Chapter 22

It all sounded a bit unserious when you said it aloud, but the butler had been clear: their client was a girl with poor health who couldn’t go out, so they were being hired to keep her company at home.
The work itself was simple—play games with her, chat, share gossip, anything that might cheer her up. The goal was to keep her amused and, ideally, let her rediscover a little joy in life.
Almost without thinking, Chu Keke pictured a frail, delicate little sister and, inevitably, thought of her own.
She couldn’t imagine a better job. She could wait for calls from the Yu residence while still picking up other part‑time work, and she’d have enough free time left over to care for her sister at home. Even hospital visits would be easier—with this job, she wouldn’t have to beg for time off all the time.
“It’s so pretty here. Do they really own this whole mountain?”
“Seems like it. I really hope I get the job. This place is nicer than a tourist spot.”
Snatches of conversation drifted around her. Silently, Chu Keke agreed.
It *was* beautiful. Hard to imagine one person’s home being this big—straight out of a fairy tale.
At six in the evening, the interviews ended. Xiang Changge stepped out of the side room.
Summer days were long and nights short. The rain had stopped; the clouds had broken. The sky was bright, the western horizon filled with bands of cloud, fading from pale gold to deeper shades as the minutes passed.
She gazed at the rarely seen sunset for a long time, then tipped her head back and closed her eyes, as if trying to taste its flavor.
“A rare view.”
The words carried two meanings.
In the apocalypse, this sort of sky had been almost unheard of. Even here, the sun had been missing for days.
Thinking of certain “thunder gods and lightning mothers,” she mused, “Looks like the male and female lead are in a good mood today.”
The system confirmed it. “They are. The heroine is pleased to have been hired by you, and the male lead—who’s been away on a business trip—is about to return to City A with a major contract signed, so he’s feeling relaxed.”
Xiang Changge: “……”
So they *were* responsible for the weather.
“Then why were they sulking and storming before?”
System: “The male lead took two female assistants on his trip. One of them had designs on him and, while he was away from his phone, replied to the heroine’s text for him…”
“Don’t tell me she wrote, ‘He’s in the shower.’”
Xiang Changge dredged up the fragment from memory. She’d distinctly recalled a scene like that when she’d read the book.
The system snapped metaphorical fingers in her head. “Bingo! Our host has correctly answered the question in one second flat. Your prize is a compliment: you’re amazing!”
Xiang Changge: “……”
Who had asked?
She could already guess the rest: the male lead wouldn’t understand why the heroine was suddenly angry and ignoring him; when he went to find her, he’d catch her in what looked like an intimate moment with another man; he’d get jealous and, right there in front of the guy, yank her in for a domineering kiss to mark his territory.
She yawned. “So are we in for more rain the next few days?”
The system didn’t answer directly; instead, it launched into a recitation from the source text.
“In that instant, a blazing white light split the sky, its glare carving out Shangguan’s storm‑darkened face.”
“Thunder crashed in Chu Keke’s head as if the heavens themselves were exploding. A second later, warmth brushed her lips. In her daze, all she could see was Shangguan’s handsome face—and, behind him, the stunned expression of the neighbor brother who had always helped her.”
“The thought of what they were doing right then made Chu Keke want to crawl into a hole. How could this happen, how could he—how could they, right in front of Wei‑ge…”
“She struggled, but the more she pushed, the tighter Shangguan’s grip grew. In the end, she steeled herself and bit down hard. The taste of blood flooded between them.”
“Even then, Shangguan refused to let go. Blood trickled down from their joined mouths.”
“Wei Quan turned away in silence. Minutes later, the long‑brewing downpour opened up, each raindrop falling hard enough to sting as it pelted the two of them. The rain ran down their cheeks into their mouths, carrying only bitterness…”
“Enough.”
Xiang Changge squeezed her eyes shut, words dying on her tongue.
After a long moment, she said only, “Send me the time and place in advance.”
The system, which had been reciting with great feeling, faltered. “8802… what are you planning?”
“Remember, this is a lawful society. Killing is illegal!”
Xiang Changge pretended not to hear and headed straight for the staff cafeteria on the first floor.
She could already smell the seafood. Tonight was the big seafood feast she’d put in a special order for with the chef.
