Life suddenly settled into a smooth routine, and Liǔ Cháoquè acquired a walking companion with whom she seemed to get along exceptionally well.
She eventually bought that fitness package costing over five hundred yuan, and each time she emerged drenched in sweat. Yet, whether due to some innate talent of this body or something else, no matter how grueling the workout, she would be back at full health by the next day.
"Hey, are you dating someone lately?" asked Nán Chǔ, her close friend, with a gossipy glint in her eye.
"With whom? How come I don't know about it?" A massive question mark appeared on Liǔ Cháoquè's forehead.
"You know, the one who looks robust, with really well-developed chest muscles, and a great smile. I've seen him walk you to the school gates several times," Nán Chǔ said, her eyes sparkling. She playfully nudged Liǔ Cháoquè's arm with a teasing tone. "Don't tell me you're trying to have a secret underground romance? We're college students now, you know. We're past the age of puppy love—we don't do that kind of thing."
"Robust, with developed chest muscles..." Liǔ Cháoquè said uncertainly. "You couldn't possibly be talking about Senior Xú, could you?"
"Oh, so his surname is Xú," Nán Chǔ realized, waving her hand dismissively. "Whatever, I didn't know his last name anyway, as long as you know who I mean. Wait, don't tell me you two actually aren't dating?" She looked at her with a strange expression. "No way."
"Why not? At best, we're just good buddies," Liǔ Cháoquè pouted. "It's mostly because the senior is so warm-hearted. You have no idea the kind of dangerous situations I've run into before; he just acted out of sheer camaraderie to be my bodyguard until I learned the ropes."
"Speaking of bodyguards, should I get him something as a thank-you gift? Or maybe just give him money directly... Ah, this is so annoying." Liǔ Cháoquè looked at her phone, feeling somewhat torn.
Seeing her like this, Nán Chǔ slumped face-down onto the desk, pouting with a look of utter disappointment. "And here I thought you were finally going to snap up a boyfriend, but it turns out you're just friends."
She slapped Liǔ Cháoquè on the arm and sighed in exasperation, "You, really! Letting such a great opportunity slip through your fingers and turning every guy into a buddy? Haven't you ever thought about having a sweet romance?"
Instead, Liǔ Cháoquè grabbed her hand, a look of sorrow in her eyes: "In the end, it is my fading youth that has made you weary of me, and how cruel of you to push me into the arms of another. Very well, since it has come to this, let us break it off so I no longer offend your eyes."
"Hey, hey, why does getting you to date someone sound like you're abandoning your wife and children?" Nán Chǔ choked on her words. "I'm only doing this for your own good. If you could find love freely, you wouldn't have to go through those matchmaking sessions."
"Why go on blind dates? Why look for another half? Can't two friends live together and look out for each other? You go on blind dates just to get married, get married just to have kids, and waste half your life away, trapped forever by the concept of 'offspring,'" Liǔ Cháoquè said. "Besides, after giving birth, all sorts of gynecological issues follow. The lucky ones might have it mild, but the unlucky ones die right on the delivery table."
"Humanity needs men and women to carry on the species, yet women—who bear the brunt of reproductive responsibilities—get treated with so little regard. Whether in the workplace or the surrounding environment, it's as if women are simply expected to take care of the family, as if men are naturally superior to women—hardworking, stronger, and never needing maternity leave. Meanwhile, women are repeatedly grilled: Do you have a boyfriend? When are you getting married? Do you plan to have children? As if raising a child is solely a woman's job, as if carrying a baby for ten months is entirely a woman's duty, as if a woman must ultimately compromise everything for her family..." Having said all this, Liǔ Cháoquè smiled at Nán Chǔ. "So given all that, I'd rather remain an unwanted spinster."
"Anyway..." She leaned back, pressing her spine against the chair. "Romance isn't an absolute necessity, either."
Nán Chǔ remained silent for a long time. Her only response to Liǔ Cháoquè was the ringing of the class bell.
She opened her textbook with a headache, waiting for the teacher to arrive. This period was Macro and Microeconomics.
