Is Self-Redemption Really That Hard? [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 7

Buzz—buzz.

Lan Xu had only been asleep for less than twenty minutes when the rhythmic vibration of her phone jolted her awake.

She reached for the phone on her bedside table. Seeing the caller ID, she instinctively glanced at Lu Wuqi beside her. The other girl was still sound asleep, so Lan Xu quietly took her phone and stepped out onto the small balcony.

“Hello, Mom,” Lan Xu whispered, keeping her voice low.

“Yes, I’m at Lu Wuqi’s place. I’ll be home by evening,” she replied softly.

But the words that came from the receiver made her expression freeze in confusion. “Why? Mom, is something wrong?”

Her hand clenched at the hem of her shirt. “I understand. I’ll be home before dinner. Don’t worry.”

After hanging up, Lan Xu’s gaze lingered on the darkened phone screen long after it had gone black.

The midday summer heat was stifling. Even after a one-minute call outside, sweat was already starting to form on her skin.

Yet no matter how hot it was, nothing could counter the chill that spread through her chest—the kind that only a mother’s sudden, cold warning could bring.

What did her mother mean by that? Why tell her to spend less time with Lu Wuqi? Had her mother somehow discovered their relationship? Was that what this was—a warning?

But they hadn’t done anything inappropriate in public. Holding hands, visiting each other’s homes—weren’t those normal things between close friends?

When they were still in school, Lu Wuqi often came over for lunch naps, and her mother had never objected. She even encouraged them to study together and keep each other motivated.

That single unexpected phone call shattered the calm she’d been feeling, chasing away all traces of sleepiness.

Back in the bedroom, Lan Xu lay down again, but she didn’t let go of her phone.

After a moment of hesitation, she decided to message their mutual friend—the one they’d had milk tea with a couple of days ago—nicknamed Fa Cai (“Get Rich”).

Her real name wasn’t Fa Cai, of course. But since she was always talking about striking it rich, everyone had gone along with it and called her that.

Fa Cai must have been on her phone too, because her reply came within seconds.

Fa Cai: Probably not. Only a few of us know you’re seeing Xiao Lu. None of us would snitch.

Fa Cai: Why? Did Teacher Lan or Teacher Du say something?

Lan Xu: It’s nothing, I’m probably just overthinking.

After sending the reply, Lan Xu let out a small sigh and started considering other possibilities.

If her mother hadn’t found out about her and Lu Wuqi, then what else could it be? Could it be related to what happened to Lu Wuqi’s family?

Her lips pressed into a tight line as her thoughts spiraled, her brows drawing tighter the longer she dwelled on it.

“Xuxu? You’re awake?”

Lu Wuqi’s drowsy voice beside her pulled her back to the present.

“What time is it?” Lu Wuqi rubbed her eyes groggily.

“Two-thirty. You can sleep a little longer,” Lan Xu said, quickly closing the chat window so the other girl wouldn’t see.

Lu Wuqi made a soft hum of acknowledgment. Still half-asleep and oblivious, she leaned her head on Lan Xu’s shoulder for a few more minutes before finally getting up.

“Xuxu, want to come with me to the internet café later?” she asked, already dressed. “If you go, we can get a private two-person booth. The environment’s not bad.”

If it wasn’t for that phone call an hour ago, Lan Xu might have hesitated for a few seconds before agreeing. But the tone in her mother’s voice still echoed in her mind.

“You go ahead. I have a package to pick up at home,” she said casually, using the first excuse that came to mind.

Lu Wuqi nodded, not suspecting anything. When Lan Xu refused her offer of a ride home, she simply left for the café on her own—to keep earning money.

“I’m not against you two spending time together,” Mother Lan said evenly. “But as long as you maintain a normal friendship, that’s enough. There’s no need to be too close.”

“Why?” Lan Xu couldn’t understand. “Lu Wuqi is my best friend. We even got into the same university! When the admission letters arrived, didn’t you tell me we could go to the capital together for the new semester?”

“That was before. I’ll take you there when school starts. You don’t need to worry about it,” her mother replied, avoiding the question and repeating herself.

Lan Xu’s brows, which had been furrowed since she entered the house, stayed tight. “Mom, I’m eighteen now—I’m an adult. If you want me to distance myself from a close friend without giving a reason, I can’t do that.”

Even if you gave me one, I might still refuse, she added silently.

“So, your wings have grown hard now? You don’t listen to your mother anymore?” Her mother’s tone sharpened, her old teacher’s authority creeping into her voice. “You just need to know that I’m doing this for your own good. You don’t need to understand everything.”

The reason? What other reason could there be—except that Lu Wuqi’s father was a gambler? He’d not only lost their family’s savings but also racked up huge debts.

Gossip about the Lus borrowing money was everywhere—even at the supermarket. If they didn’t keep their distance, who knew if the Lus might come knocking on their door next?

“Is it because of what happened to Lu Wuqi’s family?” Lan Xu asked quietly once she’d calmed down.

Her social circle was small, but her parents were both veteran teachers. It wasn’t strange that they’d hear news before anyone else.

Mother Lan pressed her lips together, softening her tone slightly. “Since you already know, then you understand why I’m saying this. I’m not telling you to stop being friends—just to keep your distance. Don’t get involved in their family matters.”

Lan Xu’s eyes flickered with disbelief. “Mom, what do you teach your students at school? Don’t you always tell us to help one another?”

