The information in the main post was quite comprehensive. It first narrowed the scope to popular servers, then limited the title to the number one spot on the rankings, and finally provided the initials of the nickname. Even without prior knowledge, a quick flip through would reveal it.
According to the OP’s description, the early replies were full of malicious complaints, casually mentioning their own encounters with weirdos. Add in the “Yan” ID, which wasn’t unfamiliar to frequent online game players—this had been a publicly acknowledged big shot in previous games. For such a person to pair up with a pretentious weirdo in a Romance…
The topic exploded, and the post’s heat gradually rose.
As more people saw it, discordant voices emerged.
67L: No matter how much she pretends, she didn’t scam anyone’s money. Some people in this thread don’t need to curse her out so viciously. Outsiders might think she did something heinous.
72L: Is this the Romance of that Y single-character big shot I pushed? Why do I feel like he got along well with his Romance partner?
73L: I was running dungeons with friends earlier and recruited in world chat because we were short a player. Then the Y big shot joined the team—probably farming gear drops… Anyway, he came in, so we ran it together. It was going smoothly at first, but then there was a mistake later. The big shot explained it was because his Romance messaged him.
86L: Setting aside everything else, what’s wrong with wearing encounter gear? It looks pretty good.
87L: You think that’s some low-tier encounter you can trigger casually? That outfit would cost you low five figures to craft yourself, got it?
…
103L: If their relationship was bad, why would Yan form a Romance with her? In your words, she’s poor and all show—why would a big shot pair with her just to add some grievance to his life?
The OP replied solely to this one: I don’t know. But normally, if someone’s under suspicion, they’d prove themselves, right? Not even pulling her out for a stroll, just sending a message for us to see would do. But there’s never been anything like that. If it were you, would you believe it?
“Brother Lu, did you see the post I sent you?” The youthful voice carried obvious amusement. “Do you think that number one big shot on the rankings is you?”
Lu Yan Zhi filtered to only OP replies and finished the main post. His dark lashes lowered in an arc. “Possibly.”
“How did your Romance respond?” The caller didn’t hide his schadenfreude at all. “I’ve been stuck at school these past couple days and couldn’t log in. I come back and see you actually found a Romance in-game? Can that be reliable?”
It was prejudice, sure, but he always believed only real-life love-starved folks messed around with romance stuff in games. That was a big reason why offline meets were full of a motley crew of weirdos.
But his Brother Lu was a total life winner—how could he stoop to online dating?
“Forming the Romance has special techniques and plot.”
The guy suddenly understood. “I knew it.” But before he could relax—
“What does ‘doesn’t want to play with me’ mean?”
The guy: “Huh?!”
Lu Yan Zhi quickly scanned the main post again, his gaze landing on the short sentence “She said she didn’t want to play with the big shot.” Confirming no room for misunderstanding, he repeated word for word: “‘Doesn’t want to play with me’?”
The guy on the other end picked up on the gritted-teeth vibe—something was off. Wasn’t it for the technique and plot?
“Aren’t you the one who doesn’t want to play with her?”
No response came, because the voice call had been hung up at some point.
On Saturday with no classes, Song Fu rarely joined a dorm activity, eating and shopping with her roommates.
Her roommates planned to pick out a few winter clothes.
“We must be using the same currency, right?” The mall clothes were shockingly expensive. Her roommate finally spotted one she liked, glanced at the tag, and immediately sucked in a cold breath, putting it back. She lowered her voice to complain, “A piece made of 100% polyester with visible loose threads dares to cost four figures? What unknown brand is this?”
Song Fu had no intention of buying here from the start—she knew her financial situation well. She looked up from her phone. “Probably because city center rent is so high.”
Her roommate shook her head and pulled her along to check somewhere else.
Song Fu hadn’t noticed the forum post at first. It was only that morning, after the System’s reminder, that she skimmed it.
Some people had such toxic mouths that you worried for their safety just from one lick—pure negative energy overflow. So Song Fu didn’t keep staring, lest it ruin her nice weekend. Because of that, she didn’t notice the shift in the post’s sentiment right away.
…
She picked up a voice call from the male lead.
“Hello?” Song Fu hadn’t returned to the dorm yet and felt awkward calling him “brother” all sticky-sweet.
The voice on the other end was icy cold, straight to the point. “What does ‘unwilling to play with me’ mean?”
She was being interrogated. Song Fu’s little heart pounded. She feigned confusion. “Huh? What did you say?”
“It’s not that he doesn’t want to play with me—it’s that I’m unwilling to play with him.” No video, so she couldn’t see his expression, but from the tone, the guy on the other end was clearly in a bad mood. “Need me to repeat your words again?”
