She's a Passerby, But Can See the Protagonist's Halo-Chapter 58

Yan and Zhu Jue returned with their shopping haul from the Dimension Convenience Store today.

The most expensive items were still the pair of tea cups and the double-sided embroidered handkerchief.

As for the snacks, they were relatively cheap in comparison.

Apart from the snacks being a little questionable, the other items could be openly displayed without issue.

"I think... well, sharing the snacks with my roommates shouldn’t be a problem," Yan mused aloud.

She could just pass them off as homemade products or sci-fi merchandise—ordinary galaxy-themed cups and planet-shaped candies were just snacks, after all. People would probably assume the manufacturers were just being creative and wouldn’t overthink it.

This time, the two of them hadn’t bought any Mist Berries, and the other small snacks were nothing too outlandish.

After all, none of her four roommates were from the future. Yi Zhi’s world had already descended into an apocalypse, but it clearly hadn’t reached the interstellar era yet.

Yan thought it over and decided it wasn’t a big deal.

Otherwise, sneaking around in the dorm and hiding snacks from her roommates would just feel weird.

When she reached the dormitory building, Yan carried two bags upstairs. Recently, Yi Zhi had been as elusive as Ding Ling, and Chu Bingbing was also mysteriously busy, rarely staying on campus during weekends. Gu Jiasui, however, was predictably stable—she was either in the association office or still in the association office.

Taking advantage of her roommates' absence, Yan carefully examined the packaging of each snack.

Some listed their origin as "Planet XX" or ingredients like "XX Fruit" and "XX Herb." The more fantastical and absurd they looked, the more likely they’d be dismissed as novelty gag snacks.

Thinking of the bizarre snacks from the original *Magic Academy* novels—like Chocolate Frogs or Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans—Yan figured she could easily explain these away with some sci-fi reasoning.

She picked out a few snacks that tasted no different from ordinary ones and left them on the shared table, waiting for her roommates to return and enjoy them together.

Then, Yan took out the "main purchases" from today’s trip.

The complimentary tea leaves from the store owner were stored in a porcelain jar, which she carefully placed on the table. She also took out the black-glazed tea cups she and Jue had bought, cradling them in her hands.

"They’re so beautiful," Yan murmured, blinking as she admired them. Just holding the cups and gazing at them was a delight—she almost didn’t want to use them.

But good things were meant to be used, especially tea cups. The more they were used and steeped in tea, the more intricate their crackled glaze would become, growing even more exquisite over time.

Yan rummaged through her drawer and pulled out a portable travel tea set she’d brought with her earlier. It hadn’t been used in a while, so she’d need to wash it first.

The dorm had a shared water dispenser funded by everyone, stocked with Yangquan spring water from Changbai Mountain—perfect for brewing tea.

She’d already indulged in quite a bit at the Dimension Convenience Store, but good tea wasn’t meant to be gulped down. Any more and she’d risk staying awake all night.

Yan started searching on her phone for materials to make a fan cover. Such exquisite double-sided embroidery would be a waste as a mere handkerchief—she’d die of heartache if it were just used to wipe sweat.

Though she had some doubts about her own craftsmanship, she swiftly placed an order online and then tallied up today’s expenses.

Seeing the sharp spike in this month’s spending, Yan felt a twinge of guilt.

*Hmm… maybe I should rein it in a bit next time we visit the Dimension Convenience Store?*

*Spend within your means, moderate your consumption!*

Even though she’d made some money following Yi Zhi’s investments, it wouldn’t last if she kept splurging like this.

Meals at school didn’t cost much, but the two of them went out almost every weekend—whether to Chu Shen’s restaurant or other outings—and all those little expenses added up.

On top of that, their growing list of hobbies meant constant small purchases here and there. Individually, the costs seemed minor, but they quietly drained their wallets.

Though their savings were still comfortably padded—especially after the nearly cost-free trip with the convoy during National Day—and with monthly allowances from home, Yan resolved to start thinking about ways to increase income and cut back on spending.

As Bin City approached winter, the dropping temperatures outside made Yan realize that she and Jue would likely be going out far less often.

Even if they did, it would only be to warm indoor places like malls or exhibition halls.

Meanwhile, Zhu Jue had also returned to the boys’ dorm.

He hung up his coat, set his phone to stay awake with the photos they’d taken by the seaside earlier, and, as always, immersed himself in his drawing.

……

Ye Ping’an abruptly covered the camera, causing an uproar in the livestream.

**[Host, why’d you block the camera? Huh? Did something goofy happen again? Show us!]**

**[Definitely another blunder, lol. Didn’t the host coordinate with the crew before streaming?]**

Ye Ping’an: "…"

With a resigned sigh, he lowered his hand. *Whatever. At this point, who cares?*

The interstellar audience then caught a fleeting glimpse of two vaguely familiar figures—and a door that vanished in the blink of an eye.

【Hahahaha I’m dying of laughter, it’s these two staff members again, right? How come it’s always them? Streamer, you’re probably the boss, aren’t you? Are these two just actors slacking off in this map scenario? Sneaking into an empty location to pick up a delivery, only to cause the streamer to crash and burn again.】

【Streamer, your company’s staff must be rolling in Star Coins. Who knows what kind of order they placed that requires using a Space Gate—must be worth at least a million Star Coins.】

It really is a Space Gate!