The original owner was a freshman finance major, which differed somewhat from the heroine's background described in the game's introduction. Otherwise, for someone like her who only knew how to trace drawings, starting out as a sophomore art major would have presented an insurmountable challenge no matter how she looked at it. Fortunately, she was just a freshman; otherwise, with her background as a Chinese literature graduate, having to dive straight into various obscure and difficult concepts would have driven her mad.
Throughout the class, she took frantic notes. Drawing on her past experience studying classical Chinese, Liǔ Cháoquè didn't find her hand feeling stiff. Once the class ended, she began using a search engine to look up things she hadn't quite grasped during the lecture, stumbling along until she more or less understood them.
Campus life was monotonous and busy. The library became her regular haunt, with stacks of books piling up half a person's height, and the cafeteria food was her sole comfort.
Yet in the dead of night, she would always think of Wáng Qígē, and of her parents in another world. They had died instantly from a sudden heart attack while riding a roller coaster—would Qígē be scared out of her wits?
Far away in another dimension, Wáng Qígē found that her friend had woken up acting like a completely different person. She had become somewhat timid and shy, and didn't even remember her. Resorting to half-lies and coaxing, she took the person to see a neurologist, but tests revealed no abnormalities at all.
The attending physician said it might be the result of a shock, and concussion could not be ruled out, advising observation in the hospital.
Wáng Qígē had no choice but to accept this hypothesis for the time being.
"What kind of game is this?"
In hopes of helping Liǔ Cháoquè recall bits and pieces of the past, Wáng Qígē unlocked her phone and showed it to her. Her original intention was to show her photos they had taken together in the past, but on a whim, she ended up opening Love of Stars.
After the opening cinematic, Liǔ Cháoquè's eyes widened noticeably.
Could it be that she was utterly obsessed with gaming, forgetting everything else in the world except this game? Wáng Qígē muttered inwardly, though outwardly she maintained a deadpan expression. "This is Love of Stars, an Otome Game."
"Oh." Staring unblinkingly at the familiar figures on the screen, she fell into a state of extreme panic. Could it be that the place where she used to live was actually just a bunch of data? And what was her current situation—did she cross over from a game into reality, or had she simply entered another game?
Yet if it were game development, they wouldn't likely program a setting about a game within a game, though that possibility couldn't be ruled out entirely.
She looked at Wáng Qígē with a complicated gaze. This person had been running around busily for the past few days; she must have been extremely close to the owner of this body. By keeping things from her and enjoying a friendship that rightfully belonged to the original owner, was she being too selfish?
But if she told her the truth, what could she possibly say? Should she bluntly state that she had crossed over from a video game and that the original owner of this body was dead? Or should she claim she also had no idea about the original owner's condition, just to burden this person with needless worry?
Liǔ Cháoquè's inner conflict was sensed by Wáng Qígē as well. She looked at her in puzzlement and asked, "Don't tell me you actually recovered your memory long ago and have just been playing tricks on me these past few days?"
"No, no." Liǔ Cháoquè waved her hands. Even this gesture was vastly different from the original owner's habits. Wáng Qígē couldn't quite put her finger on it—perhaps it was a matter of temperament. How could amnesia possibly change someone's entire temperament?
"Then what were you thinking about just now, so deeply engrossed?" Wáng Qígē asked. "If you feel unwell, you must tell me immediately so I can call the doctor for you."
Although they often read all sorts of transmigration novels, novels were fiction and reality was reality; surely such an absurd thing couldn't actually happen in real life.
"It's nothing much, just a slight headache. I want to sleep a little longer..." She ultimately decided to let the matter rest for now. At the very least, she needed to find out whether the original owner was dead or alive.
If she was still alive, she would tell this person right in front of her everything; though there would be a moment of pain, at least they would know each other were safe.
But if she had already passed away, she would take this secret to her grave and do her best to play her part so that, in a way, she would always remain here.
"A headache? I'd better call the doctor for you." Wáng Qígē instinctively reached out to press the nurse call button by the bed. Liǔ Cháoquè pressed down on her hand and shook her head at her. "My head doesn't hurt anymore. Let's just watch TV instead, no need to bother the doctor, okay?" She gently rocked her hand.
Somehow, this person was getting better and better at acting spoiled.
Wáng Qígē turned on the television and switched to her preferred animation channel. She even watched Peppa Pig with great relish.
At least that hadn't changed much.