Song Fu: “I can explain.”
“Mm, go ahead.”
Song Fu pursed her lips, waved to her roommate, and stepped to a farther corner. “I said that because… those people kept wanting me to drag you into teams as free labor. Right, I didn’t want to trouble you. Games need challenge to be fun, yeah? You’re so skilled, you’d clear it in a flash. That’d be no fun. Don’t you think so, brother?”
“Is that really the reason?” The male lead’s tone was skeptical.
Song Fu: “…Of course. What else could it be?” She agreed smoothly on the surface, inwardly wishing she could knock on his head.
Come on, brother—didn’t he notice that hesitant pause?
It was obviously an excuse made up on the spot. Zero credibility.
Song Fu turned the tables with a contradiction: “It’s all because you’re so busy, brother. I didn’t want to bother you.”
The male lead “mm”ed, no longer dwelling. “You haven’t logged into the game yet.”
Song Fu explained: “I’m out. Can’t play. Brother, my roommates are waiting—gotta hang up.”
“Okay.”
Call ended.
Song Fu exhaled, then rejoined her roommates, linking arms.
As they walked, she replayed the call, frowning. She asked the System, ‘Does this make sense?’
‘I thought the male lead was calling to vent about me using him as a front, but he got mad because I didn’t want to play with him.’ In the plot, the male lead just ignored the female side character—how’d it flip? ‘And he got over it so easily. Was I not harsh enough?’
The System pondered.
With the precedent from the last Small World, it was hard not to consider that the male lead had taken a liking to the host. But that didn’t make sense. [It’s probably because he’s been good to the host but didn’t get proper positive feedback, so he’s annoyed.] At least for now, it was just mild favorability. [Once you drop those backstabbing lines later, it’ll be gone for sure.]
‘What will be gone?’ Song Fu wasn’t sure if the System glitched—speaking in leaps that were hard to follow.
The System gave a brutally cold definition. [Factors that could lead to task failure.]
[Host, your relationship with the male lead can’t get too good. You know that, right?]
Song Fu knew, of course, but didn’t think she needed reminding. She felt a bit down about it. ‘Did I perform that well in the male lead’s eyes?’
[Not really.] Plenty of vanity and gold-digging as expected. The System knew the issue was on the male lead’s side, but it couldn’t control him, so it had to push its host to be more excessive. [Host, feel zero guilt asking the male lead for money. Demand it outright—anyway, it’ll get paid back later.]
‘Got it.’
Song Fu acknowledged.
The System silently cheered her on.
Its host was so proactive this time—definitely not settling for a barely-passing “C”.
Back at the dorm.
Song Fu logged into the game first thing, bracing for random players’ cold mockery and sarcasm.
No abuse applications came as expected. Instead, she got well-meaning messages from passersby reminding her to check the forum post. One stood out: from “Miaogu Hengsheng”—a friend request from Ququ’s pal, just three simple words: Sorry.
Song Fu accepted to ask what was up, and while at it, opened the forum post in reverse order on her phone.
Miaogu Hengsheng: Sorry.
Miaogu Hengsheng: Be the bigger person and tell your Romance to stop killing me and lift the warrant, okay?
Miaogu Hengsheng: It’s not easy farming gear—durability’s all gone.
Song Fu didn’t reply right away. Her attention was on the post.
Summing up the later replies: The male lead saw the post, didn’t comment on the forum, but straight-up killed Ququ several rounds in-game. Then he asked around, demanded the post be deleted and an apology issued.
The deletion request was already in, but processing took time, so Song Fu could still see it.
She sighed with mixed feelings and replied to Ququ in a smug, petty tone: Hmph.
Fu Guang Luo: Now you know how good our relationship is, huh?
Fu Guang Luo: You called Yan a dumb pig for falling for a voice-changer like me, said I wasn’t enough and had to drag him in. Killed a few times and now you’re behaving?
This female side character wasn’t good-tempered—she excelled at pushing her luck. Song Fu stuck to the role, no mercy: You got me cursed out by so many people. This is what you deserve!
Though she hinted at details, pinning Ququ’s deaths on “dragging Yan in,” to make it seem like her and Yan’s relationship wasn’t that close.
Sadly, no one cared…
Ququ apologized in rambling wheel-spinning fashion, desperate to end it. He ripped into himself harshly, even spouting lines like “blind to Mount Tai.”
Tiantian messaged too, saying she’d mishandled it. She’d asked Ququ to apologize several times, but he’d refused, calling it their private grudge.
Song Fu didn’t want beef with her little sis, so she replied no problem, adding a cute yellow-face emoji.