Chapter 514: The Ugliest Heroine of Destiny?
In the afternoon, Shen Anyu finally pulled the weak-legged Zhou Luyao out of the Hilton. They went shopping for a while, and then Shen Anyu suggested hotpot, which Zhou Luyao naturally didn't object to.
The neon lights of the city began to flicker to life as dusk settled, casting long shadows across the bustling streets. They arrived before a restaurant that was vibrant and chaotic, a stark contrast to the five-star establishments Zhou Luyao was accustomed to. The air hung thick with the tantalizing, spicy aroma of Sichuan peppercorns and simmering broth, a scent both common and deeply inviting.
Yang's Hotpot Restaurant.
"I heard this hotpot restaurant is good, let's try it," Shen Anyu said, his gaze lifting to the brightly lit sign. His voice was casual, but his eyes, reflecting the crimson neon glow of the restaurant's name, held a strange, predatory glint.
This was no random choice. This humble establishment was the workplace of Yang Qiuchan, a Destined Heroine inextricably linked to Wu Ming, the Child of Destiny who walked the cautious path of a Reborn cultivator.
However, this was a unique situation. The Destined Heroine he was about to encounter, Yang Qiuchan, was not a peerless beauty. In fact, by conventional standards, she was the opposite—she was hideously scarred. A tragic accident involving a boiling pot of soup had left her body covered in a tapestry of burn marks, and most horrifically, half of her face was a ruin of disfigured flesh.
Shen Anyu's Divine Sense, an invisible and omniscient extension of his will, swept through the restaurant in an instant. It bypassed the noisy diners and the clatter of chopsticks, phasing through walls to find its target in the back kitchen. There she was. Yang Qiuchan, diligently working amidst the steam and clamor.
Her skill was obvious. The bubbling soup bases that gave this restaurant its reputation were her creations. She moved with a practiced efficiency, her hands—hidden by gloves—working to create the rich, aromatic broths that kept the customers returning night after night. Her talent was the sole reason Yang's Hotpot Restaurant was thriving.
"Brother Shen," Zhou Luyao's voice, a soft, melodic query, broke his concentration. She clung to his arm, her expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity. "With your status… coming to a small place like this for hotpot… won't you be disgusted?"
In her world, a man like Shen Anyu, the supreme Young Master of the entire Yanxia Shen Family, belonged in exclusive private clubs and restaurants where a single meal cost more than this entire eatery's monthly rent. To her, seeing him here was like witnessing an emperor in disguise, deliberately visiting the common folk's market. It was an act of profound condescension or inexplicable whim.
Shen Anyu merely smiled, a warm, disarming expression that seemed to melt away her concerns. He reached out and gently stroked the bridge of her nose, his touch sending a pleasant shiver through her. His voice was a low, intimate murmur.
"With you," he said, his eyes locking onto hers, "even a street stall tastes delicious."
A mechanical, emotionless chime echoed only in his mind.
[Ding! Detected an increase of 1 in Destined Heroine Zhou Luyao's Favorability, plundering +3000 destiny value!]
Shen Anyu's sweet talk was a finely honed weapon, deployed with effortless precision. Zhou Luyao was utterly captivated, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink as a dizzying, sweet smile bloomed on her face. A part of her, the pragmatic and cynical part that had navigated the treacherous waters of high society, knew his words were laced with practiced artifice. How could a titan like Shen Anyu, a man who could have any woman in the world, become so completely infatuated with her in such a short time?
But logic was a fragile thing against such overwhelming charm. The sheer fact that a man of his stature was willing to lower himself, to speak these words just for her, was a victory in itself. It was an intoxicating validation that made her heart flutter. The same saccharine phrase, spoken by different men, carried vastly different weights. From a broke admirer, it was pathetic; from a top-tier, handsome billionaire, it was the most romantic proclamation in the world.
