It Still Counted as Merit

By the time Luo Yan arrived at the Seven Treasure Hotel, it was nearly the hour of the pig.

Yet the two strings of red lanterns before the hotel were still lit, like a door deliberately left open for someone.

The side entrance stood half-open. An attendant spotted him from afar and immediately hurried over, saying in a low voice, "Young Master Luo, Miss is waiting for you in the small hall on the top floor."

Luo Yan gave an "Oh" and glanced upward.

Sure enough, lights were on at the highest point of the Seven Treasure Hotel.

He followed the attendant upstairs.

The staircase was broad and covered in soft carpeting, making no sound beneath his feet.

Bronze Wall Lamps hung on either side, one every few steps. Their shades had been polished spotless, and the light was kept dim, illuminating only the three feet before one's steps.

The small hall was on the top floor.

The door stood half-open, and a cool fragrance drifted out from within, clearer than when Luo Yan had come last time. He paused outside for half a breath before entering.

Ning Rongrong was inside.

She was not seated, but stood before a large window with her back to the door.

The window was open halfway. The night wind poured in, lifting her hair and the hem of her dress slightly.

Without turning around, she said, "Close the door."

Luo Yan did as she said.

"You called me here in the middle of the night just to catch the breeze?" he said as he sat down nearby and naturally poured himself a cup of tea.

"I want to ask you something."

Ning Rongrong turned around, her gaze bright beneath the lamplight.

"Ask." Luo Yan raised his cup, unhurried.

"Are you Aha?"

Luo Yan smiled. "Miss Ning, if I said no, would you believe me?"

"No."

"Then what if I said yes?"

Ning Rongrong took a step forward. "Then don't even think about leaving tonight."

Luo Yan clicked his tongue and set down his tea. "How scary. If I'd known this was a Hongmen Banquet, I would've brought some sunflower seeds."

Ning Rongrong did not smile. She merely stared at him.

"I had people investigate you."

She said, "You haven't been in Heaven Dou City for long. You have no proper business, you haven't enrolled in any academy, you live on the worst street, and drink the cheapest tea. Yet whenever you casually make a move, it's a book worth five hundred Gold Soul Coins."

"So?"

"So you're no ordinary person."

Ning Rongrong said, "If you aren't Aha, then you're the person closest to Aha."

Luo Yan smiled. "Miss Ning, have you been reading too many novels?"

He leaned back against his chair, his tone as casual as ever. "If I really knew Aha, would I still be haggling with you here? I'd have him write me an exclusive sequel, sell it outside, and never worry about money for the rest of my life."

Ning Rongrong said nothing.

She took out that half-page of Who on Earth is Aha from her sleeve and slowly unfolded it.

"I can tell with this one."

She said, "It's different from all the ones that came out before. Those sequels outside, no matter how similar they are, always lack something. But this one always makes me feel like... someone is sitting across the table from you, watching you deceive yourself."

Luo Yan raised a brow. "That's quite a thing to say. A novel is only a novel."

"Readers insist on fitting themselves into it. If it fits, they say it's written truthfully. If it doesn't, they curse the author for making things up. But the person writing it stopped caring long ago."

Ning Rongrong looked at him, the lamplight flickering softly in her eyes.

"You're going in circles with me."

She said, "Everything you say sounds like something from a book. You reveal thirty percent and hide seventy. The listener never knows which of your words are true."

Luo Yan did not refute her.

He merely traced a slow circle around the rim of his cup with one finger.

"I don't want to guess anymore," Ning Rongrong suddenly said.

She straightened. The night wind poured through the large window, lifting the loose strands by her ears before letting them fall again.

She looked at Luo Yan, her gaze clear, carrying a seriousness she was clearly unaccustomed to.

"Let's... be honest with each other," she said, more slowly than usual.

Luo Yan lifted a brow.

Be honest with each other? Is that what I think it means?

She said, "I'm level nineteen, a support-type Tool Soul Master. My Martial Soul is the Seven Treasures Glazed Pagoda."

Nothing but nonsense, as if I didn't already know that.

Luo Yan chuckled softly. "Aren't you afraid I'll turn around and sell you off?"

"Could you sell me?"

Ning Rongrong lifted her chin, recovering some of her usual pride. "Being level nineteen isn't some secret. If you really had any ulterior motives, you wouldn't be sitting here drinking tea with me."

All right, all right. This girl was smarter than her original version.

"Fine."

He sat upright, serious for half a moment. "Then what do you want me to tell you? My Martial Soul? My level? Or which bed I sleep in at night?"

"What is your Martial Soul?"

"The Elation Mask."

Ning Rongrong's eyes widened slightly. "A mask?"

"Yes. A very useless mask."

Luo Yan smiled. "It's average in battle, it only knows how to laugh, and even its laugh makes people want to punch it. Want to see it?"

"No need."

Ning Rongrong turned her face away. "It's not like I've never seen someone pretending to be mysterious."

"Mhm."

"Then you're support-type too?"

Luo Yan considered it. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

Ning Rongrong glanced at him again, thoroughly shocked by such absurdity. "You don't know whether your own Martial Soul is support-type?"

"I really don't."

Luo Yan smiled, sounding as though he were talking about someone else. "The academy never classified it, and I couldn't be bothered to fight. It just hangs there. When I don't use it, it's like I have no Soul Rings at all. Call it support-type, and it loves laughing too much. Call it a Battle Soul Master, and it doesn't seem able to beat anyone."

Ning Rongrong frowned. "A Martial Soul like yours really is rare."

"Rare is good."

Luo Yan said, "The streets are full of Beast Martial Souls. Whenever someone reports theirs, it's either Wolf or Tiger. If I announce 'Elation Mask,' don't you think it sounds a little better than 'Seven Treasures Glazed Pagoda'?"

Ning Rongrong gave a disdainful "Hmph." "Who wants to compete with you over that?"

But she did not ask his level again, which surprised Luo Yan somewhat.

He had thought this young lady would follow the thread and ask what level he was, then ask what his Spirit Skills were.

Instead, she stopped there.

"Luo Yan," she suddenly called.

"Mm?"

"Will you keep writing books in the future?"

Luo Yan paused, then smiled. "When did I ever say I could write books?"

"The papers you gave me—you always say you didn't write them yourself, but every time you take them out, it looks like you're handing over something important."

Ning Rongrong said, "I can tell."

Luo Yan did not deny it. He lowered his head and turned the teacup in his hand. The tea had long gone cold.

"I will."

He said, "If I write something good, I'll let you read it too."

This time, Ning Rongrong did not snort.

She turned around, picked up a tiny brocade pouch from a small table by the large window, and tossed it to Luo Yan.

Luo Yan caught it. It was very light, with several beads inside.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Elixirs."

Ning Rongrong said, "They'll be of some help with cultivation. Use them or don't."

Luo Yan weighed the pouch in his hand.

"Thanks," he said.

"No need."

Ning Rongrong still looked out the window. "Consider it repayment for the favor you did me."

Luo Yan smiled.

He stood, tucked the pouch into his robe, poured himself another half cup of cold tea, and drained it in one gulp.

"Miss Ning."

He walked to the door. "Have you ever thought about why Aha writes books?"

Ning Rongrong was startled. "Why?"

"Some things, no one dares to say openly. Keep them bottled up for too long, and they rot in your stomach, turning into resentment, sickness, and that breath that keeps you tossing and turning at night."

He tilted his head toward Ning Rongrong. "But once they're written into a book, they become a story. Everyone reads it, laughs as they read, and asks, 'Is it real?' As they keep asking, those things that should have rotted away get taken out and aired a little. That actually... still counts as merit."