The President Comes Knocking -

The originally elegant and picturesque scene instantly became unbearable for Chu Qianqian when the camera focused on the delicate but obviously masculine face of Mu Yunchen. Feeling a wave of dizziness, she clicked the mouse to change the perspective, hoping to give her brain a moment to process.

As soon as she shifted her view, a cat with a golden bell around its neck darted over to her feet. It affectionately rubbed against her shin, looked up, and its three whiskers twitched slightly. The cat opened and closed its mouth gently.

“Meow~”

The soft, coquettish meowing sound echoed through her headphones and straight into Chu Qianqian’s eardrums. For a second, she froze. Then, her eyes widened with excitement as she stared at the screen, unable to move. She wished she could dive straight into the game and give the fluffy little belly of that cat a good squeeze.

“Ahhh!!! Cats are the cutest creatures in the whole wide world!!!”

For a full minute, this thought dominated Chu Qianqian’s mind. Had she not been unsure about the soundproofing quality of the villa’s rooms, she might have screamed it out loud right then and there.

Due to her operator’s temporary brain freeze, the swordsman on the computer screen remained completely still, as if disconnected. The cat circled its sparkling golden fellow creature for some time, but after receiving no response, it flicked its tail in disinterest and left.

By the time Chu Qianqian snapped out of her trance, all she could see was the cat proudly raising its little tail, which bore a red ribbon tied near the end.

Adjusting her view, Chu Qianqian wasn’t surprised to spot a sultry “cat lady” character nearby. This “cat lady,” whose name was “It’s Honey, Not Honeybee,” wore a veil that concealed her face. Only her long, narrow, alluring eyes remained visible as they locked onto Chu Qianqian’s swordsman. From her gaze, it seemed she was eager to strike up a chat.

Clearly, the cat lady was an ally of Mu Yunchen’s, as the green team tags above their heads still hadn’t faded.

“Disciple, guess who she is?”

Despite both of them having already seen each other in real life, Mu Yunchen’s habit of acting cute and playful in the game persisted. His opening line was the familiar “disciple.”

From his tone, one thing was clear-this person was someone they both knew. Chu Qianqian narrowed her eyes slightly, a faint smirk curling her lips. This wasn’t a tough question at all. In reality, the two of them had only met one person in common during that single encounter.

What made it even more obvious was the name hovering above the cat lady’s head. Chu Qianqian stared at the name for a moment longer, her lips moving to utter the words, “Yihan, it’s you, isn’t it?”

Gu Yihan also turned on her voice chat. Hearing Chu Qianqian’s confident tone, she didn’t bother to hide and straightforwardly admitted, “It’s me. Surprised to see me? It’s been ages since you last visited the café after that time.”

“Surprised, very surprised. I never thought you’d play games.” Chu Qianqian’s words were sincere. Every time she went to MISS Café, Gu Yihan was there lounging around-eight out of ten times with sleepy, half-lidded eyes. She never came across as someone who’d indulge in gaming.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying I’m old?” Gu Yihan’s voice came through the headset, laced with obvious amusement. “Even old folks can play games, you know.”

“Yihan,” Chu Qianqian sighed helplessly. “You know that’s not what I meant…”

“Haha, I was just joking. Come on, let’s take you two to the arena.”

It was prime gaming time, with students logging in to unwind after their study sessions, and the Teleportation Array leading to the arena was completely jammed. Chu Qianqian’s computer, which wasn’t optimized for gaming, began to overheat after a brief stutter.

Closing a few unused tabs, Chu Qianqian glanced at her frozen screen and decided she had entirely lost faith in her computer’s ability to keep up. Clicking the mouse, she opened a private chat with Mu Yunchen: “Master, how did you end up playing games with Yihan?”

Although they had already met in real life and knew each other’s real names, since Mu Yunchen seemed so eager to immerse himself in the role of being a “master” in the game, Chu Qianqian wouldn’t burst his bubble. She went along with the title and addressed him as Master.

Uncharacteristically, Mu Yunchen didn’t reply to Chu Qianqian immediately. After a few moments of hesitation, he finally responded, “I often go to her café to pet Honey.”

Staring at his unusually brief response, Chu Qianqian raised an eyebrow and automatically translated it in her mind: He’s fond of Honey, and since he seems to have some interest in Gu Yihan, he frequently visits MISS Café. Over time, they became friends, and Mu Yunchen got her to join the game with him.

Remembering Gu Yihan’s laid-back, disinterested personality, Chu Qianqian hesitated for a moment. Out of a sense of duty to rescue any “wayward youth” from misunderstanding their crushes, she cautiously probed, “What about you and Yihan? How are things between the two of you?”

After sending the message, Chu Qianqian glanced back at her screen. Her character remained frozen, and the game looked beyond saving, completely locked in a lag abyss.

Mu Yunchen’s computer clearly outperformed Chu Qianqian’s. By now, he’d already arrived at the entrance to the arena without any issues.

Gu Yihan, on the other hand, despite sounding confident earlier, seemed to have a computer even more outdated than Chu Qianqian’s. Her character was stuck at the Teleportation Array, frozen in place like someone had hit the pause button.

“I should’ve known to object when Yihan said she wanted to go to the arena,” Chu Qianqian muttered under her breath. She pursed her lips as she stared at her clearly aging computer screen, then let out a heavy sigh.

This computer was a gift from Chu Ziyu when she’d first gone abroad. While it had decent specs back then, electronics age quickly, and gaming-especially resource-intensive games like this one-had taken a serious toll on it.

For normal office work, the computer still performed relatively well, but gaming was a completely different story. During peak hours, it was painfully obvious that the hardware couldn’t keep up, testing her patience with every freeze and lag.

“We? There’s nothing going on between ‘us.’ We’re just ordinary friends.”

Another new message popped up from Mu Yunchen, just a short line of text. However, the tone of his response seemed laced with an almost guilty undertone, like he was trying too hard to downplay things. Still, based on Chu Qianqian’s understanding of Mu Yunchen, he was probably telling the truth. At most, they might have progressed just a hair beyond being “ordinary friends.”

“Alright, if you say so.” Dropping the subject, Chu Qianqian shifted to her next question, one that had been bugging her. “If you’re going to play with Yihan, why didn’t you just create a new account? I’m not saying you need to make your alt super flashy or loaded, but at least spare her the shock of realizing your main character is a male player using a loli avatar, playing as a ‘healer’ class… Seriously.”

As she typed this, Chu Qianqian could barely hide her frustration. Her expression betrayed her inner turmoil, one of utter exasperation as if she were disappointed with Mu Yunchen on a deeply personal level.

In this game, healers-especially those from Mu Yunchen’s specific faction-were infamous for their cutesy pink-and-white outfits and the fact that they had no “adult male” character models available. This design had attracted a peculiar crowd: male players who wanted to indulge in the fantasy of raising an adopted daughter or future bride within the game.

It had even spawned a well-known saying within the community: “Nine out of ten healers are male players, and the tenth one is just a troll pretending to be a big tough guy.”