Tears streamed down Shang Qinghua’s face.
He hadn’t written in so long. He reminisced about his Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky account, with its fans and haters equally matched, reminisced about that crowd of trolls in the comments section, reminisced about the rich benefactors who’d given him tips, reminisced about that laptop he had used since his first year of university, eternally crashing and screwing him over, and the giant video files on the hard drive of—you understand. And then there was the spectacular pile of boxes and boxes of instant noodles behind his swivel chair, the newest flavor of which he hadn’t yet gotten the chance to taste even after buying it at wholesale price.
A dialogue box popped up from the System.
【 Function download complete. Activate? 】
Two differently colored buttons followed.
【 Yes 】【 Maybe Next Time 】
Shang Qinghua had a powerful urge to press the red button on the left.
But something stopped his hand.
As it happened, he didn’t really have any family on the other side.
His parents had divorced early, each going their separate ways, and they had both made all-new families for themselves long ago. He occasionally got together with them for a meal, but no matter which side it was, he regularly felt that his presence was extremely obtrusive. As he politely picked up food and politely gave them subservient smiles, the meals would be even more formal than they would have been if he were eating with real strangers.
Even though his father was his legal guardian, when they weren’t face-to-face, they didn’t have contact other than a few phone calls on the new year and holidays, or when his father asked him if he needed money. Sometimes, his father would even forget to ask that, but Shang Qinghua never reminded him. No matter where he was, or who he was talking to, all he did was smile that familiar subservient smile.
He was an adult, after all. His parents still had to pay his university tuition, but it was up to him to find ways to pay for the rest of his expenses.
It was when he was thinking of such ways that he happened to register for an account on Zhongdian and began to write.
At the beginning, it was purely to vent, and he wrote whatever and however he wanted. Though the stories were unbearably shitty, and even struggled to get monetized, he did manage to get good reviews from a niche crowd.
At one point, it suddenly occurred to him to change his style and see if he could rescue his subscription numbers, which had dipped so low that the website editors had long since lost interest in asking after them. Thus arrived the instant hit, Proud Immortal Demon Way.
Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had achieved supreme enlightenment; he had found his “way.”
The more he wrote, the more of a shut-in he became, and the more of a shut-in he became, the more he wrote. As a classic worthless otaku, the people with whom he had the best relationships and got along with most were all on the internet, oceans and seas apart. He basically didn’t have any friends like Mobei-Jun, and it would likely be very hard to find any again in the future.
Wait.
Mobei-Jun? A friend?
Since when had he started seeing Mobei-Jun as a “friend”?!
Shang Qinghua scared himself with the thought, and he hurriedly grabbed another sack of Qian Cao Peak’s specially produced Dragon-Bone Cantaloupe seeds and binged another half of it to push down his fright. Then he went to sleep.
When Mobei-Jun dragged him off An Ding Peak to the northern border of the Demon Realm, blankets and all, he had just finished his melon seeds and was dreaming, mouth full of salt. He dreamed he was devouring those promised kilos of shit. He was frozen awake.
Mobei-Jun tossed him to the ground, straight into the knife-like snowy winds of the northern border. His silhouette and expression were more severe than ever.
Though Mobei-Jun was quite cool—very cool—Shang Qinghua was already too frozen to have any time to spare on enjoying his coolness. His tongue started icing over as soon as he opened his mouth to grovel, so he obediently shut his lips and started to crawl upright while shivering, wrapped in his blankets.
An icy fortress rose from the ground ahead. Mobei-Jun set off toward it without a word, and Shang Qinghua hurried to follow.
The fortress doors, laid from blocks of ice, rumbled open and closed. They met not a single person all the way down the long, deep flight of stairs, until they approached a sleeping chamber, where a few guards and demon maids stood, not daring to make a sound.
Shang Qinghua peeked at Mobei-Jun’s face. Though he was as haughty and aloof as usual, he looked somewhat more solemn than was typical. He couldn’t resist the urge to ask, “Um, my king, how long will we be standing here?”
Mobei-Jun didn’t move his head, but his eyes turned toward Shang Qinghua. “Seven days.”
Shang Qinghua was nearly knocked flat by this information.
Ah, whatever, whatever. He was very possibly right about to return home to continue shooting his airplane. He figured he might as well use these seven days to properly bid his farewells. After all, once he returned, there would be no one to beat him up all the time or order him around like a beast of burden to wash clothes, fold blankets, serve tea, and carry water.
After standing there for a while, he felt colder and colder.
The Mobei clan’s territory really wasn’t suited for humans. Shang Qinghua jumped up and down in place to avoid being frozen alive into an ice statue. Mobei-Jun looked at him, a smile seeming to flash through his eyes. He reached out and pinched one of Shang Qinghua’s fingers. “Quiet.”
It was like all the chill in his body was sucked away via this one point of contact. Shang Qinghua felt that the cold was still cold, but it was no longer intolerable. He couldn’t help but feel increasingly rueful about their upcoming separation, and somewhat loath to give this guy up.
Come to think of it, even though Mobei-Jun had a bit of a bad temper, was a bit bad at life skills, was a bit pampered and spoiled, and liked to beat people up a bit too much, he wasn’t too bad to Shang Qinghua.
Especially at this point! His benefits weren’t bad, and his salary wasn’t bad either. Though the beatings remained a common occurrence, only Mobei-Jun was allowed to beat him up—no one else was permitted to lay a finger on him. In addition, recently, Mobei-Jun hadn’t beaten him up very much at all.