Chapter 71 – Healing Through Exercise

After grinding monsters with Birdy for half the night and nearly leveling up, the Ghost Server Legion Leader woke up at dawn the next day. It wasn’t because he needed to pee or because he was hungry—he just naturally woke up when the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten. Counting on his fingers, he figured he’d slept for at most three hours.

The Legion Leader thought to himself, Now I can truly say I rise earlier than the roosters and sleep later than the chickens.

Insomnia was a first in Fang Zheng’s twenty-plus years of life. But lacking experience didn’t stop him from going with the flow—since he was awake, why waste the precious morning hours? Time for a run, young man!

The early morning in late summer carried a hint of coolness. The streets were quiet, with no cars and only the occasional pedestrian. The tall broad-leaved trees on either side were lush and green, their vibrant foliage stretching endlessly along the road. Fang Zheng stood by the roadside, taking a deep breath, feeling as though all his troubles were being embraced and dissolved by the tranquil morning, leaving only vast expanses of clarity in the world.

Unconsciously, Fang Zheng began running along the road.

At first, it wasn’t bad. It felt like every cell in his body was activated, just like in those sports drink commercials where a paper-thin figure suddenly becomes three-dimensional—full of vitality.

Two minutes later, his moderate-to-fast jog turned into a moderate jog.

Five minutes later, the moderate jog became a slow jog.

Ten minutes later, the slow jog turned into a light trot.

Fifteen minutes later, he was walking.

Beads of sweat rolled down his face, most of them trickling into his neck and eventually soaking a large patch of his T-shirt over his chest. His heart pounded violently inside his body, as if it might burst out of his ribcage at any moment. Fang Zheng walked while gasping for air, like a fish tossed onto shore, desperately oxygen-deprived yet still finding the energy to encourage himself—Even in this state, you’re still pushing forward instead of stopping to rest. Fang Zheng, you absolute iron-blooded warrior!

After the self-encouragement, Fang Zheng laughed at himself, suddenly unsure what he was even doing. He’d weighed a solid eight pounds at birth and had never shaken off the label of being chubby throughout his life. His extra weight had become his most intimate companion. He’d never even imagined what he’d look like if he slimmed down because he’d long accepted that it was an impossibility.

So what was the point of this adrenaline-fueled exercise spree? He didn’t really know. He just felt like he had to do something to vent the emotions bottled up inside him—resentment, frustration, suffocation, and… sadness.

The sweat never completely dried because by the time Fang Zheng’s breathing steadied, the sun was already high in the sky. The summer heatwave returned with a vengeance, nearly blinding him with its glare. Food stalls had begun popping up along the roadside, with diligent vendors either frying dough sticks or flipping jianbing guozi, creating a lively, bustling scene.

Unconsciously, Fang Zheng wandered into one of the stalls. A middle-aged woman immediately came over to ask what he wanted to eat. Fang Zheng wanted to say four dough sticks and a bowl of tofu pudding—see, he’d even planned the exact quantity—but after subconsciously glancing at his stomach and then at the bubbling oil in the fryer, his appetite suddenly met an unprecedented blockade.

By the time he struggled his way out of the makeshift stall, Fang Zheng was nearly drowning in his own drool. Yet, in this small victory of self-restraint, he felt a strange sense of exhilaration. Riding that high, he went to the market and bought three pounds of cucumbers and two pounds of tomatoes.

Back home, Fang Zheng devoured two cucumbers and a tomato, finally feeling his heart settle, his breath steady, and his hydration replenished—as if he’d truly returned to the world of the living. With his senses sharpened, the notification sound from his phone also became clear. He hadn’t taken his phone with him on the run, so now he curiously walked to his bed and picked it up from beside his pillow to check.

Two missed calls, both from Xu Di.

If this had been two hours earlier, Fang Zheng might’ve tossed his phone aside without a second thought. But now, he realized that all these petty emotions paled in comparison to the physical suffering of ‘wanting to die but not being able to, wanting to live but barely hanging on’ during his run. So he simply called back.

The ringtone had barely sung half a line before the other end picked up. But Xu Di didn’t speak immediately—only after a pause did he hesitantly ask, “Fang Zheng?”

“Yeah, I was out earlier and didn’t hear it.” Fang Zheng felt like he needed something to do, so he casually turned on his computer.

“Oh,” Xu Di was even less natural than Fang Zheng. After a few awkward seconds of silence, he finally found his voice again. “Actually, it’s nothing. I was just drunk last night, and Doggy said I made a scene with you. Sorry about that.”

