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Chapter 14: A Win is a Win, No Luck Involved

His voice was lazy and unhurried. His hair was damp with raindrops, some sliding down his bangs, over his forehead, down the bridge of his high nose, and then past the faintly curved corners of his lips. Zhou Shubei rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb, as if tasting the rainwater, and adjusted the umbrella with a touch.

Jian Li tightened her grip on the umbrella handle slightly. “I can pick things up pretty quickly.”

So, she wouldn’t be too hard to teach.

Zhou Shubei looked at her for two seconds, then straightened up. “Alright.”

Jian Li nodded and handed him the umbrella. “Let me go pack up my things.”

Zhou Shubei didn’t take it. He lifted his chin slightly. “I’ll wait for you over there.”

“Okay.”

Jian Li turned back into the café, heart pounding wildly. She tried to keep her pace normal, so as not to seem flustered. Her friend Tan Xueying was currently out joyriding her newly bought scooter and was in love with it. Jian Li messaged her a small lie, telling her not to bother coming back to pick her up.

Zhou Shubei sat outside a beverage shop playing on his phone. His long legs were crossed. The warm indoor light spilled out through the glass and landed softly on his hair. He wore a khaki hoodie and black pants, looking relaxed and indifferent. The girls at the next table kept sneaking glances at him. He seemed completely unaware, his fingers tapping on the screen, disconnected from everything around him.

One of the girls who had been observing him for a while confirmed he was alone. She took a sip of her milk tea, stood up, and approached.

“Hi, I’ve been noticing you for a while. Can I add you on WeChat?” she asked directly, with a charming smile. “I come here often for coffee too—maybe we could go together next time?”

Jian Li, walking over, paused in her tracks. The umbrella handle pressed sharply into her palm. The poor-quality umbrella let out a metallic clatter.

A staff member came out carrying a large takeaway bag and placed it in front of Zhou Shubei. Through the clear plastic bag, one could see a cup of plain water and a cup of iced cola, both beaded with condensation.

Zhou Shubei hooked a finger into the bag handle and, just as he looked up, spotted Jian Li not far away. His brow furrowed slightly.

“I don’t like coffee,” he said calmly, not sparing the girl another glance. He walked toward Jian Li and handed her the clear cup. “Why are you standing there?”

It was warm water.

Jian Li held the cup at just the right temperature. “I saw you were busy.”

Zhou Shubei chuckled softly. “Let’s go.”

Jian Li glanced back at the girl still watching them, eyes wide with disbelief.

She knew what the girl found hard to believe.

In the brightly lit mall, the scent of an unnamed perfume drifted in the air. It was pleasant. The glossy white tiles reflected their silhouettes. A stage near the elevator was hosting some kind of event—four or five guys were taking turns changing jackets and showing them off.

Everyone here looked polished and attractive, while she wore clothes that had clearly been washed many times. She felt like an ugly duckling who had wandered into a flock of swans.

If Longhu No.1 was the dividing line between rich and poor, then this mall was the dividing line between her and Zhou Shubei. He stood at the top of the steps, while she looked up from below.

For the first time, Jian Li had a thought: if she were a little prettier, would she have more confidence to stand beside him?

Would he maybe… notice her just a little more?

Lost in thought, Jian Li didn’t realize he had stopped walking and bumped into his back.

Snap!

Long, pale fingers snapped in front of her face.

“Watch where you’re going,” Zhou Shubei raised an eyebrow. “What were you thinking about so deeply?”

“Nothing,” Jian Li replied.

He didn’t press further. Instead, he led her through the first floor of the mall and down an escalator. Ahead of them, a sign came into view: Game Arcade.

Brightly lit signage with multicolored borders, noisy voices blending together, people playing dancing games by the entrance, kids rushing around with little blue baskets. The jingle of coins being inserted into machines filled the air.

Zhou Shubei was clearly familiar with the place. He filled a whole basket with game tokens and grabbed a handful, leaving the rest for Jian Li. “Play whatever you want. If you don’t want to play, you can trade the tokens for stuff at the front desk.”

