Middle-aged Love Patch

Xu Youyuan didn’t let her emotions show on her face—at first glance, nothing seemed amiss. But Shi Yue, who had been covertly observing her for half the day just to savor those subtle expressions, still managed to extract some amusement.

Like the sudden eye-roll.

Shi Yue happily accepted the eye-roll and continued chatting leisurely with Jiang Yun and the others, the curve of her smile growing even more genuine.

Xu Youyuan was baffled. At twenty-three, far past her teenage years, with a graduate degree and the pedigree of a returned elite, how could someone still be so childish?

Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Xu Youyuan bid farewell to the group, sidestepped Shi Yue, and hurried home.

What a mess tonight had been. Come to think of it, that little devil Shi Yue must have planned it all—showing up pretending to be innocent while secretly scheming, her skill at playing the fool to outwit others truly top-tier.

What was the point? Just to indulge some innate mischievous streak? Was there any real benefit or gain? Only someone like her would go to such lengths, sacrificing sleep for the fleeting thrill of a successful prank.

Xu Youyuan couldn’t be bothered with her. None of this was important. As she left Bo'ao Pavilion, she reminded herself that time was still tight—she couldn’t afford to be distracted by trivialities.

“Leaving already?” Shi Ye, backpack slung over her shoulder, caught up to her. “Let me walk you to your car. Didn’t you park it way out?”

Noticing Shi Yue lingering lazily beside her sister, Xu Youyuan declined, “No need. I’ll just grab a shared bike. You… all should head back and rest. Work tomorrow.”

She walked a good ten meters before glancing back out of the corner of her eye, confirming that Shi Yue hadn’t followed this time.

Finally, everyone went their separate ways.

After parking in the underground garage of her apartment complex, Xu Youyuan fidgeted in the elevator, pulling out her phone to log into the Dark Box app. Without attaching the neural link, she simply accessed her account backend and deleted that infuriating five-star review.

With that done, she felt at ease. Back home, after washing up and changing into loose, comfortable pajamas, she still had important business to attend to.

She was going back into the game.

The Dark Box app was off-limits for now—maybe even permanently, unless absolutely necessary.

Placing the neural link for "Reshape the Universe" against her temple, Xu Youyuan took a sip of water, lay down on the sofa, and closed her eyes.

...

A supernova ignited in the dark void of space, accompanied by the familiar sci-fi soundtrack, as Xu Youyuan awoke within the game.

She floated in the emptiness above a sprawling starscape, facing six default accounts: her main, three alts, and two test accounts.

Two additional accounts, previously tied to her company, now sat grayed out and frozen—inaccessible.

Not that she’d have logged into them anyway.

She checked the recent login history of her personal accounts—no anomalies.

Xu Youyuan logged into her main account invisibly, only to get stuck mid-air, unable to land. Countless messages flooded the sky above her virtual planet. A quick scan revealed they were all about the recent "Vehicle Incident."

After finally touching down on the palace boulevard, the messages kept pouring in. Her inbox showed "999+" notifications, the relentless pings of incoming mail drowning out all else, making it impossible to do anything.

Forget it. She logged off.

People at the company knew her personal account. Even if she was invisible, someone monitoring her could tell she’d been online. Better to lay low.

Exiting the private planet she’d spent ten years building, Xu Youyuan felt a pang of reluctance. Like with Dark Box, she might never log into this account again—the one that held so much of her time, effort, and money.

Her main boasted two star systems and 99 top-tier planets, with investments totaling millions. It was a repository of memories, a testament to her youth.

But after the Vehicle Incident, her reputation was in ruins. Any account tied to her would be hounded by trolls, making normal gameplay impossible.

Friends who knew her identity—whether on her main or alts—had to be left behind.

One last look at the star system she’d poured her heart into. Possibly the last.

Using a new phone number, she registered a fresh identity and created a brand-new account, spawning in a randomly assigned, desolate corner of the universe.

Bypassing the flood of beginner tutorials, Xu Youyuan deftly summoned her cruiser, only to find herself at least 30 billion in-game light-years from the center of the Cosmic Union—as remote as it got. After a decade of playing, this was the first time she’d started in such a backwater. Her recent streak of bad luck was undeniable.

