Chapter 69 – The Gap Between Reality and Expectations

“You’re at our… train station?!”

Fang Zheng’s voice rose in shock. For a moment, he felt like he wasn’t holding a phone but a lightning rod—then ‘crack,’ a thunderbolt struck, and he was fried to a crisp.

In truth, Mr. Jiang Yang’s appearance at the train station was entirely out of necessity—the Commander’s hometown was a small, peaceful city, one without an airport.

“Do you have to screech like a dying chicken?” The former coal tycoon and soon-to-be lumber tycoon was deeply wounded. He had hoped to surprise the other man, but what he got in return felt more like an existential crisis. “Which station is closest to your place?!”

Fang Zheng, his brain short-circuiting, answered reflexively: “North.”

Two seconds later, Jiang Yang’s reply came: “Oh, well, tough luck then. You’ll have to come pick me up at the south station.”

Fang Zheng’s half-open mouth finally snapped shut, then slowly opened again: “Then why the hell did you ask?!” Then, realizing something was off, he added, “Wait, why should I even pick you up?”

Jiang Yang didn’t hesitate, cutting straight to the point: “Because I came here specifically to see you.”

Fang Zheng froze. A few seconds later, he growled, “Go book a hotel!” But even he could hear the lack of conviction in his own voice.

Especially since the other man had already done his homework: “I’d need to know where first. My phone’s dead, so I can’t check a map. The exit’s swarming with aunties trying to drag me to their sketchy guesthouses—you think I should go with them? Who knows how they’d fleece me. And don’t even suggest a taxi—they’re all in cahoots. They’d just dump me at some shady long-term partner motel, and I’d have nowhere to cry about it. Remember this: public phone booth at the exit, blue-and-white checkered shirt, black carry-on suitcase. The tall, dashing, devilishly handsome one is me. Don’t get it wrong.”

Fang Zheng tried to interrupt several times but failed. By the time Jiang Yang finished, Fang Zheng realized—what else could he say?

“Wait there!”

Hanging up, Fang Zheng immediately began rummaging through his closet for clothes. Thankfully, he didn’t own many, so trying them all took only seven or eight minutes. Then came the problem—not a single one felt presentable enough to wear in front of someone. Some made him look fat, others made him look old, and a few were so hideous he couldn’t bear to look at them himself. Why did I even buy these? Just because they were cheap didn’t mean he had to drape himself in rags. Standing in the middle of his room, the Commander spent two minutes contemplating life before reaching an epiphany—the clothes weren’t the problem. The canvas was just too flawed.

There’d be plenty of time for self-pity later. For now, Fang Zheng had no choice but to pick the least terrible outfit. Once dressed, he spent what felt like an eternity psyching himself up in front of the bathroom mirror before finally mustering the courage to leave. But as he locked the door, he caught sight of his still-on computer and smacked his forehead. Rushing back inside, he grabbed his headset: “Uh, Birdy, a friend of mine just arrived, so I have to go pick him up at the train station.”

The other end let out an “Oh,” devoid of any particular emotion, then asked, “Will you be back tonight?”

Fang Zheng was stumped. That question could be taken at face value or stretched into infinity. Though he wasn’t sure if Birdy meant anything deeper by it, his imagination was already running wild. They say a guilty conscience needs no accuser, but he wasn’t even guilty—just nervous. “Y-yeah, of course! What, you think I’m gonna sleep on the streets? Just helping him find a hotel, maybe treating him to a meal. Probably won’t be too late, uh, shouldn’t be. Anyway, you guys do your thing, no need to wait up.”

By the end, he’d finally managed to sound somewhat coherent. Letting out a long breath, he glanced up at the ceiling, confirming once more that there was no such thing as a “Deputy Commander Surveillance System” installed there.

He’d expected Birdy to snipe back—or at least tease him a little—but after a brief silence, the other man only said softly, “Be careful on the way. Stay safe.”

For a few seconds, Fang Zheng was dazed. The last time he’d heard such words was back in his school days, when his mother would nag him before he left the house: Watch out for cars, mind the traffic lights, don’t walk too close to buildings… After coming out, no one had ever spoken to him with such gentle concern again. For some reason, his chest felt warm.

“Relax,” Fang Zheng said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m not a three-year-old.” Without waiting for a response, he closed YY.

Only after getting into the taxi did he remember—YY had been open when he took the call. But after racking his brain, he was fairly sure he hadn’t said anything that would expose Mad Lad’s identity. Probably.

The afternoon streets weren’t congested. Leaning against the window, Fang Zheng watched the scenery blur past, leaving only faint impressions on the glass. But gradually, those fragmented reflections began to distort, sharpening until they formed a face. The contours were familiar, the nose and mouth exactly as they appeared in his midnight dreams. Only the eyes remained indistinct.

Even if Jiang Yang hadn’t described his outfit, Fang Zheng was sure he’d recognize him at a glance. Somehow, that guy’s face had already imprinted itself in his mind. Every time they chatted in-game or talked on YY, that face would surface in his imagination. By now, it was all too familiar.

Half an hour later, Fang Zheng arrived at the train station. The drop-off point was across the street from the exit—not a wide road, but heavy with slow-moving traffic. A traffic officer nervously monitored the crowd gathered at the intersection, wary of any jaywalking.

Fang Zheng stood among the pedestrians, waiting for the light. Whether it was his imagination or not, time seemed to crawl. The countdown on the signal appeared tampered with, each second dragging endlessly. During the agonizing wait, he spotted the phone booth Jiang Yang had mentioned—diagonally across the street—but there was no one beneath it. Holding his breath, Fang Zheng scanned the surrounding area. Finally, he saw him.

