress in the cart rustled.

A woman stepped in front of him, bold. “Excuse me,” she said brightly, “are you an actress?”

“No,” Ye Xiu said, calm on the surface.

“You just—” She waved at his face. “You have such a presence. Are you sure? What’s your name?”

Behind her, another shopper took a photo.

Ye Xiu’s heart tapped once against his ribs. Still manageable. Just say something, move along—

“Xiu-ge?”

He turned.

Su Mucheng was standing across the aisle, maybe twenty feet away, holding Min by the hood. Li and Shi were behind her. Jia was missing. So was the cart.

So was he .

The crowd between them wasn’t big, not really. Just enough to slow things down. Enough to make eye contact hard. But Ye Xiu saw the look in her eyes—surprise, concern, then calculation.

Too many people.

The girl with the phone stepped closer.

Ye Xiu gave a tiny shake of his head— I’m fine. Get them out.

Su Mucheng caught it instantly. She grabbed Shi’s hand. “Jia, here!” she called, and somewhere behind a shelf, Jia appeared. Su Mucheng pivoted, fast and graceful, ushering them away. No panic, just confidence. The kind of movement that didn’t draw attention. She looked like someone who knew exactly where she was going.

Ye Xiu let her go.

And suddenly, he was alone.

He straightened slowly. Smoothed a hand down the front of his coat. The cart still sat beside him, full of clothing and warmth and a red knit dress he wasn’t going to wear. He stared at it for a moment.

Someone stepped closer, drawn by the stillness.

“Excuse me,” a man said, smiling. “This is going to sound crazy, but… are you a model?”

Ye Xiu looked up.

“Because you’re stunning,” the man added.

Ye Xiu blinked once. “No.”

“Ah. My mistake.” The man lingered anyway, hopeful.

Ye Xiu offered the faintest, flattest smile he could manage. “You’re in my way.”

“Oh—sorry—sorry.”

He edged back. But another person stepped in. And another.

Ye Xiu closed his eyes for half a breath and counted.

One. Two. Three.

Then he opened them, lifted the cart handle, and started moving.

………………

Liu Hao had been in the store for a bit over ten minutes.

He had gone because he felt that he just needed a break. 

To have a little punk as his captain, one who couldn’t even navigate his way out of a paper bag if someone else didn’t pave the way for him, took its toll. It didn't help that Sun Xiang had the ego of a zeppelin. Large and inflated.  And ofcourse, Liu Hao was the one who was left to clean up after him. 

That’s to say, it wasn’t much different when Ye Qiu had been the captain. Liu hao had been cleaning up after him for years and never had he gotten any recognition for it. But with Sun Xiang at least showing his face to the public, Liu Hao could throw his new captain to the reporters when he himself didn’t have the patience to deal with them.

Now if Sun Xiang could just stop whining and blame everyone else for his own mistakes, it would be perfect. 

So here he was, just wandering around, bored out of his mind, wondering if buying a designer scarf from the commoner section was going to make him break out in hives. 

Liu Hao had barely set foot in the next store when he saw her.

She was stunning.

No— stunning didn’t even come close. She was radiant, a rare bloom of dusk and silk, lost amid the dull fluorescent aisles of the department store. Long, dark hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, half-shadowing a face that might’ve been carved by moonlight and stubbornness. Pale skin, high cheekbones, red lips pressed into an unreadable line.

And her eyes.

God, those eyes.

Liu Hao wasn’t a poet—but if he were, he could’ve written epics about those eyes. Color like the purest of gold with an inner light shining brighter than the sun, irresistible and burns any who get too close. 

And that gaze. Dark, sharp, inscrutable. 

A woman like that didn’t belong among discount racks and bored mothers. She belonged in drama posters and magazine spreads, with mystery curled behind her smile and tragedy stitched into every blink.

And she was being mobbed .

Phones out. People circling. Someone had called her beautiful . Another had said celebrity. The vultures were already closing in.

So, naturally, Liu Hao acted.

“Hey, babe!” he called, striding up with all the confidence of a man who believed the world owed him applause. “There you are—I’ve been looking everywhere.”

He swept between her and the crowd, slinging a possessive arm around her shoulders—light touch, gentlemanly- and grinning like he’d just pulled off a televised rescue. “Sorry, folks,” he added with mock politeness. “My girlfriend’s a little shy.”

The murmuring dimmed. Some phones lowered. A few heads turned away, disappointed. The wave receded.

Perfect.

He turned back to her—up close, she was even more striking. There was something oddly familiar about her features, something elusive hovering just beneath the makeup and grace. But his brain dismissed it. All it saw was gorgeous .

“You alright?” he asked, voice dropping to something low and intimate, like he expected gratitude. “Looked like you were getting swarmed there.”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t smile.

Just stared at him with an unreadable expression—like he was something scraped off the sole of her shoe and she was trying to decide whether or not to look up what it was.

Liu Hao mistook it for embarrassment.

“Don’t worry,” he said warmly. “You don’t need to be shy with me.”

Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he turned the cart and steered her toward the escalators. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get out of this bargain bin. I know a place upstairs with real style.”

She didn’t move, not at first. Probably shocked. 

So he kept walking, pulling her gently with him, assuming she’d want to follow. Beautiful women always did.

“You’ll love it,” he told her as they walked, his arm still firmly around her. “Classy, imported stuff. Not this factory-sale trash. You deserve something elegant.” 

By the time they reached the higher-end boutique, Liu Hao was already in full performance mode. He waved the store clerk over with the flair of a man about to make headlines.

“Help my girlfriend find something nice,” he said, gesturing to Ye Xiu with a sweeping hand. “Something that suits her figure—no price limit.”

She opened her mouth—maybe to object, maybe to correct him.

He didn’t let her.

“It’s alright,” he said gently. “You don’t have to hold back around me.”

The clerk beamed. Liu Hao beamed harder.

And Ye Xiu, trapped somewhere between a rack of coats and the crushing weight of secondhand mortification, stared back at his own reflection in the mirror across the boutique.

This day just kept getting worse.

…………

Ye Xiu had faced dungeon bosses less persistent than Liu Hao.

Another hanger appeared—this one brandishing a white silk blouse with a ridiculous bow tied at the throat. Before he could react, it joined the mounting pile of satin, chiffon, and absurdity in his arms.

“This one’s imported silk,” the sales clerk chirped, holding up something gauzy and lavender. “The drape would be gorgeous on her.”

Another blouse landed in the growing pile over Ye Xiu’s arm—soft pink, ruffled, high-collared like he was about to star in a period drama.

“Oh,” Liu Hao said, eyes glittering, “ that’s the one. You’d look amazing in that. Like a queen at court. No—like a goddess pretending to be human. Just long enough to break mortal hearts.”

Ye Xiu gave him a long look. “You write that down somewhere?”

“Off the cuff,” Liu Hao said proudly.

“I could tell.”

He shifted, trying to edge sideways—toward the door, toward anything resembling freedom—but Liu Hao caught him by the elbow.

“Come on, don’t be shy,” he said again, for the fourth or fifth time. “You’re gorgeous. And you’re with me now— you don’t need to hide.”

Ye Xiu could feel his eye twitch.

The last time he’d seen Liu Hao, the man had been drunk, belligerent, and loudly proclaiming that Ye Qiu was the washed-up ghost of a has-been who’d dragged Excellent Era down with him. That had been days ago.

Now? Now he was being called a celestial body and gently steered into a changing room like some sort of romantic conquest.

Life came at you fast.

The sales clerk handed over another hanger. “And this skirt—just imagine it with heels. Or boots, maybe, for an edgier look.”

Ye Xiu glanced down at his worn sneakers and threadbare jeans. “What about what I’m wearing now?”

