Mature Fantasy Power Invasion

Chapter 21

Spencer was cursing as she was escorted away by security. Yan Huan didn’t look in her direction, only feeling that the overall IQ of the air had improved now that she was gone. As he prepared to return to the gymnasium with Yinggong Tong to retrieve their belongings, he pondered the matter of the modifier.

Just like how memories are altered after hypnosis, his recollection of being locked in the equipment room with Yinggong Tong had been modified into something so mundane that one wouldn’t notice unless they were resisting it.

It seemed Vice President Yinggong experienced the same thing.

The sunset in the sky appeared to pity the girl, silently shifting its angle so that Yinggong Tong stood in the shadow cast by the towering school building beside her.

Meanwhile, Yan Huan stood in the twilight, his face faintly lit by the fading sunlight.

Walking beside Yan Huan, Yinggong Tong appeared calm. She tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and suddenly asked,

"Did that girl say anything to the President just now?"

Yan Huan's thoughts were interrupted. He turned to look at her.

"Why do you ask?"

"That girl took random photos of us earlier. She seems annoying. I doubt she'd delete the pictures so easily."

"No worries. I scared her a bit, and she deleted them obediently. But I don't think I’ve seen her at school before—no impression at all."

Yan Huan gave a faint smile. He had no intention of dragging Yinggong Tong into the modifier situation, so he lied.

'Huh?'

'I was just being blackmailed with photos by that blonde, and now I’m lying to Yinggong like nothing happened.'

'Why does this feel so familiar?!'

Yan Huan blinked, and suddenly it hit him.

"She’s probably a transfer student."

Seeing Yan Huan’s unchanged expression, Yinggong Tong responded halfheartedly. Still, her doubts deepened.

'If there was nothing strange about that girl, how did she break through my barrier?'

'Was there a glitch in the barrier?'

'And she even disrupted the spark of romance I was about to ignite with the President!'

'I need to study my ability more carefully—I can’t let mistakes like today happen again.'

Fortunately, the memory correction described by the modifier wasn’t exaggerated. They had only been locked up for about half an hour, and the President hadn’t noticed anything strange.

Unknowingly, both of them were thinking the same thing.

At the gymnasium’s storage locker, Yan Huan took out his backpack and clothes, while Yinggong Tong had only a cloth bag with her belongings.

"The changing room must be closed already. Are you going back to the office to change, President?"

Yinggong Tong walked over with her bag as Yan Huan glanced at the time on his phone, thought for a moment, then replied,

"No need. I’ll head back early. It’s just the right time to catch the school bus."

"Alright, President."

Yinggong Tong tilted her head slightly, puzzled.

Usually on Mondays, the President would go to the Mahjong Club and take the bus home later. Why not today?

She knew Yan Huan's habits inside and out but couldn’t say it aloud.

Still, this wasn’t bad. Skipping the Mahjong Club meant he wouldn’t have to mingle with those shady women.

Even though the club had automatic mahjong tables, they insisted on hand-shuffling when playing with the President, claiming, "There are only two machines, and since the President isn't a formal member, he can't use them."

'Can't use them? Really?'

'They spent half the day shuffling tiles—someone uninformed would think they were washing their hands!'

After seeing it once, Vice President Yinggong developed strong opinions about the Mahjong Club. She believed such a delinquent club should be shut down immediately.

"Then I’ll be off, President. I’m heading back to the office."

"Alright, see you tomorrow, Yinggong."

"See you tomorrow, President."

After saying goodbye to Yinggong Tong, Yan Huan gripped his phone and bolted toward the school gate.

Today, he had to work at Sis Tong’s pub.

It wasn’t even his regular shift, but he hadn’t gone in all weekend—and losing that 400 still stung.

So, he planned to make it up by working Monday and Tuesday.

Working seven nights in a row—this was the determination of Yan Huan, a man trying to save the world.

Yan Huan jogged and caught the school bus heading to the southern district. The bus was air-conditioned, and students who had just finished class were chatting and laughing, although there were clearly fewer people than in the morning.

After an elective class in the afternoon, Yuanyue Academy dismissed most students, though some stayed for club activities.

But the majority were picked up by their parents for cram school or extracurricular classes.

At that moment, Yaqiao Mu wasn’t on the bus. He was one of those students heading to tutoring after school.

Linmen followed the Newman-style education system, where college admissions were mostly application-based.

