Chapter 3: A Business Trip
“Ms. Bu Hui, could you please recount the details of the incident for us once more?”
At the host’s question, the face in the holographic projection showed a thoughtful expression, tinged with melancholy and reminiscence; every subtle nuance captured with crystal clarity.
“That day, I stepped out with my left foot first. The moment I opened the door, I sneezed—and I knew then that the day would be unlike any other. In our world, we call this ‘fate arriving.’”
“Oh? How so?”
The setting was a small, silver-white conference room. Two people sat opposite each other in the center. One was a petite woman with animal ears, whose ears twitched with her words—Hu Hu, a popular late-night celebrity host with a considerable fan base.
Opposite her sat Bu Hui, with several floating electronic recording eyes hovering above her head. A book rested on her lap.
The Widowhood Days
Bu Hui’s first autobiography, published last week by “Huimin Weekend,” told the story of a low-level alien civilization’s arduous journey to Stan Star and how, through a strange twist of fate, she became entangled with the federation’s most ruthless space pirate. It also recounted how she embraced the changes that came with her status as a widow.
The narrative was full of ups and downs, melodramatic and fraught with hardship—a fragile, humble girl and a cold, formidable pirate bound by a fantastical fate. Unlike the usual clichés of marrying into wealth, it suddenly surged in popularity, nominated for this month’s top 100 trending books.
Bu Hui’s reputation skyrocketed.
Sharing insights and conducting interviews became her new routine.
Hu Hu excitedly asked, “Are you saying your life was changed by a death row convict? Was the impact positive?”
“Yes.” Bu Hui nodded, a trace of confusion and gratitude in her eyes, addressing the camera directly, “Although I know we will never meet again in this lifetime, I want to thank the pirate here: you saved a truly pitiable soul. I hope your remaining days are peaceful.”
The camera zoomed in on Bu Hui’s face again, revealing the redness around her eyes.
Her tone was genuinely sincere—humble and joyful.
Hu Hu was so moved that tears welled up in her eyes, barely holding back a sob.
“So touching! A thoroughly wicked man, a devilish legend, unintentionally transforming the life of an ordinary person thousands of miles away. What a romantic story!”
The comment section refreshed in real time.
[Anonymous: Aah, I’m dying from how much I ship this!]
[Anonymous: This world needs more stories of ordinary people. Support Bu Hui!]
[Anonymous: Honestly, it’s ridiculous it took three months to resolve such a big matter.]
[Anonymous: At the end of the day, the pirate’s attacks only targeted the powerful; for ordinary people, it’s unfamiliar. Did any confiscated property benefit us? It’s just the elites’ backyard.]
[Anonymous: The above comment is right.]
[Anonymous: The above comment is right.]
…
The comment section exploded with lively discussion. Hu Hu’s live stream viewership instantly surged by three points, delighting everyone on and off camera.
After running similar melodramatic love stories for over a year, the audience’s patience had reached its limit.
Thanks to Hu Hu’s friend Chen Luo, a journalist from “Huimin Weekend,” who insisted this interview would be worth watching, they managed to schedule it during the same week the autobiography was topping sales charts.
Hu Hu, buoyed by the good news, pressed on, “Does your status as a widow affect you now? Do you feel troubled by it?”
“I have gained some fame and fortune lately, but none of that is what I truly want.”
Bu Hui waved her hand earnestly.
“I’m just an ordinary person who has worked diligently at the Huimin Factory for three years with almost no rest, only to receive this rare matching opportunity.
I wish to settle down in this beautiful city of Huimin. But I trust the relevant authorities will handle this matter properly and restore my rightful rights.”
Bu Hui opened her work page on her outdated, malfunctioning neural interface, showing her hours worked, prompting another wave of sympathy and admiration online.
[Anonymous: Oh my, poor girl, almost no rest for three years!]
[Anonymous: She finally got a matching opportunity; she must be compensated!]
[Anonymous: Sending 10 airship tips!]
[Anonymous: Sending 2 little planet tips!]
…
Covering her face with both hands, Bu Hui stifled a laugh amid the sound effects of tipping. When she revealed her face again, tears truly welled up.
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They were tears of excitement.
So much money!
After a brief pause, knowing the interview was near its end, she continued, “According to the Federation’s supreme constitution, during these three months before our contract officially begins, I will adhere to the constitutional mandate and remain a widow until the last day, fulfilling my responsibility.”
“Even if I am harassed, cyberbullied, and ridiculed by so many people, I published the autobiography to clarify my original intention.”
“This is a small, ordinary person doing all she can with every ounce of strength.”
No sooner had she spoken than the comment section erupted.
That very night, sales of Bu Hui’s The Widowhood Days doubled, and the interview went viral. The tale of a commoner and a pirate, a girl and a villain, a poignant and entangled story moved people to laughter and tears alike.
Several renowned critics posted lengthy praise on the Star Domain Network, lauding the kindness of ordinary people as the most precious virtue in this era rampant with materialism.
The publisher quickly contacted Bu Hui to secure contracts for two sequels.
One titled The Widow’s Gate and Its Troubles, chronicling the new stories emerging from Bu Hui’s recent ordeal.
The other called Does Cyber Widowhood Breed Virtual Romance?, exploring her thoughts on the new age of arranged marriages.
Bu Hui’s follower count soared.
The disappointment of being unable to change her job faded quickly with her newfound wealth. Once the money arrived, she immediately contacted the real estate agent to schedule the earliest possible move into Peace Town.
