Bursting Tomato 9

After a while, Yan Xianchuan slowly nibbled at her dessert, then blurted out another random thought: "You swore."

Lu Mingqiu: "...I can say 'go to hell, you idiot' in fifteen languages. Want to hear?"

"Really?" Yan Xianchuan whipped her head around, eyes sparkling like she'd taken stimulants. "Can you teach me? Ugh, I just can't swear. I always get bullied because I'm too polite. When people curse at me, I can't even talk back."

Usually, that person probably wouldn't get a second chance to curse. She might not talk back, but she'd use her fists.

Lu Mingqiu silently quipped to herself, then shook her head. "Good kids don't swear. Being polite is a good thing. If someone curses at you next time, you can tell me."

Yan Xianchuan didn't agree immediately; instead, she thought for a moment and asked, "If I curse back, does that mean I can't hit them?"

"Depends on how things develop," Lu Mingqiu replied.

"Then forget it." Yan Xianchuan popped the last cherry into her mouth, squinting at the sweet-tart taste. "If I can't rip out their tongue, I'd be really upset."

A textbook-perfect answer. Lu Mingqiu thought, offering no comment.

"Are you sure you don't want to order something for yourself?" Yan Xianchuan said, chewing on her fork. "With all the exercise you do, a little high-calorie food won't hurt."

"No, I gain weight easily," Lu Mingqiu said.

"Ah, disciplined people are scarier than lunatics," Yan Xianchuan remarked.

The air conditioning in the dessert shop was cranked up high. While outside the temperature could nearly fry an egg, the interior felt as cool as an early spring morning.

The sweet scent of honey and cream filled the air, and even the floor was a soft beige. Not a speck of dust in the corners. A neatly dressed server carried trays, delivering meals with hushed voices to customers.

Outside the bright, spotless glass windows, passersby were equally well-dressed, with immaculate makeup, holding umbrellas to shield themselves from the scorching sun.

The East District and the West District were separated only by a bridge over the river, yet they were worlds apart.

Just yesterday they'd been in a shabby rental in the West District; today they sat in a high-end dessert shop, enjoying cakes that cost hundreds or even thousands of credits.

Lu Mingqiu added a tip for the server, earning an even brighter smile in return.

— The root factor behind all this enjoyment was money.

So even without designer clothes, people mistook theirs for bespoke tailoring. The same outfits were sloppy, ragged, cheap in the West District; in the East District, they were free-spirited, refined taste, a wealthy person slumming it.

Lu Mingqiu had long grown used to this, and she'd passed the age of raging against it with every dissatisfaction plastered on her face. Still, watching the cheerful face beside her, she felt that having money was at least a good thing.

In front of her sat a cup of milk tea and half a glass of plain water — the former ordered by the person next to her, the latter her own choice.

Lu Mingqiu, as if possessed, took a sip through the straw. Translucent golden-brown pearls slid up the straw and into her mouth. When she bit down, there was a mildly sweet, soft chewiness.

Actually, it was pretty delicious.

"Good?" Yan Xianchuan noticed, leaning in like a thief.

Lu Mingqiu nodded.

"What's the harm in indulging once in a while? If you don't even taste something this wonderful, isn't it a waste of life?" Yan Xianchuan raised a hand to summon the server, pointed at the floating menu on the table, and ordered four or five more small cakes. "Two of each."

"I can't eat all that," Lu Mingqiu said, resigned.

"I'll finish the rest," Yan Xianchuan said.

Lu Mingqiu fell silent.

Lu Mingqiu was an extremely disciplined person. In Yan Xianchuan's limited life experience, she'd never met anyone like her.

The survival games had everything, and the one thing they never lacked was crazies. But Lu Mingqiu—how to describe her? Her self-control reached an almost inhuman level.

She had a schedule: exercise at a fixed time daily, no high-calorie or greasy spicy foods, studying, reading—she filled every moment from morning to night, with even her relaxation time scheduled.

The key wasn't the schedule itself; it was that she followed it every single day without rest, without holidays.

Yan Xianchuan could never do that. She wasn't a planner; she preferred to act on impulse. She could make plans to accomplish certain things, but if she had to live like Lu Mingqiu, she'd probably kill the person who demanded it by day three.

Like a robot. She truly wondered what drove her to persist like this, year after year.

Yan Xianchuan couldn't understand her, nor could she understand anyone in this world. It was as if she were missing a processor in her brain, incapable of comprehension.

Why was pushing someone into a pool wrong? Why was pointing out logical flaws in someone's speech wrong? Why apologize when refusing someone? Why comfort people when they're sad? What was sadness, anyway? A few words—what magic did they hold? Did saying them bring the dead back to life or reverse what had happened?

