After the Black Moonlight’s "Death Escape" Failed [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 54

Chapter 54: Gypsophila and Forget-Me-Nots

◎ The puppy doesn’t care about itself, but the puppy hopes you aren’t angry ◎

Within a mere ten seconds, Wen Fengyue experienced the most difficult decision of her life thus far.

She desperately wanted to follow Jiao Qingyin’s lead—one foot had already crossed the red line of her sanity—but in the end, she spoke.

“…No.” Wen Fengyue pursed her lips tightly.

Although she uttered words of refusal, she couldn’t bear to push Jiao Qingyin away. What she dared not admit was that when Jiao Qingyin’s hand gently stroked her hair, she felt a sense of peace and happiness she had never known before.

Rejected, Jiao Qingyin’s eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because…” Wen Fengyue’s thought was halfway formed when the heat radiating from Jiao Qingyin’s body snapped her mind into focus. “You’ve soaked long enough. If you continue, you’ll get sick.”

The robot had said Jiao Qingyin had been in the bathroom for an hour; that was why she had rushed in. She had almost forgotten her original purpose.

Wen Fengyue’s expression immediately became stern. “You can’t stay here anymore. Go back to your room and change, or you’ll get sick.”

“I won’t. I…” Actually only soaked for ten minutes.

Hearing Jiao Qingyin say “no,” Wen Fengyue—whose own lifestyle habits were a mess—felt a surge of irritation for the first time over someone else’s disregard for their health.

Her gaze sharpened. She pinched Jiao Qingyin’s cheek and threatened: “Listen to me.”

Jiao Qingyin’s little dimple was pinched away. The “cat” who had been trying to cast her fishing hook stared with wide eyes; her faked docility nearly cracked for a moment, as if she were about to unsheathe her claws.

Wen Fengyue dazed for a moment, but then assumed she had misseen it, because in the next second, Jiao Qingyin reverted to her soft, weak demeanor.

Jiao reached up and tugged at Wen Fengyue’s hand which was still pinching her face, her expression somewhat aggrieved. “Alright, I’ll listen to you.”

Wen Fengyue’s heart skipped a beat. She followed Jiao’s movement and relaxed her grip, but as her fingers left, she saw the red mark she had left on the other’s cheek.

Wen Fengyue’s pupils contracted slightly.

She hadn’t expected Jiao Qingyin’s skin to be so… sensitive.

A mere light pinch had left a mark. If she used more force, or used more than just her hands, or touched more than just her cheek, would she… Wen Fengyue forcibly suppressed her straying thoughts.

She stepped back, half out of concern for Jiao and half to distract herself. She took a bathrobe from the rack and wrapped Jiao Qingyin up entirely.

Meeting the other’s gaze, she squeezed out a dry sentence: “…Don’t catch a cold.”

Jiao Qingyin puffed out her cheeks, but she didn’t insist on staying. She only whispered in a tone heavy with regret: “Fine, then I’ll go back to the bed and wait for you.”

“…Mm.”

Wen Fengyue answered subconsciously, but after Jiao Qingyin left the bathroom, she suddenly reacted: What did she mean… “wait for you in bed”…?

A delayed blush rose to her face. She glared at the bathroom door—which Jiao had thoughtfully closed—as if she wanted to kick it open.

Wen Fengyue stood rooted to the spot for three minutes before finally moving. She turned on the cold water tap, trying to clear her head.

But no matter how icy the water was, it couldn’t wash away Jiao Qingyin’s “I’m waiting for you in bed” from her mind.

What did she mean?

Was she actually going to wait in bed, or was she saying this to tease her?

No, based on the personality Jiao Qingyin currently displayed, she likely meant it literally. But what was she waiting for her to do? She couldn’t possibly be inviting her to do something—

Wen Fengyue punched the bathroom wall. Despite the cold shower, her face was terrifyingly hot.

In the end, following her inner heart, she stood before the door of Jiao Qingyin’s bedroom.

The door wasn’t closed, leaving a significant crack. Warm light leaked out, casting Wen Fengyue’s shadow long across the hallway.

Wen Fengyue carried a chill from the water; she stood before the light but hesitated to step inside.

“Teacher Wen?”

Hearing the soft call, Wen Fengyue’s ears rang. By the time she regained her senses, she had already entered the bedroom.

Jiao Qingyin was wearing loose pajamas, sitting on the bed and smiling at her. “Come here.”

Her long hair was draped over her shoulders, and her casual attire gave Wen Fengyue the fleeting illusion that… they had lived together for a long time.

Wen Fengyue walked step by step to the bedside.