The weight in her hands was heavy. Jian Li blinked. “Didn’t you say you were going to teach me?”

Zhou Shubei looked down at her. “Do you get motion sickness in 3D games? Scared of blood or ghosts?”

“No.”

Zhou Shubei chuckled, guiding her through the crowd to a door that read: Minors and people with heart conditions prohibited.

A staff member reminded them of the rules. After confirming both were adults, the door opened.

Inside was dim and filled with eerie music. Screams echoed from nearby rooms. Two guys stumbled out of one, visibly shaken.

Zhou Shubei opened a door, motioned for her to enter first, then followed and shut it behind them.

The space was small and narrow, a double-seat setup. Jian Li instinctively took the inner seat. Zhou Shubei sat beside her. When his elbow brushed against her arm, her heart—which had just calmed—started racing again. The screen’s glow lit up his face as he leaned forward, inserting dozens of coins into the machine. His neck arched, the prominent vertebrae cold and alluring.

“Pick one that interests you.” He handed her the controller. “B to confirm, A to go back.”

Jian Li quickly looked away, pretending to be focused on the screen. “Okay.”

The spot where she held the controller seemed to still carry his warmth. She began browsing the game options while sneaking glances at Zhou Shubei. He was relaxed, leaning back in his seat, showing no impatience—like he’d be fine even if she took half an hour to choose.

She wanted to ask, “Which one do you usually play?” but that felt too forward. Instead, she said, “Which one do you recommend?”

Zhou Shubei replied calmly, “They’re all about the same.”

He had no particular favorites—nothing he was especially interested in.

Jian Li read the game descriptions and picked one with a five-star blood rating. “How about this one?”

Zhou Shubei raised an eyebrow. “Starting with the hardest?”

“Mm.” Jian Li quickly familiarized herself with the controls. “I like to tackle the hardest first. Once I beat it, everything else feels easier because I know nothing can be harder than that.”

With the flickering game light across her face, her expression was calm and resolute. It contrasted with her usually quiet demeanor.

Zhou Shubei, fingers playing with the condensation on his drink, laughed lightly. “Makes sense.”

Jian Li pressed confirm. “Want to compete?”

Zhou Shubei: “Compete on what?”

“See who kills more zombies.”

“You’re pretty competitive, huh, Miss Jian,” he said, his long legs stretched to the floor.

“It makes it more fun.”

Zhou Shubei smiled. “What’s the prize?”

“The loser has to do one thing for the winner—within reason.”

“That’s it?”

Even without looking, she could feel his gaze. Jian Li responded, “And they have to do it right away.”

Zhou Shubei chuckled. “Sounds more like a punishment for the winner.”

Jian Li picked her character. Her lashes fluttered slightly. “So, are we playing or not?”

“Let’s play,” Zhou Shubei said, casually selecting a character.

The game wasn’t too hard to control, but the fast-switching 3D view was a challenge. Jian Li got dizzy at first and had to switch to third-person view. Zhou Shubei, from beginning to end, waited in the safe zone and didn’t try to rack up an early lead.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

They jumped into the game. The zombies swarmed. Jian Li climbed a fence and waited for the undead to gather, then threw a grenade. The kill counter jumped rapidly.

Zhou Shubei watched the fire explode, then calmly shot zombies with pinpoint accuracy.

It was a level-based game. Kill enough zombies within the time limit, and you move on. Jian Li used the most efficient methods, while Zhou Shubei relished the satisfaction of precise headshots.

Their scores were neck-and-neck until the end. Jian Li, less experienced, couldn’t gather large groups anymore. Her aim couldn’t compete with Zhou Shubei’s.

After missing two shots in a row, he caught up to her score.

Reloading, he eyed the final zombie between them. “Miss Jian, last shot.”

It began to rain in-game, washing away the blood. Jian Li’s character dropped her gun, pulled out a knife, and ran toward the zombie.

