Su Xi jumped, so startled she dropped her phone onto the floor. She scrambled to pick it up, but the moment she did, her mother snatched it away.
“In the hospital, you could play games all day—that was fine, you were resting. But now that you’re back at school, you can’t keep playing. You’ve got an exam tomorrow, have you even reviewed?”
Su Xi reached out to grab it back, but her mother raised the phone high, scolding sharply, “Now you’re trying to snatch your phone from me? You really are addicted to that game!”
Su Xi’s face crumpled, full of grievance.
“Mom, just ten more minutes—please, ten minutes!”
“After your exam,” her mother said firmly, walking toward the door with the phone in hand.
“If you don’t make it into the top three of your class—no, fine, since you’ve fallen behind lately, then if you don’t at least make the top ten—your phone is permanently confiscated.”
“Mom—!” Su Xi yelped in panic.
But her mother had already stepped out and shut the door, calling from the hallway for Su Dad to bring her daughter a glass of milk later.
Su Xi scratched her head in frustration, then looked at the untouched exam papers on her desk, then at the clock on the wall. She knew she really had to study now.
If she kept going like this, not only would her mother worry, she would have to start worrying about herself too.
She’d always had strong self-discipline, and her grades were excellent—but lately, she’d spent far too much time on the game. If her grades slipped now, right before senior year, the consequences would be disastrous.
Still… she couldn’t help but worry about her Zai Zai.
But the exam would only last two and a half days—thankfully. That was just seven or eight days in game time. Nothing too serious should happen.
The farmstead was running smoothly. The Qiuyan Mountain hunt storyline had ended, and her Zai Zai had taken first place.
In Prince Ning’s manor, with the Old Madam’s favor, Princess Ning and the two brothers Lu Yuan and Lu Wenxiu wouldn’t be able to stir up trouble for the time being.
And her Zai Zai—so clever and self-possessed—surely didn’t need her to worry that much.
She would find him again once the exam was over.
With that thought, Su Xi took a deep breath, sat down at her desk, and opened her review book.
───♡───
That night, Lu Huan tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
The next morning, heavy snow began to fall outside again—thick, downy flakes drifting through the air.
It must be the last snow of winter.
In the courtyard, patches of grass were starting to sprout, faint hints of spring quietly breaking through the frost.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze instinctively turned toward the desk. His expression was a mixture of hope and unease.
Last night, he hadn’t left any note for that person—but perhaps, just perhaps, that person might have left something for him.
Maybe a small sign, a clue—something to hint at what had happened with the Second Prince.
Lu Huan didn’t expect that person to explain why they hadn’t come to their meeting. After all, the man had never promised he would. He had waited a whole day without seeing him—it wasn’t the person’s fault. It was his own—his own unreasonable expectations.
After cooling down through the night, Lu Huan realized how absurd he had been—how, in his restlessness, he had let jealousy and petty grievance take hold, all because that person had gone to Qiuyan Mountain yet hadn’t come to meet him; because that person had carefully tended to the Second Prince’s wounds and even left behind a lantern identical to his own.
It was laughable, really.
After all, these past days—their exchanges through notes, that person’s quiet company, his gentleness and kindness… those were things Lu Huan had never once received from anyone since birth. And because of that, he had developed the illusion that the person should belong only to him.
It was he himself who had overstepped.
Taking a steady breath, he told himself: if that person had left something last night, then today he would simply ask about the rescue—why he had saved the Second Prince.
And if that person refused to answer, as always, then so be it.
As long as the person was still there, that was enough.
The heavy, shadowed possessiveness in his heart… it was time to restrain it, at least a little.
He was still wearing only his underclothes when he walked to the desk, his heart quietly brimming with anticipation.
Bending down, he drew the small wooden box from beneath the table leg.
If that person had left something again, then he would forget the missed meeting. He would let it go.
Lu Huan held the little box in his hands, almost afraid to open it. In his dark eyes flickered a trace of anxious hope. He hesitated for a long moment, before finally, like a man bracing himself for an inevitable blow, he opened it.
But—inside, there was still nothing.
“……”
His lashes trembled.
For a heartbeat, his hands and feet went cold.
He turned the box over, shook it lightly, then looked around the desk again.
After standing frozen for a few moments, he suddenly strode out of the room.
But the courtyard was empty. Under the swirling, heavy snowfall, everything lay silent and still.
The ground was a pure sheet of white—no new items, no footprints, no sign that anyone had come.
That person hadn’t come last night either? Hadn’t left a single trace?
It was the first time—their first true silence.