She exited and tried again. Seven consecutive spawns in resource-starved hinterlands. On the eighth attempt, she landed on the fringes of the Titan Star System, with two planets to her name.

One was a gas giant, perpetually ravaged by hurricanes—mining here would be tough. But Xu Youyuan’s experience told her the planet’s internal pressure had to be immense, likely concealing vast reserves of liquid hydrogen. Processed in a Level-5 Workshop, that hydrogen could be turned into starship fuel. With the right vehicle to penetrate the planet’s depths, she was confident she could strike it rich.

The other was a rocky terrestrial planet. Its mineral distribution was still unknown, but once developed, it could support at least a Level-1 Workshop. For a hands-on creator like Xu Youyuan, even a basic workshop was enough to craft legendary vehicles from scratch.

Cross-legged, floating in space as she studied the map, Xu Youyuan noted her location: a crucial junction between the Titan Star System and the Andromeda Nebula. The latter was a hub for heavy spenders, with at least half of the game’s Hall of Fame top ten congregated there.

If she could extract the gas giant’s resources and build a refueling station, she could earn modest tolls from passing ships—a common strategy for new players. Not a fortune, but enough for initial capital.

As the game’s lead developer, Xu Youyuan knew countless rule-abiding shortcuts to wealth. A single top-up of 100,000 RMB could net her 600 million in-game credits, making everything thereafter a breeze.

The planets she wanted to explore, the mysteries she wanted to investigate—all would become easier.

But… 100,000? Forget it. Her entire savings couldn’t cover that now.

Before claiming dominion over these two untamed planets, she had to name them—only then could she truly begin.

Naming things had always been Xu Youyuan’s weakness. In the past, she’d relied on the system’s random generator, reserving only one name for the most resource-rich, habitable planet—her ex-wife’s.

Now, faced with another round of naming hell, inspiration struck unexpectedly.

The gas giant: "So Young Yet Two-Faced."

The rocky planet: "Cake Meets Fist (Regret Imminent)."

Xu Youyuan kept telling herself not to get worked up over some brat—it wasn’t worth it, absolutely not. But after typing in the name, the cathartic rush of spite still felt incredibly satisfying.

As she descended onto the planet, she contemplated exploring a new one—just missing a finishing touch.

After a series of crash animations and panicked freefall, Xu Youyuan landed on the planet *"Wait Till I Beat You Up, Lard Cake."*

Entering the game proper, the next steps were so familiar she could’ve done them blindfolded.

She donned the spacesuit with its measly ten-minute oxygen supply, floated out of the ship, and found the sealed hatch about two hundred meters away. After hauling it back and reinstalling it, the ship’s pressure and oxygen systems rebooted, allowing her to ditch the suit and move freely.

No Level 1 workshop yet, just a cramped, rickety workbench. She started by crafting a basic mechanical arm from the ship’s wreckage—enough to mine some ore from rocky planets. Within an hour, she’d have her Level 1 workshop up and running.

Topping up the suit’s oxygen to 100% gave her thirty minutes of outdoor worktime. Once it ran out, she’d have to return for a refill—or face a gruesome death in the wild.

The suit needed constant upgrades, with higher levels extending oxygen duration. Pay-to-play gamers could skip the grind by buying a Level 1 workshop outright and crafting oxygen pills—each one adding an hour of airtime, saving loads of effort.

These were all rules Xu Youyuan had designed herself. Now, trudging in a clunky, sluggish spacesuit, wielding a flimsy, inefficient mechanical arm on this desolate little rock, starting from absolute zero—her feelings were… complicated.

Twenty minutes of mining yielded some iron and copper ore, but she didn’t feel too exhausted. Thank goodness *Reshaping the Universe* hadn’t rolled out motion-sensing extensions—if she had to physically swing that arm, she’d be dead on her feet.

Suddenly, the mechanical arm stopped mid-swing. A prompt flashed: *New material detected.*

Xu Youyuan’s spirits soared. Experience told her—she’d struck gold!

Sure enough, the arm’s display read: *Helium-3 detected.*

This tiny, magnetically dead planet had *Helium-3*—and in absurd abundance!

What kind of blessed start was this?!

*Lard Cake* was truly a thoughtful *Lard Cake* after all!