She didn't understand.

She memorized these rules like she memorized that one plus one equals two.

When someone cried, say, "I'm so sorry, are you okay?" When declining group activities, say, "Sorry, I have plans." When someone encountered difficulty, offer help. Praise achievements, encourage failures...

She practiced expressions in the mirror, earned her parents' approval, then used these rules to blend into the crowd, as if she weren't any different from everyone else.

Even a hundred years from now, she wouldn't understand. But the taste of frosting melting on her tongue was as constant as ever. She loved sweets.

The two of them finished everything on the table—or more precisely, Yan Xianchuan polished it all off herself. Just as they got ready to leave, a server walked over and handed them two parasols. "The sun outside is very strong. Please take these."

Such thoughtful service. The server wore a polite, friendly smile, placing the parasols in their hands.

Physical sun protection was always one of the most effective methods.

Parasols in hand, they stood by the roadside for a while. Lu Mingqiu raised a hand to hail a cab and gave the driver an address.

The new safe house was almost identical to the previous one: a model-home-style apartment with no signs of use. It might have been newly rented, or possibly newly bought.

Two bedrooms, one for each. Yan Xianchuan chose the smaller secondary room without its own bathroom.

She could have picked the master; Lu Mingqiu wouldn't object. Perhaps out of habit, or her practical application of social rules, Yan Xianchuan chose her room without hesitation.

Even though the cab had air conditioning and she hadn't been under the sun for long, the heat had still left Yan Xianchuan slick with sweat.

She took a cool shower in the bathroom. Some fresh loungewear hung on the rack, which she took down and slipped into.

Yan Xianchuan padded over in slippers and flopped onto the soft bed. Tilting her head, she watched the clouds roll by outside the window—fluffy, pure white, like balls of cotton candy.

Different worlds, but the sky always looked the same.

She rolled back and forth on the bed a couple of times, then got up, slipped into the living room, turned on the TV, and searched for Lu Mingqiu's movies to watch.

Two days passed—calm, stable, monotonous—successfully turning Yan Xianchuan into a dead-eyed salted fish sprawled on the sofa. At least ten times a day, she'd ask the other person in the house, "Any news yet? When do we act?" She also mocked Dongye He as a cowardly loser and illiterate who didn't know the classic saying about white blade in and red blade out—no wonder he'd always been kept under Dongye Zhengqi's thumb and couldn't rise above it.

Lu Mingqiu silently assessed her mental state, considering whether she should take her out for a walk, some fresh air, and maybe eliminate a few evildoers along the way, just to perk her up.

Then she received a text message.

Lu Mingqiu walked over to the other woman, a smile curving at her lips. "Want to go out for a bit?"

Yan Xianchuan gave her an uninterested, utterly flat look.

"Atmore said he took a job," Lu Mingqiu said in a gentle voice. "Perfect chance to see him in action."

"What kind of job?" Yan Xianchuan lifted an eyelid.

"Something about dealing with a small gang, I think. If you don't want to go, I'll decline." Lu Mingqiu said, raising a hand as if to type on the floating screen.

"I'll go!" Yan Xianchuan sat up in a single fluid motion. "I want to go!"

"Remember to bring a gun," Lu Mingqiu reminded.

Yan Xianchuan moved with the agility of a monkey from Emei Mountain, vaulting off the sofa. She yanked open a drawer, grabbed a gun, and handed one to Lu Mingqiu.

The safe house had its own transportation—a car and a motorcycle. This time they chose the latter.

Lu Mingqiu sat in front, firing up the engine. Yan Xianchuan sat behind, wrapping her arms around Lu's waist.

So slender.

The wind from the high speed dispersed the heat, carrying Lu Mingqiu's scent to her nose—the fragrance of shampoo, the same one she'd smelled in Nanjin City.

An ordinary safe house wouldn't stock a specific brand of shampoo. This had to be a special request from Lu Mingqiu.

Speaking of which, what did her pheromones smell like?

Since coming to this world, Yan Xianchuan had only smelled pheromones once—on Tan Yiyuan's wife. The few omegas she'd encountered, during the variety show filming, had all used suppressants and never let their pheromones out.

As for people she met in daily life, they were probably either betas or alphas, but she couldn't tell them apart. Over time, if she hadn't discussed omegas with Lu Mingqiu earlier, she might've forgotten this world had such a complex, varied set of genders.

Over the internal comm, she said to Lu Mingqiu, "After the gland is removed, can you still produce pheromones?"

Lu Mingqiu's voice was calm. "No. Why the sudden question?"

"Just suddenly curious what your pheromones smell like," Yan Xianchuan said. "Can you smell other people's pheromones?"

