Chapter 17: So, This Is Why Loli-sister Works So Hard

Lin Yu woke from the illusory agony of his soul being torn apart.

Sunlight pierced through the “Hive” apartment wall’s narrow strip window—barely wide enough to let in a sliver of dim light—and cast a harsh glare across his eyelids.

He bolted upright in bed, sweat dripping down his forehead, heart pounding thump-thump-thump in his chest, as if it would leap straight out of his throat the next second.

(…Not a dream.)

He didn’t need to pinch his thigh to be sure.

That stench, a nauseating mix of rotting sludge and rust, still seemed to linger in his nostrils.

The sticky, disgusting sensation clinging to his skin was still so vivid it made every hair on his body stand on end.

And then…

The weightless, fragile body that had collapsed into his arms.

All of it felt more real than anything he’d experienced in his twenty-six years of life.

Lin Yu instinctively lifted his cheap T-shirt and looked down at his own body.

His skin was smooth, unscarred.

The bone-crushing pain he had felt in his phase-spirit body last night hadn’t left even the faintest bruise on his flesh.

(…No physical damage feedback?)

He froze.

This was completely different from what he had assumed.

But rather than relief, a deeper chill welled up inside him.

The pain had been real, the humiliation of being seized by monsters had been real, and the despair of hovering on the brink of death had been real.

Those hadn’t left scars on his body—but they were seared into his soul like a red-hot brand.

He dragged himself out of bed, every joint creaking in protest as if they were about to give way.

(…Damn it, if I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone to that “Fu Qiao Foot Spa” two days ago for the so-called “Emperor’s Exclusive Package.” It felt good then, but this soreness now—compared to last night—that was child’s play.)

While stretching his stiff neck, he grabbed the phone off his nightstand.

It wasn’t his old one anymore—the cracked-screen relic he’d used for five years.

This was a brand-new Huawei MATE 90, gleaming with a metallic sheen.

On the very day he got his first paycheck, the first thing he did was storm into the electronics mall and blow three thousand yuan to replace that loser’s badge of a phone he’d carried for half a decade.

When he peeled off the screen protector from the new phone, it felt like he was tearing away the shadow of his past life.

Just as he was savoring the feeling, the phone buzzed in his hand.

A new message—from the very person he least wanted to hear from: Manager Qian.

Lin Yu sighed in resignation and opened it.

Line after line of “capitalist humanistic concern,” in Songti font, projected as holographic text into the air above his messy den:

[Comrade Lin Yu (codename: Gray Crystal), good morning.]

Regarding last night’s “Class B Special Disaster” handling mission at B7 Abandoned Site, the higher-ups have received the report of your performance. Though a few… minor accidents occurred during the process, the outcome was good. As a rookie, under the lead of an A-rank executor, you successfully completed the purification of a Class B contamination nest. This achievement is commendable.

Commendable? Commendable my ass! I almost had my soul scared out of me! Minor accidents?! Being mobbed by a hundred monsters is a “minor accident” to you people?! Does your company have some kind of brain damage in defining “accident”?

He raged inside but forced himself to keep reading.

[Given the particular nature of this mission, and the significant psychological and spiritual strain it may have caused, the company has decided to grant you 48 hours of fully paid leave for recovery and adjustment. Please relax, maintain balance between work and rest. Our company does not encourage useless overtime or fighting fatigued.]

[Additionally, before 14:00 today, please represent our C-District Operations Group 1 and visit Comrade Hei Yaoshi at Ruikang Biotech’s Third Medical Center. Her recovery status is crucial to our group’s next phase of task planning. Please convey our team’s concern and regards.]

[Wishing you good health and smooth work.]

—Qian Yanzhi, Manager of C-District Group 1, Dawn Labor Services (Xinhai) Co.

Lin Yu stared at the words “represent our C-District Operations Group 1” for a solid ten seconds.

Just thinking about having to face that loli-senpai in the hospital made his head throb.

…Still, it’s probably the right thing to do.

Last night’s scene surfaced in his mind unbidden.

Amid the dazzling blue rain of light, she had seemed godlike in her power—yet in the end, she was fragile as a feather when she collapsed into his arms.

