Don't Pick Up Boyfriends From the Trash Bin Chapter 181 - System vs. System (End): Author, fulfilled soul, Plum Blossom Rice Cake

Chapter 181 - System vs. System (End): Author, fulfilled soul, Plum Blossom Rice Cake

Translator: kiribold

editor: sarah

On the first day after the mission, Chi Xiaochi finished eating an apple and asked to travel to a particular world line.

When he made the request, Lou Ying was in the kitchen sc.r.a.ping the scales of a yellow croaker fish, preparing to make yellow croaker fish dumplings.

A small plate of emerald cabbage dumplings had been formed. The home’s temperature system was running continuously, emitting the sound of whirring wind, and the little bamboo mice raised outside gnawed on the bamboo-like crisp apple crunches.

He felt everything was good and was even a little reluctant to let him go.

Lou Ying said loudly, “Wait until the afternoon. I’ll make the dumplings and go with you.”

Chi Xiaochi said, “No need. I’ll go quickly. I’ll be back in an hour, tops.”

Lou Ying wiped his hands with his ap.r.o.n and walked out of the kitchen.

He wanted to use his original appearance, but he feared that the Lord G.o.d would do something. After he weighed his options, he continued to use Wen Yujing’s face.

His long hair was trimmed into a refres.h.i.+ng short haircut. He wore a loose white s.h.i.+rt with a few b.u.t.tons fastened casually and black trousers. Wen Yujing’s original lofty temperament was immediately pulled back to the fireworks of the mortal world, but there was no sign of disobedience.

Lou Ying took a few coats out of the closet. “It’s winter outside. Choose one you like. Buy what you want to eat and come back. I’ll wait for you at home.”

All the coats were relatively warm, but they were all a bit too large. The sleeves were slightly longer, slightly covering his hands.

Lou Ying helped him roll up the cuffs of the camel-colored coat he had chosen to reveal the wrists of his dark gray sweater.

When he got to the right side, Lou Ying’s movements paused.

…The ring he gave to Chi Xiaochi was originally worn on his pinkie, but somehow, it went to his index finger again.

A ring moving from the ring finger to the pinkie to the index could be said to have an unfortunate fate.

But Lou Ying was quite confident about the final destination of the ring.

Thinking of this, Lou Ying smiled silently. He continued to straighten the cuffs for him and fetched a black cashmere scarf for him to put on.

Chi Xiaochi somewhat unnaturally raised his hand to push back. “I’ll do it myself.”

Lou Ying was worried that he was still uncomfortable with contact, so he took the initiative to let go of his hand.

Chi Xiaochi looked in the mirror. He pulled the scarf into a flower knot and sprayed some cologne on his body.

Lou Ying watched from afar as his Xiaochi dressed himself up as a mature and handsome young man. His heart was full of warmth, but he was also vaguely uneasy.

He undoubtedly likes Chi Xiaochi very much.

He had lost all his previous memories, so his love was also pure. It had nothing to do with the past or the future, only the present Chi Xiaochi.

For Lou Ying, what he got was the complete Chi Xiaochi.

But for Chi Xiaochi, what he got back was an AI with only a few years of memories.

So Lou Ying wanted to know more.

He wanted to know what had happened in those years.

Lou Ying wanted to help Chi Xiaochi get Lou Ying back.

So, after Chi Xiaochi chose a world line to leave for, he also returned to the Lord G.o.d’s s.p.a.ce and knocked on 089’s door.

It was winter outside, and it was indeed really cold.

Fortunately, Lou Ying’s coat and scarf were there to keep him warm.

Chi Xiaochi connected to this world’s network, turned on the navigation, hailed a taxi, and gave an address.

Yesterday, when he and Lou Ying returned to their s.p.a.ce, Chi Xiaochi had nothing to do, so he searched for the book, The Mermaid Immortal.

Consistent with the data provided by the system, The Mermaid Immortal was left off in chapter 87 and had no more updates.

The author was called “Green Hills Red Dust.” This pen name hadn’t followed up with any new works, and it seemed they had completely stopped writing.

