Only then did Jing Mian realize,
This was a gift from Mr. Ren.
The glowing globe, suspended above its base, rotated slowly. Jing Mian wanted to touch it but couldn’t bear to.
He stood up, then sat back down, retracting his arms for fear of bumping the tea table. Unable to contain his delight, his eyes sparkled with light.
He nodded and said, “I like it.”
What came out was “I like it.”
But his inner monologue screamed: “I LOVE IT!!!”
More than just liking it.
It was absolutely irresistible.
Jing Mian rarely showed much emotion in front of Mr. Ren, but at this moment, he wanted to tell the whole world that he had a globe.
—It was floating, glowing, a perfect replica of Earth.
And most importantly, it was from Mr. Ren.
The gloom that had sunk to the bottom of his heart vanished instantly, as if clouds had parted to reveal the moon.
Since childhood, Jing Mian had been particularly fond of globes, unable to take his eyes off them whenever he saw one. Back then, technology wasn’t advanced, and globes were crude—just spheres covered with printed paper. Yet even that was enough to captivate him.
Looking at a globe felt like gazing down at the entire universe. In its vastness, he became small, and so did his troubles.
Jing Mian asked, “How did you know I liked globes?”
Mr. Ren smiled faintly. “Didn’t you love them as a child?”
Jing Mian murmured, “I still do.”
Mr. Ren: “Good that you like it.”
Jing Mian gently spun the globe and noticed the pale blue oceans rippling slightly, lifelike and vivid. Surprised, he thought, “So you remembered.”
Mr. Ren said, “I’ve always remembered.”
A strange feeling welled up in Jing Mian.
His heart tingled slightly, but that didn’t stop its steady, powerful beats. A surge of warmth flooded his chest, spreading to his palms.
He wanted to see him.
Right now, he really wanted to see his husband.
Jing Mian held his breath slightly and asked, “When will you be back?”
Ren Xingwan said, “About three or four days.”
“Are you still very busy now?”
“Not too busy. Evenings are free.”
Mr. Ren paused, then added, “There’s a wine tasting on the last night.”
Wine tasting?
Jing Mian was curious: “Is it like a drinking party?”
Mr. Ren said, “No, more like a banquet hall.”
“The wine is just a pretense. It’s mainly for discussing projects and collaborations.”
Jing Mian nodded.
So that’s how it was.
As understanding dawned, Jing Mian couldn’t help but smile, thinking silently that he’d just gained another piece of useless knowledge.
Suddenly, Jing Mian thought of something and asked, “Does that mean we can’t call at eight?”
Mr. Ren: “We can.”
Jing Mian: “?”
Mr. Ren said calmly, “If you want to talk, there’s no reason not to make time.”
Jing Mian was taken aback.
He’d often heard of people who were too busy with work or daily life to contact their loved ones. Perhaps… they just didn’t miss each other enough.
After a few seconds of silence, Mr. Ren added:
“You’re more important.”
When the call ended, the screen slowly darkened.
In the vast living room, the only remaining light source was the small globe on the table.
Its glow was dazzling yet gentle—no one could resist the blue of Earth.
Especially when it was studded with the oases and mountains they called home.
Jing Mian carried the globe back to his bedroom.
He briefly studied the instruction manual and found that it required connecting to a power source for charging. The electricity needed for levitation and illumination could last an entire night.
Jing Mian carefully placed the globe on the bedside table.
Late into the night,
the bedroom still glowed with a faint light.
In the blink of an eye, the next weekend arrived.
Jing Mian had a heavy academic workload this week. He had fallen behind on an online programming assignment, missed the first elective class held in the lecture hall, skipped a circuit theory roll call, and failed to attend a classroom assessment.
And there were still two days left until Mr. Ren returned.
It turned out that without Mr. Ren, life felt like being a walking corpse.
Every day was busy, yet he didn’t know what he was busy with—no goals, just a puppet following schedules and timetables.
So, Jing Mian drew a circle around the number “31” on the calendar.
Whenever he had free time, he couldn’t help but glance at it.
On Friday, as dusk approached evening,
Jing Mian had just finished class when he suddenly received a WeChat message.
This made him stop in his tracks.
The person who sent the message was none other than…
Ash, with whom he had exchanged contact information at the Radiance Game headquarters.
Just hearing this name triggered an almost reflexive reaction—his chest tightened, and Jing Mian couldn’t help but feel nervous.
Ash’s message was brief, just one line:
【Sheep, are you free to meet up?】
Nearly a month had passed since their first and only face-to-face meeting offline.
And only half a month since Ash’s last return to the game.
Jing Mian wondered, did Ash have something important to discuss?
Subconsciously, whether before his retirement from the game or during his last login, Ash had always been the image of a cold, taciturn god-tier player who avoided excessive interaction with others.
For someone like that to actively invite a stranger he’d only met once was unexpected for Jing Mian.
So he replied: 【Is there something you need?】
Ash: 【It’s about my Shadow Guard.】
Jing Mian froze.
