Chapter 7: Birthday

The rain kept falling outside, droplets tapping the kitchen window with a rhythmic patter, like a belated birthday song played just for Xueqiu.

Xia Yin walked in like he owned the place, tossing the paper box and plastic bag onto the table.

Xueqiu’s only dining table had sat empty for years.

Since her parents’ death, she’d treated it as sacred as a load-bearing wall.

But Xia Yin’s stuff took up nearly half the small marble surface in no time.

“Happy birthday, second-ranked freshman of our Spiritual Academy, my future junior… cough… I mean, junior sister now.”

Xia Yin untied the ribbon, deftly opening the box, as if he’d done this for others before.

“My birthday was yesterday,” Xueqiu said.

“I know that. Born March 16, 2006, right? ID number ends in… what was it? Whatever, let’s get this done.”

He removed the lid and patterned cardboard.

Inside the box lay a 4-inch cream cake, haphazardly studded with strawberries and a yellow candle marked “13.”

Xueqiu didn’t know why Xia Yin showed up with a cake.

They’d only met yesterday.

And as of yesterday, her age had gone from 17 to 18.

Neither 17 nor 18 had anything to do with the “13” on the cake.

“Thanks.”

She didn’t ask why he did it.

This boy must have his reasons, just like when he saved her last night.

“Let’s be clear, don’t expect me to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ or some sappy song. I won’t, and I don’t want to. This is just a task from the Professor, so don’t overthink it.”

Xia Yin pulled out a plastic knife, saying un-blessing-like words while cutting the cake—barely the size of a toddler’s head—into two.

“A task to celebrate my birthday?”

“You could say that, but I’m taking half.”

He paused cutting and tossed the paper shopping bag to Xueqiu.

“Here, your gift. Check it out.”

Xueqiu didn’t hesitate.

She pulled out a neatly folded white item—a hoodie with an “Adidas” logo.

“This a task too?”

“Nope, that’s from me.”

While tossing the hoodie, Xia Yin had already scooped his half of the cake onto a plastic plate.

“Well… not entirely. Someone gave me one for my birthday once. Pretty comfy, actually. But that one was black, and I think the style’s discontinued.”

“Where is she now?”

“Dead,” Xia Yin said, his dead-fish eyes fixed on Xueqiu.

The white-haired girl held the hoodie by its corners, checking if it fit.

“But heads-up, you might think this is some kind of legacy, like passing down weapons or titles to the next generation.”

“Don’t overthink it. It’s just a hoodie. I just felt bad seeing you in that torn-up shirt.”

“Plus, who knows how you’ll do in the Academy’s ranking exam. If you get an E, you might be packing your bags…”

Xia Yin rambled like an elder lecturing a junior.

To Xueqiu, it felt like he was preemptively saying everything to stop her from asking too much.

This fluffy-haired, dead-fish-eyed “senior” finished cutting the cake, took his share, and sprawled on the sofa, eating like it wasn’t her house—like she was the one celebrating his birthday.

“Ranking exam?” Xueqiu asked.

In three years of high school, she’d only heard of the academic proficiency test.

Students’ grades were sorted into A, B, C, and so on.

Xueqiu’s scores were painfully average; she’d barely scraped three A’s.

But this “ranking exam” Xia Yin mentioned seemed like something else entirely.

“You really don’t know, or are you playing dumb? Fine, you really don’t know… It’s the entrance exam for XXX Academy. In fantasy novels, it’s a magic test. In cultivation stories, it’s about your realm. In urban supernatural stuff, it’s probably…”

“A test for ‘superpowers’?” Xueqiu listened closely and came to this conclusion.

Superpowers felt like a concept from the ‘60s to ‘90s, tied to qigong or global power struggles.

But Xueqiu couldn’t fully believe it.

She could only try to convince herself.

“Kind of, but not quite,” Xia Yin said, finishing the last bit of cake on his plate.

He tossed the plate and plastic fork into the trash, then continued.

“It’s like… they simulate scenarios, and AI gives you a rank. S is the highest, E the lowest.”

Except for “S,” it matched what Xueqiu imagined.

If this was real, what “superpower” would she have?

Her first thought was “immortality,” since she didn’t die after the tentacle monster pierced her.

That morning, she’d asked Xia Yin.

He said when he arrived, he saw the tentacle monster about to kill her and her unconscious on the floor.

As for AI, Xueqiu’s understanding was stuck on ChatGPT from late 2023.

“Not eating?” Xia Yin lounged on the sofa, his dead-fish eyes on her, less grim than that morning.

“I’m not hungry,” Xueqiu said, clutching the white hoodie.

Her white hair blended with it.

“Um… Xia… Xia Yin, can I go back to school for a bit in the next few days?”

Xia Yin had no prejudice against this blank-faced, soft-spoken girl.

He thought she was shy, and that trait had only intensified with her new, familiar appearance.

“With that white hair? How you gonna explain it to your classmates? Say you went white overnight from studying? Voice and face changed too? Come on, that’s trouble for you and me. Do that, and your next stop’s the Qingtan City police station.”

Xia Yin’s tone was firm, like he was chewing not cake but that eerie black blade.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” Xueqiu said, lowering her head.

Her slender, pale fingers awkwardly twirled a few loose white strands.

“Hiss…”

As if struck by a sudden thought, Xia Yin coughed deliberately.

“But, you know, I’m not some stubborn, emotionless senior from a novel. Er, I mean, not all stoic types are stubborn… Anyway, going back directly is tricky, but we can try a different angle.”