"Theoretically, yes, but it's very faint." Lu Mingqiu gave a light laugh. "As for mine... it's very ordinary. How to describe it... hmm... fresh-baked bread?"

"That sounds delicious! What a shame." Yan Xianchuan smacked her lips, then repeated, "What a shame."

"My pheromone suppressant is about to expire." She freed one hand to touch the back of her neck—smooth, nothing there.

"I'll have someone deliver it tonight. Research division product; one dose lasts six months," Lu Mingqiu said.

That was another strange thing. This society still prided itself on freedom and autonomy; logically, pheromones were a natural part of the human body, but both alphas and omegas chose to hide them.

To seem more human? So they hid the more animalistic side of themselves.

Yan Xianchuan sighed theatrically. She'd never understand these people.

Atmore's location was at the far western edge of the West District. Low, squat buildings crammed the space, each ground floor a shop with a variety of signs.

Since it was daytime, the neon tubes were unlit, making the rusted metal frames stand out starkly. Several ragged homeless lay sprawled on cardboard, clutching each other's stinking feet, while yellowish-white vomit sat in a nearby patch of ground.

Yan Xianchuan glanced at it, gagged, and quickly turned away. "I should've brought a gas mask."

Lu Mingqiu produced a mask from her pocket like a magician and handed it over.

Yan Xianchuan quickly put it on. After a moment, she said, "I want to thank you, but sometimes having too good a sense of smell isn't a blessing."

It was useless. She could still smell everything clearly.

If this were a dungeon, such environmental discomfort would be nothing. A dried corpse's breath, a rotting body—a thousand times worse, and she could still face it without flinching.

But this wasn't a dungeon; it was the real world. Yan Xianchuan was gradually relearning how an ordinary person should behave. Feeling disgust at filth was normal, so she frowned and put on a look of repulsion.

"I see Atmore," Lu Mingqiu said.

Yan Xianchuan's attention immediately shifted, her brow relaxing. Following the other's gaze, she spotted Atmore pacing outside a repair shop, his lips moving rapidly, rage coloring his face.

"Is he on the phone?" Yan Xianchuan asked, unable to read lips.

"He's asking about the other party's family tree," Lu Mingqiu said. "Now he's inquiring about their health."

They walked over, catching the tail end of his words.

"Yeah, just let yourself get screwed, you spineless coward!" Atmore spat, turning angrily, then glaring at the two strangers staring at him. "What are you looking at? Never seen someone curse before?"

"It's me," Lu Mingqiu said succinctly.

Different face, but the same voice. Atmore snapped to realization. "You changed faces? That fast?"

"A small device," Lu Mingqiu answered. "Once you become a full member, you'll get one too."

"Big organizations have great perks," Atmore couldn't help but comment. The next second, recalling what he'd just said, his gaze went shifty, and he cleared his throat tactically. "I was just on the phone with some trash."

At that, his face turned angry again. "Really, in critical moments you see what people are truly made of. They all ran faster than if their own house were on fire. If I expected them to show loyalty, I'd sooner expect a stray dog on the street to start speaking human."

"Here's the thing: I have a friend who usually transports goods for the Blood Dove Gang. Nothing too dangerous—food." Atmore added, "She runs a fast-food joint."

"You probably know the Blood Dove Gang, so I won't introduce them. But last month, they intercepted a shipment from Old Man. Old Man runs the entertainment venues in the West District. I don't know what the goods were. With them being a powerful dragon and him a local snake, if they wanted to fight over territory, that's their business—doesn't affect us. But Old Man's people took Xiaolin!"

"Just because Xiaolin was dating a member of the Blood Dove Gang. They couldn't get to the gang members, so they grabbed her to vent their anger. They're going to force-convert her into a sex doll!"

"No one taken by Old Man has ever survived. I've seen their people—working day and night, earning almost nothing, and in a few months, their bodies give out." Atmore practically gritted out these words.

"And that bastard boyfriend of hers didn't say a single word. I went to him, and he just said they broke up, that they're not together anymore."

Atmore ground his teeth, smashing a fist against the wall. "Filthy animal! I've never liked him."

"You're going to rescue this Xiaolin?" Yan Xianchuan tilted her head.

"Yeah." Atmore took a deep breath, calming himself slightly. "I've already made the connections. I know where she's being held. She's just an ordinary girl—there won't be many guards."

A bitter, half-hearted smile tugged at his lips. "If it were too troublesome or urgent, I would've sent a distress call."

"There's an abandoned garment factory that Old Man converted into a clinic. They have their own cybernetics doctor who specializes in turning abducted people into sex dolls." Atmore pointed north. "Walk and talk."