While there were standardized tests, they didn’t carry the same weight as the gaokao did in Yan Huan’s previous life.

Strong hobbies, good grades, relevant academic experiences, and recommendation letters from respected figures were all crucial to getting into a good university.

It might have seemed like they had escaped the sea of exam questions, but in truth, it was just as intense—an exhausting nightmare for both students and parents, a chaotic war of gods and demons across dimensions.

The southern district’s school bus had the highest number of afternoon riders among all the routes. Why?

Because most students from the southern district couldn’t afford expensive tutoring or extracurricular classes—they had no choice but to go home.

Even those who could attend had to stretch the family budget tight to make it work.

And Yan Huan? He had it even worse. As a transmigrator fighting the modifier, he still had to work part-time to survive.

He suddenly remembered a meme from his previous life—the one with the clown and the clown girl.

The clown fought Batman all day, then had to go home, buy groceries, and cook dinner. Not everyone was Bruce Wayne after all. *jpg*

'Aunt Ye, oh Aunt Ye... If Ye Shiyu hadn’t clawed at my door in the middle of the night, I really wouldn’t have wanted to leave you!'

Yan Huan shook his head and put on his Bluetooth earpiece, ready to listen to music.

In the empty seat beside him, a fluffy black cat had somehow quietly settled itself.

It was Meow-chan.

Well, at least Yan Huan had a kitten with him now.

It seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, perhaps to hear about the situation with the modifier. But Yan Huan simply scooped up the chubby Meow-chan.

*"Meow~"*

Looking at the wide-eyed Meow-chan in his arms, he said firmly,

"Meow-chan, let me pet you."

*"Meow?"*

In the southern district, just a few streets from Yan Huan’s rented room, a street-facing shop had just opened.

Hanging at the entrance of a stylish European-style pub was a sign bearing its name:

"Nursery Rhyme"

At the entrance, a beautiful red-haired woman was moving tables and chairs out of the shop.

She wore a black denim jacket over a white shirt tucked into long jeans, radiating a laid-back vibe.

After moving a couple of tables, she leaned against one to rest.

A flip-top lighter spun effortlessly in her left hand as she tilted her head back, her red bangs falling slightly over one eye.

Her stunning face, looking to be about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, wore an expression that said, 'Living is fine, dying is okay too.'

She rubbed the metal earring on her ear, instinctively about to call that guy over for help—only to remember he didn’t work on Mondays.

Not seeing him all weekend had left her a bit out of sorts.

The other staff wouldn’t arrive until later. Only that kid ever came this early to help her move tables and chairs.

"Mm."

But maybe it was better he wasn’t here.

With that deadpan look in her eyes, she bit down on a lady’s cigarette handed to her by her right hand.

*Click～*

The lighter’s wheel scraped, making a crisp sound and producing a small flame.

Just as she was about to light the cigarette, a hand suddenly reached out and plucked it from her mouth.

A spark glimmered in the eyes of the woman who looked like life had worn her down, and she raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Turning her head, she saw a handsome boy in sportswear twirling the cigarette in his fingers, smiling at her.

"Sis Tong, are you making empty promises again? Didn’t you say you quit? Sneaking a smoke when I’m not around?"

The woman before him was Yan Huan’s boss, Tong Tingting. Normally, he just called her Sis Tong.

She was someone who had already become a "boring adult."

"Tch, you believe what adults say?"

Caught red-handed by Yan Huan, Tong Tingting remained unfazed, her tone laced with disdain.

She closed the lighter and looked at the boy she hadn’t seen all weekend.

Crossing her long legs, Tong Tingting asked,

"Why aren’t you resting after class on a Monday? What’s with the outfit—cosplaying an athlete?"

"I just got out of class. Didn’t have time to change before coming."

"Why the rush?"

"I missed you, Sis Tong."

(*) Note for line 51: Newman-style education refers to a holistic, student-centered approach emphasizing application-based admissions, contrasting with standardized test-heavy systems like the gaokao.

"Hah, I think you’re just missing your weekend wages."

Yan Huan blinked and smiled.

"I really came to see you—truer than pearls. Trust me, Sis Tong."

Tong Tingting didn’t call out Yan Huan’s obvious act. Instead, she stood up, walked into the dim interior of the pub, and said,

"Go to the changing room and get dressed first. Then help me set up the tables and chairs."

That was basically her way of saying he needed to start his shift.

