Chapter 998: Fleeing in a Hurry

This was probably the fastest Lu Quan had ever run—after leaving the room, she bolted without a second thought, ignoring the glances from the guards in the corridor.

The old saying “serving an emperor is like serving a tiger” finally made deep sense to her after her close encounter with Empress Ye.

Though Empress Ye wasn’t capricious, her mindset was utterly unpredictable; just moments ago in the room, Lu Quan had been completely led by the nose, with not an ounce of control.

But there was nothing she could do—Empress Ye’s power far surpassed hers; she hadn’t even understood what happened before she was immobilized, so of course she couldn’t seize the initiative.

Fortunately, Empress Ye wasn’t like ordinary feudal emperors who acted without restraint—she still had moral boundaries, and though she could have easily restrained Lu Quan, she ultimately let her go.

But it seemed like a temporary reprieve; according to Empress Ye’s words, Lu Quan would eventually be unable to escape.

Fortunately, Empress Ye hadn’t set a deadline—maybe a few years, maybe a few decades, entirely dependent on when her patience ran out, and that would be the day.

Thinking of this, Lu Quan couldn’t help but sigh.

If she’d known Empress Ye of the Sheng Tang Heavenly Dynasty had this taste, she would never have come to this anniversary gathering.

She’d only wanted to boost her heat value and earn some extra cash before the New Year, but now she’d ended up trapping herself—she’d lost both the wife and the soldier.

She kept running until she heard the noisy chatter from the banquet hall, and only then did she finally relax.

To avoid drawing attention, Lu Quan slowed her pace and tidied her disheveled hair and clothes.

The guests in the hall still exchanged cups and laughter, celebrating the New Year, and few noticed her return.

After returning, Lu Quan walked toward Bai Xingwei as if nothing had happened.

Fa Freya was beside her, carefully savoring a smoked deer leg.

“Why were you gone so long?” Bai Xingwei asked, curious.

“Empress Ye asked me some questions about my hometown—we talked a bit longer than expected,” Lu Quan improvised, brushing off the truth.

She couldn’t possibly tell the truth—how could she say she’d nearly been taken by the Empress? That would be too humiliating.

So she’d keep this buried—Empress Ye wouldn’t act anytime soon, and if ten or twenty years passed, with her martial talent, maybe she’d even surpass the Empress by then.

Instantly, Lu Quan felt a surge of ambition.

When Empress Ye had immobilized her, despair had filled her heart.

But now that she was free again, with ample time to prepare, endless possibilities lay ahead.

She wasn’t a match for Empress Ye now—but that didn’t mean she’d never be able to defeat her!

“What are you thinking about?” Bai Xingwei leaned close to Lu Quan. “I called you and you didn’t answer?”

“Huh?”

Lu Quan snapped back to reality and explained: “I was thinking about how to climb even higher after going viral—I got distracted.”

Bai Xingwei chuckled: “That’s easy—your looks and figure? Just film any drama and your heat value will be overflowing.”

“If only it were that simple,” Lu Quan scoffed at Bai Xingwei’s shallow view. “Once you gain popularity, you must cherish your reputation—waste it carelessly, and you’ll burn through your public goodwill in no time.”

“That’s true,” Bai Xingwei nodded, realizing she’d been overly simplistic.

“By the way, I have to head back soon.”

Originally, Lu Quan had planned to stay another day or two, but after being frightened by Empress Ye, she now wanted nothing more than to return to Earth—this alien world was too dangerous.

“Leaving already?” Bai Xingwei suddenly lost interest in her meat. “Isn’t that a bit sudden?”

“I’ve been away too long—it’s time to go back,” Lu Quan shook her head gently. “Besides, the New Year is coming soon in our world—I must return to reunite with my family.”

“That makes sense,” Bai Xingwei nodded slightly. “If anything comes up, use the Lingxi Mirror to contact me.”

“No problem.”

Lu Quan gave a thumbs-up. Bai Xingwei blinked, not understanding the gesture, but grasped its meaning from context.

Next, Lu Quan bid farewell to Saintess Fa Freya and Lady Ji.

Among all the guests in the banquet hall, she knew only these few—after saying goodbye, she returned via the teleportation array to Bai Xingwei’s room, then used the system’s portal to return to Earth.

When her feet touched the carpeted wooden floor of her bedroom, Lu Quan finally felt grounded.

Home was best—safe, warm, comfortable, with no chance of suddenly being taken while eating hotpot and singing.

“The room seems pretty clean,” Lu Quan ran her hand along the edge of her desk and bed, finding no dust.

Even a closed room accumulates dust over time.

She’d been gone just over ten days—not long, but certainly not dust-free.

Had her mom, Wen Xia, and the others cleaned it?

“Woof!” Da He suddenly barked, excitedly wagging his tail as if to say, Look at me, look at me!

“Did you clean this?” Lu Quan patted Da He’s head. “Didn’t know you had housekeeping skills.”

Delighted by the praise, Da He stuck out his tongue.

Xiao Yu watched from the side, glancing with a hint of indifference and aloofness.

As the noble Imperial Jade Seal, Xiao Yu had never liked moving much—after all, a body of priceless worth deserved every luxury.

In contrast, Da He was extremely practical—he could do almost anything—and their personalities matched their pet breeds perfectly.

After returning home, Lu Quan’s first task was definitely to go downstairs and reassure her family.

Her mom must have been deeply worried after so many days without seeing her.

After all, she’d only just begun learning martial arts—she likely couldn’t fully accept such new things, and naturally couldn’t understand how someone could go so long without eating.

But when Lu Quan went downstairs, she found the entire living room empty.

“Where is everyone?” Lu Quan checked the kitchen, but saw no one.

She touched the bowls—they were dry, meaning they hadn’t been used for a while.