“Tragic,” Liu Hao said. “We’ll burn it.”

Ye Xiu didn’t even have time to comment before another piece of cloth was shoved into his arms, this one an emerald green. 

“This one screams elegance ,” Liu Hao declared, brushing non-existent lint from Ye Xiu’s sleeve like he had any right. “You’d wear this to an award show. Or a victory party. Something classy. Something where everyone stares.”

Ye Xiu shifted a fraction away. “I’m not really a party person.”

“That’s fine,” Liu Hao said breezily, crowding in again. “You’ll just be arm candy. I’ll do the talking. You smile, nod, wear something like this —” he snapped his fingers and pointed to a sheer midnight-blue number in the clerk’s hands “—and the whole room will be watching us. Power couple energy, right?”

Ye Xiu stared at him. “...Right.”

He tried to hand back the clothes. Liu Hao intercepted them.

“Seriously,” he said, turning to the clerk, “anything she wants, just add it to my account. Hell, double it. She deserves the best. And whatever you think is sexy—grab that too.”

Ye Xiu pressed his lips together, silently recalculating every bad decision that had brought him to this moment.

“Such a romantic,” cooed the clerk, tilting her head as she passed over yet another hanger. “A surprise shopping trip?”

Liu Hao laughed. “She’s been playing hard to get all day, but I know how to treat a woman. I’m winning her over. Bit by bit.”

The other salesgirl—slightly older, with sharper eyes—watched Ye Xiu for a long beat. Her gaze dropped to the pile of expensive clothing, then flicked to Liu Hao’s hand lingering too long near Ye Xiu’s waist.

Her expression changed.

Ah. There it was.

Pity.

Ye Xiu met her gaze and didn’t say a word.

“Oh,” she said softly, drawing closer. “I see.”

Ye Xiu gave her a small, helpless shrug. A tilt of the head. A quiet please in body language.

She exhaled through her nose and squared her shoulders like a woman preparing to commit workplace treason.

“Miss,” she said gently, placing a hand on Ye Xiu’s elbow, “why don’t you let me show you to the fitting rooms upstairs? It’s quieter, you’ll get more privacy, and we just got a new collection we haven’t unpacked yet—very exclusive.”

Ye Xiu glanced at Liu Hao, who was too busy ordering another round of garments to notice.

“I’d like that,” Ye Xiu said, almost sincerely.

The woman gave a tight-lipped smile. “This way.”

They passed through the velvet curtain, down a narrow corridor that led not to luxury, but toward a nondescript door marked Staff Only .

Ye Xiu arched a brow. “That doesn’t look like a fitting room.”

“Because it’s not,” she said, already punching in a code on the lock. “It’s the service exit.”

Ye Xiu stared at her.

She shrugged. “I’ve seen guys like him. Flashy wallet. Pushy smile. Always saying she’s just shy after they get caught cheating.” She opened the door. “Go. Before he notices.”

He stepped through with a soft, sincere, “Thank you.”

She smiled faintly. “Whatever you do next, I hope it doesn’t involve forgiving him.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ye Xiu muttered, already halfway down the back stairwell.

The stairwell emptied into a cold hallway that smelled like mop water and wet cardboard. Ye Xiu paused just long enough to drop the ridiculous blouse off on the top of the pile in his arms and abandon the rest on a stack of flattened boxes. There. A donation to retail chaos.

He cracked the exterior door and peeked out.

The service corridor opened near a loading dock on the far side of the mall. A few workers were hauling crates, but none of them paid him any mind. He slipped past with the quiet resignation of someone who'd made several poor life choices and was now just trying to minimize collateral damage.

Once inside the mall proper, the noise hit him again—bright, fluorescent, echoing down polished tile like a boss fight with too many flashing lights and no skip cutscene option. His reflection caught in a storefront window, and he winced.

Still the same: long black hair, flawless makeup, borrowed coat hanging open to reveal an accidentally elegant blouse he hadn’t remembered putting on. No glasses, no hat, and definitely no peace.

“Focus,” he muttered.

He tried to retrace his steps: the escalator, the seasonal display of stuffed rabbits, the store that smelled like cinnamon and capitalism.

Nothing. Just faces and chatter and too many people trying to get somewhere faster than their shoes allowed.

He pulled his coat tighter and ducked his head. The eyes came anyway.

“Wow—did you see her?”

“Look at that hair—she’s stunning.”

“Is she a celebrity?”

Ye Xiu veered away from the voices, slipping into a side hallway near a massage chair kiosk and pretending to scroll through a nonexistent phone. God, even the security guards were starting to glance his way now. He’d always known invisibility was a luxury. Today, it felt like armor he’d lost and couldn’t get back.

“Su Mucheng…” he murmured, scanning the crowd for any flash of pink coat or arguing children. “Where did you go?”

He resisted the urge to call out. Too risky. The last thing he needed was to go viral for losing his kids in full glam.

A pair of girls passed, giggling behind their hands. One snapped a photo. Ye Xiu turned abruptly and walked the opposite direction, heart pounding louder than it had during the last match of playoffs.

He ducked into a shop, pretending to browse hairpins, just to breathe.

Then—faintly, like an overheard team chat ping—he caught a familiar voice.

“—I told you, you can’t just leave her! She’s probably getting mobbed!”

Su Mucheng.

He stepped back into the flow of foot traffic and scanned again.

There—near the fountain, about twenty meters away, flanked by four disgruntled children and one apologetic shop employee—was Su Mucheng, waving her arms and explaining something with mounting distress.

Ye Xiu almost sagged in relief.

Then someone else saw him first.

A tween boy squealed. “It’s her again!”

Ye Xiu broke into a dignified power walk.

Too late.

“Excuse me—hi! Are you an actress? Can I get a picture—?”

Ye Xiu dipped his head and muttered, “Sorry, late for a thing—” as he slipped through the crowd with the grace of a retired pro gamer dodging PR.

Su Mucheng turned, spotted him, and visibly lit up. The kids’ heads snapped around in sync like they were tracking a boss spawn.

“There you are!” she said, half-scolding, half-laughing. “Where did you even—”

“Back exit,” Ye Xiu said shortly. “Long story. Can we go?”

Jia squinted at him. “Are those different clothes?”

Li raised an eyebrow. “Did you ditch the man?”

“Not important,” Ye Xiu said, firmly herding them toward the nearest exit. “If we leave now, I think I can salvage what remains of my dignity.”

“Wait, wait,” Su Mucheng grabbed his arm, her eyes sparkling far too brightly for someone who hadn’t just been mistaken for a runway model and hunted through a shopping mall. “Before we go, there’s one thing I have to show you.”

“Su Mucheng,” he said flatly. “No.”

“Yes,” she grinned. “Come on. It’s already done. I’m just picking it up.”

Bewildered, he let her lead him—well, more like tow him—back the way she came, kids in tow. They stopped at a back service door near the same store he’d fled. A cheerful female clerk—the same one who’d guided his escape—beamed when she saw them.

“Oh, you’re her friend!” the woman said to Su Mucheng, glancing at Ye Xiu with a mixture of pity and approval. “I wasn’t sure if I should’ve believed him, but I figured, hey, if he’s willing to spend that much, maybe he really is trying to make up for cheating on you.”

Ye Xiu blinked. “What.”

Su Mucheng held up a finger and whispered. “Let’s not correct her just yet.”

The clerk bustled off and returned with three large, glossy shopping bags—designer logo stamped on the side, tissue paper fluffing out like overpriced pastry.

“He bought everything you tried on and more,” she chirped. “Even said to have the stylist add accessories. Said you deserved it.”

Ye Xiu stared at the bags like they were explosives.