“You—” Jiao Qingyin’s smile widened as Wen approached, but then she noticed something. “Did you take a cold shower?”

Wen Fengyue didn’t expect Jiao to notice. Her expression stiffened, but she didn’t lie, simply nodding.

Jiao Qingyin frowned slightly. “Cold showers are bad for your health.”

“…It’s fine, I have a strong constitution,” Wen Fengyue brushed it off dismissively. “Besides, I do it often. I’m used to it.”

Her dismissive attitude clearly displeased Jiao Qingyin.

Jiao didn’t say it outright, but once Wen Fengyue sensed it, the silence in the room felt stifling.

Wen Fengyue had always believed she held the dominant position in their interactions, but at this moment, even though the other person said nothing, she felt an uncontrollable sense of guilt.

To dispel this feeling, Wen Fengyue took the initiative: “Why did you ask me to come over? Is something wrong?”

She received a stiff reply: “Nothing.”

“…” Wen Fengyue felt at a loss. Over the past two days, she had grown used to Jiao Qingyin following her lead; she hadn’t expected how it would feel to be distanced by her.

“Jiao…”

“There’s soup stewing downstairs. I’ve already eaten,” Jiao Qingyin said with her head lowered. “Have some before you go to the radio station.”

Wen Fengyue opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

By the time she finally thought of a new topic, Jiao Qingyin had already turned her back to her, making her refusal to continue the conversation very clear.

Wen Fengyue vaguely realized why she was angry, but she wasn’t certain. After hesitating, she only managed to find a few words from her vocabulary: “Alright… thank you.”

As she reached the door, she looked back and saw Jiao Qingyin’s silhouette with her head bowed.

“Host, are you angry?”

Jiao Qingyin, with her eyes closed, gave a neutral “Mm.”

When Wen Fengyue had approached earlier, Jiao Qingyin used the system to check her current physical stats. She discovered that besides her stomach ailment, Wen Fengyue was severely anemic. Along with various other issues, she was in a state of chronic frailty.

Yet, when Wen Fengyue mentioned her health, her tone was light and natural, showing a complete lack of regard for herself. Furthermore, although she hid it well, Jiao Qingyin sensed a self-destructive tendency in her.

This reminded her of the original plot, where Wen Fengyue committed suicide.

As a task-taker assigned to maintain the plot, Jiao Qingyin should have been pushing her toward that end, but she had changed her mind the moment she discovered the woman was Al.

Jiao Qingyin had already devised a plan to complete the task while rewriting the tragic ending, but if Wen Fengyue didn’t cooperate, it would all be for naught.

The system, which had recently become obsessed with the Star-Net and learned various human linguistic arts, saw its host was depressed. Fearing a “cold war” between its favorite pairing, it used all the comforting techniques it had gathered.

Jiao Qingyin listened quietly. After a while, the system asked hopefully: “Host, do you feel better?”

Jiao Qingyin opened her eyes. “Yes.”

The system couldn’t detect her psychological shifts and took her at her word, happily preparing to go back to editing photos for “shipping,” but then the host sat up and asked: “If you can connect to the Star-Net, then private networks should be no problem, right?”

Before the system could even wonder why, it answered: “Yes, the system is equipped with the most advanced technology. Low-dimensional networks hold no secrets from me.”

“Good,” Jiao Qingyin got out of bed expressionlessly and walked to the desk to open her optical computer. “I’ll give you a list. Investigate everyone on it, focusing on their crimes and sources of wealth.”

Jiao Qingyin’s gaze was cold. She wasn’t the type to swallow her anger; if she didn’t want to take it out on Wen Fengyue, she would find others to target.

The system dazed for a moment and said weakly: “Host, wouldn’t this violate your character setting…?”

“Only you and I know about this,” Jiao Qingyin paused and asked gently, “Are you going to report me?”

The system panicked: “Of course not!”

Jiao Qingyin curled her lips without much emotion. “Then I trust your technology. You won’t be discovered by people of this small world, right?”

Her words motivated the system. It agreed immediately, connecting its database to the Star-Net to investigate everything Jiao Qingyin wanted to know at high speed.

Jiao Qingyin’s list included everyone who had oppressed Wen Fengyue in the original story—from the internet trolls who fueled the flames to the CEOs of entertainment companies. If the original text mentioned them, Jiao wrote them down.

Aside from these people, Jiao Qingyin had the system focus on Wen Fengyue’s foster parents.

These two had no criminal record, and their source of wealth was clear—it was all money given by Wen Fengyue. To outsiders, they were a harmonious, law-abiding, and friendly couple—model interstellar citizens. But to Wen Fengyue, they were a death curse.

