Chapter 129
Chapter 129: Qian Qi Runs Circles Around the Reporters
“I’m not fleecing,” Qian Qi said, deeply offended. “I’m being thrifty. And why should I let them interview me for free? They asked a pile of garbage questions. I didn’t even charge emotional damages!”
Little Min nodded with the solemnity of someone who knew arguing was pointless. “Mm-hm. Sister Qian Qi is right.”
“Ahem. Little Min, come here.”
Qian Qi waved her over, then turned to Xiang Wen Yun. “Director, go back to the orphanage for now. Tonight I’ll have a friend bring Little Min home.”
“What about your lunch—”
“My friend brought it. The same one as last time. Classmate Si Kong Wang.”
Xiang Wen Yun relaxed. She’d met Si Kong Wang before and had a good impression of him. She nodded and left.
Little Min looked up, serious. “Sister Qian Qi, why do you want me to stay?”
“In a minute, when I pinch your palm, you cry,” Qian Qi whispered.
Little Min blinked.
“If you can’t actually cry,” Qian Qi continued, “cover your eyes and wail. Loud. Sharp. Like your soul just got stolen. Got it?”
Little Min nodded like she’d been entrusted with state secrets. “Got it. I’m very good at crying.”
“Excellent.”
Qian Qi grabbed Little Min’s hand, crawled back under the blanket, and waited.
Ten minutes later, the first reporter crashed in, panting, one arm hooked around a camera and the other dragging a case of milk and a fruit basket.
Little Min watched him, almost feeling sorry.
Almost.
“I bought them!” the reporter wheezed, dumping the gifts on the floor and lunging toward the bed. “Classmate Qian Qi, can we interview now?”
Qian Qi peeked out, eyed the gifts, and murmured, “This answers one question.”
The reporter froze. “One…? That’s a little—come on.”
More reporters poured in behind him.
He raised his voice, trying to rally the room. “We interview you, you get famous, everyone wins. Why make things difficult?”
Qian Qi rolled over with a sigh. “Forget it. No interview today. No interviews ever. I only want a quiet life. I don’t want fame. I only let you in because you camped outside for three days.”
The others jolted.
“What happened?” someone demanded. “Why are we stopping?”
“Because she says these gifts only answer one question!” the first reporter snapped. “Otherwise she won’t do it!”
The reporters exchanged looks. One of them shrugged. “One question is already generous. Answers take time, you know.”
The first reporter’s face went dark.
Right. Of course his competition wouldn’t side with him.
Qian Qi let them argue just long enough, then lifted a hand weakly. “Big brothers, big sisters… please. My body isn’t recovered. I don’t have energy for much.”
That did it.
The reporters scrambled to stack their gifts beside the bed like offerings to a temperamental goddess, then rifled through notebooks to choose their best question.
“Classmate Qian Qi,” one asked, “what are your skill and rank?”
Qian Qi pushed herself up slightly, leaning against the pillow. Her voice came out faint. “I’m not an awakener.”
The reporter stared. “What? Then how did you kill more than a dozen D-rank magic beasts?”
Qian Qi went silent, gaze drifting to the window like she was about to reveal a tragic backstory.
The reporter leaned in, microphone closer, breath held.
Qian Qi looked at the mic and said, flat as a tax form, “That’s the second question.”
The reporter’s soul left his body.
Little Min made a tiny choking sound that might’ve been a laugh.
The reporter clenched his jaw, seized his dignity with both hands, and stomped out to buy more milk.
A second reporter immediately stepped up. “Then tell me—if you’re not an awakener, how did you kill them?”
The first reporter paused at the door, ears pricked, ready to freeload.
Qian Qi didn’t bother looking at him. She’d read plenty of survivor accounts on her lightbrain, so she launched into a detailed explanation.
“I raised my fist and smashed the little magic beast in the stomach. Then I stabbed its eye with an iron rod. Then I bashed its head. Then I turned and stabbed the big one through the skull…”
She talked until her mouth went dry—and then, as if inspired, added a few extra dramatic flourishes. The reporter’s eyelid started twitching.
“No!” the reporter blurted. “I mean what did you use? Not what motions you made!”
“My fists and an iron rod,” Qian Qi said, blinking innocently.
“But that’s impossible!” the reporter insisted. “An ordinary person can’t kill D-rank magic beasts with that. You had to have gained a temporary skill or—something!”
Qian Qi lowered her head and didn’t answer.
“Classmate Qian Qi?” he pressed, voice rising.
Qian Qi looked up as if startled awake, eyes wide and pure, like she desperately wanted to speak.
Little Min leaned in, very helpful. “Uncle. That’s the second question.”
The reporter went stiff.
“Damn it,” he hissed.
A third reporter stepped forward, face lit with newfound understanding. “Classmate Qian Qi, if you’re an ordinary person, how did you produce that much strength?”
Qian Qi sighed. “By popping drugs.”
The reporter’s eyes flashed. “What drugs?”
Qian Qi looked away.
The third reporter’s smile cracked. “Wait…”
A fourth reporter lunged in, practically bouncing. “What drugs?”
Qian Qi coughed into her fist. “A magic potion I researched at school.”
The room snapped into a different kind of silence.
“It can give a D-rank awakener thirty minutes of a four-hundred-percent berserk boost,” Qian Qi said lightly, as if she were describing cough syrup. “And it can give an ordinary person strength comparable to D-rank.”
The reporters collectively froze, then erupted.
Cameras lifted. Microphones shoved in. Flashes popped like fireworks.
“Classmate Qian Qi! Is that true?”
Qian Qi nodded—free of charge.
A reporter nearly swallowed his own tongue. “Then… do you plan to contribute this berserk magic potion?”