Lu Huan stood there for a long while, unmoving, snow soaking through his thin robes without him noticing.
A sudden tightness seized his chest.
These past days, that person had always come. Every night, without fail, they would take away Lu Huan’s notes, respond to them—or at least leave behind some small sign that they had been there. Never once had they failed to appear.
But last night—nothing.
Could it be… because he hadn’t left a note first? Was that person angry?
No—that didn’t seem right. That person wasn’t the sort to get angry.
They had done so much for him, even avenged him against Princess Ning. From all that, Lu Huan had tried again and again to discern their temperament, but he had never sensed anger from that person.
Then perhaps… perhaps that person had simply been busy last night, and couldn’t come?
Still, it felt like a great stone had been tied to his heart and dropped straight into the depths.
Setting aside all his wounded pride, he hurried back into the room, spread out a sheet of paper, and quickly wrote a note.
───♡───
On the third day, he barely slept.
At dawn, he leapt from bed, waiting for a response.
But—
Still nothing.
Just like the day before, not a single thing had been left behind.
No trace that anyone had come.
───♡───
The fourth day.
The Fifth Day.
Eight full days passed.
Lu Huan had written countless notes—some he had crumpled in agitation and burned over the candle flame, others he had carefully placed inside the little wooden box, waiting for a response.
But after eight long days, whatever he put into that box remained there, untouched. No one but him had ever laid a hand on it.
That person seemed to have completely vanished from his world.
Lu Huan had long known that such a day might come—that one day, that person might suddenly disappear, leaving no trace behind, no way for them to be found no matter how he searched.
That was why he had been so desperate before—to learn the person’s identity through their written exchanges.
But he had never expected it to happen this soon.
Before he could even discover who that person really was, they had already—quietly, wordlessly—disappeared.
In the first two days, Lu Huan still went out.
By the eighth, he simply kept vigil in the courtyard, sleepless through the night.
He sat on the wooden threshold, red threads of fatigue lining his eyes, unable to understand why—why that person had suddenly vanished.
——What he feared most had come to pass.
That person was gone.
“Are you satisfied now?” Lu Huan murmured to himself.
It must have been because he had rashly asked to meet—that the person had grown weary of his company and left, cutting off all contact.
Or perhaps, the person had shifted his attention elsewhere—to the Second Prince, or to someone else entirely.
And he—petulant, childish—had come down the mountain that night and, in his stubbornness, left no note at all.
He had been the one to sever their bond with his own hands.
If that person never appeared again—what was he supposed to do?
Lu Huan sat there for an entire day, from the dewy dawn to the fall of night.
Expressionless, he stared at the courtyard beyond—not really looking at anything, just… empty. Waiting.
When the darkness grew deep, he rose, lit the rabbit lantern beneath the eaves, and sat back down.
He thought back to when that person had first appeared.
Was it the day the rickety wooden gate behind his house had suddenly been mended?
Or was it even earlier?
After that, the man had left things again and again—fine leather boots, a bundle of charcoal, a sack of grain.
At first, Lu Huan had been terrified, convinced it was some trap laid by someone in Prince Ning’s manor.
But that one night, when he had been gravely ill with fever, half-delirious—and that person had come and saved him—shock and confusion had given way to rippling emotion he couldn’t name.
Then came the bowl of birthday noodles, that was the best thing Lu Huan had ever eaten in his life.
After that, they began to exchange notes, and to his astonishment, the person had started responding.
For the first time, Lu Huan had found someone he could confide in.
…And now, that person would never come again.
The light from the lantern under the eaves didn’t reach his eyes.
He sat with his head lowered, staring blankly at the ground, emptiness spreading through him.
Had he made a mistake somewhere?
Taken a wrong step that led to this?
───♡───
Su Xi’s exam ended two and a half days later.
At noon, after finishing the final subject—the integrated humanities paper—she handed in her answer sheet as soon as she was done.
It had only been two days since she’d last logged in, but she was terribly anxious.
She told herself that nothing serious could possibly happen in-game—but she still couldn’t stop worrying about her little Zai Zai.
Luckily, there was a half-day break that afternoon—she could go home early.
At first, she had treated the game as just a game.
But as time went on, and she became more and more convinced that the little in-game boy had real emotions of his own, she couldn’t help but wonder—would he be sad, these two days she hadn’t been there?
Of course, maybe she was just overthinking things.
Either way, she ignored her friends’ calls to go shopping after the exam, skipped lunch in the cafeteria, and went straight to the bus stop, racing home.
Her phone was still in her parents’ room.
Like a thief, Su Xi quietly pushed the door open, snatched the phone, and slipped back into her room.