Shadow Guard?
A thought surfaced—could Ash be…
trying to reclaim his Shadow Guard?
When veteran players returned after retiring, there were precedents in Glory where they requested the return of Shadow Guards already won by other players.
To ensure fairness and appease players, Glory would compensate those who lost their Shadow Guards. The compensation could be in the form of experience points, top-tier equipment or skins, or priority rights to other veteran players’ Shadow Guards.
No one would refuse such compensation.
But if it was Ash’s Shadow Guard, everything was different.
After all, nothing could compare to even a shadow of Ash.
Moreover, beyond the time and effort invested, what everyone cherished most was the sentiment.
Still, if Ash wanted to reclaim his Shadow Guard from Jing Mian, though he would feel disappointed and regretful, Jing Mian wouldn’t object or complain if Ash needed it.
After all, it was Ash’s right.
On the way to the meeting place, Jing Mian carried his laptop and couldn’t resist turning it on. He logged into the game, opened his attribute inventory, and navigated to the Shadow Guard section.
He stared at the glowing Shadow Guard—the man’s single-shouldered cape faintly fluttering, his silhouette interspersed with fragmented shadows in the darkness, exuding an aura of coldness and mystery. Just those pale golden eyes shimmering with light were enough to inspire awe and fear in countless players.
The more Jing Mian looked, the harder it was to let go.
It felt like going from having something all to oneself, back to being lost in a vast crowd.
He and Ash had agreed to meet at a café near the headquarters of Glory Company.
Jing Mian arrived at the meeting spot first and ordered two cups of coffee.
Because of the previous incident with Greek, Jing Mian had developed a bit of a shadow over café locations. After ordering, he silently drank most of his coffee, and soon, as his cup was nearly empty, a man walked into the café.
Jing Mian’s gaze paused.
Just like last time, Ash was still wearing a mask, his deep-set eyes slightly lowered when looking at someone, softening the sharpness of his gaze.
An inexplicable impression surfaced in Jing Mian’s mind—
Strangeness.
Despite their many interactions, when meeting again, he couldn’t see the familiar figure from the game in the man before him. The person didn’t match the name; it was as if he was meeting a stranger for the second time.
Seeing the man approach, Jing Mian politely stood up and extended his hand. “Hello.”
The man lowered his gaze, seemingly staring at Jing Mian’s hand—or perhaps at the ring on his ring finger.
A few seconds later, the man also reached out and shook Jing Mian’s hand, saying, “Haven’t we met before?”
“No need to be so formal.”
Jing Mian gave a soft “Mm,” unsure of what to say.
After sitting down, the man seemed to notice the coffee beside him. He pulled down his mask and said, “I was the one who asked to meet. I should be the one treating you.”
Jing Mian replied, “It’s fine. Didn’t you want to take back the Shadow Guard?”
The man seemed momentarily taken aback. “Take back the Shadow Guard?”
Jing Mian said, “You mentioned it in your WeChat message—it was about the Shadow Guard.”
The man seemed to recall, his brow furrowing slightly. “No, you can keep it.”
“Actually, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
Confusion flickered in Jing Mian’s eyes.
If it wasn’t about the Shadow Guard, why had he used that as a reason to meet?
Jing Mian asked, “What is it?”
The man got straight to the point. “I’m forming a Team.”
Surprise flashed in Jing Mian’s eyes.
“The club is local, and there aren’t many members yet. Right now, it’s just me.”
‘Ash’ continued, “The second member—or rather, the vice-captain.”
“The first person I thought of was you, Jing Mian.”
‘Ash’ looked up at Jing Mian. “I’ll keep my identity hidden, but I’ll reveal it only to you.”
“Whether it’s team practice or competitions, we’ll have more time together.”
“I know you joined Me. because of me.”
His low voice was almost hypnotic as he said slowly, “But instead of signing with a club I used to be part of, wouldn’t it be better to come directly to where I am now?”
…
…
The sheer volume of information.
It left Jing Mian’s brain momentarily frozen.
His throat moved slightly.
So, Ash was now asking him… to join his Team?
As the second member and vice-captain?
This was undoubtedly a huge temptation.
But for some reason, compared to the trembling excitement he had imagined, Jing Mian now felt an unusual sense of bewilderment—even calmness.
Where was the problem?
Was it too unreal?
Or was it because, even now, he still couldn’t feel the reality that the person before him was Ash?
Jing Mian slowly clenched his hand, the fabric of his sleeve crumpling slightly.
Ash seemed to be waiting for his response.
After over ten seconds of silence, Jing Mian hesitantly parted his lips. “Ash.”
Ash: “Hm?”
“Could you log into your account?”
Ash: “…What?”
Jing Mian exhaled softly and repeated: “Could I watch you log into your Glory account?”
The man’s brows slowly furrowed in surprise before quickly smoothing out, his expression returning to calmness as he simply asked, “Why do you want me to log in?”
