Su Xi didn’t know what had gone wrong with the game, but she immediately thought—could this be the grand gift pack the system mentioned for reaching one hundred points? Could it mean she could view the original illustration without spending any money?!

But why was it that only Zai Zai had turned into an original illustration, while the servants and stewards sweeping the courtyard outside were still little cartoon figures?!

Su Xi couldn’t help but complain inwardly—what kind of “grand gift pack” was this? How stingy! If you’ve got the ability, switch the entire Yan Kingdom into original illustrations!

Even so, though only Zai Zai had become an original illustration, she was still delighted beyond words.

Though the short-armed, short-legged, bun-faced Zai Zai was adorably soft and milky, and she was reluctant to part with that look, the illustrated Zai Zai was stunningly handsome—so much so that one couldn’t help but keep staring.

However, being used to the doodle-like style of the short-armed, short-legged little Zai Zai, seeing him suddenly like this made Su Xi feel a little unaccustomed.

She fumbled across the screen, wondering if she could switch back to the old sketch style.

Very soon, she found the option on the system interface and happily switched it back.

But——

Before even two seconds had passed, there was another sharp pop followed by a swirl of mist, and Zai Zai on the screen once again turned back into the original illustration! His expression even seemed a little displeased.

Could it be that this was a mandatory grand gift pack?!

Forget it, Su Xi thought. Anyway, if it didn’t require money, then just let Zai Zai stay in the illustrated form—it was more pleasing to the eye, after all.

At the same time, Su Xi also noticed that after surpassing one hundred points, the time-flow ratio in the game had slightly changed.

Previously, the game’s time flowed three times faster than real life, even when she was playing; everything on the screen moved at roughly triple speed. But for Su Xi, who often watched dramas at triple speed, this pace felt just right.

However, after her points reached one hundred, when she closed the game, the ratio between game time and real time seemed to have become 2 to 1. That was why, although only one night had passed for her, an entire day and night had gone by in the game.

And once she reopened the game, the ratio appeared to shift again—to 1 to 1. So when she’d opened the screen just now and saw Zai Zai, who was usually scampering about on short legs, standing still inside the room, she’d thought the game had frozen.

Su Xi didn’t find it too strange; she simply assumed that after surpassing one hundred points and entering the second stage, the game had grown harder, and the time-flow had slowed a little.

Right now, what thrilled her most was what the system had said earlier—that after reaching one hundred points, she could communicate with Zai Zai.

How exactly could they communicate?!

Su Xi had long stopped thinking of Zai Zai as just a character inside a game, but rather as a real person existing in another world. This game that had suddenly appeared in her life seemed to have built a bridge between her and Zai Zai. As unbelievable as it was, since the system claimed communication was possible, Su Xi believed it must truly be so.

But——

There wasn’t any text input box anywhere on the interface.

Su Xi searched all around, but couldn’t find any newly added chat window for online conversation.

Could it be possible through voice?

Su Xi put on her earphones, cleared her throat, and tried speaking—“Hello? Hello, hello, hello?”

And right after she finished, a floating dialogue box actually appeared on her phone screen! It converted her spoken words into text! Su Xi’s eyes widened; her heart pounded wildly, blood surging—damn, the system was telling the truth!

Then… could what she said really reach Zai Zai on the other side?

She kept the earphones on, silly and earnest, trying her best to make her voice sound softer, gentler—“Zai… hello, can you hear me?”

A look of astonishment and disbelief appeared on Zai Zai’s face on the screen.

…Did he hear her?

Su Xi almost forgot how to breathe. The next second, she saw a look of pure, wild joy flash across Zai Zai’s face, and above his head popped up a dialogue box: “I’m here.”

Goosebumps broke out all over her. She clutched her phone so tightly her toes curled from shock—she forgot how to breathe altogether.

Oh my god, this was freaking amazing!

She had thought that after reaching one hundred points, the game program would simply add an input box, so that the words she typed would appear as written notes on Zai Zai’s desk—that that was what the system meant by “communication.”

But she never imagined it would be direct voice!

Well, not exactly voice—she still couldn’t hear Zai Zai’s voice. The things he said still appeared as before, floating out of a dialogue box above his head.

But at this moment—had Zai Zai finally heard her voice?!

Did he think a ghost was talking to him?!

—Good thing she had already let Zai Zai believe she was a ghost. A ghost suddenly speaking out loud—like summoning a spirit, invoking a soul, or calling someone back from the dead—should still fall within the bounds of what his worldview could accept.