The investigation revealed the couple had purchased tickets to Blue Planet for next week, intending to bring their newly-adult daughter to attend the best university there. However, her level was far below the school’s standards; the admission letter was bought purely with cold, hard cash.

Seeing the exorbitant amount the couple spent on their biological daughter’s education, Jiao Qingyin silently checked Wen Fengyue’s own educational history.

There was only a single line: her experience attending primary school in an orphanage district.

After the couple adopted her, they hadn’t even thought about moving her to a proper school. After primary school, she was forced into the entertainment industry. She had degrees obtained through self-study—from primary school to undergraduate—but she could never reclaim the lost campus life.

On the Star-Net, many anti-fans used this against her. No matter how many times fans clarified, they loved to chew over her past—growing up in an orphanage, being raised on a low-tier planet, lacking formal education… scars that would hurt anyone.

Countless people were using Wen Fengyue’s past to hurt her.

Jiao Qingyin, who had originally just wanted to vent some steam, became even angrier after seeing these cold records. This rage led her to manipulate the system into weaving a giant net to trap all these people.

By the time she finished, the simulated moon had hidden behind the clouds. She checked the time; it was exactly when Wen Fengyue’s radio show started.

Radio, being an old-fashioned broadcast tool, only connected to space stations outside Blue Planet and low-tier planets nearby, and could only be tuned in via light-frequency receivers. For a Film Queen to work at a radio station with such a small reach was a complete waste of talent.

Jiao Qingyin had the system mimic the light-frequency waves to tune into the show.

“Good evening to everyone listening to the radio. I am your guest host for tonight’s Late Night Radio, Wen Fengyue. I am very happy to communicate with everyone in this way…”

Wen Fengyue’s voice flowed quietly from the “receiver.” Jiao Qingyin’s furrowed brows unconsciously relaxed.

“Before the show officially begins, I’d like to recommend a piano piece I like very much, “Clair de Lune.” It is music passed down from Ancient Earth. After being restored by AI, it reveals a glimpse of the past.”

Jiao Qingyin couldn’t help but curl her lips. Wen Fengyue wasn’t the type to enjoy piano music; she didn’t even understand music. This piece likely held less appeal for her than a few wolf howls under the moon.

As the elegant music played, Jiao Qingyin leaned back into a soft beanbag chair. She looked out the window. The simulated moon in the sky was like a lightbulb, emitting an overly bright light.

The moon in the last world was prettier… Jiao Qingyin thought.

Unconsciously, amidst the music and Wen Fengyue’s low storytelling voice, she drifted into a dream.

“Teacher Wen, you worked hard. Let me take you home,” Wen Fengyue’s assistant greeted her with a bottle of water as soon as she walked out of the studio. “It’s late; it’ll be hard to get a cab.”

Average stars, if they didn’t have a private driver, at least had a star-shuttle. But Wen Fengyue had nothing; she relied mostly on company transport.

But this time, she refused. “No need. Where I’m staying recently isn’t far. I’ll just walk back.”

The assistant was stunned. Wen Fengyue’s home was in a distant star system, and this area was a wealthy district. Even if she changed residences, she wouldn’t likely move here.

The assistant inevitably thought of Jiao Qingyin. She had witnessed how special Jiao was to Wen Fengyue. Now, making the connection… could Wen Fengyue have been “taken in” by her?

Wen Fengyue didn’t intend to wait for the assistant. After speaking, she put on her hood and mask and walked out of the building.

The night wind was a bit cold, messing up her exposed hair, so she quickened her pace.

Part of the reason she didn’t let the assistant drive her was to avoid misunderstandings about her and Jiao. Another part… was that she felt when she returned this time, what awaited her might not be the robot calling her “Master’s Soulmate,” but a cold refusal.

She didn’t want the assistant to see her being shut out.

Yet, even though she felt the chance of rejection was as high as 80%, she still wanted to go back and try. What if… what if there was still a chance?

She had never made friends and didn’t know how to read people’s hearts. She knew she had made Jiao unhappy, but she didn’t know how to fix it.

Just then, a faint floral scent made her look up. It was a 24-hour self-service flower shop.

This wasn’t Wen Fengyue’s first time hosting a radio show. She had passed this shop on countless nights but had never spared it a glance. But now, she remembered the image of Jiao Qingyin smiling at her amidst the roses.

She probably likes flowers, Wen Fengyue thought.

By some strange impulse, she walked in.

The shop sold bionic flowers—they looked identical to real ones but never withered and had a lasting scent. This seemed like an advantage, but in reality, a single real flower could buy this entire shop.

