Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Respect Other People's Hard Work

【Bright Future Chat Group】

Wangshu: "Don't need to pick up the student anymore."

Jingliu: "?"

Asta: "?"

Wangshu: "The student skipped class."

Jingliu: "Me???"

The afternoon light hadn't quite reached the warm tones of true evening yet. Wangshu was looking at the two veterans in the group chat, not yet having gotten around to calling out their ruthless strategies, when a hand gently tapped his shoulder.

"See? You got tricked by a bad woman."

He turned around. Little Jingliu sat beside him, chin propped in her palms, crimson eyes staring at him without blinking. Her small expression was deliberately inscrutable.

Sigh — the indecent little Wangshu.

"Hold off on the judgment for a second. If I'm not mistaken, you don't get out of school for another half hour?"

Wangshu pulled his attention away from the group chat and naturally leaned back beside little Jingliu, resting against the bench. He didn't know why she'd skipped class.

But skipping was skipping. Everyone had their own talents, and Jingliu's had been proven by history beyond any doubt — a swordswoman the likes of which came once in a millennium.

Perhaps the academy's structured curriculum really was too confining for her.

"If I hadn't skipped, the indecent little Wangshu would've been led around by the nose by that bad woman."

Jingliu gave a soft "hmph," turning her face away, though her tone remained level.

She pulled out her phone. On the screen was a photo from the restaurant — taken at what appeared to be a sneaked angle. Wangshu's expression looked slightly uncomfortable, while the girl across from him was all radiant smiles.

Little Jingliu waved the screen in front of Wangshu's face, her heart filled with an irritation she couldn't quite name. But her expression carried the particular liveliness that belonged to her age.

"Her name is Huoshi. She's not a bad woman... technically, she might not even be a woman. She's a Swarm Lord. A Propagation Swarm Lord."

He stood up, looking at the girl before him — feigning composure while every line of her brows and the corners of her eyes screamed I'm-upset-but-I-won't-say-it. He suddenly found it a little funny.

"Little Wangshu, do you really think I'm stupid?"

Jingliu's expression was delicately complicated. Wangshu didn't seem as obedient as she'd imagined.

Wangshu quietly watched little Jingliu. Little Jingliu tilted her face up, refusing to back down, staring right back.

Then she watched as Wangshu, like a magician, produced a recording pen from his pocket. Little Jingliu tilted her head.

"Talk is cheap — why don't we listen to the recording instead?"

He really did need to buy a phone. He'd only been here two days and was already struggling without one... Oh right, he'd need to pick out a fun phone case too.

"No need. I believe you."

Jingliu turned her head, presenting Wangshu with a luminous profile.

But before Wangshu could say anything, little Jingliu whipped back around, rose on her tiptoes, and snatched the recording pen away.

"But hard work deserves respect! To honor your efforts, I've decided I should listen after all. I need to make sure your work has value."

She spoke with perfect conviction, though the delicate skin of her earlobes had gone slightly red. After all, who little Wangshu talked to really had nothing to do with her.

Wangshu wanted to laugh — and did. He looked at the coins that had luckily remained in his pocket, and considered for two seconds.

"Since you've already skipped class, why don't I treat little Jingliu to something? To celebrate... your successful escape?"

He was genuinely grateful for Asta's generous sponsorship. Though it seemed a payback opportunity was coming soon, the initial capital she'd provided had truly solved a lot of problems.

"I'm not 'little Jingliu'..."

She grumbled, but agreed in a flash.

They returned to the same restaurant from before. The server stared at Wangshu for two seconds, then glanced at the blue-and-white-haired little figure trotting ahead of him, and just... watched the two of them in silence.

In a nation of long-life species, warmheartedness came naturally. There was no need to deny yourself over trivial matters — across a long lifespan, maintaining some sincerity kept the centuries vibrant.

"The one before was a business partner. We were just discussing something."

Under the server's knowing gaze, Wangshu steeled himself and quietly offered an explanation, attempting to salvage what might already be a ruined reputation.

"How old are you, sir?"

The server smiled, asking politely.

"Little Wangshu? He's seventeen."

Jingliu magnanimously extended a hand. She was broad-minded and didn't dwell on earlier events.

"I see! My apologies — I was rather neglectful before. Please enjoy this dessert first, on the house. A small token of apology." The server's tone was warm.

Seventeen, huh — then no worries. Both girls who'd come in with Wangshu had been petite, but age-wise, Wangshu was probably the one getting the short end of the stick.

Then Jingliu surveyed the room and sat down directly at the exact spot from the earlier photo.

No deeper meaning — the seat was open. Why waste it?

That's what she told herself as she settled in, perfectly composed.

Until the recording pen, clipped to her ear, played to a very particular moment — the part about reserving offspring — and nearly slid off her smooth shoulder.

"Little Wangshu~"

Jingliu suddenly went quiet. She hopped off the tall chair, scooted over to Wangshu's side, and whispered: "If I'm not wrong, you're basically a normal person, right?"

Wangshu nodded. Her warm breath grazed his earlobe — ticklish — but little Jingliu was clearly not joking right now. Her tone was dead serious.

"Then..."

Jingliu trailed off.

"Yes — it's your power."

Wangshu confirmed it directly. The Propagation power did come from Jingliu, even though the future Jingliu hadn't encountered any of these headaches.

At his words, little Jingliu's shoulders visibly slumped. So that's why her future self had survived all the way to Star Calendar Year 8000-something — she'd already fallen to darkness and joined forces with Propagation?

Not just a bad woman... but a bad person, too?

But she rallied quickly. Her future self being a bad woman had nothing to do with the present her.

Besides, her fate had already been changed because of little Wangshu.

With that thought, she set aside the unfinished recording. She was done listening!

"Little Wangshu, my hands are kind of cold."

She extended her fair little hand, her upturned face carrying a trace of pitiful vulnerability.

Wangshu stared for a moment. "Are you sure a long-life physique gets cold?"

A species that could survive orbital drops, that could get their head lopped off and sewn back on and still live, whose weather and climate were entirely controlled by the Xianzhou itself — was she seriously claiming she could feel cold a second time in an entire year?

"I can't even ride a bicycle!"

Jingliu fired back with righteous indignation. She was only eighteen! On any Xianzhou, that qualified as a genuine child.

"What does riding a bicycle have to do with cold hands..."

Oh. The perpetually single Wangshu suddenly understood.

"Anyway, my hands are kind of cold..." Little Jingliu ducked her head.

Plus, she'd skipped class. The academy teacher would almost certainly make a home visit. Before, it hadn't mattered — nobody was home. Now the teacher could tell Wangshu all about how unruly she was at school.

Just thinking about it gave her a headache.

"Then let me warm them up. My palms are actually pretty warm right now."

He reached out and gently took hold of Jingliu's slightly cool fingers.

The touch was soft and delicate. Sometimes he really wanted to screenshot this and send it to the group — but he was terrified that during tonight's training, Senior Jingliu would use the opportunity for petty revenge.

"I'll warm them myself!"

Jingliu's smile bloomed once more. She swiftly pulled her hand back, and then — before Wangshu could react — both small hands deftly slipped under his shirt, encircling his waist, palms pressing directly against the warm skin of his midsection.

This was warmer.