Chi Xiaochi went to the comment section and found something new.

Under this long-abandoned article, there were still people urging for updates, and there were quite a few of them. Most of them had the ID “Big Smoke Tourist Group,” crying for Light Smoke-Dada to update the article, wanting to see the mermaid and snake gentlemen’s follow-up story.

…oh huh.

Chi Xiaochi searched along this line and quickly found the source.

The “Green Hills Red Dust” changed their ID and became “A Light Smoke.” He went to another website and wrote a CP-free cultivation novel. He was lucky and caught by a film and television company. They bought the copyright and shot without backlog. It came out, the ratings were good, and it became an instant hit.

“A Light Smoke” had kept a diary since childhood.

With the convenience of the internet, he used to record his mood on his blog.

During The Mermaid Immortal‘s serialization, he intermittently wrote many things in his diary. Some of it was brainstorming and some troubles during the serialization.

When the readers scolded him the hardest, the author, “Green Hill Red Dust,” who was still a tiny shrimp, was torn for several days. He ran to his editor and asked what to do.

His editor’s avatar looked very straight, a rugged man with a cigarette in his mouth.

The editor was busy ranking lists, so he gave the usual answer: “Observe the reader’s preference more.”

The little author said, “Their requests…it’s a bit hard to do.”

The editor said bluntly: “There’s no meat to eat if you don’t listen to the readers.”

The little author was still quite poor, so he listened to his words and took the risk of observing the readers’ messages.

He wrote seriously in his diary that listening to the editor’s words meant eating meat.

Then he wrote it into neither fish nor fowl and was scolded even harder.

The little author was frustrated. At 3:00 in the morning, he posted a picture of his late-night supper in his s.p.a.ce, with the caption: no meat, so I cooked spinach noodles for myself.

After a while, he found that someone liked it, and it was his editor.

He was very curious why his editor was still up so late.

Soon, there was a reply from the editor below: “It looks delicious.”

The little author said proudly: “I made it.”

The editor said: “It would be even better with an egg.”

The little author thought about it a bit and was gluttonous. He fried a single-sided poached egg and cut it open from the center. The egg yolk was clear and yellow. The edges were curled and slightly charred, making it look insatiable.

He took another picture.

This time the editor didn’t reply.

The little author didn’t think much of it. He sat at the table and enjoyed his meal, then casually opened the article page to see if he could find one or two constructive replies in the pile of comments.

When he refreshed, he found two more comments.

One was “Not bad, the beginning of the text was relatively concise, without superfluousness, and the writing skill isn’t bad.” The other was “the story is slightly draggy entering the main plotline, and the main character isn’t distinctive.”

The little author sucked the noodles up, went back and looked at his update, and thought these comments were excellent.

It wasn’t an abstract concept like “cool” or “uncool,” but pointed out real problems with his writing.

He wrote a three-line reply very sincerely, thanking him for his guidance.

The reader who wrote the comment seemed to be online and replied, “Go to sleep. I’ll read a little longer.”

The little author went to bed with grat.i.tude.

As a result, when he woke up, the comment section was torn apart.

There were a few idle and boring regular trolls. It was probably because the author had a good-natured personality. He was always gentle and soft, not angry, similar to the soft-dough protagonist in the book. They always liked to wear their avatars to come over and stab him in a few words.

Today, one of them woke up and went to the comment section to complete his routine task. Seeing a person who read the text seriously and gave a lot of positive reviews, they immediately surrounded: “Yo, this is the family and friends group, ah, or were the comments bought, ah?”

The reader returned, “Can’t sleep, came to read the text.”

The troll said: “Dude, there’s nothing to see, disperse. You blah blah so much, this author won’t change it. Even the changes are also blind and barren.”

The reader said: “I like this story. He wrote well.”

The troll said sourly: “Hey yo, it really is the family and friends group.”

The reader said: “Objectively speaking, the writing is better than yours.”

