Chapter 78: Love Poem

Finally, Yang Yi gave them a lesson.

Three grown men plus Zhang Ningning were all drunk under the table by Yang Yi. Feng Liancheng had crawled completely under the table, Wei Chang’an’s face was flushed red like a boiled shrimp, and Chen Yushu had simply vomited all over the floor.

Only Zhang Ningning, whom Yang Yi treated with gentle consideration, hadn’t been pushed hard to drink and could still stand, though her eyes were hazy and she couldn’t walk straight.

In fact, halfway through the drinking, Yang Yi had noticed her tolerance for alcohol seemed higher than before.

In the past, she had often drunk alone on countless miserable nights just to help herself sleep, so she thought her drinking ability was decent—but she never drank with others, so she never knew exactly how much she could hold.

This time, when she saw all four of them with glazed eyes, she felt nothing at all, assuming it was just because she had a good tolerance. But after the three stubborn men downed several more bottles of high-proof liquor, she still felt nothing except that it tasted awful—and only then did she realize something was wrong.

Her body had apparently become completely unresponsive to alcohol.

The air conditioning was blasting cold, the private room filled with the spicy aroma of Hunan cuisine, the distinct grain-fermented scent of baijiu, and the sour stench of Chen Yushu’s vomit.

Yang Yi stared at the three men slumped on the floor, babbling incoherently, and Zhang Ningning, eyes vacant and grinning foolishly, and suddenly a wave of sorrow rose in her heart—she, who could only feed on sentient life, had ultimately been transformed, in both spirit and flesh.

She remembered her own body in Wucheng, twisted and deformed—could a human body, warped into such a shape, even survive?

But she hadn’t just survived—she had restored herself to normal, molding her organs back into place, reshaping her limbs, carving her features anew, like sculpting clay. At that time, she had vaguely sensed some change in her body, but she deliberately avoided thinking about it—as if not thinking meant she didn’t have to worry.

But some things, even if ignored, constantly reminded her—in the smallest details of daily life—that she was no longer like ordinary humans.

What if she tried drinking poison? she thought coldly. Let’s see just how far this body has mutated.

It’s right—you’re no different from a monster now.

Isn’t that fine? Countless people have spent their lives chasing invulnerability, immunity to poison—and you’ve gained it effortlessly. She sneered at herself.

Yet the room was freezing cold—not from the air conditioning, but from an inner chill that seeped through her skin, leaving no goosebumps, only deep, penetrating cold.

Finally, the question she had long feared surfaced clearly in her mind: what exactly would she become?

“Puk—” A retch pulled her back—Chen Yushu vomited again. “...Yang Yi... I can’t accept it... I can’t accept it... My talent can’t match yours... not even in drinking... Let’s drink more! Puk—”

Yang Yi sighed, saw him about to collapse into his own vomit, and used her mental force to lift him upright.

Think of the good things—when you reshaped your face and figure, didn’t you wonder whether to make your chest bigger, your ass rounder, your features prettier?—in that way, you’re still human at heart! she thought bitterly, forcing herself to find humor.

She paid the bill herself and dragged all four back to the Jueguan Bureau by mental force. At the entrance, other awakened individuals arrived and took the three drunken men back to their dorms. Only Zhang Ningning, who had just reported in and hadn’t been assigned a dorm yet, was dragged back to Yang Yi’s own room.

Sitting on the sofa, Zhang Ningning gazed dazedly around the unfamiliar space, her body slowly sliding down until she lay flat.

“Ah—I never imagined the fellow fan I met once, who chased stars with me, was actually the number one awakened person... and now I’m in her dorm!” Zhang Ningning murmured to Yang Yi.

Yang Yi couldn’t help smiling. She remembered their first meeting—she had wanted to get to know this fellow fan, but had been in a hurry to save Chris and hadn’t had the chance. Now it was as if fate had picked up where it left off.

Yang Yi went to the kitchen to boil water, and as she walked out holding the cup, Zhang Ningning suddenly spoke: “Did you know Chris is in love?”

Yang Yi paused mid-step and set the cup down on the coffee table.

“How do you know?” Yang Yi asked.

“Hey, I’m not an idiot!” Zhang Ningning said proudly. “Fans of our idols are all detectives! Our veteran fan group has been guessing he’s been dating someone lately! Some won’t believe it, others are investigating who it is.” She sighed. “And I think he’s fallen deeper than ever—completely unlike his usual self!”

“How so?” Yang Yi asked, curious.

“You’re his fan and you didn’t notice?” Zhang Ningning widened her eyes in surprise. Then she suddenly understood: “Oh, right—you’ve been too busy lately, no time to check his blog or news, right?”

“So his love life is already common knowledge?” Yang Yi was stunned.

“No, no!” Zhang Ningning hurried to say. “I already said—we veteran fans are detectives! We deduced it from his subtle clues!”

Zhang Ningning pulled out her phone and searched her favorites for a few news articles: “Look—this paparazzi photo!”

Yang Yi sat down to look. It was a tabloid entertainment piece, clearly taken by a paparazzo hiding in a car. Chris was walking his dog alone on the lawn, holding his phone, smiling foolishly at the screen.

“So what?” Yang Yi said.

“So what? Don’t you see? He’s smiling at his phone all by himself! And in thirty minutes of walking the dog, he checked his phone six times! Six times!” Zhang Ningning emphasized.

Yang Yi swallowed hard and forced out: “Maybe he’s joking with a friend? Reading a novel? Watching a show? Anything’s possible—it doesn’t prove anything...”

“Yes, it doesn’t prove anything,” Zhang Ningning didn’t argue. “But add it to other behaviors, and it tells the whole story.” She opened his personal blog app and pulled up a post from about a week ago—he was sitting in the driver’s seat, holding a pink torch ice cream in his right hand.

“Look—the pink torch ice cream!” Zhang Ningning stressed. “Strawberry flavor! Such a girly color! Would he ever buy this on his own? He’s a straight guy!”

“That still doesn’t prove anything,” Yang Yi shrugged, then stopped mid-sentence as she remembered she had once sent him a photo of herself eating a strawberry torch ice cream—and swallowed the rest of her words.

“Maybe these are all a stretch—but what about this?” Zhang Ningning pulled up his playlist on his blog. “Look—he’s been listening only to sad love songs lately! He used to adore rock music!”

Yang Yi fell silent.

“And this! He stayed awake until 2 a.m. and saved a love poem!” Zhang Ningning flipped the page open for her.

The timestamp was two days ago, 2:08 a.m. in Akar time—he had saved a poem by Hungarian poet Petőfi:

My love will not be like a nightingale,

Waking at dawn,

Singing beautifully on the ground bathed in sunlight,

My love will not be like a lovely grove,

White doves floating on a still lake,

Thinking of the moon in the water,

Nodding their snowy necks.

My love will not be a peaceful home,

Like a quiet garden,

Filled with happiness, as if a mother dwelled within,

Where fairies are born, beautiful and joyful.

My love can only be a desolate forest,

Filled with jealousy, like a bandit,

Holding a sword, holding despair,

Every strike bringing death.

Every strike brings death.