Jiang Yang had mentioned a blue-and-white checkered shirt, but from a distance, only the white stood out. The soft hue seemed to mute the man’s usual arrogance, lending him an air of elegance instead. His suitcase sat carelessly at his feet as he checked his watch repeatedly—clearly impatient. Mad Lad had never been one for waiting.

The light finally turned green. The crowd surged forward like a tide. Fang Zheng’s mind went blank for a second, and by the time he regained awareness, he’d already crossed the street.

When Milk is Mom encountered Mad Lad, he could start chanting Crimson Lotus Holy Fire from afar. But when Fang Zheng encountered Jiang Yang, he could only sneak up behind him, hesitating before lightly tapping his shoulder.

Jiang Yang spun around like he’d been ambushed in-game, instantly on guard—only to be met with an unfamiliar yet harmless smile.

“Been waiting long?” the stranger said.

Jiang Yang froze, his mind blank for a beat. The voice was familiar, but paired with the pudgy man in front of him, it created a dissonance he couldn’t reconcile.

“Milk Mom?” Though he was certain, he still had to ask.

The chubby man grinned. “Call me Commander if you prefer.”

The same voice. Jiang Yang loved that voice—but accepting its owner’s physical form was another matter. A man didn’t need a face that could topple nations or a body like a fitness trainer’s. Just clean, decent looks—was that too much to ask? In his countless imaginings, he’d assigned Milk Mom all sorts of archetypes—cute, refined, stylish, dowdy—all of which had seemed interesting, even endearing. But imagination, as it turned out, was more optimistic than he’d prepared for. There was always a gap between fantasy and reality. The only way to avoid this freefall was to always expect the worst.

Fang Zheng stayed silent, giving the other man ample time to scrutinize him. He’d even braced himself for mockery or disdain. But the continued silence after the inspection was torture. So he waved a hand in front of Jiang Yang’s face: “Earth to Mad Lad.”

The summoning worked. Before Fang Zheng could even retract his arm, Jiang Yang slung an arm around his neck. The man’s momentum was undeniable—one arm around the Commander, the other dragging his suitcase, he charged forward like a bull. “Fuck, I’m starving. Let’s go—best restaurant in town!”

Fang Zheng stumbled along, managing to ask, “No food on the train?”

Jiang Yang seemed to recall something traumatic, roaring: “There was nothing edible on that train!”

Fang Zheng rubbed his ear. Alright, fine. Boss privilege.

As he hauled Milk Mom across the street, Jiang Yang finally adjusted his mental frequency. He realized that if he didn’t attach any special meaning to it—if he just treated Fang Zheng as a comrade-in-arms—then the meeting, which had initially plummeted to rock-bottom, suddenly felt a little better. The thought that this guy had fought monsters, cleared dungeons, and PK’d with him brought back a sense of camaraderie.

Closer than lovers are brothers-in-arms. Jiang Yang was starting to see the truth in that. As if to prove it, he tightened his arm around Fang Zheng’s shoulders—until the latter elbowed him in annoyance, sending all extraneous thoughts flying into the stratosphere. Only then did his heart finally settle.

Fang Zheng had no idea how other people’s meetups with online friends went, but his encounter with Jiang Yang felt different from what he’d expected. It wasn’t a simple matter of good or bad—more like a certain pressure in his heart had vanished, and along with it, a certain anticipation.

A lot of relief.

A hint of disappointment.

Though the tycoon had demanded the “best” restaurant, Fang Zheng’s understanding of that term was limited. In the end, they settled for a halfway-decent Sichuan place near the commercial district, barely meeting the tycoon’s standards.

Jiang Yang did the ordering—Fang Zheng had stared at the menu for ages without deciding on a thing. Four dishes and a soup, and since it was daytime, neither suggested alcohol. The lunch rush had passed, so the food arrived quickly. Jiang Yang critiqued every bite like a gourmet chef, leaving Fang Zheng with nothing to contribute but silent chewing. Eventually, even Jiang Yang ran out of commentary and resigned himself to feeding his stomach. The table fell quiet except for the sounds of eating and sipping soup.

About twenty minutes later, with their stomachs mostly full and a third of the dishes remaining, they finally started chatting—haltingly—about life. But for two online friends meeting for the first time, with no real-world overlap and vastly different social statuses, what was there to talk about? Just work, school, and then commentary on each other’s answers. Fang Zheng praised Jiang Yang’s business acumen, which stroked the latter’s ego nicely. Jiang Yang returned the favor by offering “sustainable development” advice for Fang Zheng’s power-leveling gig.

If they hadn’t eventually circled back to gaming, Fang Zheng was sure this meal would’ve given him indigestion. But because they did, the dull first half was forgotten. By the time they left, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, they looked closer than blood brothers.

“The better hotels are all around here. Take your pick.” Standing on the commercial street, Fang Zheng gestured in a circle.

Jiang Yang squinted, following the motion with his gaze, then sighed regretfully. “Probably not staying at any of them. Remember that call from my buddy earlier? Something came up for tomorrow—I have to catch a flight back tonight.”

“Oh. Well, can’t be helped then…” Fang Zheng wasn’t sure if he felt regret, but something in his chest felt clogged. By the time he tried to pinpoint it, though, the feeling had already dissipated.

Jiang Yang had taken a call during lunch, but it was just a random spam call, meaningless small talk. Similarly, staying one or two nights here wouldn’t mean anything either. This small town had no signature cuisine, no scenic spots—just a Commander… and that was just a Commander.

Back at the train station, only three hours after Fang Zheng had come to pick him up.

As he watched Jiang Yang head for the gates from the waiting area, Fang Zheng mustered up some enthusiasm for the cliché line: “Come visit again when you have time.”

Jiang Yang replied without hesitation: “Yeah, sure.”

In that moment, both were sincere.

But by tomorrow, the day after, or the day after that—who would remember what was said here?