Chapter 22: The Great White Tiger

Shen Xixi ignored the immediate, exasperated shouting on the other end of the line and hung up.

She tossed her phone onto the sofa.

She staggered over to the bar and poured herself a glass of ice water, gulping down more than half of it.

The icy liquid stung her throat, finally suppressing some of her dizziness and irritation.

It was always matchmaking, always alliances, and always having children…

It was as if the only reason Shen Xixi existed was to add a brick to the family business or to find a so-called “equal match” to give birth to a tool for inheritance.

‘This is so damn boring.’

The hospital, the doctors’ lounge.

Doctor Su had just changed out of her white coat.

She rubbed her aching neck while chatting idly with a colleague sitting opposite her.

“Doctor Su, you haven’t been looking very well lately.”

“Have you been staying up late again?”

“Is your department’s surgery schedule too full?”

“Yes, there have been several major surgeries lined up back-to-back.”

“I’m getting older; my energy isn’t what it used to be when I was younger.”

“How could that be?”

“You’re in your prime, Doctor Su.”

“You just worry too much.”

“By the way, I heard your daughter started college, right?”

“Once girls grow up, they become sensible.”

“You don’t need to worry so much.”

“Children always go through a process before they understand things.”

A process…

Her Xiaoxiao hadn’t actually been very naughty as a child.

She would play with her toys quietly, watch cartoons quietly, wait for the nanny to cook quietly, and wait for her—a mother who couldn’t even make it home a few times a month—quietly.

When did it start to change?

Doctor Su thought back to when Su Xiao was nine years old.

She had just finished a surgery and stepped out of the operating room when her phone began vibrating violently.

It was the nanny calling.

“Doctor Su! This is bad!”

“Xiaoxiao… Xiaoxiao was in a car accident!”

By the time she reached the entrance of the residential complex, she could see a crowd gathered from a distance.

There was a small puddle of dark red blood on the ground.

Su Xiao lay quietly on the cold concrete.

Her small face was pale, a gash on her forehead had broken open, and blood smeared half of her face.

Those few minutes waiting for the ambulance felt as long as several centuries.

Fortunately, it wasn’t life-threatening.

Aside from taking three days off at the very beginning, she, as a mother, had only visited three times in total.

The first time was right after Su Xiao woke up.

The anesthesia had worn off, and she was crying from the pain.

She held her daughter and coaxed her for half an hour before being called away by an emergency call from the ER.

The second time, Su Xiao was asleep.

The third time was when Su Xiao’s stitches were removed and she was discharged.

It happened that she had an important surgery that morning, so the nanny handled the paperwork.

She brought her daughter home, settled her in, gave the nanny instructions, and then hurried back to the hospital.

She thought Su Xiao would cry, throw a tantrum, or complain that her mother wouldn’t stay with her.

But Su Xiao didn’t.

After returning home from the hospital, Su Xiao stopped crying or making a fuss.

She didn’t talk much either.

When asked if she was in pain or hungry, she would only shake or nod her head.

Only, from then on, Su Xiao’s mental state became a bit abnormal.

She became sensitive and paranoid.

Sometimes she would become inexplicably excited.

She started to care excessively about small things; for instance, the bowls and chopsticks had to be placed in fixed positions during meals, and any slight change would cause an emotional outburst.

Doctor Su had tried to communicate and compensate, but it had little effect.

Work became busier and busier, and the gap between mother and daughter grew deeper.

She had taken Su Xiao to see a psychiatrist.

The diagnosis was symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, accompanied by mild anxiety and obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

The doctor suggested more companionship, more communication, and providing a sense of security.

She always comforted herself, thinking that the child would be fine once she grew up—that it was just puberty, and a bit of rebellion and emotional issues were normal.

But looking at how Su Xiao was now, she knew in her heart that the car accident and her absence as a mother had probably changed some things forever.

“Doctor Su? Doctor Su?”

