I Deduce the Female Lead Likes Me [Transmigration into a book] - Chapter 20: Chats and Flirts
On the morning Song Muxue resumed her duties, Kou Shuang directed the moving company to bring her belongings into Song Muxue’s apartment.
The internship at the law firm was incredibly busy. Song Muxue had rented a single open-plan apartment nearby, with a large bed in the center, a partitioned bathroom and kitchen, and a desk serving as a study.
After Kou Shuang moved in, she brought a small bed and placed it near the desk, and also bought a small table for the foot of the bed. This way, her private area was demarcated.
When Song Muxue returned home that day, she stood at the doorway for a while before walking in and saying to Kou Shuang: “You… you’ve already moved in?”
She walked past Kou Shuang’s small bed to her own desk, put away all her clothes and bag, then opened her laptop and inserted a USB drive.
Kou Shuang poked her head out from the kitchen and said: “Are you comfortable moving around? If so, let’s both put in some effort to move the bed. I’m cooking right now, so don’t work yet; wipe down the table.”
“You’re cooking?” Song Muxue’s hand, holding the USB drive, paused. She was very skeptical of Kou Shuang’s culinary skills.
For the past twenty-plus years, Kou Shuang had lived a pampered life, never lifting a finger. Song Muxue knew all this very well. She was afraid this meal would send both of them back to the hospital.
“Hey, why are you so lazy? Move, move a little!” Kou Shuang leaned out halfway again, wearing an apron and waving a spatula. Strangely, it didn’t look out of place.
Song Muxue paused, then moved away from her desk.
Soon, Kou Shuang came out with the dishes, steaming hot and very homely, requiring no advanced cooking skills. Song Muxue cautiously tasted a bite and found that it was actually palatable.
…No, it wasn’t just palatable; to be honest, it was quite delicious.
Song Muxue gave Kou Shuang a strange look. Kou Shuang sat down happily and said: “What? Not good?”
“It’s very good,” Song Muxue said.
Kou Shuang had said she came to take care of the patient, but after a few days, she found herself becoming Song Muxue’s live-in housekeeper.
She cooked, mopped floors, did laundry for Song Muxue, and even crossed a street in the rain to bring Song Muxue an umbrella.
Apart from that, Kou Shuang spent all her daytime hours online.
She was conducting an experiment, trying to clarify the boundaries of this world.
The three consecutive dreams bothered her deeply. She couldn’t be sure if they were real or just figments of her imagination. Sun Jiawen, the only person who could confirm anything, was unreachable due to her unstable mental state.
She had contacted Sun Jiawen’s attending physician, Dr. Li. Dr. Li said that Sun Jiawen was still undergoing treatment and subtly indicated that Kou Shuang was a significant trigger for Sun Jiawen, so it was best not to approach her.
Kou Shuang could only temporarily give up and try from a different angle.
If this world was truly created by the original author, then there must be some limitations. What she was doing was trying to find those abnormal parts.
For example, an author with no financial background could not write a business war story; an elderly rural woman who had never been to university could not imagine the colorful activities of student clubs.
Ultimately, humans cannot create beings beyond themselves. Even if the original author was incredibly talented and learned, there must be things she didn’t understand.
Such as cutting-edge natural sciences, or classic humanities and social sciences. These fields were too intricate to understand just by relying on Baidu.
If even these could be researched, it would mean that her transmigration was not orchestrated by the original author, but perhaps by a higher entity beyond the original author.
Like the original author’s original author… something like that.
Even if she couldn’t define that mysterious force in her lifetime, finding its source was very important to her.
She wanted to go home, wanted to return to reality.
If not for those dreams, she might have held onto the idea that she was already dead and continued Kou Shuang’s life with a gaming mindset. But she had those dreams, she saw herself in shock and her sorrowful parents…
Even if there was only a one in ten thousand chance that those scenes were real, she wanted to go back.
She wanted to go back and hug her parents, tell them “You’ve worked hard,” and “I made you worry.”
This was just a small thought buried deep in her heart, but watered by sorrow and pain, it could grow into a forest, encompassing Kou Shuang’s entire heart, becoming her obsession.
She wanted to go home, never as strongly as now.
So she climbed the “wall” (bypassed internet censorship) and searched for top-tier academic journals, but the results left her very exasperated.
404 NOT FOUND
She sighed, looking at the blank screen.
The country’s wall-building technology is truly getting better and better…
Song Muxue happened to pass by and asked: “What’s wrong?”
She had seen Kou Shuang’s computer screen blank several times and couldn’t help but wonder what Kou Shuang had been doing lately.
Kou Shuang’s bed was low, and her desk was also low, so she squatted on the bed, reaching only to Song Muxue’s knees. She looked up at Song Muxue with a wronged expression and said: “I’m blocked by the firewall. This VPN isn’t working. Do you have any recommendations?”