The agent said there would be a month’s wait.
That place was closer to the factory, easing her commute troubles. More importantly, the drunken homeless men who used to bang on her door all night had finally moved away, no longer frightening her into sleepless nights.
She could finally sleep well and fill her belly—an immense blessing.
Looking up, countless sky trains zipped swiftly along their routes, weaving between towering skyscrapers piercing the clouds. The city thrived, orderly and prosperous.
The shadow over her face vanished.
Chen Luo, Bu Hui’s handpicked collaborator that day, smiled happily at her relaxed expression.
Chen Luo had recently been promoted thanks to excellent performance, now able to independently select topics and publish front-page stories.
“Today is a good day. How do you plan to celebrate?”
“I have great news—I’m taking a friend out for a feast.”
Chen Luo looked slightly surprised. “That’s it?”
Bu Hui emphasized seriously, “Real food, not nutrient fluid or canned meals.”
“So I don’t see the difference.”
“I’ve never eaten real food before. Isn’t that something to be happy about?” Bu Hui recounted with delight something utterly astonishing to her.
“…”
Chen Luo’s throat tightened, dry and parched. Many words twisted in her mouth but were swallowed back.
Born and raised on Stan Star, Chen Luo’s family wasn’t wealthy but stable and secure. Her parents had worked as steady employees in Huimin City for decades. When tired and busy, they sometimes grabbed nutrient fluids for a quick meal.
If she remembered correctly, Bu Hui was already eighteen—an adult.
Eighteen years of living mostly on nutrient fluids—what could that have been like?
The sunlight suddenly felt harsh.
Chen Luo blinked hard and offered Bu Hui a broad smile.
“Can I recommend a restaurant? You’ll love it, I promise.”
…
The Comfort Restaurant.
Known in the area for generous portions, good quality, and affordable prices, it was highly rated on the Star Domain Network.
Bu Hui and Yuli pretended to be familiar as they sat by the window, ordering a flurry of dishes from the menu.
When the table was piled high with food, the two stared in disbelief.
“Why so much?”
Their usual hearty meal was just three bottles of nutrient fluid.
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So they each ordered three dishes as usual, filling the table with six plates, occupying more than half the space on a two-person table.
Yuli smiled foolishly for a moment.
“I’m so happy.”
Bu Hui popped a delicious-looking meatball into her mouth. “Taste the happiness first!”
Yuli remembered the last time she’d eaten food—it was five years ago, before her father died of illness and her mother ran off with a tramp from the Junk City. She was still a happy child in a poor family then.
Her parents worked as kitchen help and food runners in wealthy households, occasionally sneaking out scraps to feed her as soon as she walked in.
Those were rare delights of childhood.
She squinted her eyes, savoring the juicy burst of flavor from the meatball, a tiny tear mixing with her swallow.
“Your turn,” she said, popping a meatball into Bu Hui’s mouth.
It was a strange sensation, making Bu Hui somewhat hesitant.
The texture was like a chew stick—after years of nutrient fluids, her teeth had weakened and deformed. Following health advice, she chewed on these sticks ten minutes daily, often leaving her mouth full of crumbs from hunger.
But the meatball was different—soft, springy, juicy, with a lingering savory taste.
…Simply delicious!
Bu Hui gave Chen Luo and the restaurant her highest praise.
The two feasted heartily, messy and gleeful like little animals.
Until sunset, when the warm orange twilight gently caressed the city, a skyship slowly glided overhead.
Bu Hui pressed her face to the glass, noticing an advertisement clearly for the first time with her own eyes.
“Oh, it’s a travel ad.”
Yuli leaned in too, her fluffy red curls tickling Bu Hui’s face.
“When can we travel too?”
“Wait for me.” Bu Hui’s eyes fixed unwaveringly on the bustling, unfamiliar city. Her voice was firm and resolute.
“We’ll all become rich someday, live in big houses, and never worry about food or clothes. Trust me.”
…
Before they could plan their anticipated next trip, Bu Hui received a notice from her superior the day after returning to work.
A batch of government-abandoned flying vehicles was piling up on the Sixth Star, causing huge resource waste. Logistics wanted them to go on a business trip to assess damage, salvage valuable parts, and scrap the rest onsite.
“...The Sixth Star?”
Bu Hui broke out in a cold sweat.
What a coincidence! She was to go on a trip to the Abyssal Star—the prison near where the “criminal fiancé” was held?
Logistics fieldwork was exhausting and unpleasant, always outsourced to contractors like her. Past trips, though tiring, were at least free vacations. But the Abyssal Star—devoid of entertainment or scenery—was a place everyone avoided. One by one, her coworkers declined, and the task fell to Bu Hui.
Could she refuse?
Before she could say a word, her boss’s harsh expression said “don’t even think about it.”
“…”
Bu Hui calmed herself, recalling that since its establishment two centuries ago, no prisoner had ever escaped the Abyssal Star prison. Not even the infamous war criminals or murderers—all perished inside.
Even if there were gangsters loose outside, there was no chance of running into them.
The entire facility was heavily guarded and sealed. She would be accompanied by government colleagues the entire time. The risk of accident was nearly zero.
Could one person encounter two major accidents in just a few months?
Statistically impossible.
A business trip was a business trip.
Besides, she might as well use her widow status to earn one last bit of money. After returning, she could write a book about the experience.
Bu Hui pondered for a long time.
She decided to call it The Final Song: My First Intimate Encounter with a Pirate.
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