Stir‑fried baby octopus with scallions, typhoon‑shelter shrimp, salt‑boiled conch, and a winter‑melon soup with crab and pork ribs—Xiang Changge ate until she nearly cried.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d tasted anything like it.
She had dipped into her not‑yet‑paid salary to buy the ingredients and have the kitchen prepare this three‑dish‑one‑soup spread just for her. On top of that, there was still the regular staff dinner on the table.
By the time she was done, she felt recharged from head to toe.
“What’s Yu Qing doing?”
Wiping her hands, she checked in with the system.
After enjoying so much thanks to the girl, she was ready to pay it back by working on the mission again.
System: “Sleeping.”
“……”
At this hour? In this weather? Sleeping? What a waste.
After three hours’ sleep the night before, plus two or three more that morning before being jolted awake, Yu Qing had finally grown drowsy again around three in the afternoon.
She hadn’t eaten lunch. Just picked at a few pieces of fruit at noon and then gone straight to bed.
Nighttime sleep had become elusive. Only during the day could she truly rest.
But the cost of flipping night and day was a ruined appetite, fading memory, and a dulled sense of time.
She remembered dreaming, but not what about.
When someone yanked open the curtains again, the blinding light and the harsh swish of fabric dragged her up out of sleep.
She squinted toward the source. Her eyes, unused to the light, stung and watered; tears welled and slid free.
Through the blur, she saw a tall, slender figure standing by her bed, framed by a sky of blazing orange. Their silhouette was carved in alternating bands of light and shadow.
“…Xiang Changge?”
Her name slipped out before Yu Qing could think.
For a brief moment, the figure froze.
Looking down, Xiang Changge’s gaze fell on the person lying beneath the white duvet patterned with green leaves.
Black hair spilled across the pillow. The thin girl squinted up, hand scrubbing at the tears at the corners of her eyes, voice muffled and hoarse with sleep as she spoke—soft, blurred around the edges.
Like a little rabbit, all fluff and no defenses.
Especially with those red‑rimmed eyes.
Xiang Changge said nothing. She was thinking.
Had she really gone too far? She’d only come to wake her for dinner—so why… why was she crying like this?
And crying while calling her name, no less, as if accusing her, as if asking why with wounded bewilderment.
Yu Qing herself was wondering why the woman had come to wake her only to stand there in silence. Just as she was about to ask, a soft tissue pressed against the corner of her eye.
On reflex, she dropped her hand.
Her eyes ached and burned; closing them was the only relief, but it cost her the room around her.
The tears kept spilling. Xiang Changge knelt on one knee by the bed, carefully dabbing them away.
Up close, everything was magnified.
The bloodless face, the ear flushed from being pressed against the pillow, the thick, damp lashes, the tight, dry lips, and the heat of fresh tears.
All of it lay under Xiang Changge’s eyes, under her fingers.
The smell of mugwort grew stronger, filling her lungs. When she finally spoke, her own voice came out rough.
“What are you crying for? Is it *that* bad?”
She wasn’t a child. How could she be this fragile, like a soap bubble ready to pop?
She was just waking her up—and she’d already gone through two tissues.
When her eyes finally began to feel better, Yu Qing opened them again. Still reddened, they slid sideways—and met a very blank face less than half an arm’s length away.
For a few seconds, she stared into those pale, translucent eyes, as if buffering the words she’d just heard.
Then Xiang Changge heard her say, in a cool, faintly contemptuous tone, “I have dry‑eye syndrome.”
She wasn’t crying. It was a medical condition, thank you very much.
“……”
Silence spread between them.
Two seconds later, the system chimed in, “I can confirm that.”
The supporting female definitely had dry‑eye syndrome.
Up half the night reading “literature” or novels, never leaving the house, always focusing on the same narrow range—of course her eyes had issues.
Grinding her teeth, Xiang Changge shot back mentally, “And you’re only saying this *now*?”
The system sounded baffled. “It’s all in the data I gave you, isn’t it?”
Xiang Changge: “……”
Compared to heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys, and mental health, a tiny note about dry eyes hadn’t exactly stood out.
Well. No real harm done.
Getting to her feet, she tossed the tissue into the trash. “All right. I’ll go fetch your eye drops.”
Yu Qing: “……”
She couldn’t tell if the woman was genuinely unembarrassed or just pretending.
“Forget it.”