Su Mucheng gave him a triumphant look. “I told her to hold them under your name. You’re welcome.”

“I don’t want them.”

“You’re getting them. You might as well enjoy the perks of being criminally attractive.”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“You didn’t have to,” she said sweetly, thrusting the bags into his arms. “Your new boyfriend did.”

Ye Xiu took them only because she wasn’t going to stop until he did.

The clerk patted his arm. “Don’t worry, dear. You deserve better.”

He opened his mouth to correct her.

Then closed it again.

“Sure,” he sighed, “Let’s go with that.”

Su Mucheng laughed all the way to the parking lot.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Liu Hao was still riding the high.

She’d looked at him—well, kind of looked at him. She hadn’t smiled much, but that was just how these aloof beauties worked. Icy on the outside, soft on the inside. She didn’t have to say anything. He could feel it. The tension. The way she blushed when he bought her that silk jacket. The way she kept looking away, pretending not to care. Classic.

He’d kept the receipt. Not for the money. Just in case he needed her size later.

He was halfway through the Excellent Era lobby when someone intercepted him.

“Liu Hao,” said a harried voice.

He turned. One of the PR assistants—Yang-something. She looked winded.

“Yeah?”

“We need to talk. Upstairs. Now.”

That got his attention.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

The woman just shoved open the stairwell door. “You’re trending.”

That was fast.

[ PR Office]

Three people were waiting. One had a tablet in her hand; another was on the phone. The third—some middle manager—gestured for him to sit down.

“Before we begin,” the woman with the tablet said, “you’re not in trouble.”

“Okay…?”

“But we need to confirm a few things.”

She spun the tablet around.

There it was. A crowd-shot of the mall. Him in profile, one hand casually holding the cart. And next to him—

Her.

Long hair, elegant lines, that tailored coat he bought her catching the light just so. Makeup flawless. And that expression—cool, distant, untouchable.

She looked like a celebrity. His celebrity.

Liu Hao tried not to smirk. “I guess someone noticed.”

“Several someones,” the woman said dryly. “This photo’s already hit two gossip blogs. A few forum posts are calling her ‘the mysterious girlfriend of Excellent Era’s vice-captain.’”

He leaned back in the chair. “Not mysterious,” he said, polishing his tone with just the right smug warmth. “She’s my girlfriend.”

They all looked at him.

One of them muttered, “Holy hell.”

“Can you confirm her name? Her profession? We’ve had a few people claim she’s a model—someone leaked pictures from a boutique shoot earlier this week. We can’t confirm if it’s the same person, but the resemblance is… strong.”

“Oh, she’s a model, alright,” Liu Hao said. “The kind people write songs about.”

“Name?”

“Private.”

The PR woman’s eyes gleamed. “Alright. If you’re serious, we can work with this. Clean it up. Get ahead of the spin. Maybe a soft interview in a week or two, or a couple’s shoot, if she’s open to it. Keep it tasteful.”

“Sure,” Liu Hao said, lounging like he already had a cologne ad lined up. “Just make sure the captions say my name.”

…………………

Coming home turned out to be no relief at all.

By the time he reached the apartment, his limbs felt like they’d been filled with wet sand. The front door had barely clicked shut before the chaos erupted.

Su Mucheng and the kids were a whirlwind of laughter and chaos, parading through the apartment with each new outfit like they were backstage at a fashion show—the aftermath of the now-dubbed *Shopping Trip from Hell*. Jackets were flying, someone was arguing about whose shoes were shinier, and Shi had somehow gotten glitter in his hair. They’d even managed to dress Li up in a pastel hoodie with glitter cats on the sleeves. He looked like he wanted to crawl into the wall.

And then, of course, came the clothes meant for *him*. Folded neatly in a branded bag like a peace offering. Or a curse.

The less said about those, the better.

He didn’t ask who had picked them. He didn’t *want* to know. Just looking at the bag gave him hives.

“Gonna go check the café,” he muttered, retreating like a man fleeing a battlefield.

“Don’t forget your fan club!” Su Mucheng called after him with too much cheer.

He’d escaped before anyone could make him try on the glittery belt again. Ran, really—straight to the net café with the same instinctive precision he used dodging AoE spells in Glory. Ducking into the cafe as inconspicuously as he could, and made a beeline for the back corner, the one just out of sight from the main crowd. He slouched behind one of the dusty PCs and tried to become furniture.

It worked. For a time.

That time ended the moment his shift began.

He’d never seen the café so busy. People seemed to be everywhere— like everyone and their cousin wanted help with computers, headsets, snacks, or just—God forbid—“a word” with the pretty girl. Ye Xiu pretended not to hear most of them. Kept his head down. Huffed quietly into his oversized hoodie and hoped that no one noticed the light sweat starting to cling to the back of his neck.

He ignored them all until someone got bold enough to ask for his number.

Chen Guo caught him mid-escape from the vending machine area, half-hunched and already regretting his life choices. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him—lip gloss still faintly smudged at the corners, hair in soft, half-loosened curls from the earlier styling, and wearing a button-up blouse that shimmered just enough under the café lights to make things worse.

She opened her mouth.

“Don’t ask,” Ye Xiu said, deadpan.

Chen Guo snorted so hard she nearly dropped her tea. “You look like a tired mistress from a TV drama.”

He didn’t respond. Just shuffled off toward the front desk as another customer began waving a loyalty card like it was a flag.

The shift passed in a blur of footsteps and customer service. 

At some point, even the chair behind the counter stopped feeling like a reprieve. Every joint in his body ached. His eyes were dry and his head throbbed—worse than any hangover he could remember. He kept drinking water and rubbing at his eyes between calls for customer support. Lord Grim didn’t gain a single level that night.

By the time his shift ended, his bones felt as though they were held together by aching thread.

The sun was bleeding pale gold across the buildings as he shuffled home on auto-pilot, head down, shoulders drooping. 

He climbed the stairs with a hand gripping the railing like a lifeline. The hallway blurred a little at the edges. Everything felt… slow.

But the kids needed to get up.

He knocked gently on each door, nudged them awake, checked that everyone had their assignments. He even reminded Min not to skip breakfast again.

After that, he stumbled into his room, barely managing to shrug off his jacket before collapsing face-first onto the bed.

Sweet relief flooded through him.

His pillow was cool. The blankets heavy. 

He was asleep within the minute.

---

The morning passed without incident.

Mostly.

Ye Shi tried to convince Min to do half of his writing assignment, claiming he was “too tired to form full sentences,” which only earned him a deeply skeptical look and a muttered, “That's not how school works.”

Ye Li breezed through his math quiz, then spent a solid twenty minutes rewriting the same sentence in his science worksheet three different ways, trying to make it sound “less like a twelve-year-old wrote it.” 

The reminder that he was ten didn't apace him any.

Ye Jia, hunched behind the monitor, made it through a practice test with headphones on and exactly zero commentary, which was how the others knew something was wrong. Or maybe just brewing.

By early afternoon, they'd all finished their work and logged into Glory.

“Just to check our inventories,” Min said, even though he was already elbow-deep in material routing and trying to talk his way into a bulk discount from a noob merchant who just didn’t know any better. 

Jia wasn’t buying it. She hovered near Min’s character, watching with crossed arms and an unimpressed frown.

“Did you eat?” she asked in real life, not in-game.

Min waved a hand in the general direction of the kitchen. “I’ll eat when I craft something good.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“And I ate yesterday .”

“Yeah. At 22:00. A single steamed bun.”

“It was two!”

“Half of one was mine.”

“Details,” Min muttered.

Ye Li, meanwhile, had pulled Shi into a dungeon run. He called it “research.” Shi didn’t argue. He was just happy to not have to write another word until tomorrow. 

