Chapter Eight: Social Anxiety

Song Yue didn’t spare much thought for what had happened yesterday at the Cultivation Academy. In his eyes, it wasn’t even a minor conflict. So, the next morning, after waking up and washing up, he resumed the same routine that outsiders would deem boring and tedious training.

Perhaps it was because of what the Master had said to him the previous night, but Song Yue was in exceptionally good form today. Gripping a pair of hundred-kilogram stone weights, he managed to hold them outstretched for over fifteen minutes.

After a brief rest, he picked up the stone weights again and went through a round of boxing practice. His movements were slow but precise, embodying both the spirit and the form.

After lunch, in the afternoon, he strapped thirty kilograms to each leg and leaped onto the plum blossom stakes to practice the Phantom Step. As he moved and shifted, his speed increased steadily. Most people would be trembling just standing on those stakes, but Song Yue seemed to tread as lightly as a dragonfly skimming the water.

Sister Wang, when she had nothing else to do, liked to stand by with her arms folded, watching him train. Occasionally, she would offer some pointers.

When Song Yue was young, he hadn’t understood why Sister Wang, who was clearly so capable, would willingly take on the role of a nanny, spending her days preparing nutrient-rich meals for a martial artist like him. Was it because his parents paid her too well? Over the years, the question faded from his mind, and he grew accustomed to her care.

Sister Wang was a woman of few words. Aside from cooking and doing laundry for him, she rarely went out. Sometimes she would take a day or two off, supposedly to visit her children. Most of her time, though, was spent quietly observing Song Yue’s training. On rare occasions, she would be moved to offer advice. But in recent years, those moments had become almost nonexistent.

As she put it herself, “I can’t just go around giving pointers to someone who’s already surpassed me.”

Song Yue’s phone, lying on the side, lit up. Sister Wang glanced at it, then called out to him as he continued his training atop the stakes, “There’s a young lady looking for you!”

Song Yue leapt down from the plum blossom stakes. For someone his size, with weights still strapped to his legs, he landed on the ground with astonishing lightness, barely making a sound.

He took the phone from Sister Wang and saw that the call was from Wen Rou. Once he answered, her gentle voice came through the line.

“Brother, hope I’m not bothering you?”

“You are, but it’s fine,” Song Yue replied.

“It should be about time for a break anyway,” Wen Rou laughed on the other end. “I’ve arranged to meet Xue tonight—she said she’s free. Brother, what do you want to eat? Let’s have dinner together.”

“She actually agreed?” Song Yue was a little surprised. He’d been thinking about it, but had never taken the initiative to ask. “Let’s have meat—pick a place that serves meat, but nothing too fancy.”

Wen Rou was something of a little heiress, her family quite well-off. Her usual standard of living was far above that of her peers. Fortunately, she was very low-key and never flaunted it, so no one resented her.

“You never asked before, so how do you know she wouldn’t agree?” Wen Rou teased. “Alright, I’ll make a reservation and send you the address.”

After hanging up, Song Yue noticed Sister Wang smiling at him. He felt a little embarrassed, but couldn’t help raising his eyebrows with pride. “Qian Qianxue, you know!”

Sister Wang laughed too. “What about Qian Qianxue? She’s barely worthy of our young master!”

“You took the words right out of my mouth!” Song Yue gave her a thumbs-up, then hurried off to wash up and change into fresh, sporty clothes.

Gone was his usual nonchalance. As he fixed his hair in the mirror, he said, “I envy you, getting to see such a handsome person every day.”

Following the address Wen Rou sent, he rented a shared bike and rode off in high spirits.

While waiting at a red light, the sky above suddenly darkened as if a massive cloud had swept over, dimming the sunlight. Many people looked up. Song Yue did too, and saw an enormous starship hovering overhead.

With humanity’s technological advancement, the invention of superluminal warp-drive ships had already made interstellar colonization a reality years ago. People like his father and brother, who worked on alien worlds, were commonplace.

Song Yue, though, had never left Earth. He didn’t share the longing for the stars that many others had. What actually interested him were the high-end ingredients that could only be found on certain life-bearing planets. Occasionally, his brother Song Chao would send him some, but it was never enough to fill him.

He hoped that one day, he could go find them himself. Although Song Chao had warned him that foraging for such ingredients was dangerous and often led to injury or even death, Song Yue didn’t care.

Even bears get stung gathering honey—how can there be gains without risk?

Like everyone else, he was used to the occasional sight of giant starships overhead, so Song Yue continued riding toward his destination.

Earth still retained its ancient, primitive appearance. In reality, personal flying vehicles had long been mass-produced, but they were expensive and of little use to Song Yue. Those things were common only in giant new cities or space stations; places like Hang City had a few, but not many. People preferred to live in a more “primitive” way.

Wen Rou had chosen a barbecue restaurant.

By the time Song Yue arrived, Wen Rou and Qian Qianxue were already there. While plenty of girls enjoyed barbecue, the sight of two bright, beautiful young women in such a setting still drew attention. Many people stole glances at them.

Interestingly, Wen Rou seemed perfectly at ease, unbothered by the environment. It was Qian Qianxue, the proud “white swan,” who looked a bit uncomfortable.