Zhou Luyao tightened her grip on Shen Anyu's arm, pressing herself closer to him. A wave of triumphant joy washed over her. She had done it. She had hit the ultimate jackpot. It wasn't just about securing a wealthy husband anymore; it was more like she had been the one caught, hooked by a man who was a paragon of perfection. His appearance, his status, his wealth, his sheer capability—he had it all. And on top of that, he was gentle, considerate, and treated her like a treasure.
At this moment, even if she stripped away the mountains of gold and the world-shaking power, she realized with a jolt that she wouldn't want to leave him.
[Ding! Detected an increase of 1 in Destined Heroine Zhou Luyao's Favorability, plundering +3000 destiny value!]
Another system prompt, another harvest. Shen Anyu's smile remained unchanged, but his mind was a storm of cold calculation.
'Favorability is at seventy-nine. Just one more point until eighty,' he mused, guiding her through the crowded restaurant. 'For a woman like her, a quintessential gold-digger, the initial stages are easy. Her favorability soars with displays of wealth and affection. But breaking past the eighty-point threshold will be difficult. Money is what she desires, so money alone cannot forge a bond that transcends wealth and poverty. She can't be bought into true, unconditional love.'
He glanced at Zhou Luyao, who was looking around with wide-eyed fascination.
'She's sharp, too. Her mind is clear. She's not like Suzuki Natsuki, whose Yamato Nadeshiko conditioning makes her utterly devoted and adaptable to her husband's every whim. Zhou Luyao is always calculating her own value. Fortunately, I don't have an obsessive need for perfection. I don't need to max out every heroine's favorability. The meat is already in the pot. All I need to do is let it simmer.'
Shen Anyu led Zhou Luyao to a booth by the window, his hand still holding hers. As they sat, his Divine Sense spread out again, a silent, imperceptible net that enveloped the entire restaurant. He wasn't just here for Yang Qiuchan. He was far more interested in the shadow lurking behind her: Wu Ming, the reborn protagonist. Yet, his senses found no trace of the man.
His eyes flickered, a subtle shift betraying the deep thoughts racing behind his calm facade.
'According to the preliminary investigation, Wu Ming and Yang Qiuchan were high school classmates. He had a crush on her back then, a persistent, puppy-like devotion that led him to work here part-time just to be near her. He was a constant presence.'
Shen Anyu's thoughts sharpened, piecing together the timeline.
'Even after the accident, after the fire and the boiling soup that stole her beauty and left her a scarred pariah, Wu Ming's feelings never wavered. He stayed. He kept coming. That unwavering loyalty deeply moved Yang Qiuchan. Her father, Yang Hong, the owner of this place, saw Wu Ming as a good, devoted man. Despite his poverty, he considered him a worthy match for his daughter and intended to betroth them.'
But the story had a twist.
'That was the narrative… until it wasn't. Nothing was ever formalized. And then, half a month ago, Wu Ming simply stopped coming. He vanished.'
Shen Anyu's mind connected the dots with chilling clarity.
'That's when it must have happened. Around that time, he was reborn. He was no longer the lovesick boy but a man with knowledge of the future, busy with his own cultivation and the secrets of his Portable Immortal Abode. And now, he has disappeared completely. He even cleared out his rented apartment. He's running.'
Shen Anyu felt a flicker of annoyance, the kind a grandmaster feels when a fly buzzes just out of reach.
'He's actively trying to avoid me. He's avoiding all potential trouble. He knows what I am.'
This Wu Ming was a particularly troublesome specimen. He had already been killed by Shen Anyu once in his previous life. Now, reborn with a cheat item like a Portable Immortal Abode, he had the perfect hiding spot. If he sealed himself inside that pocket dimension, there was truly nothing Shen Anyu could do. To kill him, he first had to find him.
The plan, therefore, was simple.
'I'll start with Yang Qiuchan. I'll take her, put her in my cage, and see if her little guardian dog continues to be a coward. If he stays hidden even then… then so be it.'
Shen Anyu wasn't sentimental. There were countless Children of Destiny and Destined Heroines scattered across the world. If one proved too difficult to hunt, he would simply move on to the next. Wu Ming's entire survival strategy was built on cowardice, on outliving his enemies by hiding from them. Ironically, this made him less of an immediate threat. The most he could hope for was to dance on Shen Anyu's grave decades from now, after Shen Anyu had died of other causes.