By the time 17:00 rolled around, the apartment had gone quiet.

That was when Li finally noticed it.

“He’s not up yet,” he said, pausing mid-loot.

Min glanced toward the hallway. “What?”

“Mom. He should be up by now.”

Min frowned. “Maybe he just needed extra sleep?”

“After last night?” Shi said, emerging from the kitchen with a frown. “He should. He looked awful.”

Li nodded. “He always wakes up in time, though. Even if he barely slept.”

That was true. Even on bad nights—especially on bad nights—he always got up.

Even when he was dragging. Even when his shoulders looked like they were carrying something none of them could see.

Even when no one asked him to.

A knot started to form low in Jia’s stomach. She took off her headset and stood.

“I’m checking.”

…….

They crept down the hallway together, all four of them.

Ye Jia knocked lightly first. Then again, louder.

No answer.

She glanced back at the others. Li looked unsure. Min was biting his nails nervously. Shi had his arms folded tightly across his chest like armor.

Jia turned the knob.

The room was dim, the curtains still drawn. The air inside was stuffy. And there he was—still curled on the bed, half tangled in the blanket, face both pale and flushed.

“Mom?” Jia stepped closer. “Mom, it’s evening already.”

He didn’t stir.

Li crossed to the side and touched his shoulder. “Mom?”

Still no response.

Shi looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Min edged forward and reached for his forehead—then jerked back like he’d touched a burner.

“He’s hot,” he whispered, eyes wide. “Really hot.”

For a second, no one moved.

“Go get Old Granny Yan.” Jia urged towards her brothers, moving toward the kitchen for a cool towel. “Now.”

Min didn’t hesitate. He turned on his heel and sprinted down the hallway barefoot, thudding down the apartment stairs with no regard for volume or politeness.

Shi and Li stayed, sitting on opposite sides of the bed, quietly watching Ye Xiu breathe. His chest rose and fell, but slower than usual. Sweat clung to his hairline. His brows were drawn tight in sleep, like even rest couldn’t smooth them out.

Shi reached out and took his hand, small and clumsy but steady.

“You’re not allowed to break,” he said quietly. “You’re the only one we’ve got.”

And Ye Li, voice barely more than a whisper, added, “Please wake up soon.”

---

The door slammed open with a bang a moment later, followed by the clatter of soft house slippers and Min's voice:

“She’s coming! She’s coming!”

Old Granny Yan swept into the apartment in her oversized cardigan and a cloud of gardenia-scented worry, holding a canvas bag under one arm and a thermos in the other.

“Where is she?” she demanded, already halfway down the hall. “My dear, where’s our poor mother?”

“She’s in here,” Min said, darting ahead to push open the door all the way. “She hasn’t gotten up all day. She’s burning up.”

“Oh, heavens,” Old Granny Yan breathed, bustling over like a woman half her age. “You should’ve come for me sooner. She works herself into the ground, that one—never takes a break, never complains, just keeps going until her legs give out. Typical omega nonsense—yes, yes, I said it—no one tell her I said it.”

She set the thermos on the bedside table and reached out with gentle hands, brushing Ye Xiu’s damp hair back to feel his forehead. Her frown deepened instantly.

“Mm. Fever, and climbing,” she murmured. “Skin’s too warm, pulse is fast... No shivering, but she’s soaked through her collar. Poor thing.”

“Is she gonna be okay?” Min asked, voice pitched too high.

Old Granny Yan’s sternness melted just a little. She patted his shoulder without looking away from Ye Xiu. “She’ll be fine, dear. But she needs rest. Real rest. And something warm, once she can keep it down.”

She moved with surprising speed, calling back orders as she worked.

“Min, bring me a fresh towel and a bowl of cool water— not cold, just tap water will do.”

Min vanished instantly.

“Li, dear, boil the kettle. Tea, if we can tempt her awake later. Ginger, or anything calming.”

Li nodded and ran.

“Shi, love, open the curtains a crack. We need air in here. And fetch me the little jar from my bag—the yellow one. Good boy.”

Shi gave a sharp nod and obeyed.

Jia hovered at the foot of the bed, holding the towel she’d meant to use herself. “Is it… okay to let her sleep? Should we take her to the hospital?”

“Oh no, sweetheart,” Granny Yan said with surprising confidence. “Not unless the fever spikes higher. We’ll try to bring it down here first. Hospital’s full of people with no manners and too much perfume. She’d wake up just to escape.”

She wrung out the towel and laid it gently across Ye Xiu’s forehead with the same touch she used to wipe jam off a child’s cheek.

“Once I've left, make sure to remember to remove her scent-patch. It will help her settle and it will do her good to know you four are here and safe.”

“There now, my dearie,” she murmured to him. “You’ve done enough. Let someone else look after you, just for once.”

Ye Xiu didn’t respond, but his breathing eased slightly, the wrinkle in his brow softening beneath her touch.

Jia let out a long, shaky breath and sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor.

Granny Yan didn’t look up, but her voice softened around the edges.

“You children did well. You were brave. I’m proud of you.”

Min came back with the towel and bowl just as the kettle began to whistle.

And in the small, stuffy room that now smelled faintly of menthol and ginger, the chaos of the world outside seemed to pause—held at bay by the presence of one very small, very determined old woman, and four worried children who weren’t going to let their mother face this alone.

……………

The first thing Ye Xiu noticed was the feeling of family. Safety and worry mixed together in a jumbled mess. 

Then there was the light.

Too bright. 

Pale gold through the window, filtered through the curtains. A light winter breeze careces over him and made the curtains flutter in its passing. 

Morning, definitely morning.

The third thing was the weight in his limbs—dull and dragging, like someone had swapped his bones for wet cement.

His head throbbed behind his eyes. His mouth tasted like old cotton. And his skin… ugh. He was damp all over, like he’d fought a particularly stubborn boss mob for days.

He tried to sit up.

Bad idea. His arms gave out immediately and he flopped back onto the pillow with a grunt.

That was when he noticed the soft sound of movement. Someone shifting, somewhere nearby.

Then a voice—soft, and relieved.

“You’re awake.”

He blinked, turned his head.

Ye Jia was sitting in the armchair beside his bed, legs tucked under her, a half-finished book on her lap. Her hair was pinned up in a messy twist and she had a guarded look. Trying her best not to show how worried she was. But he could still feel it. Her worry and relief.

“Wha…” Ye Xiu cleared his throat, winced. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten.”

He froze. Ten.

“Ten?” His voice came out hoarse and incredulous. “Ten in the morning ?”

Jia nodded slowly.

Ye Xiu surged up again, heart in his throat, and this time he made it halfway before the dizziness hit him like a freight train. “Shit—I missed work. I didn’t call—I need to—”

“No, you don’t,” Jia said firmly, rising to press a hand to his shoulder. “Shi already told Chen Guo last night.” 

He stilled under her hand. Her presence steding. Comforting. Calming.

He blinked at her, not quite comprehending. “Shi did what?” His mind felt jumbled, making it hard to concentrate.

“He walked down to the café after dinner. Said you weren’t getting up and we were worried. She told him not to let you out of bed for at least two days.”

Ye Xiu stared at her, trying to process that.

“Wait—he went alone?”

“Min walked him halfway,” Jia said, rolling her eyes. “He didn’t cross a single street. And Granny Yan knew. She helped us write the note.”

“The note?”

“She insisted on proper spelling,” Jia muttered. “Shi wanted to write ‘Mother’s not operational, please stand by.’ ”

That drew a huff of air from Ye Xiu that might’ve been a laugh, if it didn’t immediately turn into a cough.

“You’re not working tonight either,” Jia added, pressing the cup of water from the nightstand into his hand. “And don’t argue. Granny Yan will hear you, and you’re still too weak to fight her.”