The zombie charged. Zhou Shubei pulled the trigger.

Jian Li dodged left, dragging the zombie with her. The bullet grazed its ear, slicing its skin. She jumped and stabbed it with the knife.

With a scream, the zombie vanished. Her kill count ticked up. Her black-clad character turned to face the man with the gun.

Victory screen.

Neither moved. The man saluted her.

Zhou Shubei pressed return. “I lost. Fair and square.”

Jian Li exhaled, shaking out her wrist. “I got lucky.”

“A win is a win—no luck involved,” Zhou Shubei said. “You understand your strengths and weaknesses, and you know how to maximize your gains. For a first-timer, I wouldn’t have done that well.”

He rubbed his tired eyes. “So, what do you want me to do?”

Jian Li rubbed the end of the controller. “Can you tell a joke? One you find so funny you laugh just thinking about it.”

Zhou Shubei blinked, caught off guard. “Mind if I search for one?”

“Sure.”

So in the dark, with screams in the distance, Zhou Shubei searched for jokes on his phone. Jian Li waited silently. After a few minutes, he said, “Can we change the request?”

Jian Li smiled. “Then I’ll tell you one.”

“Wasn’t this supposed to be my punishment?”

“Call it a demo.”

Zhou Shubei turned slightly to face her, waiting.

Jian Li didn’t dare meet his gaze, so she stared at the latch on the door. “One day, a fox caught a little rabbit. The rabbit said, ‘Please don’t eat me! I’ll give you all my carrots if you let me go.’ The fox said, ‘I don’t eat carrots. But if you can tell me a good joke, I’ll spare you.’ So the rabbit racked its brain and finally came up with one.”

She voiced all the parts—fox low and serious, rabbit light and cheerful, the narrator sweet and slow like a fresh mousse cake. Zhou Shubei stared at her face, her pale skin like first snow, lips soft and natural, eyes gently curved like a crescent moon.

“The rabbit asked, ‘Do you know why I like carrots so much?’ The fox said, ‘No.’” Jian Li threw the question to him. “Guess.”

Zhou Shubei thought. “Vitamin A?”

“Nope.” Jian Li tilted her head, made a peace sign by her cheek, widened her eyes, and said:
“Because it has ‘leaves’ (a pun on ‘ye’ / ‘yay’).”

“…”

“…”

Zhou Shubei’s chest shook with laughter at the ridiculous pun. “Because it has ye.”

Jian Li dropped her hand and giggled. “Exactly.”

Zhou Shubei laughed, the tension from dealing with Zhou Yangzhi washed away, replaced by lightness in his eyes.

Jian Li watched him and silently breathed a sigh of relief.

Back outside, the arcade was even busier. Zhou Shubei held the basket of coins, grabbed a few, then dropped them. The coins clinked loudly.

He asked Jian Li, “What do you want to play?”

She didn’t hear. “What?”

He leaned in close to her ear. “What else do you want to play?”

His breath hit her ear like a spark, spreading warmth through her. With the flashing lights, their reflections in the glass of a claw machine made them look like a loving couple.

Jian Li’s heart fluttered.

Just as she was about to reply, Zhou Shubei asked again, “Are you hungry?”

Yes.

Neither of them had eaten. Zhou Shubei casually handed the entire basket of coins to a passing kid, whose eyes lit up like he’d received treasure.

“Thanks, brother and sister! Wishing you a long and happy marriage, and lots of kids!”

Jian Li: “…”

Zhou Shubei: “We’re not a couple, don’t bless us like that.”

The kid looked confused but nodded. “Then I wish you good health and long life.”

Zhou Shubei laughed. “That’s more like it.”

They ate a bowl of noodles nearby, then took a cab back to school. At the parting road, Jian Li said goodbye. Zhou Shubei, suddenly remembering something, pulled out his phone.

“I still owe you a joke,” he said, handing her the phone with a WeChat QR code. His voice was deep and soft.
“Add me—I’ll send it when I think of one.”

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