The troll s.h.i.+vered and exploded with anger: “What nonsense are you speaking with your eyes open? Which eye did you see me writing an article?”

The reader said methodically, “Your trumpet account has only voted for one work. Your trumpet has the same IP address as that article. That article is running concurrent to this article. I advise you to write carefully, otherwise there will be no ranking.”

The troll didn’t care: “You f.u.c.king think you’re the editor, opening your mouth like that. I’m can also say that you’re one of the author’s trumpet accounts.”

There was no reply at the bottom.

The little author looked a little angry. He wanted to go up and say a few words for the enthusiastic reader when the editor’s profile image of the rough cigarette-smoking man flashed in his friends’ column.

The editor said: “Don’t listen to them.”

The editor added, “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have given you that advice earlier. Follow your ideas, change to a website with a better atmosphere, improve the details, and your ratings will be even better.”

The little author froze in front of his computer.

Later, after much deliberation, he gave up the article that had seriously gone off track and moved to another website.

When he came up with the pseudonym, he thought of the cigarette in the mouth of the rugged man and tapped “A Light Smoke” on it.

Afterward, he became a G.o.d with one book, and the following two books also achieved good results.

With money in hand, he knocked on the editor’s door.

Since the two were identified as family and friends, they often chatted together and learned a lot about each other. They actually became half a group of family and friends.

For example, two of them were in the same city, they both loved to eat late-night supper, and they’re both night owls.

He always replied to the little author’s messages in seconds: “What?”

The little author said: “Are you free, please come eat meat.”

The little author recorded the meeting in great detail in his diary.

The man wasn’t rough at all. He was only a few months older than the young author. He was very gentle and handsome and wore a pair of black-rimmed gla.s.ses. He often wrote some prose in magazines and had family money, so he could do whatever he wanted.

A year before he met the little author, he was selling insurance.

Now he had just obtained the kindergarten teacher’s license and was about to quit his editorial job and go to the kindergarten as a kindergarten teacher.

The author envied him and said, “That’s great.”

He had polio and had been in a wheelchair since shortly after he was born. All he had been able to go to over the years independently was his kitchen, computer, and bedroom.

He longed for the vast world that the editor could see.

The editor surveyed his wheelchair and said, “You live alone now?”

The author said, “Mn.”

His father died early, and his mother remarried and went abroad.

The editor said: “It’s a coincidence. My neighborhood has newly installed disabled access in every building.”

The little author’s eyes lit up, “Mn, that’s great.”

The editor looked into his eyes. “Move here.”

The little author: “…huh?”

The editor said, “There is a very nice shop near my house that sells plum cakes.”

The young author looked at him dumbfoundedly while his heart was racing. He couldn’t quite understand the meaning of his words.

The editor said, “When you move in, I can buy it for you every day.”

In the little author’s diary, there was a food diary dedicated to plum blossom cakes, and reading it gave Chi Xiaochi a huge appet.i.te that night.

So he went to buy it the next day.

He arrived at the shop mentioned in the little author’s food diary.

The boss skillfully poured the blended glutinous rice flour liquid into a special vessel and then poured the already boiled semi-fluid hot bean paste, sesame seeds, and purple potatoes that had been boiled for a long time into it.

Chi Xiaochi clasped his hands together, waiting in the cold wind.

After a while, a young man wearing black-rimmed gla.s.ses stopped his car at the entrance of this small shop. “Boss lady, two, old style.”

This was obviously a regular customer. The proprietress responded twice, quickly took the two of the bean paste fillings out of the stove, put them in a paper bag, and handed them to him.

The young man quickly got back into the car. There was another person in the pa.s.senger side. He leaned over and took the paper bag.

Chi Xiaochi heard the young man say, “The filling is hot, warm your hands first, it’s just perfect to eat when we get home.”

Chi Xiaochi turned around and looked at the car that rode away in the dust, thinking, what a coincidence, could it be them?

Maybe, maybe not.

He remembered that he had seen the audio interview with the little author online yesterday. In the free discussion session, some readers also asked about The Mermaid Immortal.

