I Have a Post Apocalyptic Online Friend C16.2

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Chapter 16. Part 2

She took out the computer she had bought earlier and placed it on his bed.

“I’ve already downloaded a bunch of offline games, movies, and TV shows. You can play them when you’re bored.”

“Games? I’m not that childish.”

Lu Yuan scoffed dismissively.

“Just try it, they’re really fun.”

After saying that, Zhou An’an returned to the window and resumed her slingshot practice.

Thanks to Lu Yuan’s advice, she forced herself to quiet her mind, ignoring all distractions and focusing solely on the target.

Swoosh—

She hit it again. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had a hidden talent for shooting that she’d never had the chance to discover.

Her confidence grew with each shot, and several hours passed without her noticing.

As sunset clouds filled the sky, she began to suspect she was hallucinating. Otherwise, why would she see a tree twitch as if convulsing after being hit by a stone?

My mind must be exhausted from concentrating so hard.

She put away the slingshot, closed the window, and glanced at the time. It was already six o’clock. How strange, she thought.*Lu Yuan hasn’t even nagged me to make dinner. Is he still asleep?

The tall sunflowers blocked her view of Lu Yuan’s bed. She pushed aside a few stalks and peeked in. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing headphones, his fingers tapping furiously on the keyboard, completely engrossed in a game.

“What do you want for dinner?” she asked.

Lu Yuan didn’t even notice her, his eyes glued to the screen.

“Hey… Hey!”

Just as Zhou An’an was about to pull off his headphones, he finally noticed her and hit the pause button.

“What is it?”

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Just make whatever.”

With that, Lu Yuan immediately resumed his game.

Zhou An’an wondered if she’d misheard. How could he possibly have given such an answer?

But Lu Yuan wasn’t looking at her anymore, so she had no choice but to go make dinner.

After a simple meal, Lu Yuan went straight back to his computer while Zhou An’an lay on her bed, reading a novel on her phone and occasionally glancing at the curtain.

Behind the sunflowers, only a faint glow was visible, and the sound of keyboard tapping never ceased.

She had worried that sharing a train car would be awkward and inconvenient.

Now it seemed she’d overthought it. Whether it was roast duck, sunflowers, or offline games, everything was far more captivating to Lu Yuan than she was. He had no time to pay her any attention at all.

Hmph! It’s not like I want his attention anyway!

Zhou An’an rolled over and fell asleep, still fuming.

Lu Yuan played games nonstop for five days, leaving his “Sunflower Garden” only for meals and bathroom breaks.

Zhou An’an cooked alone, practiced her slingshot alone, and endured the increasingly sweaty smell of the train car. Finally, on the evening of the fifth day, she couldn’t take it anymore. She threatened to take the computer and get off the train if he didn’t shower and change his clothes immediately.

Lu Yuan briefly weighed his options: get off the train, pitch a tent, and keep gaming, or shower, change clothes, and get a proper night’s sleep. He chose the latter.

When he emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and changed, Zhou An’an was opening a window to air out the car. She found that even his stubble looked less irritating now.

“Who was it that said they didn’t play childish things like games?” she seized the chance to mock him.

Lu Yuan retorted righteously, “I just didn’t want to disturb your practice. How’s it going, by the way?”

“Like I’d believe that.”

Once the sweaty smell had dissipated, Zhou An’an closed the window and went to sleep.

Around three in the morning, she vaguely sensed it was raining. Large drops pelted her face—*thwack, thwack, thwack*—jolting her awake.

Aren’t I inside the train car? How can it be raining?

She reached up and felt a handful of small, pebble-like objects. Holding them up to the moonlight, she saw they were all sunflower seeds.

Zhou An’an looked up and saw a sunflower larger than a human head peeking out from behind the curtain. When it noticed her watching, it immediately arched its stem and—pfft, pfft, pfft—began spitting seeds at her with even greater vigor.

Zhou An’an: “…”

What in the living hell?!

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