Ye Xiu sipped the water slowly, frowning at the edge of the cup. 

That… sounded about right. He was already exhausted from this little exchange. 

He brought his hand up and scratched at the skin usually covered by a scent blocker. It felt strange to have his pheromones so free. A good strange, in a way. It settled him to feel his children, to know that they were close. Safe. Especially now when he himself was so weak. It meant he could take a moment to rest. For now at least.

He leaned back into the pillows, energy draining from him faster than water through a colander. His throat tightened with more than just fever. But he couldn’t go back to sleep just yet. 

“And the boys?”

“Doing their work,” Jia said. “Min's bribing Shi with leftover ginger candy. Li’s making tea.”

Ye Xiu exhaled, a sound long and quiet.

He didn’t know what to feel. He wasn’t used to this. To being taken care of. To the world not crumbling when he stopped moving. 

“I’ll be up soon,” he said, mostly out of habit.

“You’ll be up when Granny Yan says so,” Jia replied, unbothered, and picked up her book again.

Ye Xiu closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the bed and the soft rustle of pages lull him back into stillness. Maybe, just this time, it was okay to rest.

For once, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.

………

Shi waited exactly until Min was preoccupied with the equipment editor, Jia was watching over Mom and Li had his hands full with laundry before he made his move. 

He wasn’t sure how the others would react to him calling Father Han, and he didn’t want to start a fight. So better that they hear about it later. If ever. 

If it was just to call and say hi, the others would be right here with him. But that wasn’t what Shi wanted. Well, he did, but not just that. 

He had a plan. 

And he wasn’t too sure if the others would approve or not. He was sure Mom wouldn’t, so… he was doing this on his own for now.

Old Granny Yan’s apartment door was slightly ajar—as usual. The scent of goji berry soup wafted out like a homing beacon.

“Old Granny Yan?” he called, knocking lightly on the doorframe before slipping through into the apartment “Can I borrow your phone? Please?”

The older woman emerged from the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up and a wooden spoon in hand. “Has your mother woken up yet, dear?”

Shi nodded, putting on his best wide-eyed expression. “She woke up for a few minutes, but she’s sleeping now. Jia got her to drink some tea Li made. I was hoping to call Father Han, to let him know. So he doesn’t worry.”

“Oh, of course!” Granny Yan beamed and handed over the phone like she was giving him her most prized possession. “And do tell him to come and visit. Make sure he brings soup. And don’t let your mother do anything , do you hear me?”

“I’ll guard the bed myself,” Shi promised solemnly, then ducked back into the hallway with the phone already ringing.

He didn’t even check the time. Han Wenqing always answered.

And he did.

“Hello?”

“Hi! It’s Shi. Ye Shi. The third one,” he added, unnecessarily but cheerfully. Settling himself on the second step where no one could overhear.

There was a pause. “...Yes. I remember. Is something wrong?”

“Um… Yes… No…. maybe? Not like, emergency wrong,” Shi scratched the side of his face, trying to figure which words to use. “Just, um. Mom’s sick.”

That got a longer pause. “Sick?”

“Yeah. Fever. Didn’t wake up yesterday and have been awake for just a few minutes today. He is really ill.”

Han’s voice came through again, lower. “Why are you calling me?”

“Because you care, don’t you?” Shi said, too fast, too honest. “Jia took his temperature, Min helped get the fever down, I told the café lady he couldn’t come in for work. Old Granny Yan made him porridge and checked his breathing.”

“We did everything right, but…” He looked up the stairwell. The apartment door was still shut. “He’s not getting better.”

A longer pause. Heavy.

Shi pressed on.

“And also because I think he won’t tell you. That he’s sick, I mean. He never tells anyone when something’s wrong. Not really. He just keeps going. Until he can’t.”

Han didn’t speak.

Shi pressed his sleeve to his eyes quickly, just once, keeping the emotions at bay. Then, more quietly: “He takes care of everyone. He never asks for anything. I don’t think he remembers how.”

And then, carefully: “There was this guy at the mall the other day. He kept hovering and standing too close and I think he stressed Mom out. It’s not good for his health.”

There was a beat of complete silence on the other end of the line. Then: “...What guy?”

“You know. The guy at the mall. The one who kept buying Mom things. Gave him a bunch of stuff he didn’t ask for. Expensive clothes. Fancy accessories. Like, a lot of stuff. Like weird boyfriend levels of stuff. I think it stressed him out. I think… I think it made him feel like a thing, not a person. Like he owed something he didn’t want to give.”

The silence on the line sharpened.

“He didn’t say that. But I could tell,” Shi said. “So… if you want to visit. Or just call. I think he’d pretend not to want that. But I think he would.”

“...I see,”

“And Mom’s too hot to go out alone, you see, and need someone with him to bat the guys away.”

“...I see?,” Han said at last, in a voice that sounded slightly strangled.

“Okay, thanks! I’ll tell Mom you said hi.”

And before Han could reply, Shi hung up, cradling the phone in his lap, suddenly very still. His stomach hurt, a little.

He sat on the stairway steps a few more seconds, just staring at the phone in his hands.

He hoped he did the right thing. 

Getting up, he thanked Old Granny Yan for the phone before climbing up to their apartment. Their home.

All of this was so strange. He and his siblings were anomalies. Impossibilities. Yet, here they were. Mixed memories of someone living and someone dead.  

He didn’t know how he came to be. 

But as he slipped back inside, it was just in time to meet Ye Jia in the hall.

She squinted at him. “What are you grinning about?”

“Just doing my part,” Shi said innocently, grin widening.

It didn’t matter, he decided, as his eyes drifted to the closed door to Ye Xiu’s room. Where Ye Xiu lay—tucked in and feverish and pretending, even in sleep, that no one needed to worry.

They are here now. This was his family, their home. And he would do anything to keep them together, happy and safe.

That he promised.

……………..

Han Wenqing put down his phone and went back to practice.

There were still a few minutes left in their scheduled break, but Han Wenqing got to work anyway. 

Better this than listening to the idle chatter across the room—snatches of gossip about Liu Hao’s supposedly hot girlfriend. Half the team was weighing in now, their voices too loud for a room meant for focus.

How someone like Liu Hao had managed to land a partner at all was a mystery in itself. Still, it was better than thinking about the phone call.

Better than thinking about Ye Qiu, tucked under blankets with a fever, in a home Han had never seen. Surrounded by children Han had never met. Kids who had called him Father .

He didn’t think about what Shi had meant about someone “hovering too close,” or why the boy had sounded so small at the end.

He didn’t know where to even begin with that.

So he didn’t bother.

He was Tyranny’s captain. His responsibility lay with the team, and they had a match in two days. He couldn’t afford to get distracted now.

Han Wenqing didn’t indulge in uncertainty.

That was what people didn’t understand.

Duty wasn’t a chain. It was a choice. One you made over and over again, until it became who you were.

His heart went out to the kids. He could understand their worry.

But understanding didn’t mean he could drop everything and go. He didn’t have a role in that house. He didn’t belong to those children. And they didn’t belong to him.

Ye Qiu would understand. Han was sure of that. They had both worn the captain’s mantle too long not to.

Some sacrifices had to be made.

And Ye Qiu would’ve made the same one.

Han didn’t know where he stood with the Ye family—but this was where he drew the line. Quiet, clean, and final.

His team came first.

Everything else came second.

He breathed out slowly and blocked out the ache in his chest.

He couldn’t afford the distraction. Not now.

……………

Later that afternoon, Ye Xiu felt well enough to get up. 

His first stop, of course, was Glory.

He logged in under the collective protest of his children.

