Chapter Twelve: Good Friends

Disconnecting the mental link, Luo Hanya sat up from the game pod, stretching forcefully. “Ugh, such a headache. This game drains energy like nothing else,” he muttered as he climbed out, glancing at the window to find evening had already fallen, the sky dimming with dusk.

Luo Hanya lived with his parents, and it was now the year 2063. After enduring the catastrophic real estate collapse of the twenties and thirties, the height and quantity of buildings had plummeted; gone were the days of frantic construction seen at the century’s start. The focus had shifted to refined, upscale small homes, and housing prices had dropped dramatically. The news of young men jumping off buildings because they could not afford a home for their in-laws had vanished. In this era, the markers of status had changed from “owning a house and a car” to “an elite villa and a luxury watch.”

His family’s home was a moderately priced suburban villa. With their financial means, they could easily upgrade to something grander, but his mother, steadfast in her belief in frugality, refused, and his father, easygoing as always, saw no reason to move. Thus, the family remained in their villa.

Checking the time, Luo Hanya realized it was already seven in the evening. He distinctly remembered entering the pod a little after five, meaning he had played for less than two hours. The time ratio between the game and reality was roughly ten to one. Playing the game felt like living through a nightmare—complete with authentic pain. Even those with extraordinary willpower and strong mental faculties could hardly manage more than ten hours of play a day, equating to over a hundred hours in-game. Pushing beyond that could risk mental collapse, perhaps even insanity.

“This game is truly dangerous. There should be recommended playtimes, anti-addiction measures,” Luo Hanya suddenly realized he hadn’t even checked the game’s terms of agreement. “Stupid! How could I have just skipped it? At least I should have looked,” he lamented, smacking his head.

“Ding! Xiao Luo Luo, time for dinner!” Just as Luo Hanya was about to check the agreement on his watch, his mother’s avatar popped up on the interface, summoning him downstairs. He decided to let it go for now, opened his bedroom door, and went down for dinner.

“Xiao Luo Luo, come taste your mother’s cooking!” His mother’s name was Luo Ya, and his father’s was Luo Han. So why was the protagonist called Luo Hanya? Surely the attentive reader can guess.

Luo Ya, his mother, practiced yoga often, maintaining a fine figure and radiant skin, making her look nothing like a woman in her forties. She was also a devoted homemaker. His father, Luo Han, had been a handsome young man, though life had thrown him nothing but setbacks and poverty. Without any family support, he had risen through his own efforts to become a renowned stock analyst. Now, though he had grown a little portly, the weathered lines of his face lent him a melancholic, distinguished air.

Despite frequent quarrels, the family was famously harmonious. As the saying goes, spouses are adversaries from past lives—the more they argue, the closer they become. Their arguments were all thunder and no rain, leaving their bonds intimate and strong.

“Huh? Mom, why are they here too?” Luo Hanya’s first reaction upon entering the dining room was astonishment. Around the table sat three young men and one young woman, all grinning at him. “Haha, Xiao Luo Luo, come eat!” the girl, about sixteen, teased lightly, while the three boys made faces at him.

Luo Hanya smiled wryly, “Mom, didn’t you promise not to call me by my nickname in front of others?”

“Oh, it’s not the first time they’ve heard it. Why be shy now, Xiao Luo Luo?” The girl clearly had no intention of letting him off so easily, continuing her playful banter.

“Xia Wenhua, sister, my dear sister, I call you ‘sis’—can’t you spare me?” Luo Hanya surrendered instantly, grinning sheepishly and signaling to the three boys, “Bighead, Cannonball, Spinach, let’s eat, let’s just eat.”

“No rush, we’re not particularly hungry.”

“Yeah, let’s chat a bit more before eating!”

“Why so timid? Is that your style? Didn’t you brag you weren’t afraid of Xia Wenhua?”

“Exactly, why chicken out now?”

After a round of banter, Luo Ya began urging everyone to eat, and Xia Wenhua and the others finally let Luo Hanya off the hook, gathering at the table.

“I want this! Don’t fight me for it!”

“Hey! Cannonball! You took all of mine!”

It was a lively meal among friends, with everyone letting loose. Unsurprisingly, the table soon became a battlefield, especially over a few favorite dishes—thanks mainly to Luo Ya’s culinary prowess.

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty for everyone. If it’s not enough, your Auntie will make more,” Luo Han stepped in to restore order, but such a joyful gathering could hardly be subdued.

“Talking to you, Cannonball, you eat too much!”

“Hmph, you just can’t beat me at grabbing food.”

“I was letting you win—respect for the younger, you know?”

The meal was filled with laughter and lasted a long while. Luo Ya cleared the dishes, Luo Han went upstairs to continue his stock analysis, leaving Luo Hanya, Xia Wenhua, Cannonball, Spinach, and Bighead chatting in the living room.

Xia Wenhua lounged with her hands behind her head, hair cascading, her slightly chubby cheeks flushed, and her big eyes darting as she seemed deep in thought.

Cannonball—well, Yang Wen—had settled into a post-meal nap mode, his plump face serene, chubby hands resting on a belly that looked five months pregnant, breathing contentedly.

Spinach and Bighead, whose real names were Wang Yibo and Li Song, whispered to each other, occasionally glancing at Cannonball and snickering, likely discussing the matter of Cannonball’s “pregnancy.” Why Wang Yibo was called Spinach remained a mystery—even Luo Hanya didn’t know. The nickname had stuck since they met, and many people knew him only as Spinach, not by his real name. As for Bighead, the origin was obvious.

“Luo, did you try out the game pod I gave you?” Wang Yibo, sitting beside Luo Hanya, slung an arm over his shoulder and asked with a grin.

“You mean the Haunted House? I played it too—pretty good,” Yang Wen chimed in before Luo Hanya could answer.

Luo Hanya smiled, suppressing the bitterness in his mouth, and replied lightly, “Piece of cake! Who am I? Luo the genius! I’ve already got the hang of the game—becoming a top player is just around the corner.”

“Oh, impressive! Luo the genius, aren’t you supposed to be timid? How come you’re so at ease in this game?” Li Song piped up, his face begging for a slap.

“Yeah, Xiao Luo Luo is so adorable—how could you adapt to such a scary game?” Xia Wenhua glanced at Li Song, smiled, and joined in the teasing.

“Well, what can I say? My adaptability is off the charts—sometimes being unbeatable is just a nuisance,” Luo Hanya shrugged, making a helpless face.

“Pfft, there you go bragging again. Your courage isn’t even bigger than mine. I found it hard to adapt, and you're claiming to be invincible? Keep dreaming,” Xia Wenhua retorted mercilessly.

“Sis, I surrender. Can’t we just be friends?”

The post-dinner bragging session—well, chatting—continued until ten o’clock, when Xia Wenhua announced she had to go home for her evening skincare routine. Luo Hanya and the others agreed to meet at eight the next morning to play together. He washed up, checked the game agreement, and went to bed early.