Yan Huan glanced at the cigarette that had been in Tong Tingting’s mouth, then seemed to realize something and followed her inside.

"No way, Sis Tong. It’s not even five yet."

She sluggishly walked behind the bar and, with practiced ease, took out a glass and some ice cubes.

Without even looking, Tong Tingting extended her pale fingers and let them slide across the neatly arranged bottles on the shelf, as though waiting for one to call out to her.

Her fingers stopped on the cap of a previously opened bottle.

It was a bottle of candy-flavored whiskey—Allen 10-Year.

"I’m in a bad mood today. Also, I just woke up. Perfect time for a drink."

As she poured the whiskey, she offered this rare explanation to Yan Huan.

"Like hell that’ll wake you up," he muttered.

Yan Huan tossed the cigarette into the trash, leaned forward on the bar, and asked,

"But a bad mood—why? Tell me about it."

"What’s the point of telling you?"

"To cheer me up."

"Two hundred off your pay."

Tong Tingting didn’t even glance at him as she coldly declared the deduction, nearly wiping the grin off Yan Huan’s face.

"I was wrong, Sis Tong."

"Idiot. You haven’t even been paid this month. Trying to act slick with me, huh?"

She was only joking.

Yan Huan had been working here for nearly a year and knew Tong Tingting well. Aside from a few bad habits, she was mostly easygoing and generous with money.

Their playful banter happened all the time.

"But Sis Tong, in my experience, it's always better to talk about what’s bothering you."

"Heh. In my experience, telling someone your troubles just hands them a knife to stab you with later."

After pouring her drink, she picked up the glass and gently swirled it, watching the spherical ice cube dance in the whiskey like a crystal ball.

Tong Tingting clicked her tongue.

"Shoo, shoo. Grown-up stuff. Stay out of it, brat."

She took a sip, exhaled a heavy breath, then lazily waved her hand at Yan Huan.

"Go change and get ready for work. You skipped three days last weekend. I had to do everything myself. This week—heh—I’m going to squeeze you dry, brat."

"Sis Tong, this brat still values his life."

Yan Huan raised an imaginary white flag in surrender.

At the same time, he silently flipped her off in his heart and didn’t hesitate to call her by the nickname he’d given her when they first met.

That nickname was: 'Yu Qian of the Southern District.'

What did that mean?

Smoking, drinking, perming hair—she had mastered them all.

Though her lifestyle had mellowed a bit—she barely smoked or got perms anymore—she just couldn’t quit drinking.

Yan Huan even suspected she opened this pub just so she could drink freely in public.

Seeing the boss already enjoying her whiskey, Yan Huan stopped bothering her and went into the back to change.

White shirt, black pants, brown vest.

As Yan Huan changed in the dressing room, he heard a male and female voice outside the door.

"Afternoon, Sis Tong."

"Drinking this early again today?"

"Yeah, bad mood. A little drink helps."

When Yan Huan came out, he saw a couple sitting at the bar, chatting with Tong Tingting, who was still spinning the glass in her hand.

They were both students at Southern District Community College. The guy was Tian Li; the girl, Guan Rong.

They worked part-time at the pub and were a couple.

Guan Rong had a lovely singing voice and was the bar’s resident singer.

Tian Li was good at mixing drinks, and customers loved his flair, though Tong Tingting rarely drank anything he made.

She preferred doing it herself—self-sufficiency.

Tong Tingting could mix a wide variety of drinks. If she weren’t so lazy, she wouldn’t even need to hire anyone.

"Xiaohuan, it’s Monday. Aren’t you off today?"

"No rest, Sis Guan. Making up for missed shifts."

"Yo, haven’t seen you all weekend and you look even more handsome. Tsk tsk tsk."

"Really?"

'Must be the Charm Fragment working.'

In the time it took for their banter, Tong Tingting had already finished her glass and poured herself another from the bottle.

Watching her deplete the base liquor he needed, Tian Li dared not complain—she was the boss, after all.

After a brief chat, it was time to get to work.

Yan Huan quickly set up the stools and prepared the space. After Tian Li and Guan Rong changed, one tidied the bar while the other did light cleaning.

Only Tong Tingting stayed seated in a corner, sipping from her glass and bottle—playing the hands-off boss.

Yan Huan passed through the back room a few times and noticed that Tong Tingting was drinking more than usual while typing one-handed on her phone.

At first, he felt a little concerned—it wasn’t like her to start drinking so early.