They tried their best to force him back into bed—he endured a full five minutes of scolding before they gave up and changed tactics. If they couldn’t make him rest, they would bring the rest to him. 

Li arrived first with a steaming cup of tea, laced with an overabundance of honey, making it far too sweet. 

Min followed with a carefully heated bowl of soup Old Granny Yan had made for them, and set it on the desk in front of Ye Xiu with a pointed look that dared him not to eat it. 

Jia didn’t say anything. She just marched out and returned with the blankets from his bed and wrapped him in them. She wrapped him, layer by layer, and pulled them snuggly enough he could hardly move. 

Shi was bouncing from foot to foot, explaining how worried they all were and relaying all of their concerns. Spilling every bit of advice the four of them had managed to collect. Everything Yan Zhen had instructed them, to the more vocal intense care Chen Guo showed, to Tang Rou’s calming advice. All at once, barely pausing to take a breath in between, tripping over his words in his urgency to share them all.

Ye Xiu couldn’t stop the smile blooming on his face, even if he tried.

He had never felt so loved and cared for. 

His happy, content phormomes settled in the room and filled it with a calming presence. 

Safe. Home. Family.- It whispered.

“Come,” Ye Xiu said, voice hoarse but warm. “Help me find a new strategy to break Boneyard’s record.”

He didn’t need to say anything more. 

They understood. 

All four of them rushed to log in.

It was Ye Xiu’s way of saying thank you and can you help me and I believe in you , all in one.

When Ye Xiu crawled back to bed a few hours later and a new strategy firmly concluded. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling even once.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Liu Hao was furious.

He should have been happy. Flying-above-the-clouds kind of happy.

He’d finally gotten rid of that eyesore of a captain. He had a goddess for a girlfriend. Better yet—everyone knew it. They were splashed across the front page of every esports magazine in China.

What wasn’t there to be happy about?

But no. Of course not. His life couldn’t be that simple.

And as always, it all came back to that damn Ye Qiu.

Liu Hao didn’t know how Ye Qiu had managed to beat his dungeon record not once, but twice . And with a makeshift team of randos, no less.

Determined to find out, he’d leaned on Chen Yehui to get him an account card for the 10th server. What he got was a level 23 Berserker named Hateful Sword—not too different from his usual Spellblade, and honestly a pretty good name. Fitting, really. Perfect for a secret infiltration mission to drag Ye Qiu down from whatever pathetic pedestal people still put him on.

But from there, his luck nosedived straight into the ground.

First, he had to spam Lord Grim with friend requests just to get the guy to even acknowledge him. Then, when Ye Qiu finally responded, the bastard had the audacity to throw him at a subordinate.

A subordinate!

If that wasn’t insulting enough, that Steam Bun Invasion was a complete and utter brat.

Just because Liu Hao had been generous enough to let him win a few times—purely for the sake of keeping Ye Qiu unsuspecting, of course—the little freak had gotten cocky. Now he was looking down on Liu Hao like he was the one doing him a favor.

It was infuriating.

And then Ye Qiu hadn’t logged in for days. Liu Hao had gone through all the trouble of coming to the 10th server to spy on him, and the guy didn’t even show! Like he had something better to do.

Not that Ye Qiu knew who he was. Liu Hao had been very careful on that front.

But when the elusive Lord Grim finally did log in, Liu Hao messaged him—and was met with a casual, “Party’s full. Maybe next time.”

Maybe. Next. Time.

How dare he.

By that point, Liu Hao was ready to spit fire at anyone who so much as looked at him wrong.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t seen his beautiful girlfriend in person for nearly a week. She was busy, apparently. Some modeling thing. He was sure she would contact him as soon as she could. 

Which was fine. He had a dozen pictures of them together on all his screens. If anyone glanced his way, they’d know right away who she belonged to.

It irked him a little that he still didn’t know her name , but no one else did either, so that was fine. He just said it was private. Intimate. Off-limits. It made it sound romantic. Besides, only his name mattered.

Then Saturday rolled around.

And finally, his luck turned.

Ye Qiu logged in and said they’d be doing a record run of Boneyard. Said they had a new strategy.

Liu Hao accepted immediately.

This was what he’d been working toward all week. What he’d endured the humiliation for. All the slights, all the waiting—it would be worth it.

He’d take Ye Qiu’s strategy, run it, and beat the bastard with his own plan.

Liu Hao was going to bury him. Right where he belonged.

………..

“Are you sure you’re well enough to work today? You could take one more day off, you know,” Chen Guo asked, concern etched in every line of her face.

The last of the customers were trickling out, leaving behind only the echoes of Excellent Era’s humiliating defeat. Not many were in the mood to linger and play after a loss like that. Not even the presence of the "beauties" behind the counter had been enough to lift the mood.

“No need, no need.” Ye Xiu waved her off and settled into the seat behind the desk with a sigh that sounded suspiciously content. “Besides, I’ve got my four little gremlins to help me.”

Chen Guo cast a skeptical glance toward the children. They were each glued to their screens, utterly absorbed.

“Shouldn’t they be in bed?”

“It’s Saturday!” one of them called out instantly.

“No school tomorrow,” another chimed in.

“Someone needs to keep an eye on him.”

“To make sure he eats.”

“See?” Ye Xiu spread his hands, grinning a little too brightly for someone who’d just been declared unfit to care for himself by a quartet of kids. “Nothing to worry about.”

Chen Guo threw her hands in the air. “I give up!”

Turning to her friend instead, she tried a different tactic. “Tang Rou, are you staying up too?”

“Yes,” Tang Rou said simply.

That was that.

Defeated, Chen Guo sighed and turned away. She’d hoped to get her friend interested in Glory, yes—but she hadn’t expected to lose her when it happened.

The echoes of the match still clung to her as she trudged up to the apartment. Excellent Era’s crushing loss to Blue Rain had been a punch to the gut. Their own home arena, and they’d been steamrolled. She should’ve known Sun Xiang wasn’t ready—not really. But she’d wanted to believe. She’d tried to believe. But Liu Hao… She didn’t even know what that was. Just what was her Excellent Era turning into?

Now… Now her mood was at an all-time low.

The apartment was silent when she opened the door. Silent, empty.

Alone.

She stood there for a moment, then quietly made her way to bed and crawled under the covers. The pillow was cold. She didn’t bother to turn on the lights.

There was nothing else to do but sleep.

………..

It was close to 23:30 when Huang Shaotian made it to the internet café Ye Qiu had told him to come to. He didn’t know why the guy wanted to run a low-level dungeon, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to show up.

He was worried. Ye Qiu hadn’t answered any messages—again—so it was better to check in face-to-face. Maybe this time, he’d actually get an explanation.

But right now, he had another problem.

How was he supposed to get into the café and find Ye Qiu without starting a riot?

He crouched behind a vending machine across the street, watching the door like a spy in a low-budget drama.

On top of that, he was starting to get uncomfortable.

The concrete was cold through his jeans. He’d forgotten a jacket, and the hoodie he had on was too thin. The mask he’d yanked on last minute scratched against his chin, but there was no way he was taking it off. He could handle being recognized during a match, or at a fan event—but not in a dusty, late-night net café in the middle of nowhere.

That it was the café right across from Excellent Era’s headquarters was just the cherry on top.

He adjusted his sunglasses, tugged his scarf higher, and paced past the door for the third time. The girl behind the counter kept glancing at him. Why did Ye Qiu have to pick an internet café, of all places?

He ducked back behind the vending machine when two guys walked out of the café, chatting loudly.

“Come on, come on… You’d think this many people would have better things to do than hang around a café. Don’t they have games to lose?” he muttered quietly to himself as he waited for them to round the corner. 