Her colleague’s voice pulled her back from her memories.

“Ah? What is it?”

“What were you thinking about so deeply?”

“I called you several times and you didn’t react.”

The colleague smiled.

“Are you thinking about your daughter again?”

“Relax, children will find their own happiness.”

Doctor Su forced a smile.

“I’m a bit tired, just spaced out.”

Doctor Su clutched her chest.

It actually hurt a bit, a sharp, twitching pain.

It felt as if something heavy was pressing down on her heart, making it feel stuffy and filled with a subtle, aching sourness.

She raised her hand to rub her chest and waved at her colleague to indicate she was fine, then carried her water cup slowly back to her office.

The game world, the Wine Pool.

Luo Tiantian felt like she was about to melt.

A small fire seemed to have been lit deep within her body, burning steadily, making her skin hot and her heartbeat lose its rhythm.

The dizziness of intoxication mixed with a sensitive, empty longing that was amplified countless times.

She held her wet, fluffy tail and buried her burning cheeks in the fur.

The tip of the tail lightly tapped her face over and over.

Every touch of the water, every sweep of her tail against her skin, and even the fragrance drifting through the air stirred layers upon layers of ripples in her heart.

‘How strange…’

She wanted to log out, but the system refused.

It claimed that to avoid excessive impact on the real-world body, any state involving emotional sensitivity required waiting for the status to disappear before leaving.

“Baa… What kind of trash status is this?”

“When will it end, baa…”

Finally,

[System Notification: Special status ‘Emotional Sensitivity’ duration has ended.]

[Current status has stabilized. Safety logout conditions met.]

“Whew… finally…”

Luo Tiantian slumped by the edge of the Wine Pool, looking like a koi fish that had just been fished out and hit with a club.

Her entire body was limp, and only the tip of her tail twitched neurotically every now and then.

“Logout…”

Her vision went black.

When she opened her eyes again, Luo Tiantian felt incredibly sticky.

She had broken out in a heavy sweat, which clung to her skin uncomfortably.

Her T-shirt and jeans were wrinkled and wrapped tightly around her body, and some spots had turned darker from the sweat.

“Baa…”

Luo Tiantian pushed herself up, trying to sit, only to find her arms weak and powerless.

She rested for a long while before slowly standing up.

She felt completely exhausted.

She had to take a shower.

She walked into the bathroom.

Turning on the light, she faced the mirror above the sink.

The figure in the mirror had snowy skin and dark hair, with features as beautiful as a painting.

Because of the recent ordeal and the heat, her cheeks and neck were flushed crimson, and her lips were slightly red and swollen, looking as if she had been severely bullied.

She was beautiful.

Luo Tiantian’s gaze slowly drifted downward.

Collarbones, chest…

‘Wait, did they get fuller again?’

The texture also seemed more…

She raised a hand to give them a squeeze.

Indeed, they were soft and had quite a bit of weight.

Her waist was thinner, and her curves were more pronounced.

Further down…

Her inner thighs accidentally brushed against each other.

The sensation was a bit unfamiliar.

Luo Tiantian’s heart skipped a beat, and she stiffened as she lowered her head.

Flat.

Smooth.

Unobstructed.

The little partner she had been familiar with for nineteen years, the one that had accompanied her silently, was gone.

In her line of sight, there was only a snowy-white, tight lower abdomen and smooth, sleek lines.

She reached out her hand and cautiously touched it.

Then she touched it again.

It was confirmed.

It was really gone.

‘Where is my second brother?’

‘Where is my big second brother?’

‘He seemed to be there this morning…’

Even though she hadn’t dared to think about how much it had shrunk since the first time she played the game, it was at least a memento.

Couldn’t it have just stayed as a mascot?

How could it just disappear like that?!

Was she not even going to be given any psychological preparation?!

Luo Tiantian checked carefully, inside and out, even stubbornly poking around with her hands a few more times.

The white tiger is superior to the green dragon.

Gone was gone.