Wen Fengyue wasn’t sure if Jiao would like fake flowers, but these were all she could afford. She opened her optical computer—with an interstellar credit balance in the mere triple digits—and tapped it against the payment code with a cold face.

[Recommended flowers for your price range: Tulips: 300 credits/1 flower; Red Roses: 1,000 credits/1 stem…]

Wen Fengyue didn’t understand the pricing and didn’t know what most of the names looked like. She chose based on feeling and Star-Net searches.

She bought a large bouquet of Gypsophila (Baby’s Breath) and a single stem of Forget-Me-Not. After the purchase, her balance was exactly zero.

On the way home, smelling the fragrance and seeing her lonely shadow under the streetlights, she felt a long-lost desire to “live better.”

Wen Fengyue had always had an indifferent attitude toward her own life. She drank low-grade nutrient solution provided by the company and used furniture that came with her apartment. Her life was like a stagnant pool; her only expense was the occasional pack of particle cigarettes. She never thought of changing anything.

But now, she suddenly realized she didn’t even have the ability to buy a red rose for her little star. Thinking of Jiao Qingyin, her once-stagnant heart felt a surge of vitality.

It didn’t take long to reach Jiao Qingyin’s door. With a heart full of unease, she knocked. After two seconds of silence, a small robot poked its head out from the garden. Seeing the friendly green light on its display, Wen Fengyue felt a sudden relief.

[Hello, Master’s Soulmate. The door has been opened for you.]

Before the robot finished, Wen Fengyue strode in. She had only been gone for a few hours, but it felt like ages.

Jiao Qingyin wasn’t on the first floor. Wen Fengyue’s actions outpaced her thoughts; within a few breaths, she reached the bedroom door. The door was still open. The warm light made her realize she hadn’t changed her shoes.

Not only had she not changed her shoes, but her hair was a mess, her breathing was rapid, and her cheeks were flushed from walking so fast.

Wen Fengyue wanted to retreat. How could she see Jiao like this?

But before she could regret it, the door opened. She looked down and met the eyes of a round, ball-shaped robot.

…For some reason, she felt this “ball” was extremely punchable, as if it had once stolen something very important from her.

The sphere spoke first: “Master isn’t asleep yet. Do you want to come in?”

“…Yes.”

The sphere robot stepped aside. Wen Fengyue had no choice but to step inside stiffly. The next second, the sphere left the room and clicked the door shut.

Wen Fengyue stood in place, as rigid as a statue. Jiao Qingyin was lying on the bed, her back to her under the covers.

After a long time of mental preparation, Wen Fengyue gathered the courage to walk a few steps closer.

“Are you still angry?” she asked, her voice slightly hoarse.

Seconds or minutes passed—to Wen Fengyue, time felt incredibly slow. She waited a long time before receiving a response.

“Not angry anymore,” Jiao Qingyin said.

“…” Wen Fengyue felt Jiao was lying to her, but she had no proof.

“Really?” she asked lamely.

“Mm,” Jiao’s muffled voice came from under the covers.

The quiet air felt even heavier now, like a weight on their chests. Jiao Qingyin thought today might end just like this. Since Wen Fengyue was so “un-enlightened,” waiting for her to take the initiative might lead to nothing. Jiao moved, intending to end the cold war. She still had plenty of time to guide Wen to open her heart.

But before she could sit up, she felt the bed beside her sink slightly, followed by a close scent of flowers.

Jiao turned her head and saw Wen Fengyue holding a bouquet.

She looked a mess—her beautiful silver hair was tangled like a bird’s nest, her mask was hanging off her chin, and her cheeks were so red it looked like she had a fever. She was as disheveled as could be.

Yet, despite that, her blue eyes looked bright and moving against the small white flowers, and the emotions flickering within them made Jiao Qingyin hold her breath.

“…For you,” Wen Fengyue said, her lips trembling slightly from nerves. “I’ve thought about it… the way you felt when you worried about me is probably the same way I feel when I worry about you. I will take care of my health. You… stop being angry, okay?”

“I’m not good at speaking, nor am I good at reading people’s moods… Though it’s a bit embarrassing to say, in this area… I hope you can teach me.”

After finishing the words she had rehearsed countless times on the way back, Wen Fengyue was stuck. She wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. She could only thrust the flowers forward, hoping they would speak for her.

In the large bunch of Gypsophila sat a single pale blue Forget-Me-Not. Together, they emitted the artificial fragrance unique to this world’s flowers, drifting and landing on Jiao Qingyin’s heart along with the petals.