“When a classmate’s parent was sick and couldn’t afford surgery, you organized a fundraiser and even donated five hundred yuan yourself. But now that something’s happened to Lu Wuqi’s family, you’re asking me to avoid her? How is that any different?”

Her mother sighed, regaining her calm. “It’s not the same thing. I’ve been a teacher for over twenty years—I’ve seen every kind of parent. If someone’s sick and can’t afford treatment, we can help. But once gambling is involved, it’s almost always hopeless. No amount of money can pull them out of that pit.”

Mother Lan wasn’t a cold or heartless woman. She had simply seen too many promising students dragged down by the mistakes of their parents—students who never got another chance.

When Mrs. Lan first started teaching, she was still young and full of passion. She used to believe she could help those troubled students, that with enough effort she might pull them back on track. But her energy and patience had limits.

She grew tired of being bitten back by the very people she tried to help—or being morally blackmailed by those who clung to her like leeches.

“Gambling?” Lan Xu froze for a second. “Because of gambling? Mom, what exactly happened to the Lu family?”

Lu Wuqi had no idea that what she couldn’t bring herself to explain had already reached her little girlfriend through another channel.

At that moment, Lu Wuqi was furiously typing away at her keyboard, locked in a heated debate—well, more like a full-blown argument—with a veteran member on a programming forum.

The whole thing had started simply enough.

Lately, Lu Wuqi had been taking on all kinds of freelance work—anything that paid. When she saw a bounty question posted on the forum, she submitted an answer right away.

Three minutes later, a well-known senior user, one of the site’s top experts, also posted a reply—pointing out supposed mistakes in Lu Wuqi’s solution.

Lu Wuqi didn’t think she was wrong at all.

She had simply taken a shortcut using a special line of logic; anyone who applied her code would find it running even more efficiently.

But the “expert” disagreed. She insisted her algorithm—tested countless times—had never failed once.

Lu: “You’ve used it countless times, which only means it belongs to the past. Don’t get stuck in your old ways.”

I-Love-Cats: “Stuck in my old ways? Please, that’s called a timeless classic! What you’re doing is cutting corners. One bug and your whole system will crash!”

Lu: “Have you even tried it?”

I-Love-Cats: “Do I need to? I can tell at a glance what’s wrong here!”

And so, it began.

From a simple disagreement at three in the afternoon, the two of them ended up trading arguments, then examples, and soon enough, their posts were filled with so many lines of code that the characters outnumbered the words.

Because “I-Love-Cats” was a forum veteran, the thread quickly went viral, attracting a flood of onlookers.

OrangeTabbyHasSpoken: “Snacks for sale—front row, sunflower seeds, soda, and bottled water!”

ExecutorOfDivineWill: “One pack of seeds for me!”

NanDu: “Seeds? Are you guys for real? Copy the code before it’s gone!”

Yuzu: “Already sitting up and copying, thanks for the reminder!”

As the comments showed, what started as a quarrel turned into a goldmine of shared knowledge.

One side was pulling out long-guarded expert tricks; the other was offering bold new innovations. Anyone who took notes that day came away richer for it.

“I-Love-Cats” had been active on the forum for over a decade and had seen countless programming languages rise and fall.

At first, she’d jumped in just to lecture a cheeky newcomer for “cheating the system.”

But as their debate went on, she found herself begrudgingly impressed—Lu Wuqi’s logic actually worked.

User64573961: “Um, I tried Lu’s code—it runs faster and works great?”

That one quiet comment, posted around five o’clock, brought the heated exchange to a sudden pause.

Lu: “Facts speak louder than words. Practice is the only test of truth.”

Lu: “I sent you my payment QR in DMs. Don’t forget to transfer the bounty.”

I-Love-Cats: “Your logic isn’t bad, but it still needs more testing with larger datasets.”

Lu: “It’s already tested. If it works in one case, it’ll work in others.”

I-Love-Cats: “But not everyone’s as skilled as you. If someone blindly copies and pastes your code, their already shaky systems will collapse instantly.”

Noel: “Uhh, was that a subtweet?”

SleeplessMarquis: “Stop fighting, please!”

Lu: “Fair point. I’ll add comments next time for clarity.”

I-Love-Cats: “You’ve got talent. How about a contact number?”

Having realized Lu Wuqi truly had potential, “I-Love-Cats” decided to throw her an olive branch before anyone else could.

She’d used her admin privileges to glance at Lu’s post history and saw she was taking on all sorts of odd jobs. It wasn’t hard to guess she was young—and short on cash.

A person like that—gifted and hungry—had to be recruited fast, before some rival company got to her first.

So, without hesitation, “I-Love-Cats” added Lu’s new WeChat number. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, she made her offer straight away:

I-Love-Cats: “Come work at my company. I’ll start you at fifty thousand a month.”

Lu: “Thanks for the offer, but I still need to attend school.”

I-Love-Cats: “You haven’t graduated yet? A senior in college? Which university? You could intern with us—same pay.”

Lu: “Just graduated high school. Incoming freshman, probably at Capital University.”

I-Love-Cats: “?”

I-Love-Cats: “??”

I-Love-Cats: “???”

She stared at her phone, completely dumbfounded.

What the hell—she’d just spent over an hour arguing with a high schooler? A kid not even twenty?

Had she fallen behind the times? Or had the new generation evolved?

Eighteen years old and coding like that—had this girl been programming from the womb?