Jing Mian pressed his lips together and replied, “I’d like to see your equipment, match records, and game replays… Since we’ve met this time, I wanted to learn from you and pay my respects.”
The suspicion in Ash’s eyes dissipated.
He took a sip of coffee and said in a deep voice, “Not this time. I didn’t bring my computer.”
Jing Mian pulled his backpack from behind him and said, “It’s fine. I brought mine.”
The man: “…”
After a few seconds of silence, the man spoke: “I don’t trust leaving data traces on other people’s computers.”
Jing Mian: “…”
Not even the vice-captain’s computer?
Ash looked up at Jing Mian: “Sorry, disappointed?”
Jing Mian shook his head: “No.”
The man reassured him: “Next time you come to the club, I promise I’ll log in for you.”
Jing Mian: “It’s fine.”
Then, Ash and Jing Mian chatted for a while.
Mostly about the recent provincial tournament and Ash’s previous return to the game. The man was more talkative than Jing Mian had imagined—he didn’t need to force the conversation; it flowed naturally.
But soon, Ash suddenly stood up to take a phone call.
Jing Mian watched as the man stepped out of the cafe.
The nearly empty coffee had gone cold. Jing Mian lowered his gaze and quietly took out his laptop from his bag.
The cafe had WiFi, which Jing Mian had already connected to while waiting for Ash.
His slender fingers moved swiftly as the cursor hovered over the Glory icon.
The game’s entrance interface burst forth, dazzling and smooth.
Without hesitation, Jing Mian logged in.
At that moment, Ash finished his call and re-entered the cafe, sitting back down.
Seeing Jing Mian with his laptop out, he asked, puzzled, “Logging in here?”
Jing Mian nodded vaguely, “Just remembered there’s a reward I forgot to claim. My phone doesn’t have enough storage—I don’t have the mobile version.”
The man’s lips curved slightly, a faint smile appearing. “Not enough storage?”
“Yeah.” Jing Mian asked, “Do you have Glory installed on your phone?”
Hitting familiar ground, the man replied, “Of course. The mobile version’s events and rewards sync with the PC version. Claiming them on the phone is more convenient—that’s basic for players, isn’t it?”
Jing Mian answered, “Right.”
Not just basic—players who had Glory installed on their phones would receive a very distinct notification sound when receiving private messages from Glory friends.
Jing Mian lowered his gaze, navigating to Ash’s profile and clicking “Private Message.”
Their previous chat notification from when they successfully added each other as friends was still prominently displayed.
Jing Mian opened the chat box with Ash, his fingertips slightly cold as he typed:
[Could you log into your account?]
[Just reply to me, that’s all.]
Hesitating over whether it was impolite, he added:
[I apologize if I’m bothering you.]
After sending the two messages, Jing Mian looked up at the man across from him.
The phone was in the man’s jacket pocket—yet at this moment, there was no sound at all.
In the quiet cafe, at the small table where the two sat facing each other—
Not a single sound.
The man looked up and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Jing Mian’s heart sank.
…
At the same time, far away in W City, Mr. Ren’s phone suddenly rang as he was attending the conclusion of a charity gala.
A brief ring—three times in total.
His slender fingers paused slightly as he picked up the phone with his well-defined hand.
Jing Mian closed his notebook and tucked it into his backpack.
Although the three messages he had sent to Ash’s gaming account were bound to vanish without a trace—after all, Ash had disappeared from the public eye after that brief return, like a fleeting bloom, leaving behind only fervent anticipation and longing among the players.
Eventually, the players grew disheartened, their hopes dwindling with each passing day.
Jing Mian was no exception.
But it was this sudden impulse that had crossed his mind…
That faintly confirmed something for him:
The person before him…
Didn’t seem to be Ash.
A chill crept into Jing Mian’s palms.
Unless the other had set his phone to silent mode, or had specifically muted notifications from Glory—which would explain why there had been no alerts despite Jing Mian sending three messages.
But silent mode seemed unlikely, because just moments ago, Jing Mian had heard the man’s system ringtone go off before he stepped out to take a call.
So…
Right then.
In the quiet space, the distinct notification tone of Glory suddenly sounded.
Twice in succession.
Jing Mian’s breath hitched.
A silent realization dawned on him—perhaps he had overthought it. Maybe the café’s poor network had caused a delay in the messages?
But soon,
His peripheral vision caught his own phone screen lighting up.
The Glory icon flashed into view.
So the notification had been from his own phone after all?
Jing Mian lowered his head, picked up his phone, and with slightly numb fingers, opened Glory.
Then, he saw the first message—
System notification:
[Your friend Ash has come online.]
Followed by the source of the second notification.
Jing Mian pressed his lips together, his heart pounding fiercely against his chest.
It was… a message from Ash.
Hands trembling, his mind blank, Jing Mian tapped into the chat window between himself and Ash.
On the private message screen, there were only a few short words:
—[Did someone bully you?]