Chapter 895: Getting Involved

This should be a challenge.

Similar to the picture book that Black Curtain Lady previously entered with Kesi Mo and Ge Lei Xiu, this train scene is most likely also some kind of trial mechanism.

Because Ying stayed on the train, this scene was adjusted into her trial, the trial she must face.

The train is empty, petals drift, and with a turn the scene changes.

Thus Ying's current situation is not a real scene, but a constructed level.

And the level's designer—most likely Ailixiya.

Although Ying is not sure about Ailixiya's current condition—whether Herrscher‑ified, Corrosion, or simply a prank—the level's aesthetic direction is clear, entirely within Ailixiya's taste range.

Ying silently recited the name "Ailixiya" in her mind, then took a deep breath.

Since the trial was set up by Ailixiya, Ying only needs to break through this scene just as she broke through the pipe space before.

Step one: get involved.

Standing outside the door and watching stupidly solves nothing; Ying needs to go in, get close, observe, and figure out the Rule and clearance conditions of this scene.

And the best way to take part in an ordinary train carriage scene is to become an ordinary passenger.

Be natural.

Be gentle.

Don't make the expression too stiff.

Of course, most importantly, don't let that girl who looks like Ling lead you by the nose.

Reason String‑wise, Ying knows those two girls are part of the scene, Data Bodies constructed by the trial mechanism, essentially no different from the Corrosion monsters thrown out in the pipe space.

Emotionally, Ying, with gloved hand, touched the picture book in her bag and temporarily decided not to engage deeply with her own feelings.

Ying then extended her hand and grasped the train door handle.

The metal's icy feel passed through half‑finger gloves to her palm; she pressed down slightly, the Lock gave a faint click, and the door panel opened just enough for one person to slip through sideways.

Warm yellow light poured out from the gap, accompanied by the subtle sounds of that carriage.

She then slipped through the gap, pulled the door back, and as the panel closed it emitted a muted thud, like a ceremonial entrance cue.

Ying stood in the passage between two carriages and quickly scanned the surrounding environment.

This carriage's layout matched exactly the one she was in before: dark‑brown cushioned seats, warm yellow lighting, and a pot of pothos in the corner.

There were slightly more passengers than she had seen through the glass earlier, about thirty percent capacity.

The sister pair sat left‑center in the carriage, in a four‑seat facing layout; the older and younger sister sat side by side on the window side, the opposite two seats empty, and the seat cushions still held the warmth left by sunlight on the dark‑brown velvet.

An empty seat.

Right opposite them.

Precisely as if someone had reserved it for her in advance.

Ying mentally noted another point for Ailixiya—seat arrangement included, service quite attentive.

Then she adjusted her expression.

Her current appearance is that of a sixteen‑ or seventeen‑year‑old high‑school girl: a white stand‑collar fitted uniform with a red bow, a black waist sash dangling a red tassel, a deep‑hidden teal pleated mini‑skirt, ash‑gray ultra‑thin stockings, and black short boots.

On her head sit a pair of slender pink Fox Ears.

This look is nothing in Past World Paradise, but in this ordinary train carriage among a crowd of trench‑coat and hoodie‑clad regular passengers, it is somewhat conspicuous.

However, NPCs in Past World Paradise have an absurdly high tolerance for oddities, so as long as Ying appears natural, she is unlikely to trigger any strange alert.

She raised her hand to adjust the red bow at her collar, set the curve of her mouth to a gentle but unexaggerated angle, and walked toward the empty seat opposite the sisters.

When she passed a sneezing middle‑aged man, she subtly stepped aside; the man nodded in thanks, and she returned the nod politely, moving smoothly and naturally, showing no hint of the panic one would expect after escaping a surreal petal Illusion Realm.

Reaching the seat, Ying flicked a quick glance at the sister pair with her peripheral vision.

On the aisle side sits Ling, with light sakura‑colored short hair, a milky‑white hooded sweatshirt, a dark‑gray pleated skirt printed with cat‑paw marks, white over‑knee socks whose lace edge curls just above the knee, and pink‑white sneakers whose laces are now neatly tied.

Ling leans sideways, talking to her sister; one leg is crossed on the seat, the other dangles loosely, the heel lightly tapping the seat base in a rhythmic clack.

By the window sits another version of herself: Ying's pink ultra‑long straight hair falls from the shoulders to the waist, the cuffs of a light‑beige knitted cardigan are slightly rolled up to reveal pale wrists, and she wears a light khaki half‑skirt whose hem just covers the knees, exposing a strip of fair calf and ankle.

She tilts her head to listen to her sister, the side‑face lines softened by sunlight, eyelashes casting a faint shadow on her face.

Ying pulled her gaze back, opened the aisle‑side empty seat and sat down.

The seat cushion's velvet, warmed by sunlight, sent a gentle heat through the skirt the moment she sat, provoking a desire to relax; Ying forced herself to stay alert, shifting her weight slightly forward, placing her bag at her side near the window, her right hand resting naturally on the bag cover, ready to draw a blade at any moment.

She then turned her gaze outward, side‑facing the sisters, her expression relaxed as if simply admiring the scenery.

Outside the window stretches the city skyline, glass façades of skyscrapers reflecting dazzling light, a distant Ferris wheel turning slowly, and farther still a faint silver Light Band tracing the sea horizon.

Of course, though she looks out, her attention is nowhere on the view.

Ying's Fox Ears swivel slightly inward, the tips picking up the sisters' conversation.

"…so, sis, you're too easygoing. That clerk was clearly picking on you, the pearls in the milk tea were at least half missing; you should hand the cup back and ask for a remake."

Ling's voice carries natural vigor, bouncing, each word springing out.

She speaks while gesturing with her hand, the sleeve covering her fingers, only half of her fingertips tracing circles in the air.

"Half a cup of pearls is already plenty. More would clog your straw."

The other version of herself speaks with the same gentle tone, as if humming a slow song.

"Remember last time you bit the straw while drinking pearl milk tea?"

"That was because the straw was low‑quality! It had nothing to do with how I bit it!"

Ling lifts her chin high, her light‑blue round eyes filled with a stubborn "I'm right" glare, yet a smile leaks from her mouth.

She pokes her sister's arm with the cuff, "And that time you got me a new straw, I could drink smoothly afterward. So the conclusion is your straw‑picking is good, meaning you should pick my straw every time from now on."

"…Who taught you that logic?"

"I learned it from you."