On Old Street, Aunt Wang and the others had piled up wine bottles at their feet.
Chu Ran watched a wine bottle roll to her feet and her head hurt even more.
"If you keep drinking like this, won't something happen?" Chu Ran saw Aunt Wang swaying as she tried to stand up, and quickly stepped forward to support her. "If you keep this up, I'll really have to call Wang Ping'an over."
"No, don't call him," Aunt Wang said, her speech already slurred but her tone firm. "I'm fine, I'm not drunk."
Chu Ran pulled a chair over and pressed Aunt Wang into it. "Sober up a bit."
There were many heavy drinkers on Old Street, and Aunt Wang was among the best. While others drank from cups, she would lift the bottle straight to her mouth.
No wonder Wang Ping'an had messaged her after they got close, offering ten thousand carats of hard-earned money if she could convince Aunt Wang to stay off alcohol for three days.
"Leave her be. She's been like this for decades," Aunt Huang said, with five or six empty bottles before her, her face not flushed. She leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, speaking slowly.
"Alright, as long as you know what you're doing." Chu Ran rubbed her forehead. These old folks all had their own strong opinions; the person who could make decisions for them probably hadn't been born yet.
"You've sent all the basic creations you made to Wang Facai, right?" Aunt Huang spoke slowly. "I saw you shipping box after box. You probably don't even remember what you made."
Chu Ran's mind was still on the blood-stained black dagger. At this, her eyes flickered. "Wang Facai?"
"That's Fortune Cat," Aunt Huang said lazily, eyes still closed.
"Oh, yes, I sent them all to him."
Fortune Cat, or rather Wang Facai, seemed quite famous. Everyone on Old Street knew him.
"Mm," Aunt Huang acknowledged. "You're not a careful one, and neither is Wang Facai. He received so many basic creations recently—who knows which is which, right?"
Chu Ran understood. She nodded obediently. "You know me too well. I am a bit careless in my work."
Aunt Huang finally cracked an eye to glance at Chu Ran. "You're a good kid, and Chang He is a good kid too. You two are quite fated."
Chu Ran immediately understood. "I owe him a lot."
She hadn't expected Chang Han to help cover for her. After all, a single Divine Fruit could offset everything.
"You don't owe him anything," Aunt Huang waved her hand, speaking bluntly. "Those two are too worried to see clearly. In the end, a person can only rely on themselves."
"It's good that Chang He went out for a walk," Aunt Huang concluded. "You too. An Artificer who can enter the Divine Tomb has great potential. Don't learn from fools who end up unable to kill even a single Zerg Beast."
Chu Ran sighed. She could tell Aunt Huang had drunk quite a bit too; otherwise, she wouldn't be so straightforward.
"Fight to the death!" A man suddenly raised his arm like a corpse coming back to life, then slammed it back onto the table with a loud thud, looking pained.
"You all should drink less." Chu Ran straightened the wine bottles at her feet, shook her head, and headed home.
Aunt Huang's conversation with her felt more like a conclusion. In the following days, everything was calm, and no one came looking for her.
But Chu Ran knew in her heart that this matter was like the winter wind—it wouldn't stop.
Unless she lived in obscurity forever, wearing out the patience of those rats waiting for an opportunity.
On the last day before the Spiritist Tournament opened, the Light Brain Chu Ran had tossed in the cabinet flickered twice.
Chu Ran opened it—it was information about the first match and the subsequent process.
"Room A135, Match Category: Qualifiers.
Start Time: 8:00 AM Central Star Time.
Contestant Info: Caesar, Male, 26 years old, Spiritual Power Level E, Common Creation Type: Long Staff.
Opponent Info: Ye, Male, 78 years old, Spiritual Power Level F-, Common Creation Type: Kitchen Knife."
Chu Ran stared at the last two words, her expression subtle.
Was there a kitchen knife type among basic creations?
The feeling that her opponent was just here for the fun was overwhelming.
Chu Ran looked at the subsequent schedule and gained a deeper understanding of the mixed bag that was the Spiritist Tournament qualifiers.
"They don't even schedule the opening ceremony until the third-to-last day of qualifiers," Chu Ran clicked her tongue.
The qualifiers would last a total of fifteen days. Each contestant had to play at least twenty matches and maintain a win rate above eighty percent to advance to the preliminaries, avoiding extreme situations like the strong beating each other or the weak coasting.
Chu Ran's right hand touched her left chest. She urgently needed to master the unknown power in her heart.
"But why is Man Er's Light Brain on?" Chu Ran frowned, picking up Man Er's Light Brain.
There was an email in the inbox of the female fake identity.
Chu Ran opened it—a sentence without context.
"Two days later, fight for ourselves!"
This looked like something was about to happen.
Chu Ran squinted, tapped her fingers on the bed, and finally tossed the Light Brain back into the cabinet.
Later, she would think back to this moment countless times.
If she had ignored the rats around her and told Aunt Huang and the others about this message, would she have been spared those partings between life and death?
But there was no turning back in life; she could only move forward.
The next morning, Chu Ran woke up early.