Bai Youwei also paused at that. “They still haven’t come back?”

Counting the days — had it been three days? Or four?

Spending that long inside the labyrinth was not good news at all.

“Should we go ask around?” Shen Mo said. “Leonid didn’t go — he was injured in Labyrinth 4 and is in the medical ward right now. We could find him and ask about the situation.”

Bai Youwei frowned and thought about it. “Never mind… Even if we get the full picture, it won’t help. They’re inside the labyrinth — there’s nothing people on the outside can do. We’ll just have to wish them luck.”

“Maybe they’ll be out soon,” Shen Mo said reassuringly. “Fu Miaoxue has life-saving items on her — they should be fine.”

Bai Youwei gave a quiet nod and stopped dwelling on it, focusing on getting ready to head to the Shen family home.

…

Teacher Cheng marinated the chicken, put it in the oven, and set the other chicken to simmer in a clay pot. Then he changed into his winter clothes, and together with Tan Xiao and Pan Xiaoxin, headed out the door, following Shen Mo and Bai Youwei to visit the Shen family.

He was bundled up from head to toe, with a thick scarf wound around his neck, not a single fish scale visible.

Tan Xiao had been in low spirits for a long time, but stepping outside and seeing the festive decorations gave him a small lift.

Being cooped up inside, you didn’t notice it, but going out, it became clear just how lively things were.

Headquarters staff were bustling in and out carrying all kinds of decorations. The entire first-floor lobby had been adorned in vivid red and gold, and there was an enormous Christmas tree — retrieved from some shopping center’s warehouse, nobody knew which — hung all over with colorful gift boxes.

Christmas had long since passed, and while the new year had just arrived, the Lunar New Year hadn’t come yet either. The lobby had been decorated in a blend of Eastern and Western styles with no particular holiday in mind — whatever was festive and cheerful went.

Bai Youwei guessed inwardly that Chu Huaijin had arranged all of this with the next battle game’s timing in mind.

— If some people were fated never to return, at least they would have reunited with their loved ones before they left.

Snow was still falling, flakes drifting down sparsely, leaving a thick layer accumulated on the roads.

They drove along the white-blanketed streets, passing places where lanterns hung and the character for “Fortune” had been pasted up. It wasn’t as bustling and glamorous as the old city days, but it still managed to convey a sense of auspiciousness and joy.

Tan Xiao pressed his face against the window and looked out for a while, unable to help remarking, “It really feels like the New Year is coming.”

He turned to Cheng Weicai. “Old Cheng, when exactly is the New Year?”

“Going by the lunar calendar… the 25th of this month,” Cheng Weicai said. “That’s when the Spring Festival falls.”

“That’s just a few days before the next battle game.” Pan Xiaoxin looked toward Bai Youwei in the passenger seat. “Weiwei-jie, if you go to fight, you might end up spending New Year inside the game.”

Bai Youwei turned around and smiled at them. “Then let’s treat today as an early New Year’s celebration.”

Cheng Weicai said with feeling, “Tonight my homeland weighs on my heart across a thousand miles — come morning I find my temples frosted, and another year is gone…”

Everyone chatted leisurely in the car for a little while, and soon arrived at their destination.

Shen Mo parked the car by the road. The Shen family’s courtyard gate was open. Compared to other homes decked out in red and green, this place was noticeably quieter. The snow in the courtyard had been swept to either side, and a cluster of slender bamboo grew in the corner — all around was still and silent, as if no one were home.

The group got out of the car one by one.

Shen Fei, hearing the sounds, came out to welcome them, face wreathed in smiles.

“Didn’t expect you’d come so early — come on in. Third Uncle and my dad are inside. A few other uncles and elders will be arriving later too…”

The group filed inside. The moment they stepped into the living room, they saw Shen’s eldest uncle at a table, wielding a brush in broad, sweeping strokes. He appeared to be attempting to write a pair of Spring Festival couplets, his whole bearing composed and focused, expression deeply concentrated.

Beneath the table was a pile of red paper — rejected drafts.

—