Back when Su Shang was still living in the Su family’s villa in the city district, the number of times he actually argued outright with Su Mingyao could be counted on one hand.
Perhaps because he wanted to put on a cute act in front of the Su family, Su Shang rarely confronted Su Mingyao head-on. Instead, he resorted to passive-aggressive barbs and verbal manipulation—what was commonly known as PUA—to erode Su Mingyao’s confidence bit by bit. The goal was to make him doubt himself, convince him he wasn’t worthy of the Su family, and ultimately shatter his self-esteem.
Of course, it wasn’t just words. There were malicious acts of exclusion too, like deliberately framing Su Mingyao for his own mishaps.
Take, for example, the classic vicious male side character ploy: walking up the stairs together, then “accidentally” tumbling down and tearfully insisting it wasn’t Brother Mingyao’s fault—that he’d simply lost his footing. The implication, of course, was that Su Mingyao had pushed him, aiming to turn the Su family against him.
But thanks to the protagonist’s halo, and the fact that Su Mingyao himself wasn’t some inarticulate gourd who couldn’t speak up for himself, all his relatives and friends sided with him over Su Shang. Not a single one of Su Shang’s schemes succeeded. Instead, people decided he wasn’t suited to live with Su Mingyao and kicked him out to rent his own place.
For the Su Shang of the original work, that was an absolute major blow.
Su Mingyao had thought Su Shang was just competing with him for affection—and he wasn’t entirely wrong. But Su Shang valued that affection only for the inheritance it brought. In the original work, he didn’t truly love anyone. After Shen Changqing was taken from him, his worry wasn’t over losing his fiancé but over Su Mingyao gaining the Shen family’s support. No insane jealousy-fueled meltdown there.
Even in the Reincarnation Space, Luo Shang remained utterly obtuse and ruthless when it came to romance. Ke Yanjin had no choice but to stick by his side, grinding away softly and stubbornly for centuries as his “brother” until he’d wormed his way into Luo Shang’s daily life as a habit. Only then did he successfully upgrade to boyfriend and partner.
Luo Shang’s restraint in matters of the heart was no joke. Back when he hadn’t yet cultivated the Emotionless Path and was focused solely on the Path of Entropy, even his master—who had led him onto the Emotionless Path—had sighed and said it was a real shame.
Compared to other cultivators who started on the Emotionless Path but kept derailing into romances, Luo Shang wasn’t just innately lacking romantic cells. He was skilled at smothering others’ romantic impulses too. Then came the acquired trauma: betrayal by his fiancé and an untimely death. That double whammy made him deeply suspicious of others and convinced him love was a lie—turning him into the perfect seedling for the Emotionless Path, doomed to stay single forever.
No one could have predicted that someone as tough a nut to crack as Luo Shang would be won over by another player after centuries of effort. Everyone who heard about it just had to say it was true love.
If it wasn’t true love, no one would waste that much time on a single person. After rounds of death-winnowing, players were hardcore individualists, weighing every action by their own return on investment. If the effort outweighed the payoff, they’d cut their losses long ago. To spend centuries softening up Luo Shang and finally claiming him? That screamed hopeless romantic.
Hopeless romantics like that usually didn’t last long in the Reincarnation Space—they got schemed to death. Yet Ke Yanjin not only survived but thrived. It proved his strength was the real deal, a true mythical species.
Of course, the busybodies had examples: even the famous romantic Ke Yanjin had once nearly died trying to save Luo Shang. Proof that being a hopeless romantic was a curse—if not for Luo Shang, Ke Yanjin might have been even stronger.
Ke Yanjin’s diehard fans tended to agree.
But when Ke Yanjin—this fish—heard such rumors, he would just snort in disdain and dismiss them as hot air.
Why had he grown stronger?
Back then, it was to return and get revenge on his original species. Now, it was to better protect Luo Shang. If he couldn’t even safeguard his wife, what kind of player was he? Might as well retire to some low-level world and call it a day.
Besides, Luo Shang wasn’t some weakling who couldn’t tie up a chicken. He was one of the senior players renowned across the Myriad Heavens for his combat prowess.
It was just that the Reincarnation Space culture favored clever schemers over brute force. And in romance, Luo Shang didn’t go as all-in or crazy as Ke Yanjin. To outsiders, their relationship looked lopsided.
But only the people involved knew the truth. Ke Yanjin understood Luo Shang—this was already the greatest expression of love Luo Shang could manage.
They were different species, raised in vastly different worldviews. Of course their ways of showing love differed.
What’s more, Luo Shang had never known how to love anyone before. He didn’t date, didn’t cherish. For Ke Yanjin’s sake, he’d made the effort to learn.
He’d even dashed across several planes to consult famous pure-love couples and relationship experts on how to actually do romance.
My wife had already been working so hard! He was doing it all for me! What were they even saying? They had to be jealous that I had such a wonderful wife. That was basically Ke Yanjin’s attitude whenever he faced those rumors.
Over the past few centuries, the two of them had been inseparable, sharing every secret. So when Luo Shang returned home without telling him why—or even bringing him along to meet his parents—Ke Yanjin’s mood instantly soured.
He had taken his parents’ dried fish to meet Luo Shang’s family and even given that dried fish to Luo Shang. Sure, he wasn’t demanding that Luo Shang turn his own parents into human jerky for him to eat, but the least he could do was take it back home to show them, right?
On one hand, he kept telling himself to respect Luo Shang’s wishes, not to pry into things he didn’t want shared. Luo Shang would tell him when he was ready.
On the other hand, he couldn’t help laying into Sophia even harder while the team was beating her, until she broke down crying and coughed up the coordinates of Luo Shang’s world.