With just a Level 1 workshop, she could harvest Helium-3, a hot commodity in *Reshaping the Universe’s* market—a versatile, cost-effective fuel for flight and power generation. Even the big shots in the Hall of Fame couldn’t ignore it. Owning it was like striking oil on Earth.

A Helium-3 head start was rare. Xu Youyuan mused—her own creation still had a soft spot for its "old mother."

Giddy, she returned to the ship for an oxygen refill before heading back out, grinding tirelessly to build that workshop ASAP, mine the Helium-3, and rake in the wealth!

After wrecking two mechanical arms, she’d finally gathered enough materials for the Level 1 workshop.

As she hauled the last batch of ore toward the ship, a strange, muffled tremor rattled the ground.

Pausing, Xu Youyuan glanced back. The void of space glittered with countless galaxies—the hazy swirl of the Andromeda Nebula in the distance, and closer, her other planet, *"So Young Yet Two-Faced,"* a mix of blue and white.

Nothing else. A hallucination, maybe?

She hefted the ore and kept walking—only to be thrown off her feet by a violent quake mid-step.

What the—? Xu Youyuan was baffled. This tiny, atmosphere-less rock was supposed to be stable. How could—

A massive shadow loomed in the distance, blotting out the Andromeda Nebula and half of *Two-Faced.*

A monster. One Xu Youyuan knew all too well.

Dragon-like body, rhino head, scales bristling to reveal magma-red veins beneath its skin.

An S-class Titan.

This beast required Level 5 workshop gear and a six-player squad to stand a chance. Titans were endgame content in *Reshaping the Universe,* dropping insane loot—mounts, epic gear fragments—usually tackled by level 60+ players.

Here she was, a Level 2 newbie in a battered spacesuit, armed with a flimsy mining arm, stranded in the middle of nowhere. Why would a Titan spawn *here*?

Impossible. This wasn’t even its spawn zone!

Still seated, Xu Youyuan coldly assessed whether this was a bug—until the Titan dove, smashing into the ground. The shower of debris confirmed: no illusion.

The Titan had *actually* loaded here.

Forget the ore. Xu Youyuan bolted for the ship, scrambling on all fours. The ship was a safe zone—no way the Titan could breach it.

Her sprint was clumsy, the Titan hot on her heels.

Even without looking back, she knew its rhythm.

Three steps—then death.

Her breath fogged the visor, obscuring her view, but her evasion skills were no joke.

As the Titan’s claws swiped down, she twisted—narrowly dodging the killing blow!

Her screen flashed red, her body shuddering. Health bar nearly zero, but she wasn’t dead!

Rolling to her feet, she charged into the ship!

The moment the airlock sealed, the Titan’s face pressed against the glass, baring jagged teeth. It lingered, prowling outside as if searching for something.

Gasping, Xu Youyuan peeled off the suit, sweat-drenched hair sticking to her face.

No pain, just lingering terror. Thank god she’d survived—otherwise, all that mining progress would’ve been lost.

With a sliver of health left, her vision pulsed between red and black, her avatar groaning in agony.

Thankfully, out of habit, she’d stocked two precious hemostatic potions. She downed both in one go.

Health restored, she peered out. The Titan still hadn’t left—but at least it wasn’t smashing the planet to bits.

Watching its movements, she realized—it was *hunting* something.

Then it hit her.

Titans didn’t spawn here. They didn’t just *wander* here.

Only one explanation: *Someone lured it.*

But who’d drag a boss to this backwater?

The question barely formed in her mind when, miraculously, the answer came—

The look of confusion swiftly shifted into exasperation and disdain. Such a childish, cringeworthy prank—who else could it be but that greasy cake herself?

Xu Youyuan quickly spotted a figure bouncing around in the distance.

Perfect. There just happened to be a pile of copper and iron ore nearby. Crafting some advanced weapon was out of the question, but whipping up a quick injection needle launcher? Easy.

Aim right at that little rascal’s butt and fire—blow her backside to smithereens on the spot.

If there was one thing Xu Youyuan wasn’t entirely familiar with in the "Dark Box" system, it was this: picking a fight in "Reshaped Universe" was basically asking to get wrecked.