…Yeah. She became like that to save me. I owe her thanks, at the very least.

Once that thought took root, it wrapped around him like vines, refusing to let go.

Scratching at his greasy, unwashed hair, he began considering the most practical problem:

You can’t visit a patient empty-handed.

Even if Manager Qian hadn’t said anything, that was common courtesy.

But…

He opened his banking app, staring at the dwindling balance that had barely survived three days:

Account balance: ¥6,550.00

(Sigh. Got ¥15,000, wired ¥5,000 home, blew ¥3,000 on a new phone, ¥500 on that foot massage, plus food and transport… money really flows like water…)

He let out a long sigh, feeling like his short-lived “prosperity” had been ripped away by invisible hands, dragging him back toward poverty.

By one o’clock that afternoon, Lin Yu stood in front of a large fruit store at the foot of the Hive’s B7 block, caught in the toughest dilemma of his life.

It was the most “presentable” store he could find nearby.

On the left was the “today’s specials” section.

Heaps of mediocre apples, bananas, and oranges piled into baskets, with big red-marker signs screaming: “¥5 per jin.”

This looks good—cheap, practical. Buy ten jin, stack them into a little mountain. Shows sincerity. Solid, salt-of-the-earth working class vibes…

But his gaze drifted unwillingly to the right.

The “premium gift box” section.

Behind spotless glass cases lay crystal-like bunches of Shine Muscat grapes, plump “Hakuto” white peaches pink as maiden cheeks, and—at the very top—an enormous golden melon with perfectly netted skin, nestled in a fine paulownia box.

Its nameplate bore elegant calligraphy: [Hokkaido Yubari King].

Its price tag was equally aloof and untouchable:

¥588 / each.

Lin Yu’s breath caught.

Robbery?! This isn’t fruit—it’s gold! Nearly six hundred yuan for a damn melon?! That’s more than I made in a month of side hustles last year! What is this, immortality fruit? Eat it and ascend on the spot?!

His mental balance wavered wildly.

Reason said: go for the cheap apples. A veteran A-rank like her has seen everything; she won’t care.

But emotion whispered:

“She risked her life to save you. She spat blood after unleashing that terrifying, life-shortening move. And you’re gonna show up with a sack of five-yuan apples? Don’t you have any damn male pride?!”

“Welcome.”

The husky yet gentle voice of an elderly man broke his torment.

Lin Yu looked up, surprised. The storekeeper wasn’t some sharp-eyed middle-aged woman as he’d imagined, but a gray-haired, slightly stooped old man, carefully polishing apples with a white towel.

His movements were slow, meticulous, as if handling fine porcelain.

“Ah… Grandpa, I’m just browsing,” Lin Yu scratched his head awkwardly.

The old man raised his cloudy yet kind eyes, gave him a gummy smile, and in halting, accented Chinese asked, “Buying a gift… for your girlfriend?”

“No, no,” Lin Yu waved quickly, “it’s for… a senior colleague.”

“Oh?” The old man’s eyes lit with interest. “Man or woman?”

“Woman… younger than me, but really powerful,” Lin Yu said vaguely.

“I see…” The old man nodded thoughtfully, gaze drifting to the ¥588 Yubari King. A shadow of longing and sorrow flickered in his eyes. “…She must be from over there, right?”

“Over there?” Lin Yu blinked.

“Japan,” the old man sighed.

Lin Yu was stunned. “How do you know?”

“Heh.” The old man chuckled self-deprecatingly. “What else would drive a Japanese youth to work themselves to the bone in Xinhai? That overpriced ‘permanent residence permit.’ I was the same back then.”

His wrinkled hand stroked the paulownia box gently, gaze drifting far away.

“You were born after 2020, weren’t you? You kids probably only read about it in history books… ‘The Great Subsidence at the end of Heisei.’”

The Great Subsidence? I think they did mention that in class…Lin Yu racked his memory.

“Thirty years already…” the old man murmured, “It’s 2050 now. Thirty years ago, our islands—first came that unprecedented earthquake, ripping Honshu apart. Then, as if heaven’s punishment, the plates sank faster. Apart from Hokkaido and a few scattered reefs, the rest… all sank into the sea.”