“Did they go out?” Lu Quan quickly charged her phone, turned it on, and called her mom.

“Hello, daughter, have you come out of seclusion?”

Her mom’s voice carried background noise—she was clearly somewhere lively.

“Where did you all go? Why is the house empty?” Lu Quan shouted, afraid her mom couldn’t hear.

Her mom laughed: “We’re at Disneyland! I’ve taken everyone out every day these past few days—we’ve practically walked half of Shanghai. Tonight there’s a fireworks show—want to join us?”

“Fireworks show?” Lu Quan was stunned. “Can Shanghai even have fireworks now?”

According to regulations, China’s major cities had banned firecrackers and fireworks for years, especially as the New Year approached.

In downtown areas, even lighting a small firecracker could get you a warning—how could they hold a fireworks show? Was this some kind of police detention center party?

Though she thought it’d be great to be a youth setting off fireworks on New Year’s Eve, she hadn’t lit any in years.

But rules were rules—if you broke them, you got punished. Lu Quan figured the organizers of this fireworks show wouldn’t even make it to the evening display—they’d be arrested before the first spark.

“Of course you can light them.”

Her mom’s words made Lu Quan’s eyes widen in surprise: “Really?”

“Why would I lie to you?” Lu Ni snapped. “You’ve been in seclusion—you don’t know, but new regulations just came out: cities can now have fireworks, though Shanghai only allows them beyond the outer ring.”

A net celebrity organized this fireworks show online, and many passersby responded, eager to have some fun.”

“In that case, I really have to go see it,” Lu Quan said excitedly.

As a child, her favorite things to play with were firecrackers and skyrockets.

Light one, toss it into a pond, and watch the water splash—it brought pure joy.

Fireworks were bigger, usually handled by adults; she’d never gotten to light many herself.

But as she grew older, these things gradually disappeared from public life.

Lu Quan didn’t understand why they banned these for environmental reasons—abroad, they dumped nuclear wastewater into the sea and gas pipelines exploded constantly, polluting far more than China’s fireworks ever had in decades.

Yet no media outlets ever criticized them.

But in China, lighting a firecracker or burning paper money—before anyone else even reacts—her own people start screaming.

Lu Quan thought one annual display couldn’t cause much pollution.

Japan holds three fireworks festivals every year, yet no one online complains about Japan’s air quality.

Of course, she knew her opinion didn’t matter—rules were rules, and they had to be followed.

But at least now the rule had been relaxed—fireworks were permitted beyond the outer ring, and that was progress.

Maybe in a few years, the whole city would once again be bathed in fireworks like in her childhood.

“Then go ahead and enjoy yourselves—I’ll come tonight and watch the fireworks with you.”

She hadn’t touched fireworks in years, and now her fingers itched to light them.

“Alright, I’ll send you the address—gotta go now,” her mom said, then hung up cleanly.

Looking at the empty living room, Lu Quan took a bottle of cola from the fridge and returned to her room.

At the banquet, she’d only eaten food—besides Immortal Jade Dew, she hadn’t found anything to drink, and since the performances began, she hadn’t had a sip of water.

Before, her attention had been distracted by other things, so she hadn’t noticed.

Now that she was idle, she truly felt thirsty.

She tilted her head and took a big gulp, then let out a satisfied burp.

Fortunately, there was no live stream—if there had been, her fans would’ve already given her a new nickname.

Speaking of fans, she hadn’t interacted with them in over ten days—she wondered if they’d missed her.

She opened her livestream and found the heat level still high.

On the dark screen, dozens of “Daily Check-in” comments floated by.

She checked her last post—there weren’t many comments urging her to return.

After all, her fans themselves had demanded she take a break—some even threatened to leave if she didn’t rest.

Since she had business to attend to in Huan Yu, she’d happily gone along with it—and those who’d asked her to rest wouldn’t rush her back now; that’d be admitting they were wrong.

So the comment section was unusually quiet.

“If only it could always be like this,” Lu Quan sighed.

Unfortunately, this time the situation is special; once I return, that bunch of insatiable fans will surely push me to release new songs and new movies again.

“Things are going to be extremely busy from now on,” Luo Quan stretched out on her bed, mentally prepared.

During the break fans gave her, she had actually been working nonstop at Huanyu , never resting at all.

Now that she’s back, everyone assumes she’s rested enough and will surely start pouring out content at full force.

In the past, her body would never have withstood such exhaustion.

But now, of course, it’s no issue at all—she could stay energized for three days and nights without feeling physical fatigue; at most, her mind might grow slightly drained, but a mere hour of closed-eye rest would fully restore her.

So Luo Quan wasn’t worried about the upcoming demands for new content.

She was thinking about what kind of fresh, creative things she could come up with for her fans.

As a singer, director, actress, and livestreamer, she truly hated constantly presenting her fans with homogenized content.

Innovation and fun had always been her core philosophy for creating content; if she kept using the same formula, her fans would eventually grow tired.

But because her strength was so great, this “eventually” might come much later.

Still, she couldn’t settle for the status quo just because it came late—creating fresh content couldn’t be paused lightly; she couldn’t wait until fans started complaining before planning her next move. She had to prepare in advance.

But for now, Luo Quan had no clear goal for her next creative project; she needed to find inspiration in daily life.

For now, she’d just enjoy tonight’s fireworks show.

But before that, she had to post a Weibo announcing her return to her fans.

“I’m back at full strength—did you miss me?”

At 1 p.m., Luo Quan suddenly posted this update on Bilibili.

Just those few words shot straight to Bilibili’s trending list; views exploded past 100,000 instantly, and every time the comments section refreshed, hundreds more comments piled in.

Twelve characters declared Luo Quan’s status on Bilibili.