“Pfft, as if you haven’t made a scene with me a dozen times before,” Fang Zheng scoffed, unimpressed by the half-hearted apology. “Now you’re suddenly sorry? What about before? Gonna compensate me for emotional damages?”

The Windows logo disappeared, replaced by the slowly loading Huaxia Online desktop background.

While Xu Di remained silent, Fang Zheng wedged the phone between his neck and shoulder, double-clicked the game icon, entered his username and password, and logged in.

“Fang Zheng, just pretend everything I said yesterday was bullshit, okay?” Xu Di suddenly cut to the chase.

Fang Zheng’s hand paused on the mouse. After a long moment, he said, “Fine. But you have to tell me why you were spewing bullshit in the first place.”

At this point, holding back would be pointless. Xu Di laid it all out: “It’s all because of that bastard Gou Xiaonian! He started arguing with me for no reason. You know how it is when people fight—no one says nice things. So I called him a damn whore, and then he had the nerve to say he must’ve been brain-dead to ever be with me, that you’re a million times better than me, and that he regrets not being with you so much it makes him sick!”

“……”

“Fang Zheng?”

“GOU XIAONIAN, I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!!”

Fang Zheng finally understood. It wasn’t that he’d been caught in the crossfire—Gou Xiaonian had dragged him into the line of fire on purpose!

United by their shared enemy, the two besties reconciled, and the phone call turned into a marathon session of bashing Gou Xiaonian—the slow simmer that kept the conversation going.

But shared hatred was just superglue, not a time machine. It could patch things up, but it couldn’t erase the cracks. So this reconciliation was only superficial.

Hanging up, Fang Zheng felt a complicated mix of emotions.

His neck and shoulders ached from holding the phone, so he started doing neck stretches—left, right, forward, backward—until a certain bird popped up in his private messages.

[Whisper] Polly: You?

Fang Zheng glanced at the time—8:30 a.m. Yeah, it was a bit unusual.

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: Guess ^_^

[Whisper] Polly: Why are you up so early.

Who said you could skip the guessing game?! Table flip!!

[Whisper] Polly: ?

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: Went running for exercise!

[Whisper] Polly: Oh, losing weight? Did Train Station call you fat?

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: Do you have to use place names as nicknames…

[Whisper] Polly: What time did you wake up?

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: 5 a.m.

After a minute of silence:

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: Birdy?

[Whisper] Polly: You’re already losing sleep over this? You could stand to be a little less pathetic.

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: It’s not just about Train Station.

[Whisper] Polly: There’s more?

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: Sigh, I’m just cursed with bad luck.

[Whisper] Polly: So you want to slim down into a tall, rich, handsome guy?

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: Tall and rich are out of the question…

[Whisper] Polly: Handsome isn’t happening either.

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: FUCK OFF!!!!!!!

[Whisper] Polly: Okay.

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: ……

[Whisper] Polly: Done fucking off.

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: ……

[Whisper] Polly: But exercise is good for you. Starting tomorrow, I’ll join you.

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: COULD YOU LET OTHER PEOPLE GET A WORD IN EDGEWISE?!

[Whisper] Polly: I did. But all you gave me was dots ^_^

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: I have other words!

[Whisper] Polly: I know. 5 a.m. is a bit early. 7 a.m. is just right.

[Whisper] Milk is Mom: Birdy…

[Whisper] Polly: Just doing my duty as Deputy. No need to be so moved. [hug]

The Ghost Server Legion Leader was in tears. Who said I was running again tomorrow?! TAT

Perhaps it was the fighting poison with poison effect of Birdy’s taunts, but Fang Zheng didn’t dwell on Xu Di or Gou Xiaonian all day. Jiang Yang’s situation did cross his mind a couple of times, but the Deputy’s sharp tongue quickly diverted his attention. By 7 p.m., the whole team was online—except for Jiang Yang.

He must still be busy with work, Fang Zheng told himself. But a tiny corner of his mind kept drumming with doubt—Maybe he just won’t come back at all.

The team members didn’t know the full story and were casually discussing Mad Lad’s family background. Some guessed he was worth millions, others said billions—wild speculations flew freely, with the only missing theory being that Mad Lad was an Arab oil prince. Your Sister and Your Uncle didn’t join in because the two of them had vanished to some map to grind mobs. Just as the others finished their discussion, the pair started chattering in the distance:

Your Uncle: “I’ve been meaning to ask—where’d you get that weapon? The heals are insane!”

Drink Your Sister: “Uh, not sure. A friend got it for me.”

Your Uncle: “Damn, your friend must really like you. That’s definitely a legendary weapon.”

