X
I chatted for a while with the parents who remained at the camp.
Some, like Fang Yuan, had already grown quite friendly with the other members, even reaching the point of pulling out photos of their children to show off.
Lu Zhichuan, however, was not particularly interested.
After fabricating a barely plausible excuse, he carefully put away his book and departed from the camp.
Though the dense surrounding forest obscured nearly every path, Lu Zhichuan’s chosen direction remained undisturbed.
Occasional flashes of light glinting on the leaves guided Lu Zhichuan’s way, clearly the work of a certain maiden’s magic.
He continued until he reached a small, pre-arranged clearing.
As expected, it was a clandestine meeting between the “backdoor couple.”
If any other parents were to witness this, they might very well suspect some sort of underhanded scheme.
“Here.”
Su Qingyao’s gentle voice parted the leaves, allowing Lu Zhichuan to overcome the final obstruction.
Clad in her spiritual attire, Su Qingyao leaned languidly against the massive trunk of a tree, wide enough for three people to embrace, stretching with a contented yawn.
“How was class?”
Lu Zhichuan inquired placidly, clearly just tossing out a conversational opener to ease into their discussion.
Su Qingyao pursed her lips. “Not bad, I suppose, especially since I wasn’t the one answering all the questions.”
As an exceptional student, Su Muxue wasn’t often singled out by Xu Yanqing for special attention.
Instead, Fang Xiaobai and another reserve member, whose memory wasn’t particularly sharp, became the frequent targets of questions.
The still-lingering sunlight, tinged with a stubborn, coppery hue, illuminated the maiden’s cheeks, painting them with a warm, gentle blush.
“Still, I truly am happy.”
Su Qingyao murmured softly.
After all, in this apocalyptic world, such a privilege—to even consider a child’s future—was beyond the wildest dreams of any parent.
No one knew if disaster would suddenly strike the next moment, instantly annihilating everything they relied upon for life, scattering it like a handful of sand.
Even Su Qingyao herself was no exception.
When she used to drop off and pick up Su Muxue from school in the mornings and evenings, Su Qingyao still felt somewhat disconnected from the new world’s educational system.
Now, however, the young woman was certain.
The contemporary educational methods had, at the very least, begun to closely resemble their pre-apocalyptic counterparts.
This single, small observation alone provided Su Qingyao with ample room for hopeful contemplation.
“……” Lu Zhichuan remained silent for a moment, contemplating the young woman’s answer, before letting out a long, helpless sigh.
“Indeed. Even with all the sacrifices we’ve made.”
“Ultimately, it’s all worth it.”
In a way, Su Qingyao’s age stood in stark contrast to the prominent position she had held before the final battle.
This created a seemingly contradictory mindset for both of them.
At times, they felt like youngsters, yet at others, they unconsciously adopted the perspective of seasoned veterans.
Facing each other, they sighed in turn, almost as if pondering the meaning of life itself.
Ultimately, this exchange amused Su Qingyao.
“Pfft, Senior Lu Zhichuan, perhaps you can tell me what’s happening back at the small camp?”
“It’s a bit disappointing. Most of the combatants are only at ranks three to four. There’s only one suspected rank five, from the ‘museum’ side—and they don’t seem to be up to anything good.”
Lu Zhichuan was, of course, referring to Fang Yuan.
Due to the unique nature of “Anomaly Scholars,” both Lu Zhichuan and Su Qingyao harbored a stereotype that such individuals were prone to “suddenly collapsing.”
They would then meet an inexplicable end.
“Hmm, that’s a bit meager.”
Su Qingyao’s delicate fingers rested on her chin. “After something happens, relying on them to turn the tide is likely impossible.”
“Therefore, I’m afraid we’ll have to trouble you, Senior Lu.”
“By the way, are you truly certain?”
Out of caution, Su Qingyao twirled a strand of hair around her finger, asking Lu Zhichuan for reassurance. “Is that sword truly unusable now?”
“At the very least, the blade is unusable.”
Lu Zhichuan’s answer caused the young woman’s brow to furrow. “But to say it’s completely unusable would be an exaggeration.”