Before Song Yue arrived, she had quietly complained to Wen Rou, “Why did you pick a place like this? Couldn’t we at least get a private room?”

Wen Rou explained, “Barbecue is best enjoyed outdoors like this. You’re always cooped up inside, Xue; you really ought to get out more.”

“It feels awkward to eat with people staring…” Qian Qianxue wasn’t being pretentious, just a bit shy. In truth, she suffered from mild social anxiety, though no one knew.

“It’s fine, you’ll get used to it. Next time, I’ll bring you out even more!” Wen Rou promised, patting her chest.

Qian Qianxue gave Wen Rou a curious glance—she’d never been this friendly before.

When Song Yue arrived, he sat opposite the two girls, greeted them, and asked, “Have you ordered?”

Wen Rou nodded. “Yes, I’ve ordered a hundred skewers of lamb already, along with some other dishes. If it’s not enough, we’ll get more.” She couldn’t help but laugh. “When I was ordering, the server asked if we could really eat that much.”

Song Yue grinned. “What did you say?”

Qian Qianxue replied deadpan, “I said a pig was coming soon, and a hundred skewers were just appetizers.”

Song Yue was speechless, then asked sincerely, “Was that supposed to be flirting?”

Qian Qianxue: ?

Wen Rou nearly died laughing on the side.

In a battle of words, Qian Qianxue could never match Song Yue—she was hopeless.

But after knowing him for so long, she was used to his playful banter and simply ignored it. Looking at him, she said, “First of all, I wanted to thank you for standing up for Wen Rou.”

Song Yue waved her off. “Forget it. You high-ranking cultivators are so proud, always worried about dirtying your clothes or ruining your image. I don’t even know what you’re cultivating for—immortality?”

Wen Rou explained, “No, brother. High-level cultivators can’t act on impulse. Not only is it against the rules, but their techniques are so powerful that they could seriously injure or even cripple someone. Xue really couldn’t just attack a civilian.”

Song Yue bared his teeth at her, “So you’re saying martial artists are all just ordinary civilians?”

Qian Qianxue’s starry eyes blinked. “Aren’t you?”

There’s just no common ground with these weakling cultivators!

Wen Rou laughed. “Of course you’re not, brother, but those others were pretty ordinary, weren’t they?”

Song Yue burst out laughing. “You really are my good sister!”

He turned to Qian Qianxue. “You said ‘first of all’—what’s next?”

“Next, our academy is holding a trial soon, and I wanted to invite you to join us,” Qian Qianxue said, then, as if worried about a misunderstanding, quickly clarified, “Not a date, Wen Rou, don’t get the wrong idea.”

Wen Rou: ???

Sister, did you say the wrong name?

Qian Qianxue realized she might have misspoken and hurried to add, “It’s just that the trial site this time has high-grade ingredients that martial artists need. Haven’t you always wanted to find some?”

If not for that, Song Yue would have refused outright. An invitation from a goddess was flattering, but compared to training, he’d rather stay home and practice.

“I’ve already spoken with the supervising teacher, and he agreed. He said with you there, everyone would be a bit safer,” Qian Qianxue added.

“So basically, you’re trading a slot for my protection. I’m like a self-sufficient, unpaid bodyguard, right?” Song Yue looked straight at her.

“Do you want money?” Qian Qianxue asked innocently.

Seeing her blank look, Song Yue smacked his lips and, after some hesitation, said with a hint of pain, “Forget it. We’re all friends, and that footwork book you gave me is pretty good. I won’t charge.”

Qian Qianxue replied seriously, “I hadn’t thought of that. I can ask the supervising teacher when I get back…”

“Go ahead and ask,” Song Yue said.

Wen Rou nearly facepalmed. These two were speaking at cross purposes, as always. After all these years, Xue still wasn’t used to Yue’s way of talking. When he said he wanted money, did she really think he meant it?

Luckily, the meat skewers arrived. Song Yue immediately demonstrated what it meant to “sweep the battlefield” and “devour mountains and rivers.” In the blink of an eye, nearly all of the hundred skewers disappeared into his stomach.

The two girls only sampled a few, which in Song Yue’s eyes was further proof of their weakness as cultivators. How can you have energy for anything if you don’t eat your fill?

Even by the end of the meal, Wen Rou still hadn’t found a way to get Yue and Xue on the same wavelength. She could tell Qian Qianxue was nervous—not because of Song Yue, but because she was uncomfortable in such a public place.

Wen Rou found it odd. Even she, a shy girl herself, didn’t mind, so why would someone as powerful as Xue be so uneasy?

After the meal, Song Yue walked the two girls back to the Cultivation Academy, arranged a time with Qian Qianxue, and then strolled home.

Not far from his neighborhood, a luxury car suddenly stopped beside him. A well-built young man, looking about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, got out, exuding explosive strength.

The young man strode up to Song Yue, looked him up and down, and asked, “Are you Song Yue?”

Song Yue paused, then nodded. “That’s me.”

“I’m Zhang Zixing—the brother of the guy you put in the hospital,” the young man said bluntly.

“Oh? So what?” Song Yue looked at him. “You got beaten, so now the big brother comes looking for payback?”

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