But things didn’t go the way Sophia had hoped. Far from letting her off, Ke Yanjin only grew more furious.
What? I’d barely roughed you up, and you spilled everything? If someone else had tortured you for real, wouldn’t you have caved even faster? Wouldn’t that put Luo Shang in even greater danger?
I have to silence you. That’s the only way to keep Luo Shang safe!
It was at this point that his other teammates stepped in and played a crucial role.
First up was Chen Guyi, one of the squad members Luo Shang had recruited. His native plane was some xianxia world, and he had once been Luo Shang’s junior brother on the Emotionless Path before switching to other pursuits. He was mild-mannered and reliable, the trustworthy sort.
Even before Ke Yanjin and Luo Shang had started dating, Chen Guyi had sworn loyalty to Ke Yanjin purely to stay alive—back then, holding out might have gotten him quietly butchered. He became Ke Yanjin’s go-to source for intel on Luo Shang’s past and a reliable wingman for matchmaking assists. After the two got together, he counted among Ke Yanjin’s few true friends.
Chen Guyi held Ke Yanjin back and cautioned him that his senior brother might not want his client killed—especially one who’d just helped Luo Shang out. Doing it anyway could earn him some serious side-eye from Luo Shang.
At the same time, another teammate chimed in: β-62, from some cyberpunk future plane. She had a feminine appearance but was truly genderless at her core, serving as the squad’s head medic. She told Ke Yanjin it was entirely possible Sophia had only spilled because she knew about his relationship with Luo Shang—and with the rest of them. They would never harm the deputy captain, after all. With anyone else, she wouldn’t have dared breathe a word.
Only thanks to those two teammates’ persuasion did Ke Yanjin reluctantly hold off on killing Sophia. Instead, he sealed her away in his Divine Realm, to be released once Luo Shang returned.
But when, exactly, would Luo Shang come back?
No one knew.
At least Ke Yanjin now had the coordinates for Luo Shang’s world, which lightened his mood a little.
β-62 vented to Chen Guyi that she’d said it all along: Ke Yanjin’s head wasn’t right. Luo Shang had straight-up triggered separation anxiety in him, and the moment Luo Shang was out of sight, he lost it.
And this was all karma of his own making—yet Ke Yanjin refused any treatment. When senior brother got back, he absolutely had to drag the captain off for some psychological help. She couldn’t take it anymore.
Chen Guyi thought to himself, as if he had any sway there. His senior brother only seemed normal on the surface; deep down, his own head was just as messed up. For all he knew, he got a kick out of this kind of game. What did it matter to outsiders what the lovebirds got up to?
Still, considering β-62’s own hang-up—getting anxious if she couldn’t fully heal a patient—Chen Guyi just nodded and said he’d give it a shot.
Now that they had the coordinates for his senior brother’s world, swinging by wouldn’t hurt.
Of course, he’d check with Luo Shang first to see if it was okay.
Chen Guyi figured Luo Shang hadn’t told them because their knowing meant Ke Yanjin knowing too. It wasn’t about guarding against them—it was just Ke Yanjin he was keeping at arm’s length.
After all, Ke Yanjin had once turned one of Luo Shang’s suitors into mincemeat. If Luo Shang hadn’t stopped him, he’d have stormed the guy’s native world and razed the whole plane. Talk about overkill.
Luo Shang had gone back to sort out some issue in his native world. Chen Guyi had heard from their master that before taking up the Emotionless Path, Luo Shang had likely suffered some heartbreak—enough to drive him to a cultivation method that severed all emotions and attachments. Luo Shang was gorgeous, after all; he might have racked up quite a few exes. This trip was probably about clearing old romantic debts.
With dirt like that, Chen Guyi totally got why Luo Shang wouldn’t want Ke Yanjin in the loop. Who knew what jealous rampage he’d go on?
Ke Yanjin, for his part, didn’t dare ask Luo Shang if he could come over. Luo Shang hadn’t told him for a reason.
His knee-jerk conclusion: Luo Shang not telling him meant he didn’t want him to know.
Since Luo Shang didn’t want him to know, even if Ke Yanjin had figured it out, he would still pretend otherwise to avoid upsetting Luo Shang.
And so, while Ke Yanjin wrestled with his dilemma, Chen Guyi had already secretly sent out the message behind his back.
β-62 caught wind of it too and eagerly declared that she wanted to tag along for some fun—as long as she didn’t have to be left alone with Ke Yanjin. A man lost in lovesick delusions and gripped by separation anxiety was the most terrifying creature of all!
The two wasted no time contacting Luo Shang. They told him they wanted to drop by his world for a visit and assured him they were keeping Ke Yanjin completely in the dark, so he had nothing to worry about.
That very evening, as Luo Shang used the system to refresh his Spirit Net for ten minutes, he spotted the messages from his junior brother and teammates. He fell silent.
[It looks like the plot following I had scheduled for tomorrow will need to be pushed back a few more days. I didn’t expect them to take an interest in my native world. There’s really nothing worth seeing here anyway.]
[Chen Guyi and β-62? As long as it’s not Ke Yanjin,] the system remarked.
[Teammates are fine, but if your boyfriend shows up too, this world’s as good as doomed.]
Su Mingyao’s room was on the same floor as Luo Shang’s, so he overheard the entire exchange between Luo Shang and the system.
Chen Guyi? β-62? Luo Shang’s teammates from the Reincarnation Space?!
At first, he’d been thrilled to hear that tomorrow’s plot following was delayed, figuring it bought him a temporary reprieve. He felt pretty lucky.
But now Su Mingyao realized this wasn’t luck at all. It was a disaster.
One Luo Shang was bad enough. Did there have to be more?!