Su Xi was both thrilled and moved to tears, her heart pounding wildly. Everything felt so novel, so shocking, so completely reality-shattering that for a moment her mind just froze—she didn’t even know what to say.

───♡───

Meanwhile, on Lu Huan’s side, he too was staring at the curtain before him in stunned disbelief.

Just moments ago, the figure of her on the screen had suddenly put two small, round, white objects over her ears, then opened her mouth and said something.

Lu Huan had thought that he couldn’t possibly hear her from his side—that there was no way to know what she was saying and he had felt a faint twinge of disappointment.

But then, in the very next instant, a rectangular box suddenly appeared above her head on the curtain before him!

Inside the box appeared a line of text—

“Hello? Hello, hello, hello?”

Lu Huan’s pupils contracted sharply. Her lip movements just now—yes, they matched exactly.

So… this line of text was what she had just said?!

Everything—every last thing—completely shattered Lu Huan’s understanding of the world. He could never have imagined that technology thousands of years later could have advanced to such a level—that through this single curtain, one could converse across a millennium!

Then again, that wandering Daoist’s words came to mind: the term “universe” referred to both space and time.

If now, with a blood-sweating stallion, one could travel a thousand li in a single day—swift movement through space—then in the future, if people could discover free travel and communication through the tunnels of time itself, perhaps it was not impossible.

And just then, she—speaking from a thousand years into the future—said her second sentence to him.

Once again, a rectangular box appeared above her head on the curtain before him, and in it emerged a second line of text—

“Zai, hello, can you hear me?”

At that instant, Lu Huan’s heart leapt into his throat.

He had never imagined that one day, he could truly speak with her.

Although everything was different from what he had once imagined—she was not a ghost or deity, but a person from a thousand years ahead—and although he had not, as he had once hoped, helped her shape a physical form—

Lu Huan instead felt even more fortunate.

At least now, he knew she was alive and well in a prosperous, peaceful era a thousand years in the future.

And the day he could see her again… no longer seemed impossible.

His throat tightened, his voice hoarse and rough as he replied to her:

“I’m here.”

Across the gulf of a thousand years, through two screens—one large, one small—the two of them finally managed, for the first time in history, to hold a real conversation.

Not the clumsy gestures and guessing games of before, not “you ask, I answer,” but true communication.

Su Xi held her breath, feeling as if everything before her was unreal—inside, her heart was screaming like a chicken let loose.

Lu Huan felt the same. Standing in the middle of the room, he was completely unaware that the sunlight filtering through the window lattice had turned to the dim orange of dusk. His heart was beating madly, his eyes gleaming bright as stars, and even the corners of his eyes and brows were colored with elation.

Moreover, Lu Huan noticed that on her side of the screen, the words he spoke also turned into dialogue boxes appearing above his own head.

So that’s how it was.

Lu Huan tried to piece together the logic of this medium that connected them across time—

No wonder she could hear what he said before, but couldn’t speak, nor leave any message behind, and could only reply through “yes” or “no.”

At that time, it must have been that only she had a medium—only she could see him—while he, without one, could not see her.

So he had taken it for granted that she was a spirit or a deity.

And she probably hadn’t known how to explain it—for after all, anything she said from that distant future would have sounded utterly incomprehensible to him—so she simply let him believe it.

Judging from what he could now observe of these two mediums:

His was large, semi-transparent. Hers was smaller, more compact—something she could hold in her palm. But the material seemed nearly the same.

The words he spoke became long, narrow boxes on her screen; when she spoke, they appeared as the same kind of boxes on the curtain before him.

The way they conversed was roughly identical.

And the people of her world, as he had seen them through the medium, had all been short-armed, short-legged little figures at first—only by spending silver taels could they assume normal forms.

It was the same on her side as well.

In other words——

These two mediums shared the exact same functions, and were interconnected.

From this, many things could be inferred——

Just earlier, he had needed to complete a task in order to unlock a new so-called “section” on the map from a thousand years later.

She must have been the same.

That was why she would often suddenly vanish—and when he left Prince Ning’s manor, passed through the alley, and reached the long street where they sold lanterns, she would suddenly reappear.

Looking back now, it must have been because she hadn’t yet unlocked the “alley section” of the map in his era.

But as she completed more and more tasks, the places she could accompany him to became broader and broader.