Once they were gone, he scurried forward, making another pass. 

This time the girl was gone and no other customers were by the front desk. Then, with a breath held tight in his chest, he strode up to the entrance and slipped inside.

Taking the opportunity, he quickly walked inside.

The soft chime of the door nearly made him bolt—or pass out. Possibly both.

But no one even looked up.

He scanned the room. No sign of Ye Qiu. No one who even remotely looked like him. Just where the hell was he hiding?

Resigned, he shuffled up to the counter like a man walking to the gallows.

“Hi, hi! I’m meeting a friend here,” he said, trying to sound casual. “He told me to come. I think I might be early.”

The person behind the counter didn’t look up. “And you thought, dressing like a B-list celebrity avoiding paparazzi and acting like a thief, was the solution?”

Huang Shaotian blinked. “Wait a second. That voice…”

He knew that voice. 

In the dim lighting it was hard to make out any distinguishing features.  

Long dark hair. Pale, almost luminous skin.

A beat. Then the person tilted their head and smiled, crooked and familiar.

“Oh,” Huang Shaotian breathed. “Oh my god. Ye Qiu?!”

He slapped both hands over his mouth like he could shove the words back in.

Because this didn’t make sense. He’d known Ye Qiu for years, and has seen him in many different situations. But this—this was new. He looked frail, almost delicate. Like someone who belonged on the cover of a luxury magazine.

He was… stunning.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

And that’s when it clicked.

“…No way.”

“ No. Way. ”

A beat. 

Then, loud whisper:

“You’re the girlfriend! I KNEW Liu Hao was lying through his teeth—no way he landed someone that pretty. And it’s YOU ? Ye Qiu???”

Ye Qiu let out a long, suffering sigh.

“I've unlocked computer 1 in area A for you to use. No one else is down there, you won’t be bothered.”

“Wait, wait, wait! Do you think I'm just going to let this go? Heh? Do you? Well I'm not! So tell me, how did you end up as Liu Hao’s girlfriend? And I mean, Liu Hao? Of all people, him? You could’ve told me you wanted to be someone’s girlfriend—I’d be a better choice! I’m a better Glory player, better character, better looks, better hair. Just better all around! And more fame! But you never seemed to care about that before—”

“Wow. For someone trying to keep a low profile, he sure is loud.”

“Very loud.”

“Is he another Liu Hao?”

“No, he recognized Dad.”

“He’s worse. He doesn’t stop talking.”

“Should we chase him out?”

Huang Shaotian froze and looked at the small cluster of kids who had emerged from behind a row of computers. They looked exactly like mini Ye Qius.

“Are these… yours?”

“Yes,” Ye Qiu said dryly.

“You didn’t say anything about having a whole team of them—wait, how old are they? Is Liu Hao the dad? Oh god, are you the mom? That makes Liu Hao’s spread even worse—wait, no. It makes it better. Can I get a copy—wait, forget I said that.”

“The computer,” Ye Qiu repeated, deadpan. “1A.”

“Are you seriously putting me to work the second I walk in? What about food? I’m hungry. What do you feed these kids, anyway? …You do feed them, right?”

“Stop bothering Dad and go,” one of the mini-Ye Qius said sternly, arms crossed.

So cute. Huang Shaotian nearly choked on his laugh.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” he said, pointing at Ye Qiu. “But don’t think this conversation is over.”

Finding his designated computer in a darkened corner. He slumped down in the chair. 

He had known that something had been up with Ye Qiu. But this? He couldn’t even have imagined it. 

He logged in with a sigh.

He brought with him an account on server 10 on Ye Qiu’s behest. 

A level 27 Swordsmaster soon appeared on the screen. 

How humiliating.

He was never touching this account again.

If anyone found out, his reputation as Sword Saint would be ruined.

A soft clatter made him spin around.

He’d let his guard down. Too sure in Ye Qiu’s words that no one would wander near.

But it was just one of the kids—a slim, serious-faced boy with too bright eyes—setting down a steaming cup of instant noodles.

“You said you were hungry,” the boy said. “It’s important to eat.”

“…Thanks,” Huang Shaotian said, momentarily disarmed. “Hey, not bad. Got anything spicier? Don’t tell your dad. He looks like the kind of guy who makes you eat vegetables.”

The boy nodded, turned, then paused.

“Dad takes very good care of us,” he said firmly. “ Never question that again.”

……………..

After the dungeon run, Huang Shaotian wandered back to the desk.

Ye Qiu sat with his head tilted back, one leg crossed, as if none of this had affected him at all.

“So,” Huang Shaotian said, leaning on the counter, “what’s the deal with Liu Hao? You take a few photos, look like that, and suddenly you’re his dream girl?”

“He made an assumption,” Ye Qiu replied. “It was convenient not to correct him.”

“That hurts. Really. If anyone gets to claim you as a fake girlfriend, it should be me.”

“I didn’t agree to be anyone’s girlfriend.”

“Then maybe you should. I’ve got better stats than Liu Hao. I talk a lot, yeah, but I listen too. I wouldn’t ignore your kids. Plus, I actually like you. That has to count for something.”

Ye Qiu’s tone was dry. “What a tempting offer.”

“Right? And I don’t get knocked out in the group challenge!”

“Please don’t,” one of the kids muttered.

“I think they’d rather I date a mute.”

“He’s not wrong.” came the immediate response from the short tyke. 

Huang Shaotian clutched his chest in mock pain. “Tag-team roasting? You’re raising assassins!”

But then he looked up, more serious now. “You’re coming back, right?”

“Of course,” Ye Qiu said.

“You okay? You don’t look great. Don’t tell me Liu Hao gave you a cold on top of everything else.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you run into any trouble… tell me, okay?”

“Then I want my vampiric lightsaber back. And 10 yuan for two hours of computer time.”

“Ghhha!” Huang Shaotian slapped the bills down and turned away. “I’ll return the lightsaber later.”

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m glad you’re okay. You better come back. You have to.”

Ye Qiu didn’t answer right away. The smile didn’t change, but something passed through his eyes—something quieter, soft, almost fragile.

“…Thanks,” he said at last.

As Huang Shaotian made his way toward the exit, he heard whispers behind him.

“What do we do about this one?”

“I don’t know.”

“He talks too much.”

“He’s at least better than Liu Hao.”

He couldn’t help smiling.

No one told him not to come back.

…………

The afternoon sun shone through the cafe windows, glittering in the frost-glistened surfaces outside. Hanging by the front desk, Chen Guo took another sip from her coffee mug. 

She let her thoughts drift. 

Chen Guo was bored.

It was a slow Sunday, and after yesterday’s match, much of her usual clientele was probably in as much of a somber mood as she was right now. So she could relate. 

But this left her with nothing to do and nothing to take her mind off things either. 

Her gaze wandered until it landed on four black tufts of hair sticking up over their computer screens.   

Huffing out a quiet laugh she wandered over. 

They were so small, it was hard to believe they were even ten years old. But the moment they opened their mouths, it was just as hard to believe they were so young. So much knowledge and insight could be a bit intimidating, especially when all four of them were together. 

But over the week she had gotten to know them better and she liked to think that they had gotten close. She’d definitely developed a soft spot for them. 

Though she would never tell them that. Especially not their shameless father. 

She found Ye Li first, sitting by the computer, headphones around his neck and eyes focused, farming something high-level with surgical precision.

“What are you up to?” she asked, leaning in.

“Leveling,” he replied, succinctly.

“Are you leveling together?” she asked, gesturing towards his siblings who were just as engrossed in their screens as Ye Li was. 

“No. Min’s still lost in the equipment editor, Jia’s updating her blog about yesterday’s matches, and Shi’s sulking.”