His voice was calm, but it made Lin Yu’s heart shiver.

“Homes gone. A nation gone. Worse, all those coastal nuclear plants—dozens of glowing coffins sinking into the ocean, poisoning the seas. The world panicked. No one dared go near.”

“It was your Huaxia…” For the first time, his voice held true gratitude. “Your ‘Nuwa Mending Heaven’ project. With machines we couldn’t even comprehend, you sealed those coffins one by one. That’s why we survivors became stateless refugees, running to the mainland… to Korea… or here.”

“Huaxia’s strong now,” he added with a wry smile. “East Asia bows to you. Even the peninsula is your ‘satellite,’ sending tribute every year.”

Lin Yu listened blankly. Hearing such vast history from a fruit seller made it more real than any textbook.

“So, boy,” the old man tapped the wooden box, “you know why this melon is so expensive?”

Lin Yu shook his head.

“Because it’s grown in Hokkaido soil, from preserved old seeds. Yield is tiny, transport harder. To us who can’t go home, it’s more than fruit.”

The old man lifted his gaze, eyes cloudy yet sharp.

“It’s a taste of a homeland sunk beneath the sea.”

In that moment, Lin Yu understood.

He understood why Ye Yeying clung so obsessively to her “permanent residency permit.”

He remembered the deep blue light last night.

Her small but unyielding back, standing before him.

Her faint, fragile heartbeat in his arms.

(…She has no home.)

The thought pierced his chest like an awl.

“…Grandpa,” his own voice came out hoarse, heavy with resolve, “I’ll take it.”

“…Good.” The old man studied him deeply and nodded slowly.

When Lin Yu tapped “Pay” on his gleaming new phone and watched ¥6,000 drop to ¥5,000 in an instant, it felt like a chunk of flesh had been carved from his heart.

Something feels off… but Ye Yeying will probably like this, right?

He muttered to himself, darkly swearing:

Ye Yeying… you little devil-senpai… If you dare say you don’t like melon, I’ll… I’ll drop to my knees and beg you to eat it!

Clutching his “588-yuan resolve,” he headed toward the subway.

That was when his mother Zhang Lihua’s video call popped up at the worst possible time.

Panic-stricken, he shoved the precious box out of sight, found a half-clean billboard backdrop, and cleared his throat before answering.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Son! Did you eat yet?” Her voice boomed as always, but today carried irrepressible joy.

“Yeah, yeah, eating with colleagues.” He lied without blinking, carefully angling the camera to hide the shabby bus stop behind him.

“Oh, that’s good… Oh right! The ¥5,000 you wired yesterday, your dad and I got it! Where’d you get so much, you just started working? It’s not an advance, right? Don’t do anything stupid for money!”

Though her words were worried, pride and relief overflowed.

Lin Yu’s chest warmed. The sting of spending ¥588 was washed away in an instant.

“Don’t worry, Mom. The company’s generous with bonuses. Use the money freely. Buy what you want, don’t save for me. I’m fine here.”

“Ohhh, my son’s so capable now!” she beamed. “Your dad even sent you another ¥2,000 yesterday, said you might need it. Did you get it?”

“I got it. And I’m sending it back,” Lin Yu cut in firmly. “I don’t need it. Just take care of yourselves.”

For the first time, it wasn’t false bravado—it was real confidence that let him refuse.

Even if it had cost him nearly his life.

“My son’s so thoughtful!” she laughed. “Fine, I’ll tell your dad. Oh, and Xiaoxue was asking about you too—she heard about your new job, says it sounds amazing, wants you to take her on a company tour sometime…”

A tour?! Over my dead body!

Cold sweat drenched his back. He forced a laugh: “Classified stuff, not possible… Anyway, Mom, gotta go—meeting starting! Bye!”

He hung up in a flurry, exhaled long, and shook his head with a bitter smile.

…Adulthood really is a pain in the ass.

Clutching his ¥588 “resolve,” Lin Yu stepped into the subway bound for Ruikang Biotech’s Third Medical Center.