"The factory doesn't usually have much foot traffic, and no short-sighted punks go looking for trouble there. Everyone knows it's Old Man's turf—nobody's that eager to die." He said.

"Xiaolin will be brought here soon. The doctor will first treat her injuries—because those bastards definitely hurt her—then begin the conversion, implanting the chip."

"Have you known each other long?" Yan Xianchuan asked. "You care about her a lot."

"Over a year," Atmore said, shoving his hands in his pockets, his blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight. "Her fried chicken tastes different from any other shop's. I always ate at her place."

Yan Xianchuan waited another beat before asking, "That's it?"

"That's it," Atmore said. "We're friends. That's reason enough; it doesn't matter how long you've known each other."

"Unlike some scumbag—they were together for three years, supposedly about to get married. Trash. Worse than trash!"

Yan Xianchuan: "The king of trash?"

Lu Mingqiu pressed her lips together, stifling an inappropriate smile, and shot her a look telling her to stop teasing. The latter shut her mouth, looking innocent.

"Are you sure you won't need help later?" she asked.

"Really, no need." Atmore patted his bulging side hip. "I came prepared. And I'm not the type to show off or cling to pride. Let's treat this as an assessment. I just feel unsettled without one."

"It's your call," Lu Mingqiu said.

"Don't worry, I know my limits. The black-market doctor usually only has one assistant. Even if they bring someone in, there'll be at most two more. I can handle that easily." Atmore said confidently.

"After you save Xiaolin, how do you plan to settle her?" Lu Mingqiu asked further. "And you stirred up trouble with Old Man's people—what will you do? They don't sound like an easygoing gang."

"That depends on what Xiaolin wants. If she wants to leave Night City, I have connections to get her out. Actually, moving elsewhere and settling down isn't bad. She has a skill with food—she can make a good life anywhere. Night City…" Atmore said with a sarcastic tone, shaking his head. "Night City isn't a place for people."

"If she doesn't want to leave, I also know doctors who can change her face with surgery. She'd have to live with a new face." He said. "But that's still better than getting revenge and ending up dead."

He'd thought it all through, and he left the choice to Xiaolin herself, not forcing his own wishes on her.

"That's the factory." Atmore nodded toward the gray-black building at the end of the street. "Let's wait here for a bit."

He led them into a shop selling virtual dream cartridges.

The store was small with cluttered displays. A young man with headphones sat behind the counter, fingers a blur as he tapped on a light screen, not even bothering to look up. "Whatever you want to buy, help yourself. There are machines in the back—three-minute free trial, but if you go over, you have to buy."

Atmore wasn't there to shop, of course. He found a seat by the window, pulled up a low stool, and watched every passing car.

Yan Xianchuan, however, was quite interested. She'd only tried a virtual dream once, and the experience was poor. But afterward she'd done some research. Virtual dreams covered a wide range—not just first-person videos but also virtual scenes, like Mars, the moon, the Middle Ages. The main god really should take notes instead of always churning out amusement parks, hospitals, mountain villages, old castles—so unimaginative.

"Are there any two-person virtual dreams?" Yan Xianchuan asked.

"There are, but those are just scenes, not first-person perspectives," Lu Mingqiu said. "Current technology only supports one person's full immersion."

"I thought the commercial stuff was far behind the actual tech." Yan Xianchuan picked up a cartridge with a cover titled Journey of a Saint. She saw a nearly nude young man in an open gray robe, flush-faced, lying in a forest. She immediately shoved it back in place and wiped her hand on her pants.

"Military and civilian versions differ, yes, but two-person simulation still has some technical hurdles." Lu Mingqiu had seen the whole thing but pretended not to, explaining the earlier point.

"Ah..." Yan Xianchuan sounded dejected. "I wanted to watch a movie with you."

"But what's the Blood Dove Gang?" she continued. "I don't know them."

"The Blood Dove Gang controls the black markets," Lu Mingqiu explained. "Most black markets in the cities are their operation. They're the officially sanctioned gray-area power broker. And their leader is clever, deeply versed in self-preservation and selective deafness. He'll trade with anyone, never favoring one side."

Lu Mingqiu commented, "Rather than fair and impartial, he's more of a weathervane."

"Most bounty hunters are also registered under the black markets, so in terms of numbers and scale, the Blood Dove Gang is definitely the largest."

"We can't compare?" Yan Xianchuan asked.

"We're an elite operation," Lu Mingqiu said.

"They're here!" Atmore whispered.

They stopped talking and looked out the window. A black van pulled up in front of the garment factory. Two people got out, opened the back, and carried someone inside.

They couldn't make out the face, but long brown hair hung down, swaying with the body.