But soon night fell, and business picked up—it was a great location. As customers poured in, he got busy and forgot about it.

In the kitchen, he whisked eggs with such vigor they nearly smoked—he was skilled, no doubt.

It was tiring, sure, but not without perks.

At the very least, the puddings he had made for Yinggong Tong and Ye Shiyu before were especially good, weren’t they?

Night in the Southern District was never quiet. Neon lights, car horns, and food smoke filled the air—lively and chaotic.

At times like this, walking alone through the alleys—man or woman—you risked triggering some hidden event.

Thankfully, Linmen didn’t allow private gun ownership, so you wouldn’t suddenly feel something hard pressed against your waist.

Then get your wallet and phone snatched, and still be asked, "Do you like Uncle’s big gun?"

"One time, I just walked on in a daze."

Guan Rong strummed her guitar and sang, casting a calm, peaceful mood in the otherwise quiet bar.

But in the corner, Tong Tingting’s figure had vanished.

In the narrow corridor connecting the bar to the restroom, she staggered forward, pale-faced, using the wall for support.

She had drunk a little too much.

She opened the door to the small, single restroom.

Her face was flushed—maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the glow of her phone screen.

Her stomach churned, and she couldn’t hold it in—she leaned over the toilet, looking ready to vomit.

As she bent forward, her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor, revealing a chat window on the screen:

Li Xiumei (Mom):

"."

"I don’t care. I already made plans with him. Come back quickly and meet him. He’s good-looking—it’s a miracle he even agreed to a blind date with someone as picky as you."

"Not going. If you want a date, you go."

"Ugh! Nearly thirty and still so stubborn. Look at you—unmarried. I swear, I’d rather die at home. Get back here!"

"He’s way older than me. What kind of crap date is that? Screw off. If you want a date, go yourself!"

"Age difference isn’t a problem. Older means better conditions, more considerate."

"Why would I care about his conditions? It’s not like I’m broke! I’d rather find someone ten years younger, who calls me ‘Older Sister,’ is strong and useful. What do I need his consideration for? Get lost. I said no more blind dates!"

"Is that how you talk to your mom?"

"Dui bu hai zhu lo."

(*) 'Dui bu hai zhu lo' appears to be a phonetic mix of Chinese apology phrases, possibly a drunken or sarcastic form of 'duìbuqǐ' (sorry).

"."

The phone dimmed after a moment of inactivity, hiding the rest of the messages in darkness.

Tong Tingting was still covering her mouth, dry heaving.

In fact, there were hundreds of unread messages—not just from her mom, but from others trying to talk her into something.

All she wanted to do was block them all and never look again.

*Gulu gulu.*

Just as she was dry heaving, a snake-shaped tattoo shimmered out from under her clothes, writhing as if reacting to her emotions. It slithered down her arm and then, impossibly, crawled out from her fingertip and landed on the floor.

It was a small, pure-white creature that resembled a cobra.

It flicked its tongue, sizing up the woman before it, as if showing a hint of satisfaction.

[Among the candidates, you're the only one barely capable of bearing my power.]

[Woman, do you wish to become the protagonist of this world? Do you want to fulfill your filthy desires? Do you crave to possess everything you long for?]

A phantom voice echoed in her ear, making Tong Tingting freeze slightly.

[Become my Host, and I will share with you the power of my sensory control.]

[Whether it's pleasure, pain, or any sensation—any at all!]

[As long as you use me, I can fulfill all your desires.]

[There's no need for fear or doubt. I will help you.]

Tong Tingting slowly lifted her head, staring at the ghostly figure rising beside her—something snake-like, yet not quite a snake.

Could the voice in her mind have come from it?

The phantom white figure flicked its tongue again, its body seemingly crackling with electricity.

Tong Tingting opened her mouth and murmured,

"I must be drunk... hallucinating and all. Haha... If I'm really that drunk, then even the snake I fear most..."

The white snake watched as Tong Tingting's fist clenched tighter and tighter. A sudden, overwhelming sense of dread washed over it.

*Hiss!*

Instinctively, it turned to flee. But Tong Tingting, already on the verge of explosive rage, suddenly stood and stomped down at it with a darkened expression.

"Then you can all just go to hell!!"

*Boom!*

With that terrifying stomp, the phantom white snake vanished without a trace, as if it had been nothing more than a hallucination.

(End of Chapter)