"March, you're the best."
"It's just a meal. Don't look at me like that." March 7th averted her gaze, watching Stelle and Qingque chatting under the parasol with a soft smile. "I just don't like seeing people sad. It... ruins the photos."
She lifted her camera, her grin bright as sunlight.
Not wanting people to be sad...
Anming thought of Liuying and Fu Xuan. No matter what, keeping secrets would only hurt them more. He didn't want to lie—especially not to the women who had walked through life and death with him. Maybe there was nothing to hide in the first place.
Honesty was the most important ingredient in love.
"Thanks, March."
"Just treat me to something fancy next time~"
After paying, March patted Anming's shoulder and skipped back to the table. Watching her carefree back, it was easy to forget all the complicated emotions weighing on him.
Would someone like her ever cry?
The random thought crossed his mind. March was strong—someone who faced each day with kindness despite having lost all her past memories.
Back at the table, Qingque scooted her chair next to Anming, shoved her phone in his face, and—with zero subtlety—started typing loudly in front of him.
[Lady Fu Xuan, I've encountered a young version of Grandmaster on Jarilo-VI. What should I do next?]
Send!
She blinked up at him with "See? No backstabbing here!" innocence, her expression so perfectly angelic that Anming briefly considered throttling her with Blood Rage, Stage Five.
"Grandmaster, eat up!"
Qingque sweetly piled food into his bowl.
Anming's eye twitched. At this rate, they wouldn't be eating a meal—they'd be serving one at his funeral.
Stelle squinted at the two. "What kind of disciple is this?"
Was this a real master-disciple relationship? And when had Anming even gone to the Xianzhou to take on a student? Did he just beat her in Divine Jade Mahjong and type "lfg apprentice" in global chat?
"Grandmaster makes me serve tea, wash his clothes, mop the floors, and warm his bed with my body—" Qingque's teasing was cut short by Anming's knuckle lightly rapping her head.
She puffed her cheeks and held up her phone, displaying Fu Xuan's latest message:
[Qingque. Bring him back. Dead or alive.]
"See, Grandmaster? I'm being transparent. You better cooperate later~"
Qingque had cracked the code. Playing open cards was the mark of a true master. With her skills, navigating between Fu Xuan and Anming would be child's play.
Gods, she was basically the Luofu's General already!
Even Jing Yuan couldn't resolve a love triangle this elegantly. Clearly, the seat of Arbiter-General was hers by right.
Right now, her phone might as well be the Imperial Sword of Authority, ready to summon the Great Divination Engine to smite Anming at any moment.
"Do all Xianzhou natives text each other while sitting together?" March 7th stared in confusion before turning to Dan Heng for answers.
Dan Heng silently shook his head. Some things were better left unacknowledged.
Qingque buried her face in her food, kicking Anming under the table. "Do something about Fu Xuan!"
The golden rule of problem-solving: Share the burden, and suddenly, it's not a problem anymore.
"Grandmaster, this is a high-stakes gamble."
"And I've lost miserably, disciple."
Anming's future looked bleak. Either Liuying would burn the world to ashes or Fu Xuan would crush him under the Great Divination Engine.
All he could do now was pray no third dream girl showed up. Otherwise, he'd truly become Prisoner Ming.
By the end of the meal, Anming's heart had cooled by half—and his grave had inched closer.
Gothe Hotel
"A single room? Nice!" March 7th snapped a photo of the hotel before asking, "We've got time before nightfall. Wanna explore?"
"Agreed!"
Stelle leaned against a trash can, rubbing her hands eagerly. Today, she would become Belobog's One True Trash King!
"I've got heatstroke. Gonna rest early."
Anming clutched a takeout bag of local delicacies—supposedly for a late-night snack, though Qingque eyed him with deep suspicion.
She smirked. "Then I won't disturb you, Grandmaster~"
As Qingque cheerfully trailed after March and Stelle's Trash Brigade, Anming frowned. Since when was his disciple this easy to handle?
Nearby, Dan Heng flipped through his notebook. "Symptoms of heatstroke: dizziness, chest tightness, palpitations." Then he walked inside.
It took Anming a second to realize: He was being called out for his terrible acting.
Damn it.
No one got heatstroke in a frozen wasteland.
But at least he was free to see Liuying now. As for tomorrow's meeting? It didn't matter. No matter what Cocolia did, the outcome wouldn't change.
She'd still get skewered by Stelle's flaming lance.
Firefly: [Room 601]
Liuying's Dog: [On my way, Firefly]
When Anming reached Room 601, he sensed a dangerous atmosphere. The door was unlocked—pushing it open revealed nothing but dim lighting.
Then, small hands covered his eyes from behind. Warm breath tickled his ear as a familiar voice whispered, "Guess who?"
"March? No, wait—Stelle? Uh… Mr. Yang?"
"I'm mad now!"
"Firefly, I'm sorry!"
Anming's instant apology earned him a pout from Liuying, who dodged his attempt to hold her hand.
She turned away, arms crossed—but within minutes, she cracked at the sight of Anming standing there like a scolded puppy.
"As punishment for guessing wrong… pick one."
"Uh, the options are—"
"Mmph—"
Before he could finish, Liuying pinned him against the wardrobe, her lips—sweet like candy—crushing against his.
Anming could only lose himself in her sunset-colored eyes, which seemed to whisper the most tender words. He nearly dropped the takeout bag.
His free hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back.
Creak.
A faint sound—barely noticeable, like wind nudging a door. And in this moment, neither cared to look.
By the time they parted, the door had silently shut itself.