ABFMV Chapter 17 Part 1

As the saying goes, if you don’t go looking for trouble, you won’t find it.

Xu Linlang lay tossing and turning in bed, completely baffled as to why Qiye had gone looking for it anyway.

At this point, he was practically throwing himself into a trap.

But in the game, Qiye’s intelligence had always been sky-high. How else could he have ended up as the final boss?

She had no idea how he was faring down in that dungeon now.

In the game, she’d visited the Lilan Military Academy’s prison before—heavily guarded, cold, not even a hot meal in sight.

The more she thought about it, the more restless she felt. In the end, she headed for the dorm’s kitchen annex, grabbed a small sharp knife, and started pulling ingredients from the fridge. She would make something for Qiye to eat.

His IQ had already taken a nosedive. If he didn’t eat well, it would probably sink even lower.

And besides, this time, it had been Rong Ruyue herself who captured him. If Qiye held a grudge over that, what then? If he rose again one day, wouldn’t the Xu family be the first he’d want to destroy?

Yes—that was it. She wasn’t softhearted. She had solid, logical reasons for doing this.

Perhaps because Rong Ruyue knew she cooked personally, they’d given Linlang her own open kitchen on the dorm’s first floor, stocked with full utensils and every spice she could need.

Thinking about calories and stamina, Linlang pulled some beef jerky from the fridge, chopping it into pieces.

Beef jerky was always great for staving off hunger.

Then she took out pork tenderloin to make spicy stir-fried slices—nothing better than a little heat in the cold.

The pork here was far more tender than modern pork, so soft it almost fell apart at a touch. She dusted it with cumin and chili powder, coated the wok with oil, and seared the meat until the flavor had soaked in.

Once it was properly fried, she tossed in chopped scallions and ginger, stir-frying until everything was done.

The kitchen filled instantly with a spicy, savory fragrance—a complex harmony of flavors, bold yet balanced, each note distinct and perfectly blended.

C8 froze on the spot, then hurriedly whipped out its electronic notepad, recording feverishly.

Linlang microwaved some instant rice, packed it into a bento box, and added both the beef jerky and the spicy pork slices.

She sealed the lid and slipped it into an insulated bag.

C8 tilted its head. “Master, aren’t you making this for yourself?”

Linlang glanced at her bright-eyed, naïve little robot and hesitated before saying, “I’m sending this to the dungeon.”

C8 shook its head. “You definitely won’t be allowed inside the dungeon. But if it’s only food delivery, I can handle it.”

She’d expected as much—the dungeon was serious business. No one would just let her stroll in.

After a moment’s thought, she tore a piece of white paper from a kitchen notebook, wrote a line carefully, folded it into a paper crane, and tucked it inside the bento.

“Take this and deliver it to the dungeon for me,” she said. “Make sure the guards know it’s for Qiye.”

C8 nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

The prison looked like a grid of glass cells, sterile and transparent, stripped of any warmth.

Most were empty. Only one larger cell was occupied.

Qiye sat there in a white prison uniform, wrists and ankles bound by transparent shackles. His face was pale as he leaned against the wall.

At the sound of footsteps, he opened his eyes, saw it was just a guard, and shut them again.

The guard sneered. “Still acting high and mighty? Tomorrow, when Academician Chu proves you’ve got Zerg blood, let’s see how high and mighty you are then—begging on your knees.”

Qiye didn’t so much as glance at him.

The guard felt like he’d punched cotton, annoyed at being ignored. Scowling, he opened the slot and shoved in a bento.

“Count yourself lucky. By a fluke, you saved the Marshal’s daughter, and she insisted you get food. But don’t think you can use that to bargain with the Marshal’s family. When it comes to matters of principle, they’ll never protect you.”

The moment Qiye heard the words Marshal’s daughter, he sat up sharply and went to retrieve the pink lunchbox.

Even before opening it, the spicy fragrance drifted out. Inside were dishes he didn’t recognize, colorful and rich.

Just looking at them, he could tell they would taste incredible.

Compared to the polished meals served on metal trays, this bento was infinitely more appealing—warm, inviting, like something from home.

Back in school, many classmates had lunches made with care by their parents. He alone had eaten at the cafeteria day after day for ten straight years.

Others envied him for always having cafeteria food, complaining about their parents’ lousy cooking. But Qiye had envied them—their bentos were made with love.

He lifted his chopsticks and took a bite.

The heat and spice exploded in his mouth, leaving him stunned as he stared down at the lunchbox.

When Linlang had made cat food before, he’d already known she could cook—otherwise, why would C8 have been so eager to follow her and learn?

But cat food had no seasoning. He’d never realized her cooking was this good.

The meat was tender, melting in his mouth, spicy and sweet at once, with a clean aftertaste. Soft, but not mushy—springy, full of bite.

The sauce had seeped through every slice. Each bite released a burst of flavor.

Qiye ate slowly, savoring it, not wanting this taste of her effort to end too soon. Near the bottom, he discovered a hidden compartment.

Inside was a paper crane.

Unfolding it, he found neat handwriting: Thank you. But please don’t do anything reckless. Take care of yourself.

Qiye held the slip between his fingers, lips curving faintly.

So in Xu Linlang’s eyes, what he was doing now was nothing but reckless foolishness?