Song Muxue looked puzzled and leaned closer to the computer, saying: “Let me see.”
Kou Shuang voluntarily moved aside a bit, making some space for Song Muxue to sit.
Song Muxue squinted slightly, took Kou Shuang’s mouse, and clicked refresh.
“Refreshing doesn’t work. I’ve been refreshing all afternoon, and it’s always like this. Twitter and Facebook are fine. I think maybe the VPN is unstable…” As she spoke, Kou Shuang’s voice grew softer and softer because row after row of English letters appeared on the screen.
Though very slowly, it did load.
Song Muxue squinted at the screen and read: “mRNA vaccine defeats Zika virus… Are you studying medicine lately?”
Kou Shuang quickly closed the page and said: “I couldn’t open it, so I just randomly clicked a network test. Maybe you’re luckier. Can you refresh this and see if it loads? This VPN is really bad; free stuff is never good.”
Before Kou Shuang could finish her sigh, the new page slowly unfolded.
Song Muxue tilted her head to look at her and asked: “How come I don’t have this problem?”
Kou Shuang was also a little stunned and said: “Did you grow up in Lingyin Temple when you were a child?”
Song Muxue chuckled and said: “Why aren’t you making a wish to me quickly?”
This was the first time Song Muxue joked with Kou Shuang, and her voice was so soft and gentle, like a butterfly resting near her ear. Kou Shuang was a bit dazed. For some reason, she blurted out: “I want to go home.”
Song Muxue was startled, then immediately lowered her head, hiding her gaze, and said: “My daily life is not a problem; I can even carry water buckets upstairs. If you miss home, move back then. Uncle Kou must miss you very much too.”
Kou Shuang couldn’t see Song Muxue’s expression, but instinctively knew she had said the wrong thing and quickly tried to remedy it: “But I want to become smarter. Staying with you more should rub off some intelligence. If only I could be like you.”
The next second, Kou Shuang’s forehead felt cool. A small, square area, where Song Muxue’s finger pressed.
Song Muxue said: “Alright, I’ve transferred all my spiritual power to you. Your life will be especially smooth from now on, whether it’s graduation, exams, or work.”
Kou Shuang smiled and said: “Thank you.”
Exams.
Kou Shuang was indeed preparing for exams recently. It was none other than the accounting professional qualification certificate she had already passed.
She firmly believed that she would definitely be able to return to reality. Although she didn’t know how, she couldn’t stay trapped here forever.
She had her own parents, her own life. After returning, she hoped to immediately catch up with the pace, not be left far behind by life.
Therefore, she had to “rehearse” in this world, to keep up with the pace, so that she could take over her work as soon as she was out of the hospital.
The level of replication in this world was quite high. After Song Muxue’s “spell-casting,” Google Scholar resumed functionality. Various high-level, cutting-edge papers could be searched, and they didn’t seem haphazardly put together.
This was even more true for practical subjects like accounting. When Kou Shuang received the textbooks, she found that they were almost identical to what she knew by heart. A huge weight fell off her chest.
She had worried before that it might be different from reality, and then she might fail the course. Even if she passed by luck, she might not adapt after returning home if she got used to another set of accounting methods.
Now it seemed she had worried too much.
Even though she was already very familiar with these textbooks, Kou Shuang still diligently reviewed and did practice problems. This wasn’t a game now, but a “simulation” closely related to reality. She had to give it her all, to remind herself: I must find a way to go back!
Song Muxue, her roommate, naturally knew what she was doing. After observing for several days, she proactively asked: “What are you doing?”
Kou Shuang explained to Song Muxue: “I plan to take the accounting exam and find an accounting-related job after graduation.”
Song Muxue was clearly somewhat surprised and said to Kou Shuang: “What about painting? You studied art for over ten years; are you giving it up?”
“One still needs to be realistic,” Kou Shuang said with a smile.
“Uncle Kou has enough money to support you; you can do what you want,” Song Muxue said, “You have the right to be ‘unrealistic.'”
But those aren’t my parents, Kou Shuang thought.
She chose to study accounting back then precisely because of reality. Although in this world, “Kou Shuang” was rich, beautiful, refined, and had support, it wasn’t her life after all. What she wanted was the life of waking up late, rushing to work to get full attendance, her parents nagging her about why she wasn’t married yet, and her own twenty-four years of life built day by day.
Not a resume fabricated by someone else’s mere words.
But these things obviously couldn’t be told to Song Muxue.
Kou Shuang smiled and said: “What if something unexpected happens? Nothing is reliable except yourself. You don’t have parents; you should understand what I mean.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she saw Song Muxue lower her head. Kou Shuang’s heart sank, and she immediately knew she had said the wrong thing.
