Chapter 102

Chapter 102: Jingyin Lamorette

Jingyin Lamorette—this was the name Yiwen had carried for over a decade. Back when she first started streaming, she had naively used her real name as her online handle.  

Many children made that mistake.  

At the time, she was barely a middle schooler—just a girl who sang, played games, and occasionally shared vlogs of her flights, letting viewers glimpse the world from a flier’s perspective.  

Perhaps it was because, back then, she truly was that kind of girl, a doll-faced, sweet-voiced girl who stood out even among her peers, her looks rivaling that little brat’s. Her singing was nothing extraordinary, yet she still amassed a following.  

A pretty girl who didn’t rely on beauty filters? That alone earned her favor.  

Three million subscribers.  

An impressive number, even in this era of inflated populations.  

Yet she never let it get to her. Raised with strict discipline, she remained the picture of an obedient daughter—never stepping out of line, never engaging in controversy. Even when hate comments flooded in, she ignored them. Her supporters always outnumbered the detractors.  

Until that day.  

She had been livestreaming as usual when a passerby suddenly clutched his chest, convulsing.  

Jingyin immediately said, “Someone needs help,” and ended the stream. Checking his breathing, she ruled out epilepsy and called an ambulance while administering first aid.  

The hospital was right there—just two intersections away. But it was the peak of a holiday, and even the ambulance got stuck in traffic.  

So she waited, monitoring the man’s condition as his breathing stabilized. She didn’t dare move him herself—she knew her limits.  

It took twenty minutes for the ambulance to crawl through those two blocks. Fortunately, the man survived.  

She still remembered the doctor praising her: “Your first aid was excellent for someone so young. He’s stable thanks to you—just needs observation.”  

What she didn’t expect was that even after ending the stream, someone had filmed her.  

And edited it.  

They cut out everything—her first aid, her vigilance—leaving only the moments she checked her phone while waiting. With added subtitles:  

“The ambulance is stuck in traffic.”  

And the match that lit the fire:  

“The hospital is only two blocks away. As a local, Jingyin must know that, right?”  

The internet exploded.  

Accusations piled up, she faked concern. She played with a life for clout. She could fly—why didn’t she carry him?  

Jingyin posted a clarification, explaining her actual limitations—her terrible sense of direction, the risks of flying with a patient in zero-G—but the mob didn’t care.  

“Who gets lost with GPS?”  

“You can fly but can’t navigate? Liar.”  

“Quit the act. This isn’t funny.”  

Then came the “exposés.” Why? Because drama sold.  

“Prioritizing her image over a life.”  

“Once the cameras were off, she stopped caring.”  

People who had never experienced her struggles dismissed them as lies.  

Desperate, Jingyin begged the doctor who had treated the man to vouch for her.  

The next day?  

Mocking parodies of his testimony flooded the web, turning his earnest words into a joke.  

The final blow?  

The victim’s family showed up at her door, demanding compensation—claiming her first aid had worsened his condition.  

Then came the doxxing. Strangers loitering outside her home.  

Online, hating her became righteous. Defending her? “Delusional.”  

The internet’s rot was on full display.  

Jingyin was fifteen now. Back then? She hadn’t even turned fourteen.  

No mental resilience. No idea how to cope.  

Her father—a Federal Officer—had vanished just before this nightmare began.  

She broke.  

She wanted to die.  

Could the law help? Maybe. But lawsuits were slow.  

Her accusers needed one edited clip. One lie.  

And to this day, the stain remained.  

All she wanted was to escape. She was just a child.  

So she erased herself.  

Changed her name. Changed her city. Even adopted a male identity, masking her face outdoors.  

She had done nothing wrong.  

If asked whether she’d take revenge given the chance? “Yes.”  

She wasn’t a saint. She didn’t forgive.  

But when the opportunity actually came—  

Her oath as an officer warred with her rage.  

Watching Jenny Majian disintegrate under Mi Xiaoliu’s staff, Yiwen realized, this woman might never respawn.  

Yet without blood, it felt… unreal.  

“Xiaoliu!”  

Mi Xiaoliu tilted her head, confused.  

“Do you understand you just killed someone?!” 

Yiwen jabbed at the guidebook’s rules, her mind ringing.  

This had to be a dream. Her best friend—a murderer—right in front of her, a cop.  

…Right. It was a dream.  

Mi Xiaoliu nodded blankly, as if baffled by the concern.  

Back when she and Wei Shi raided that gang, way more people died.  

“Do you really get it?!” Yiwen shook her shoulders.  

She didn’t want to arrest him (her). But she should.  

Especially for someone like Mi Xiaoliu—a boy (girl) who trusted her.  

“You know killing is wrong, right? Wrong?”  

Mi Xiaoliu had always been good.  

“Mmm.” Another nod.  

“Then why? Did the game trick you?!”  

“Yiwen hated her.”  

Mi Xiaoliu didn’t understand.  

She saw the hate. She knew hate.  

Wei Shi taught her, if someone hurts you, stop caring about them.  

Yiwen grabbed Mi Xiaoliu’s face, squeezing.  

Mi Xiaoliu stayed still, thinking this was affection—like how the Hermit showed love.  

With a sigh, Yiwen walked on.  

Mi Xiaoliu followed, clutching her staff.  

Minutes passed before Yiwen spoke again:  

“Mi Xiaoliu. No matter what happens here—promise me you won’t kill another player.”  

When they awoke from this dream, neither she nor Mi Xiaoliu would remember any of this – making it impossible to arrest her own friend.  

But…was it truly worth arresting Mi Xiaoliu over someone like that? Especially when he’d done it for her sake. Deep down, far from wanting to blame Mi Xiaoliu, 

Yiwen actually felt…an unsettling sense of satisfaction.  

As much as she hated to admit it – the feeling was downright exhilarating.

As a federal psychic officer, she shouldn’t be having these thoughts – how hypocritical. Yet at the same time, letting Mi Xiaoliu commit crimes for the sake of such trash wasn’t worth it either. This was the true source of her frustration.

From her professional perspective, she remained a sworn officer, and this dream game would eventually be resolved by authorities. When that happened, there was no way law enforcement wouldn’t pursue those who had committed murders within the game.

No… Even if no one sees it, this is still wrong!

“Mmm.” Mi Xiaoliu nodded.