She plugged it in to charge—
Then, she unlocked the screen.
Su Xi’s heart was pounding fast. The thought that she was finally about to see her little Zai Zai again made her smile so wide her eyes curved into crescents.
But the moment she logged in—and the interface loaded inside the room—her smile froze completely.
Wait.
Why… why was the floor covered in crumpled pieces of paper—?
Those scraps were all notes—notes her Zai Zai must’ve written over these days.
He had written so many, even when she hadn’t replied… had he been waiting for her all this time?
Su Xi never imagined that skipping just one login would make the protagonist wait like this.
Her heart clenched tight. She didn’t even stop to look through the notes—she immediately switched the camera to the courtyard to find him.
The moment the screen loaded, she saw him.
Her little Zai Zai was sitting at the threshold of the house, head slightly tilted up, gazing at the swaying rabbit lantern hanging under the eaves.
It was already night in the game.
The flickering candlelight fell across his face, bright and dim by turns, making it impossible to read his expression.
He seemed to have none.
His round, soft face was cast half in shadow, his eyes rimmed faintly red.
W-what’s wrong…?
Completely unaware of what sort of story her Zai Zai had been imagining for the past days, Su Xi zoomed the screen closer—
And then—
A flood of white message bubbles burst out above his head.
It was as if all the words that hadn’t appeared these past several days had suddenly accumulated and exploded out at once, dense enough to nearly drown the screen.
> “Were you… only using me?”
The first line popped up.
Su Xi’s eyelids twitched—she almost blurted out a denial, thinking, what are you imagining now, silly Zai Zai—
But before she could even react, more and more lines poured out in a rush:
> “Are you never coming back?”
> “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked to meet that day. I must have troubled you.”
> “If you don’t wish to, it’s all right. Even if you only appear once a month… that’s fine. But could you…”
> “No matter whether you were using me or just pitying me, I… I don’t mind.”
> “I’ll accept it.”
> “I’m sorry. That night, it wasn’t that I meant to leave no note. I just… I was jealous… I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have been so greedy… No matter who you are, or why you appeared, or why you disappeared… please… come out and say something to me.”
> “I’m very lonely.”
One by one, the white bubbles faded away—until only three words remained on the screen.
They, too, slowly dissipated like vapor…yet they left Su Xi breathless.
The little figure sat alone at the doorstep, his small shadow—cast by the yellowed candlelight—curled at his feet, just as small, just as quiet.
He didn’t speak.
All those words had only existed in his heart.
Expressionless, he kept looking up at the rabbit lantern, lost in thought—
but inside, he had said: He was very lonely.
Su Xi stared at her Zai Zai, forgetting to breathe.
Her eyes grew hot and stung faintly.
She had never once thought about what he did when she wasn’t online.
She’d assumed he was just busy tending the fields, or managing his affairs—never once had it crossed her mind—
Would he feel abandoned when she didn’t log in?
Would he think she didn’t want him anymore?
Would he… miss her?
Would he feel lonely?
But now, she knew.
When she wasn’t there—her little Zai Zai was very, very sad.
Su Xi looked at her little Zai Zai, and her heart clenched tight.
It was the first time in her life she had ever felt such an overwhelming ache of longing and it was for a character inside a game.
She wanted to tell him that she was back.
But she didn’t know how.
So she opened the in-game shop and scrolled through the items, glancing left and right. Her fingertip trembled slightly and brushed against a bundle of fireworks.
The next instant, the screen erupted in brilliant color.
A burst of fireworks exploded into the sky.
Su Xi jumped in surprise.
───♡───
Outside the house, Lu Huan had been staring into the endless night, lost in silence.
Then suddenly—a thunderous sound echoed through the air.
Far above, streaks of light soared into the heavens, blooming into a cascade of fireworks that painted the sky in shimmering color.
For a moment, it looked as though the Milky Way itself had spilled and fallen into his little courtyard.
…Such a sight could not have been the work of ordinary people.
It wasn’t a festival night, and there had been no fireworks in the streets.
He froze—then his heart lurched, beating so fast it nearly leapt from his chest.
He sprang to his feet, took a few hurried steps into the courtyard, and lifted his head sharply toward the sky.
On his face—uncertainty, disbelief, and a wild, almost trembling joy.
Was it… that person?
Had they come back?
Watching his expression change, Su Xi felt her nose sting.
Her eyes grew hot.
She reached out a fingertip across the screen and stirred a soft breeze.
The gentle wind swept through the humble yard, brushing past Lu Huan’s thin robe, lifting the edge of his sleeve ever so lightly.