'He who stands firm without desires is strong,' Shen Anyu thought with a touch of cynical amusement. A Child of Destiny who holes up in a pocket dimension to cultivate the dao of cowardice was, in a very practical sense, more difficult to handle than a reborn Immortal Emperor. One was a matter of overwhelming power; the other was a matter of being fundamentally unfindable. The only solution would be to wait until his own power reached a cosmic scale, where he could tear through the fabric of space itself and forcibly drag Wu Ming out of his little sanctuary.
Suddenly, his senses caught a subtle movement. His gaze shifted slightly, his peripheral vision locking onto a figure approaching from the kitchen.
'He's here!'
No, not him. Her.
A girl wearing a loose-fitting uniform, a surgical mask, and thin white gloves was carefully carrying a heavy, steaming pot of hotpot soup base.
It was still late July, the peak of a sweltering summer. Even with the air conditioning blasting inside Yang's Hotpot Restaurant, the heat from the kitchen was intense. Large beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, tracing paths down her temples. Yet, she remained completely covered, the mask and gloves sealed tight, a walking prison of her own making.
Shen Anyu's eyes narrowed, his gaze analytical. He observed that beneath the drab uniform, the girl possessed an exceptional figure. She was graceful and slender, with a natural poise in her movements. The small patches of skin visible at her neck and forehead were fair and smooth, hinting at the beauty that was now concealed.
But it was a fractured beauty. Through the faint gaps at the edges of her mask and the cuffs of her gloves, one could catch horrifying glimpses of what lay beneath: the raised, mottled texture of hideous scald scars.
This was Yang Qiuchan.
Her eyes, the only part of her face truly visible, held a universe of poignant sadness. They seemed to lament a cruel and unfortunate fate, carrying a quiet stillness that spoke of deep, unending pain. She moved silently, placing the heavy pot on the table next to theirs.
At that moment, the young couple at the neighboring table erupted into a low, tense argument, ignited by her mere presence.
"Are your eyeballs going to fall out of your head? Is her figure really that good? You just can't stop staring, can you? I'm counting to three, and if you're still looking when I'm done, I'll gouge your eyes out myself!" the young woman hissed, slamming her chopsticks on the table with a sharp crack.
"I just glanced! It's not as serious as you're making it out to be, Azi. Don't go too far," the young man protested, his face a mask of wronged innocence.
"You're still trying to deny it? You looked twice! I saw you! You even turned your head to get a better look!" The woman, Azi, rolled up her sleeves, her hand moving as if to grab his ear and twist it.
Watching the petty drama unfold, a conflict born from her own cursed existence, a flicker of something—perhaps envy for their simple, unblemished lives—passed through Yang Qiuchan's sad eyes. She spoke, her voice calm and even, betraying none of the turmoil within.
"Guests, please don't argue because of me."
She turned her gaze to the furious young woman.
"This sister is much prettier than me. You should cherish her well."
Her words, spoken with such placid sincerity, instantly deflated the couple's anger. They both flushed with embarrassment, suddenly aware of how ridiculous they looked arguing in a public restaurant.
The young woman, Azi, looked at Yang Qiuchan, her earlier fury replaced by a sudden rush of curiosity and a touch of envy.
"Sister, your figure and skin are so good, how do you maintain them? And speaking of which, isn't it incredibly hot wearing a mask all the time?"
As she spoke, Azi reached out, perhaps intending a friendly touch on the arm. But her movement was careless. Her hand brushed against Yang Qiuchan's face, catching the edge of the mask and knocking it loose.
It fell to the floor.
For a heart-stopping second, there was silence. The right side of Yang Qiuchan's face was revealed. It was a hellscape of melted, puckered skin, a chaotic ruin of scar tissue that twisted her features into a permanent grimace.
The young woman's gasp was sharp and choked. Her eyes widened in pure, primal terror.
Then she screamed.
"Ghost—!"
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