Chapter 901: Lover

Bachongling says, "Brother-in-law."

Bachongying's... lover?

Companion. Lover. Husband.

The person who lives together with the woman right in front of me who looks exactly like her?

Bachongying has a lover?

Bachongying's brain stopped thinking.

This is not a metaphor; it's a physiological crash.

Her expression still held the gentle curve from just now when she was drinking tea, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, her gray‑purple irises calmly gazing at the tea cup before her, but on close inspection one would see that her pupils were unfocused at this moment, her sight piercing straight through the cup and landing on a point of emptiness that does not exist anywhere in this carriage.

If someone were to lean in and look at her eyes now, they'd probably see a line of garbled code scrolling wildly inside.

Among the people she knows, not many have partners.

Heimu—forget it.

Kesi Mo—she hardly dares to speak a word, and romance is most likely not in her near‑term plans.

Ge Lei Xiu—she's still a child!

Ailixiya—fine, this one may have blossoms everywhere, but her personality is about a galaxy away from a "faithful partner."

Kaiwen—there is one.

And then?

As for Bachongying herself, the option of "romance" has never appeared in her life's trajectory.

As a member of the "Poison Cocoon," she was taught to keep to her duty, compressing all emotions beneath a smile, born in shadow, always directed at the enemy.

Her sole sister occupies all her softness; the rest is given to the cold hilt of a blade and endless battle.

Lover. Companion. Partner.

These words are far beyond her life experience, so far that she has never even thought seriously about what they specifically mean.

And now, a person who shares the same face as hers—more precisely, her original face—wears a smile gentle to the bone, teased casually by her sister with the nickname "Brother-in-law," and then a faint, slightly reddened shyness appears on the face, as if a secret had been poked.

The face is identical to the one she sees in her Memory's mirror.

But the expression now shown on that face, she has never seen on her own face in her entire life.

Bachongying's inner world now resembles a yarn basket invaded by a cat, all the threads tangled together.

She wants to say, "I see, this is the setting of the scene," but her brain refuses to produce such a calm analysis.

She wants to say, "Ailixiya, your level of stage design is really impressive," but she can't even internally mock enough to form a complete sentence.

Now Bachongying's mind is occupied by a single thought, looping in her consciousness in huge font: "She has a partner? She, with my face, has a partner? That so gentle smile? That slightly reddened cheek when teased by her sister? I, the me that looks like this, is someone dating someone like me???"

Her Fox Ears, at a visibly rapid pace, shifted from upright to a slight backward tilt, the tips trembling faintly.

This is an instinctive reaction of a fox when extremely confused; she cannot control it.

Fortunately, the movement is so slight it's almost imperceptible.

At the same time, her right hand, which rested on the bag, unconsciously tightened, the fingertips pressing through the leather against the hard edge of the sketchbook's cover, straining until the knuckles turned white.

The sketchbook is still there.

This tactile sensation is the only anchor she can grasp now, reminding her that all this is a constructed scene, a trial, a level meticulously arranged by some pink‑haired reveler.

But.

Bachongying, after pouring the tea, gently pushes the cup back in front of her, the cup's bottom striking the tabletop with a crisp, light sound.

"Please, help yourself."

She slightly turns her head to look at Bachongying, those ice‑blue eyes carrying a faint concern, probably having noticed Hiying's barely perceptible pause just now.

"Miss Hiying? The tea is getting cold."

Bachongying snaps back to attention.

Her pupils refocus within a fraction of a second, the curve of her mouth instantly returns, her right hand lifts from the bag cover, and she naturally lifts the tea cup to her lips.

The movement is fluid, expression steady, even the hand holding the cup remains perfectly still.

"Thank you. I was just thinking about something."

Her voice remains steady, even a touch more casually light than before.

Then she lowers her head, takes a sip, and uses the rim of the cup to shield her still slightly warm ear tips.

Across, Ling is tugging at her sister's sleeve, babbling nonstop about the concept behind the next sketch in her sketchbook: "This picture shows sister cooking in the kitchen; I spent ages drawing the apron folds, but I messed up the vegetables in the pot because I didn't know how to draw stir‑fried greens, so I just dabbed a few blobs of green." Bachongying turns her head, watches her sister's sketchbook attentively, nodding occasionally, her finger lightly tapping a detail and asking, "Is this me?" Ling nods vigorously, and Bachongying curls a smile, a gentle, quiet smile, with two faint, fine lines at the corners of her eyes.

They've paid no attention to how the pink‑haired girl opposite them experienced a brief inner collapse behind the tea cup.

Bachongying puts the tea cup down.

She lowers her head, watching the jasmine flower in the cup re‑bloom as hot water opens its petals, the petals unfurling in the water.

She stares at the flower for a few seconds, then inhales deeply, pushing all the surging emotions back into her heart.

Alright. Calm down!

The completeness and detail precision of this trial scene far exceed her expectations.

The worldbuilding is sound.

The characters' behavioral logic is consistent; the older sister is gentle, restrained, good at caring for others, the younger is lively, curious, loves drawing and cosplay, and their interaction feels natural, not like a data simulation.

There is even an extended family relationship setting; the mentioned "Brother-in-law" is a perfect example.

The scene designer didn't place the sisters in a vacuum containing only each other, but gave them a full social network, with past and present.

This level of detail shows one thing: Ailixiya really does have plenty of free time.

Bachongying lifts the cup again and takes another sip.

However, she glances again at the older sister across, being swung by her younger sister's arm, smiling helplessly yet gently—this scene's design truly knows me.

Being understood like this actually makes her a little uncomfortable.

Perspective shift.

Heimu stood at the door, arms crossed over the chest, gray‑white long hair hanging from the shoulders.

Heimu tilted the head, dark‑purple eyes scanning the door from top to bottom.

A burglar‑proof door, dark brown, with a handwritten spring couplet pasted on it; the characters were neat and restrained, probably written by Hua.

"It should be here."

Heimu muttered to themself, lowered the arms that had been crossed over the chest, and adjusted the school‑badge pin on the collar.

The teacher's uniform was tailored to fit, the black fabric making Heimu's cold‑white skin almost glow in the afternoon sun.

Without the hat's shade, the face that usually hid in the brim's shadow was fully exposed to the sunlight.

Hua's wish was to make their elderly father's health improve.

This Task had a clear objective, a straightforward execution path, and a difficulty coefficient so low it was moving.

Heimu had already run through the entire procedure in their mind before arriving: knock on the door, enter, meet Hua's father, use system permissions to change his health parameters from "wind‑cold not healed" to "strong and healthy", then pat the hands and leave.

The whole process was estimated to take no more than five minutes.

So Heimu raised a hand and knocked on the door.

The knuckles struck the door, producing three crisp sounds; the rhythm was neither fast nor slow, politely just right.

"Thud. Thud. Thud."