As for those tasks—

Lu Huan had long suspected there must be a purpose behind why the “ghost” had come to his side.

At first, he had thought perhaps she was sent by his departed kin—to stay by his side, to aid him, to draw him into the political storms of the capital, to help him seize greater power.

But only now did Lu Huan realize—none of that was true.

She had appeared beside him most likely because of those very “tasks.” It was for the sake of unlocking those sections that she had helped him again and again.

In other words, on her side too, there must be some strange, mechanical voice telling her to complete certain missions.

To know that her appearance in his life might have been only because of a task—of course, to say he didn’t feel a trace of disappointment would be a lie.

Only… they had already spent nearly a year together.

He had long known—she was the kindest person under heaven. Whatever her purpose had been at the beginning, at least the care and concern she showed him, the warmth and gentleness she gave him, were all real. The days they spent together, the tender moments they shared—nothing could ever erase them. Even if she had come to him with a motive, Lu Huan could not bring himself to bear any resentment.

Beyond that, Lu Huan also surmised that the flow of time must have been different between their two worlds.

Since she was not a spirit or deity, naturally she needed to eat, sleep, and attend to other things. Before, the times she appeared were utterly irregular—sometimes at his dawn, sometimes in the middle of the night. Now that he thought about it, it must have been because time flowed differently on her side.

Lu Huan carefully recalled everything in his mind, gradually piecing it together until he could understand.

As for what other peculiar functions this curtain might have, he did not yet know. He intended to observe further, to see what else it could do.

───♡───

Separated by a thousand years, both of them were trembling with excitement.

After the first rush of emotion, Su Xi saw the ecstatic joy barely contained on Zai Zai’s face. He couldn’t hold back any longer and asked his first question—

“How should I address you?”

Lu Huan wanted to know her name. A name was something unique to a person; if he knew what she was called, then when he sought her one day, he would not lose her.

Su Xi saw the dialogue box pop up over Zai Zai’s head and suddenly felt overwhelmed by an odd kind of shame—like meeting an online friend in person.

Heavens, Zai Zai was asking for Mama’s name.

She’d raised Zai Zai for so long, and he still didn’t know Mama’s name.

Thank goodness that after reaching one hundred points, only voice dialogue had been unlocked. Zai Zai could hear her voice, but still thought she was a spirit who had suddenly learned to speak. Otherwise—if Zai Zai ever found out what she really looked like behind the screen—wouldn’t she die of embarrassment on the spot? Even now, just like this, Su Xi’s cheeks burned red and she was nearly breathless.

She coughed lightly, trying to compose herself before explaining, “Last night, I drifted around and met a powerful spirit. I asked that spirit to cast a spell for me, so now I can speak!”

Su Xi felt quite pleased with her quick improvisation. Otherwise, how else could she explain why Zai Zai could suddenly hear her voice? If he heard a disembodied one floating in the air, wouldn’t that be terrifying?

But then—why did Zai Zai’s expression suddenly look so complicated, as if full of things unsaid?!

Su Xi was a little confused, and went on, “My name is Su Xi, you can call me—”

Before she could finish, she suddenly thought it might be better not to say, so she closed her mouth with a delighted smile and waited to see how Zai Zai would react.

Lu Huan stared in utter confusion as, after the line “My name is Su Xi, you can call me—” appeared above her head, a whole cluster of other oval-shaped white bubbles suddenly popped up—

—My name is Su Xi, you can call me—Mama, pfft hahaha!

—Awsl¹ “awsl” is an internet slang term originating from Chinese online culture. It’s an abbreviation for “啊我死了 (ā wǒ sǐ le)”, which literally means “Ah, I’m dead.”, Zai Zai’s dumbfounded face is too cute!!

—Zai Zai asked for Mama’s name! Mama’s getting killed by his cuteness every day!

—Mama will love Zai Zai forever!

—Wuwuwu my name doesn’t sound nice, should I make up a prettier one like “Blooming by the Riverside” or something with “Bone” in it? As a spirit, I should sound a little more immortal, right? Otherwise Zai Zai will think I’m just some weak little ghost who gets bullied by others!

Lu Huan’s expression slowly collapsed.

“……”

Mama? Zai Zai?

Who was Mama?

And who was Zai Zai?

Footnotes

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  “awsl” is an internet slang term originating from Chinese online culture. It’s an abbreviation for “啊我死了 (ā wǒ sǐ le)”, which literally means “Ah, I’m dead.”