He re-summoned the sword hilt, which remained firmly suspended in mid-air, and pointed towards the void where the blade should have been.
“This is the finished product of the Veil Project.”
It was Su Qingyao’s first time seeing such a “sword,” and she curiously examined the fluid, shifting hilt.
“…So this is what it looks like.”
Su Qingyao sighed, not without a hint of regret.
Even at the time of her sacrifice during the decisive battle, her impression of it had remained merely that of a prototype.
If the initial vision hadn’t been scaled back, not being able to personally witness its completion was, quite frankly, a pity.
“Well then, let’s stop discussing the preparations here.”
Su Qingyao twirled her magic staff, then flicked a box that had been resting at her feet, now enveloped in her magic, towards her side.
With a hook of her index finger, the young woman lifted the plastic box by its handle.
“…This is.”
Su Qingyao smacked her lips, trying to conjure a convenient excuse to sound nonchalant.
Alas, her eloquence failed her.
“Never mind. It’s just some food I brought for you on my way.”
Su Qingyao knew well that the dinner prepared at Lu Zhichuan’s camp was hardly palatable for those accustomed to pre-apocalyptic standards.
“Though, bringing food for you, Lu Zhichuan, should be a perfectly normal thing, I suppose.”
Su Qingyao mumbled to herself, her magic unconsciously muffling the words, preventing them from reaching Lu Zhichuan’s ears.
What came out instead was:
“Take it back and eat quickly. It’s almost time to depart.”
Averting her gaze, she placed it in Lu Zhichuan’s hands. “As for the lunchbox, you can return it later.”
The young woman’s constantly shifting expressions did not escape Lu Zhichuan’s notice, yet as an observer, he simply nodded.
“Alright. If you need anything, just find me with magic.”
He retrieved the sword hilt from mid-air, then solemnly carried the wrapped lunchbox by his side.
Compared to the smile he had worn while sitting with the other parents, the man now reined in the curve of his lips.
Perhaps it was due to the shared predicament they currently faced, but Lu Zhichuan’s true expression differed subtly from his usual demeanor.
In contrast to Su Qingyao’s conflicted reaction, Lu Zhichuan’s attitude was far calmer.
It was a consistent calm, as if he were simply accustomed to it.
Su Qingyao dismissed her extraneous thoughts, carefully scrutinizing Lu Zhichuan’s demeanor.
This wasn’t her usual habit, but rather a skill someone had taught her.
Observing Lu Zhichuan in his characteristic way, Su Qingyao confirmed something that made her feel subtly uneasy, yet also stirred an inexplicable flutter in her chest.
Lu Zhichuan was keeping something from her.
Moreover, Lu Zhichuan was constantly lost in thought.
Su Qingyao likewise dropped her smile, nodding at Lu Zhichuan. “Then I’ll be going now.”
“Mhm,” Lu Zhichuan responded in kind.
“Have a safe journey.”
****
As she walked back towards the camp after they parted ways, Su Qingyao found herself pondering.
‘What exactly is he hiding from me?’
Lu Zhichuan’s current state inadvertently reminded Su Qingyao of a small puppy she had once found.
Due to its diminutive size, it was constantly bullied on the streets.
And, for various reasons, it always kept everything bottled up within itself.
In the end, the creature that should have been carefree was left with nothing but… that particular expression.
Su Qingyao tilted her head, lost in thought for a long while.
Finally, she settled on the perfect word to describe the expression currently worn by Senior Lu Zhichuan.
A bitter melon face.
‘Ah, Senior Lu, with a bitter melon face?’
A sudden sense of incredulity washed over Su Qingyao.
‘If someone were to write a novel about a certain person’s experiences in the apocalypse…’
‘Lu Zhichuan was clearly the hot-blooded, optimistic male lead, wasn’t he? How could he possibly be associated with a “bitter melon face”?’
‘Besides…’
‘Who could possibly bully “Lord Hero,” a man practically synonymous with omnipotence?’
‘It couldn’t possibly be me, could it?’
You’ve got to see this next! After Refusing to Play the Villain, I Became Their White Moonlight will keep you on the edge of your seat. Start reading today!
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