Word spread fast. The “GuanNing CP” was officially dead, and after initial resistance, people began to notice that the commander’s cold, stoic demeanor actually matched well with Bai He’s fragile softness. Slowly, the base started shipping the new pairing.
Even Dr. An, one of the original CP members, joined in the teasing. If she was okay with it, who could argue?
Guan Yi, meanwhile, was utterly exasperated.
Every time he turned around, she was there—big, innocent eyes full of hope.
What man can stand that?
Finally, he pulled her aside one day, voice low and serious. “Stop doing pointless things. There will never be anything between us.”
Her only response was a puzzled look.
Guan Yi ground his teeth. White lotus, my ass—she’s a damn enchantress. Look at her, pretending she doesn’t understand.
Ming Ming whispered to the system, “What does he mean? Is he sending me away again? QAQ.”
The system: “…”
Later, when Guan Yi took a team out on a mission, Ming Ming wandered around the base, picking up scraps others had discarded—anything she or the system thought might be useful—and quietly tucked them into her space.
She also tried befriending the logistics crew, mostly to find a way into the storage room and sneak out some compressed biscuits and canned food. Sure, she got six dishes and soup every day now, but who knew what would happen once she was on her own again?
Self-preservation first. Always.
One afternoon, a few people in the main hall waved her over to chat. They were curious—how had someone so weak, so soft, survived this long?
Wu Fei, the redhead who’d driven her jeep back, asked, “Where were you hiding all this time?”
“At home,” Ming Ming said.
“You stayed home for over two years? What did you eat? Drink?”
The system hissed, “Hey, don’t go making up wild stuff.”
“Relax,” she whispered.
Her eyes reddened as she let out a trembling sigh. “Yes. I stayed home the whole time. My husband took care of everything—he went out to find food, to keep us alive. But… but a while ago, he had an accident. He didn’t make it…” She covered her face and choked back sobs, whispering to the system, “How’s my acting?”
A collective gasp spread through the room.
A widow.
Suddenly, everyone’s expressions softened. Her strange behavior when she’d first met the commander now seemed understandable—just trauma, shock, grief.
“Your husband must have loved you a lot.”
“He really protected you well.”
Ming Ming lowered her head, face shadowed with sorrow.
“There was no food left at home,” she murmured. “I had no choice but to leave. I didn’t expect the world to have become… this.” She hugged her arms, shivering.
To everyone else, she looked like a sheltered young wife who’d lost her husband and stumbled blindly into the apocalypse—a fragile flower crushed by tragedy.
It was heartbreaking.
The system muttered, “You’re good at this.”
An Yue suddenly frowned. “Wait. Then why did you react like that when you first saw the commander? Don’t tell me… he looks like your husband?”
Ming Ming blinked, momentarily thrown—then realized what a perfect plot twist that was. She nodded solemnly. “Yes. How did you know?”
The room fell silent.
She blinked, confused, until she noticed everyone staring past her. She turned around—
The scouting team had just returned, lined up neatly behind her.
At the front stood Guan Yi, his expression dark as a storm.
Ming Ming: “…”
Great. Totally ruined it this time.
QAQ Commander, I can explain—!
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152