Song Muxue also once had a flawless life, just like “Kou Shuang,” with family, affection, and support. The bad news at seventeen came too suddenly. Song Muxue lost her protection in the most important year and later had to struggle to grow up alone.
Song Muxue studied law, partly striving to emulate her mother, but also, was it not walking in reality?
Song Muxue lowered her head, her whole being seemingly immersed in sadness. Although she shed no tears, it was heartbreaking.
She’s just a character, why do I feel a little sad when she’s sad?
“You’re right, one’s self is the most reliable,” Song Muxue said, leaving that remark, then turned and walked towards the bathroom.
“Song Muxue,” Kou Shuang couldn’t help but call out to her.
Song Muxue stopped, saying nothing.
“My reality…” Kou Shuang’s throat felt a little sore. She said: “It’s quite different from yours.”
“Mm.”
“And, I’m sorry.”
She shouldn’t have spoken like that.
“It’s nothing,” Song Muxue said softly, then resumed her steps.
••••
As the exam approached, Kou Shuang became somewhat worried.
This worry came from nowhere but was very strong, like a sixth sense. But it shouldn’t be; Kou Shuang could pass such a basic exam even naked.
On the last night before the exam, Song Muxue was reading under a desk lamp. Kou Shuang put down her textbooks, went to Song Muxue’s side, and just watched her without speaking.
Song Muxue initially continued reading without batting an eye, but after a while, she finally couldn’t help it. She took off her glasses, looked at Kou Shuang, and asked: “What’s wrong?”
Her voice was cool and clear. Her face, bathed in the warm shadow of the desk lamp, appeared much softer. Her eyes held a glow, yet were quiet and composed.
Kou Shuang was a little dazed, but quickly recovered and asked Song Muxue: “Do you think I can pass the exam tomorrow?”
Song Muxue paused for a second, then blinked and asked: “You’ve studied for so long; you should have confidence in yourself.”
Song Muxue frowned and muttered to herself: “The seniors all say that a month of studying is more than enough for this exam. With your intelligence, you shouldn’t be so lacking in confidence.”
Kou Shuang was startled. “The seniors say”? So, had Song Muxue asked someone for advice?
Was Song Muxue also worried about her situation?
Thinking this, Kou Shuang felt inexplicably happy. She gave a big smile and said: “Of course I can pass! It’s just… I’m still a little worried.”
The negative premonition was too strong, making Kou Shuang inexplicably uneasy. She could only seek Song Muxue’s protection.
Previously, when Song Muxue fainted for two days, this “world” directly skipped those two days.
This world existed for Song Muxue. If Song Muxue lost consciousness, then that period of time would simply disappear.
Based on this deduction, Kou Shuang felt that Song Muxue’s protagonist’s halo was simply too strong. She absolutely had to latch onto her “thigh” to feel at ease.
Kou Shuang didn’t want any possibility of failure. If Song Muxue’s blessing really worked, she didn’t mind losing a little face.
“That’s good,” Song Muxue smiled and said: “I still like to see you confident.”
Kou Shuang sighed and said: “Then do you think I can pass? Without your guarantee, I feel uneasy.”
Song Muxue stared at Kou Shuang for a while and asked: “Whether I give a blessing and whether you can pass the exam are two completely unrelated things. If you’re really feeling guilty, it just means you haven’t studied well.”
Kou Shuang was a little helpless. She stood a little closer to Song Muxue and snatched the glasses from Song Muxue’s hand, saying: “That’s not the same. Just tell me I’ll definitely pass, give me some reassurance.”
Seeing Song Muxue’s expression unchanged, Kou Shuang shook the glasses in her hand, saying: “If you don’t say it, I won’t give your glasses back.”
“Idealism,” Song Muxue looked at Kou Shuang.
Kou Shuang shrugged and said: “If you don’t give me a blessing, I’ll feel insecure. Is there a problem with that? Tell me or not, tell me or not?” She held one arm of the glasses, shaking it constantly.
The glasses looked helpless. Song Muxue felt a strange pang of sympathy for the glasses. Finally, she had no choice but to say: “I wish you a smooth exam. A score of sixty is a solid pass.”
“You’re not sincere at all! Wish me an eighty, at least!” Kou Shuang said with a smile, obediently tossing the glasses back to Song Muxue.
Song Muxue quickly reached out and managed to grab the glasses in her hand.
As the glasses tumbled in the air, Song Muxue felt her heart suspend too, pounding rhythmically.
How strange, she thought. It’s just glasses; if they break, they break. Why am I so worried about them?
“Oh right,” Kou Shuang turned back, smiling, and said: “I think you look better without glasses. Your eyes are very beautiful.”
Song Muxue was startled, not yet comprehending the difference between “eyes” and “glasses.”
When she finally distinguished them, her heart began to pound wildly again.
Even more intensely than before.