The reader asked, “Light Smoke-Dada, do you really not plan to write that ‘Mermaid Immortal’?”

The little author’s voice was gentle. “Mn, I’m not going to write it for others to read. I’ll keep it on my hard disk, and rewrite it…write it for him to read.”

The reader was a little regretful. “Will there be a happy ending for the merman and the snake gentlemen?”

“They will.” The little author said, “They are independent souls. Even without me, they will have a good ending.”

Chi Xiaochi was thinking when suddenly, there was a slight vibration from his coat pocket.

Chi Xiaochi picked up the phone, looked at the number on it for a while, and brought it to his ear.

It was Lou Ying’s voice. “h.e.l.lo?”

Chi Xiaochi was happy.

He remembered that when he was still 061, he told him that in a non-mission environment, he would be blocked from all functions when he arrived in a certain world, retaining only the most basic sensory abilities and couldn’t even speak.

So Lou Ying, who was left at home, could only call if he wanted to find him.

Lou Ying asked him, “Is it cold?”

With Lou Ying not in front of him, Chi Xiaochi was less tense. “You aren’t here, my sweet little long johns are gone.”

Lou Ying laughed.

He asked, “When will you be back? I’ll check the time, the dumplings are almost ready to be cooked.”

Chi Xiaochi covered the microphone and asked the boss, “How much longer?”

The boss laughed, “Soon, soon. Six or seven minutes. The purple sweet potato stuffing cooks a little slower.”

Chi Xiaochi said to the other end of the phone, “Let’s go, let’s go. If you’re not saying anything then let’s hang up. I didn’t look carefully before I came out, and my phone is almost out of gas.”

Lou Ying couldn’t help himself. “Mn, okay.”

Chi Xiaochi bought half a batch, planning to go back and ask Lou Ying to distribute it to the other systems.

He picked out a purple sweet potato-filled plum cake and took a bite.

The outer layer of the egg roll was baked to a crisp and golden brown, which was the way Chi Xiaochi liked it best. The soft and glutinous plum-shaped rice cake was bitten open, overflowing slightly with the purple sweet potato that was boiled into juice. It was indeed very hot, and the hot white steam rushed straight to Chi Xiaochi’s face.

He took two hot bites and suddenly wanted to go home.

So he called Lou Ying’s name in his heart, “Lou-ge, Lou-ge.”

The boss who made the plum blossom cake was breathing and preparing the over for the next batch of plum blossom cakes. She inadvertently looked up and found that the one who had just carried away half an oven of plum blossom cake had disappeared in just half a minute.

After hanging up the phone with Chi Xiaochi, Lou Ying said to 089 and 023, “I’ll go back first and make dumplings for Xiaochi.”

He originally wanted to chat with 089, but unfortunately, 023 was there. Some things weren’t convenient to say.

089 said with emotion, “Go on, good child. Your happiness is the greatest expectation your parents.”

023 rolled his eyes coldly.

089 innocently said. “I am sincere.”

Lou Ying stroked the peace knot still in his jacket pocket. “Mn, I know.”

089 saw his action. His expression remained unchanged, his smiling eyes slightly curved.

Well, knowing the usefulness of the peace knot, 80% he had used it.

Since he had to use it, he must have encountered some danger.

From his current appearance, he must have transitioned safely, and he may have encountered something good.

It’s just that he was so happy, but the one in the In-Between Moments may not be as happy.

After a few moments, 089 had some conjectures. The conversation turned, and he said with true tearful feelings, “061, ah, you protect our daughter-in-law well. You are the ninth generation of our family’s single heir, and the continuity of the incense of our old 0 family will all depend on him.”

023: “…” What is the old 0 family?

Lou Ying’s mind moved slightly, knowing what he was reminding himself: “Mn, I remember, father.”

023: “…”

He felt that he was often out of tune with them because he wasn’t dramatic enough.

Kiribold: Thank you for your support through my first translated arc! I will be on hiatus until the new year, so see you then. Happy Holidays! Next up is an ancient china setting.