Chapter 8

The moment Wen Xi stepped out with Fuzai, he ran into the next-door neighbors.
Two young men lived there—Wen Xi had seen them holding hands grocery shopping and kissing at their door.
A devoted couple.
Wen Xi respected every kind of relationship; same-sex couples weren’t shocking anymore—he didn’t sneer or dodge.
The neighbors were friendly too—every meeting, nods, smiles, warm hellos.
Today the blond wasn’t there—just the dark-haired one, probably a white-collar job; whenever Wen Xi saw him, he wore a suit, hair neat, good at small talk.
Now he stepped forward, opened a bag, smiled gently at Wen Xi: “Have an apple—just bought, should be sweet.”
Wen Xi declined: “No thanks.”
They went back and forth politely—then the neighbor’s door opened.
The blond stood arms crossed, annoyed: “Hungry.”
Two words—and the dark-haired man cut the chat short.
Wen Xi read the room, pulled Fuzai into the elevator; as the doors closed he thought he saw them argue.
Wen Xi wasn’t nosy about others’ lives or their relationships—he looked away.
Drizzly noon—few people on the street.
Wen Xi walked Fuzai in a loop, pushed into a snack shop, packed lunch, grabbed coffee, strolled home.
The elevator opened—and sounds from next door carried through the wall, curses mixed in.
Probably because it was one elevator, two units—they didn’t hold back.
Wen Xi hurried to his door; Fuzai barked in rhythm.
No hand free to muzzle the dog—he rushed inside with Fuzai.
Door shut, Wen Xi scolded Fuzai for “bad manners”; under the dog’s blank stare he undid the harness and let him zoom around.
Hands washed, he opened his takeout.
Maybe imagination—but he still “heard” the neighbors. He put on a binge drama to distract himself.
After lunch, Wen Xi edited a highlight reel in the study—uploaded, thousands of likes in minutes.
Comments asked stream time.
He replied six.
Done with fans, he scrolled Weibo.
Empty schedules were boring.
Usually he’d nap—today, no sleepiness.
Restless, he opened “City of Succubi” again to kill time.
The sprite wasn’t home. Wen Xi claimed mailbox gold, then opened the recorder for today’s log.
【7:40 a.m.—Wen Siran stripped the sheet, made a crude bag, packed all his books.】
Wait—sheet backpack?
Wen Xi checked his purchase bag—yesterday he’d sent everything except the messenger bag.
Poor kid was making a fool of himself at school again.
【Facing classmates’ questions, Wen Siran stayed calm—said a human had made it for him by hand.】
Little liar.
【Teacher Eric checked homework—half Wen Siran’s workbook was missing. He admitted he ate it and promised never again.】
【Bad luck—Wen Siran dozed in class; Teacher Eric caught him—he was ashamed.】
【Today’s speaking and writing drills—Wen Siran failed both—crushed.】
【During afternoon activities, Teacher Eric called Wen Siran to the office for one-on-one tutoring.】
The recorder stopped there.
Wen Xi thought, then opened the map—School.
Guided by the system, he opened a solid wood door.
Warm light inside—a red-haired man patiently traced characters in a notebook, sounding out: “Si～ran～”
Wen Siran: “Shi ran.”
Eric: “Si～”
Wen Siran: “Si～”
Eric: “Right—great.”
Wen Siran: “Great.”
Eric ruffled his hair: “Siran loves you.”
Wen Siran: “Sha ren ai ni.”
Three sweat lines appeared over Eric’s head; his smile stayed gentle: “Nolun.”
【Wrong.】
Wen Siran scratched his head, embarrassed, tried again: “Sha ni ai ni.”
Wen Xi: …
Worse than tutoring Pei Jin.
He bailed out of the office before the system assigned him a teaching quest.
Back to main screen, he hit the flea market, bought a discounted three-tier shelf, placed it by the tub, stacked bath supplies.
Done decorating, he sighed again—the place was still tiny.
“Whoosh～”
A crack split a blank wall; white light threaded through, forming a silver path.
The sprite returned along it, homemade bag on his back.
He didn’t sense Wen Xi—set the “backpack” on the desk, untied it, pulled out his workbook, and wrote seriously.
From Wen Xi’s angle: thick hair on top, baby fat at the cheek.
He paused, gnawed the pencil, stared at the page—stuck.
Wen Xi couldn’t resist lifting the book—what was blocking him? He’d just had tutoring—some progress had to exist?
Book lifted—the sprite blinked, then brightened: “Polin!”
【Human!】
Carefree joy—Wen Xi was the one worrying.
At a glance—first row of grid squares had only the three-water radical of “Wen”; the rest blank. Compared to yesterday—zero improvement.
Wen Xi returned the book; the sprite took it, felt the mood drop, hung his head, hands behind his back—a red-eyed pout emoji in his bubble.
Wen Xi couldn’t stand that pitiful look—he pulled out yesterday’s unsent messenger bag, hoping to avoid another fountain cry.
The sprite looked up slowly—dark circles under big eyes, tired but cheeks oddly flushed—cute and funny.
“Xi xi.” He hugged the bag carefully, arms tight, then looked up solemn: “Si ren, si ren…”
Wen Xi mentally corrected—not si ren, Siran.
“Ai ni.”
Hm? Showing off new phrases?
Those two words were clear—passable, needed practice.
Fenrir’s bubble flashed—avatar dabbing tears with tissue: 【Waaah—so moving—he hasn’t learned his own name yet but already learned to love you. Little Siran really loves you～He’s bravely showing his feelings.】
Ha.
Spit it out—how much money this time?
Painting the sprite that sentimental—just another recharge pitch.
Fenrir: 【So—will you teach him to write his own name yourself? It means a lot to him.】
【Yes】【No】
Wen Xi: I’d rather just pay cash.
Then again—maybe a hidden quest with fat rewards.
He had time—might as well try.
He chose yes.
A virtual hand appeared midair; Wen Xi dragged it over the sprite’s right hand—like they were really holding hands.
The sprite’s neck flushed; he whispered, “Polin…”
Wen Xi tapped his head—focus.
Head down, eyes glued to the workbook—under Wen Xi’s drag, the character “Wen” slowly completed.
Then row two: “Si.” Row three: “Ran.”
Wen Siran.
Strange how naming something tied it to you.
Like now.
After writing his name together, Wen Xi was more interested in him.
The designers really knew how to hook players.
Step by step deepening attachment—making you want to know him, help him.
Selling the fantasy: a clueless succubus who can’t live without you, learning human speech for you, trying to join your world.
Waiting in a cramped room every day—when you log in, starry eyes and broken-accent “I love you.”
So… would you log in again?
Author’s note:
The answer was yes.
Wen Xi ended stream at 1 a.m. tonight.
The moment the PC shut down, he opened “City of Succubi.”
Teaching Wen Siran to write had sucked him in—he’d nearly missed stream time.
Mostly because the sprite’s emotional payoff was that strong.
Every finished stroke, he’d squeal: “Polin, ydu psenrs!”
【Human, you’re amazing!】
Isn’t that what games were for—fun and feels?