Drink Your Sister: “Lol, you make it sound like it could buy a house or something.”

Your Uncle: “A hundred or two is still money.”

Drink Your Sister: “What do you mean?”

Your Uncle: “I mean if you sold this, it’d go for 100 or 200. And they just gave it to you. That’s not ‘liking you’?”

Drink Your Sister: “100 or 200… yuan?!”

Your Uncle: “Unless you think it’s yen, dollars, rupees, or baht…”

Drink Your Sister: “That’s half the price of my account!”

The silent bystanders’ inner thoughts: Actually, it was 300…

Your Sister was still stunned: “How is one weapon that expensive?”

Your Uncle: “It’s rare, dude. Dungeon drops are hard to get. Labor costs, y’know? But money isn’t even the point—sometimes you can’t even buy stuff like this.”

Drink Your Sister: “……”

Your Uncle: “You ever done a dungeon before?”

Drink Your Sister: “Once. Zombie Hitlerot.”

Your Uncle: “Did the boss drop any gear?”

Drink Your Sister: “Nope.”

Your Uncle: “Do it four or five more times. Maybe you’ll get lucky once.”

Drink Your Sister: “But you can only run the same dungeon once a day. So getting gear would take a whole week?”

Your Uncle: “That’s the optimistic estimate. Means your luck is decent. Someone like me runs it ten times and gets nothing ten times. It’s tragic.”

The silent bystanders sighed inwardly: What a painful lesson…

Drink Your Sister: “Then how long did it take you to get your full set?”

Your Uncle: “I didn’t. Most of this was bought. Stats are meh, but it works. I don’t really care, though. Gear is whatever—what matters is skill!”

Drink Your Sister: “I don’t see your skill being anything special…”

Your Uncle: “It’s about game sense! My game sense is razor-sharp, got it?!”

Drink Your Sister: “Your fingers just can’t keep up.”

Your Uncle: “That can be trained!”

Drink Your Sister: “So did you clear 188 yet?”

Your Uncle: “……”

As they chatted, the two wandered off. The team couldn’t tell if they were still grinding in Huaxia or had gone off to practice street dancing. But one thing was clear—until they felt they’d reached their ideal skill level, they weren’t coming back.

[Party] 2B Fighter Jet: Did no one tell Your Uncle that staff was bought by Drink?

[Party] Crossplayer’s Blessing: Pretty sure no one told him Drink and Your Sister are a thing, either.

[Party] 2B Fighter Jet: WTF, why not?

[Party] Refined Into a Demon 715: Watching silently >_<

[Party] Milk is Mom: Silently watching ╮(╯_╰)╭

[Party] Blood Bulls Don’t Graze: Silently perving while watching.

[Party] 2B Fighter Jet: Wait, Milk Mom—what’s up with your weapon? Where’d that come from?!

[Party] Milk is Mom: Birdy got it in a random dungeon run~~~ Hahahaha~~~

[Party] 2B Fighter Jet: Damn, your luck is insane!!

[Party] Blood Bulls Don’t Graze: Luck isn’t the key—it’s about who you end up with.

Why did that sound so weird? =_=

Time in-game always flew by. A bit of grinding, a dungeon run, and suddenly it was midnight. But when Fang Zheng turned off his computer and lay in bed, time slowed to a crawl, like a watch running out of battery—each tick of the second hand a laborious effort.

He didn’t remember when he fell asleep, only that he had a chaotic dream—first, he was a fruit ninja slashing watermelons with a katana, then he was fighting Zombie Hitlerot on a snowy mountain. Finally, the scene shifted to a small house, warm golden light spilling from its windows, the air thick with the rich aroma of baking bread. He stood outside the window, reaching out to push it open and see inside…

“You’re so toxic, so toxic, so toxic, wuwuwu~~~ Always bullying me~~~ Watch out, I’ll get my revenge~~~”

As alarm tones went, this one wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was 100% effective at waking him up.

Fang Zheng jolted upright, the sudden movement leaving him dizzy for a good while before the world steadied.

Grabbing his phone, the screen read: 7:00 a.m., Beijing time.

You’re So Toxic kept playing relentlessly—a ringtone he’d set specifically for Birdy on a whim one day. It was practically the anthem of the victimized, damn it TAT

Furious, Fang Zheng slammed the answer button. After two nights of insufficient sleep, he didn’t wait for the other person to speak before roaring: “ARE YOU INSANE?!!!”

Birdy patiently waited for the echoes to fade before calmly asking, “Got any meds?”

“NO!!”

“Then get up and run.” Birdy cheerfully declared.

This is the ringtone. It’s kinda catchy.