That made her blink. “Sulking? Why?”

Ye Li didn’t even pause. “He was waiting for Father Han to contact Dad. But he hasn’t.”

Chen Guo frowned. “Who’s Father Han?”

Ye Li didn’t answer. He adjusted his camera angle instead.

She blinked at him. “And how do you know he hasn’t contacted him? Maybe he sent a message or something.”

“No. We’d know.” He glanced up just briefly. “Dad doesn’t need to say anything. You can see it on him.”

Something in his tone made her pause. She leaned a little closer, smile growing and lowered her voice, hoping for some gossip. “Oh… they must be close, then.”

Ye Li gave a small shrug, noncommittal. “No. Not really.”

“Oh,” she said again, a little thrown. That answer was so certain—and so lacking in elaboration—that she didn’t know what to say to it. A bit disappointed in Ye Qiu’s lack of love-life gossip, she took a sip of her coffee to cover it, then tried to pivot. “So, are you done with Boneyard?”

“Yeah. Dad set the record last night.”

Her eyebrows lifted and grinned at him. “You don’t want to try and beat it?”

He turned and looked at her properly, one eyebrow arched in a way that reminded her far too much of Ye Xiu. “Right now, it’s not about beating it. It’s about letting it stand. If his records keep getting broken right away, it’ll damage his reputation with the guilds and they will stop hiring him.”

Chen Guo whistled. “Tch. You sound like him, you know.”

“Not really.”

She grinned, teasing. “Still—can you beat it?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Haven’t tried.”

Across the room, Ye Min stirred in his seat and looked up from his screen, where something glittered with the faint sheen of rare crafting mats. “Excellent Dynasty’s second on the leaderboard, right? What if we knock them off completely?”

Ye Jia snorted without looking away from her blog draft. “That would be so petty. I love it.”

Chen Guo turned toward her, eyes lighting up. “You mean—”

Ye Li glanced at Chen Guo. “Do you want to help, Aunt Chen?”

That was all the invitation she needed.

“Of course I do!” she said, already moving. “I’ll log in now.”

……………

Chen Guo surged forward with the others as soon as they entered, fingers steady, eyes alert. They were inside the dungeon: Boneyard—an old, dreary graveyard with crumbling gravestones and creaking coffins. The sudden ambushes from skeletons and zombies made it fit right home in a horror movie. 

Right now, it was the most talked about dungeon in the tenth server. Though, not for its scenery. Currently it was the most run dungeon with the high-leveled and mainstream players within the right level for it, as well as the mysterious “Lord Grim” having once again shattered the record for all servers- It wasn’t really strange it was the main topic on most forums.

“Shi, left.” Ye Li’s voice was calm, clipped.

“Got it.” Ye Shi’s Striker peeled off to trigger the ambush spawn early, drawing the mobs toward the crack in the wall. Fists flew, and so did the mobs, landing in a heap in front of Li who used Falling Flower Palm to get them in the crack.

“Jia, choke point,” Ye Li said.

“Already on it.” Jia’s character, a sharpshooter, lined up her guns and fired. The bullets tore through the bones, and the first skeleton warrior fell. Clustering the enemies helplessly into a single point. With Ye Min’s Qi Master and Chen Guo’s Launcher aiding in the dps, it didn’t take long for two more to fall and they were off again.

Chen Guo kept pace, unleashing a flurry of attacks at the edge of the fray. She wasn’t dead weight—not by a long shot—but she was already starting to sweat. These kids moved like they’d been doing this for years. She had run this dungeon many times, but never had it gone this smooth before.

"Boss one in seven," Li said.

Jia chimed in. “Are we skipping?”

“Yes,” Min answered. “Countercurrent, Kick, Flower Palm, then Delivery Gun should do the trick.”

Startled, Chen Guo exclaimed in surprise.  “Wait, the what now—?”

“Just follow Shi,” Li said. “He’s bait.”

Ye Shi, uncharacteristically, hadn’t spoken much at all yet. This time he didn’t even bother with a response as his Striker dashed ahead closing the distance. With a thrown punch straight into the boss's face, the boss was neatly sent over to Min. Then, with seamless precision, he jumped up ready when Min sent the boss up in the air. With a launching kick the boss flew higher, then even higher with Li’s Falling Flower Palm, then aided by Jia’s bullet fire to help guide the boss into the crack in the wall. 

“Now!” Ye Li barked.

The rest of them rushed past as the boss wailed and flailed from twenty feet up, stuck like a moron in the stonework. Chen Guo caught up just in time, heart hammering.

"Did you guys practice this?" she asked breathlessly.

“No,” said Jia. “But we did help Dad come up with this tactic.”

Chen Guo didn’t even know what to say to that.

They cleared the second wave in under four minutes. Another ambush came—and went—in the blink of an eye. She threw herself into the next mob, chasing their combo chain, and this time, she didn’t fall behind.

The second boss loomed—more dangerous than the first, but just as circumventable if done precisely.

"Min, you’re pivot. Jia, get ready, this one is heavier.” Li said.

Chen Guo tensed. “Need me to help?”

“No,” Min said. “You’re DPS. Hit hard and keep the area clear of any spawns. Watch the timer.”

“Got it.”

This skip was even tighter. A single mistimed jump would ruin everything. 

Zombie Bailey was big and hit hard, but he was also slow. 

Ye Shi pulled the boss’s attention, using his superior movement speed he rounded to the back and sent Bailey flying forward, into his brothers’ waiting arms. 

A second perfectly timed countercurrent followed—launching the boss high into the air, mirroring the previous boss. Jia and Li moved in and helped the boss into the wall. 

Their teamwork was precise and smooth. That whole boss encounter hadn’t even taken half a minute. 

“Now!” Li snapped again. They blew past.

Chen Guo sucked in a breath. “This is insane .”

“Insane would be trying to beat Dad’s time,” Jia muttered.

“We’re not. Just pushing Excellent Dynasty down,” Li said flatly.

Final stretch. No skips this time—the last boss had to be fought properly. It was brutal: huge AOE patterns, a skill rotation, and a final enrage phase that could wipe the whole team if not perfectly timed.

“Aunt Chen, focus on DPS,” Min said suddenly. “Don’t worry about knockback skills. I’ll handle the timing.”

Chen Guo blinked. “What? Why?”

“You did 13% more damage on your bursts on our last dungeon run,” he replied, like that was a perfectly normal thing to track.

“How do you know that?” She couldn’t tell if she was impressed or vaguely horrified.

The boss roared, launching into the final phase. Everyone moved like water—slipping past attack zones, chaining combos, triggering criticals. Jia’s AOE lined up with Li’s finisher, while Min rotated cooldowns with cold efficiency. Chen Guo burned every cooldown she had.

The boss staggered. They struck as one.

Boss Down.

The victory fanfare was immediate. The clear time blinked into place on the corner of the screen.

16:42:33

A narrow window. Enough to bump Excellent Dynasty into third place on the leaderboard—and not enough to overtake Lord Grim.

Exactly as planned.

“Perfect,” Li said, exhaling for the first time.

Jia let out a satisfied hum. “Petty. Precise. Beautiful,” she said, utterly smug.

Ye Shi finally spoke, sounding pleased. “We could’ve gone faster.”

“Not the point,” Min said. “We only needed second place.”

Chen Guo leaned back in her chair, hand over her heart.

“You guys are terrifying,” she muttered. “But I’m logging this replay. No one is ever going to believe it otherwise.”

“Well, we are going to need to do it again to completely knock Excellent Dynasty off the leaderboard.” Shi said with a savage grin. “This time I'm going to record it too. Then post it on our guild forum. Let everyone see we are the best.”

“...we have a guild forum?” Min asked, skeptically.