010 Fans and Women in Love

As Tanghai had predicted, Chen Wen was ultimately too full to even walk and could only sit in his chair, catching his breath with a look of utter contentment. “Xiaoqing, your cooking is truly amazing—far better than any chef in a grand restaurant.”

“This guy is like a starving ghost reincarnated,” Tanghai mocked.

“Brother Zhong Yun, you ate fifty percent more than usual today—are you sure you’re not too full?” Xiaoqing asked worriedly from the other side.

“It’s fine, I’m about eighty percent full—just right. Maybe I’m growing lately; my appetite has really improved,” Zhong Yun explained. In truth, ever since he started practicing the exercises from Jialan Star, his appetite had increased dramatically.

“I see.” Xiaoqing was relieved, making a mental note to adjust her brother’s meals in the future.

“How did you all meet Xiaoqing?” After leaving the restaurant, Chen Wen shuffled along and asked.

“It must have been right at the start of the school year,” Tanghai recalled. “On the first day, we were eating in the cafeteria, but Xiao Yun barely touched his food before pushing it away, complaining it was terrible—he’s very picky, you know.” Tanghai added with a hint of grievance.

“So we went out hunting for food, wandering around until we passed by this restaurant. As soon as we saw the sign, we laughed.”

Chen Wen remembered and couldn’t help but smile too—the restaurant was called “Yunlai Restaurant.” With “Yun” in Zhong Yun’s name, it was quite the coincidence.

“For some reason, as soon as Xiaoqing saw Xiao Yun, her eyes stuck to him and she began hovering around, eager to please. Back then, Xiaoqing was just an eleven-year-old girl with a long, black braid down her back.”

“I even teased Xiao Yun for attracting little kids. Who knew, in just two or three years, that little girl would blossom into such a beauty.” Tanghai’s face was full of regret.

Chen Wen sneered from the side. “And you call yourself a senior otaku? You let a top-tier loli slip through your fingers. What a waste.”

Tanghai’s face darkened with embarrassment.

Chen Wen clicked his tongue in amazement, but he still couldn’t understand how someone as awkward as Zhong Yun could draw the attention of such a cute girl like Xiaoqing. It was truly incredible.

After a while, they continued walking.

“There’s still two hours before class. Let’s go to the internet café,” Tanghai suggested after checking the time.

Chen Wen nodded. “Perfect time to check out Amu’s website.”

“Who’s Amu?” Tanghai asked, suddenly remembering a girl shouting that name in lab class. He pressed for details, “Did I miss something?”

Zhong Yun gave a simple explanation.

Tanghai suddenly understood, then groaned. “So the website Xiaoruo gave me was a music site.”

“What did you think it was?”

“I thought Xiaoruo had a crush on me and was inviting me to her private space.”

Zhong Yun and the others burst out laughing.

At the internet café, Zhong Yun was about to book three ordinary computers, but Chen Wen stopped him and told the owner, “Give us three private suites.” Turning to his friends, he added, “You two treated me to a feast; now it’s my turn to treat you to some internet time.”

Neither Zhong Yun nor Tanghai protested. Tanghai had already noticed that, although Chen Wen’s clothes seemed plain, they were actually foreign designer brands—something only the well-off would recognize. He was likely from a wealthy family himself.

Regular computers were cheap but lacked realism. The private suites, on the other hand, were equipped with top-tier hardware, even more advanced than the “Phantom 5000” at Zhong Yun’s home, but the cost was exorbitant—five hundred credits an hour, not something the average person could afford.

Once online, Zhong Yun added Chen Wen as a friend. Personal spaces online were like virtual homes; once access was granted, they could visit each other freely.

Zhong Yun couldn’t wait to log into “Star Wars.” For an entire month, his AI assistant Xiaoqi hadn’t let him play any games. Since his arrival in this world, he hadn’t had a single fix of virtual gaming.

The screen shifted, revealing the vast, boundless expanse of space—so dazzling and mysterious. Then came the thunderous drums of the intro, stirring and exhilarating as Zhong Yun entered the game.

“Star Wars” was produced by Reality Life, Davos’ largest game company, who had invested heavily and commissioned the Angel Empire’s development company. The result was a game far superior to any domestic equivalent: more refined, larger in scale, more realistic, and with far more diverse gameplay.

The game’s overwhelming appeal had swept the market like a hurricane, crushing all competition. Now, “Star Wars” dominated ninety percent of the market, effectively forming a monopoly.

Upon entering his personal warehouse, Zhong Yun saw the “Qiyun”—a ten-meter-tall, pure white mech, secured on the maintenance rack.

He gazed at it, enraptured. Its powerful lines and cold sheen spoke of a weapon of extraordinary destructive power.

Having grown up watching mecha shows, he was powerless to resist this kind of machine. Taking a deep breath, Zhong Yun climbed into the “Qiyun” and entered the training arena.

Controlling the mech wasn’t easy. At first, he was clumsy, swaying as he walked, but his body’s muscle memory remained. Although the former Zhong Yun wasn’t a master, he was quite familiar with the controls.

Soon, Zhong Yun was completely engrossed.

Over an hour later, he logged out, satisfied.

Back in his virtual space, he noticed an unread message. Opening it, he read: “Please join Amu’s Home—the world’s first Amu fan club,” signed by Xiaoruo.

Zhong Yun smiled wryly—he hadn’t expected Xiaoruo to actually create a fan group. He joined without a second thought. Only then did he realize—there were over twenty thousand members in Amu’s Home.

Even if Xiaoruo had worked at lightning speed, she’d only created it last night. To attract over twenty thousand members in under a day was astonishing.

Neither Amu nor Xiaoruo had much influence online; it should have been impossible to gather so many people so quickly. He simply couldn’t understand how so many had joined.

He checked Amu’s website. The stats showed just over fifty thousand visits.

Class time was approaching. The three of them left the suite, settled the bill, and hurried back to school.

They hadn’t even reached the classroom door when a loud cheer erupted from inside. “Xiaoruo, are you serious?” The voice rang out down the hallway.

Zhong Yun and his friends exchanged glances, wondering what the girls were up to now.

Entering the room, they saw a group of girls huddled together, laughing, dancing, and cheering as if celebrating something.

Tanghai asked a male classmate he was on good terms with, “Is it mass spring fever for the girls?”

“Pretty much,” the boy replied with a hint of jealousy. “Apparently, Amu’s website just announced that Xiaoruo’s Amu’s Home is now the official fan club.”

“Is Amu’s music really that good?” Tanghai asked skeptically.

“Even better than you imagine,” Chen Wen chimed in. “Though maybe a little below Ming Yunyu, the quality is still top-notch.”

“That guy can be compared to Yunyu?” Tanghai scoffed.

Chen Wen raised an eyebrow. “Are you one of her fans?”

Tanghai lifted his chin, full of pride.

Zhong Yun added helpfully, “Tanghai is one of the hundred thousand official members of the ‘Raindrops’ fan club.”

Chen Wen just said, “Then forget I said anything.” He turned to Zhong Yun. “You know, there are two kinds of people in the world who are impossible to reason with.”

“Which two?”

“Fans,” Chen Wen paused, “and women in love.”

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