Ye Ping'an’s heart sank further as he read the hints in the live-stream chat.

Back when he used to livestream while walking down the street, though he never provided commentary, his interstellar audience could clearly see modern-day couriers and food delivery riders zipping past on their bikes.

At the time, the viewers had no qualms about discussing it: "How primitive! Back then, their ancestors still relied on manual labor?" "I heard the Xia people on Ancestral Earth had the most efficient delivery system, but compared to aerial deliveries now—let alone Space Gate deliveries—they were still several iterations behind."

【I heard Star Alliance elites use Space Gate deliveries for everything—parcels arrive in the blink of an eye, with a base fee of a million Star Coins.】

【Same star system? Not too pricey. Same star region? Gets expensive. Cross star regions? Insanely costly, ugh. Only the ultra-rich can afford Space Gate deliveries.】

A million Star Coins… So they really must be loaded.

Ye Ping’an turned the thought over in his mind. These two could cross time and space—clearly, they held high-ranking positions even in the interstellar era.

And this Space Gate delivery… It might not even be something they paid for themselves. Since they could appear in the present era, they likely had privileged access. Maybe the Space Gate didn’t cost them a thing.

The moment this occurred to him, Ye Ping’an felt a pang of bitter envy.

His useless interstellar livestream system—aside from converting currency—couldn’t even let him buy a single thing from the future.

The system claimed it was to avoid disrupting the timeline, fearing the butterfly effect.

Yet their own people were using Space Gates like it was nothing! Even flaunting interstellar snacks they’d brought over.

Though he’d grown increasingly indifferent lately, even if the system did allow him to exchange for futuristic items, Ye Ping’an wasn’t sure he’d dare.

After all, the present was undeniably the interstellar era’s past.

But if he introduced future technology now… would the future even remain the same?

History wasn’t something to be altered. He was just an ordinary guy—he didn’t want to be responsible for reshaping the world.

As Ye Ping’an watched the stream chat buzz with discussions about delivery services—the "Blue Bird" and "Wild Goose" series of aerial couriers, which sounded like ubiquitous interstellar drones—he pieced together that same-planet deliveries arrived within hours, interplanetary within half a day, and same-star-region within two days…

Compared to the present era’s "three-day delivery for nearby regions," there was still a long way to go before matching "same-planet hourly delivery."

The image of swarms of drones blotting out the sky flashed in his mind. Ye Ping’an mused—wouldn’t that mean during major shopping festivals like Singles’ Day, people would look up and see nothing but a dense canopy of drones overhead?

Even with the interstellar audience’s vivid descriptions, the sheer technological gap made it hard for Ye Ping’an to fully grasp what they were talking about.

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And he didn’t dare ask.

This time, the couple simply took their Space Gate delivery and left. Ye Ping’an quietly finished walking the rest of the path alone.

【So empty. This scene’s been under development for a while—shouldn’t the streamer add more actors?】

【Isn’t this kind of path meant to be deserted?】

When Ye Ping’an returned to the dorm after streaming, this was the scene that greeted him:

Zhu Jue was hunched over his desk, unusually quiet.

Ye Ping’an tiptoed behind him for a look—he was sketching a seaside landscape, slowly filling in the details of his partner’s figure.

Glancing discreetly at Zhu Jue’s desk, Ye Ping’an noted that despite seeing the couple carrying two bags earlier, the surface was as bare as ever. No telling what the Space Gate had delivered.

Pretending he hadn’t noticed anything, Ye Ping’an returned to his seat and silently called up the system in his mind.

He knew Zhu Jue and Yan were likely operatives from the Temporal Bureau behind this interstellar livestream, but he couldn’t just confront them outright.

He knew about the couple’s true identities. They knew about his. But they didn’t know he knew theirs.

Ye Ping’an mentally mapped out the logic—technically, this gave him the upper hand. He could observe them from the shadows.

Ever since catching them snacking on interstellar treats, Ye Ping’an had been secretly watching Zhu Jue.

The man was a master of deception!

Attending classes like an ordinary college student, going on dates, weekend outings—before learning the truth, Ye Ping’an had dismissed it all as typical campus life.

But now, if we add one premise to these two individuals—that they hail from a futuristic interstellar era where "Earth's history has been lost"—the actions of this young couple take on a far deeper meaning.

Based on what Ye Ping'an has gleaned from his livestreams over time, he suspects the pair likely arrived on ancient Earth through "special channels" for "archeological" purposes. Though it’s unclear how long they’ve been here or what methods they used to assume their current identities, their thirst for exploration is downright extraordinary.

Ye Ping'an had never before encountered people who ventured out every single weekend without fail, as if immune to exhaustion.

Think about it—for ordinary college students like him or Yuan Ye, after a week of classes, the only things they’d want to do are hole up in their dorms gaming or sleeping.

Chu Shen had his shop to run, "Old Man" Xiao had acupuncture sessions for the kittens, and Lin Fan went home to take care of his kid—those were unavoidable commitments.

But Zhu Jue and Yan? Every weekend, a quick scroll through his social feed would reveal them relentlessly checking in at new locations, brimming with enthusiasm and curiosity.

Let’s be honest—what average young person would spend three hours round-trip on the subway just to visit a chrysanthemum exhibition?

They seemed insatiably curious about the world around them, as if fatigue and boredom were alien concepts.

In hindsight, this relentless curiosity, their refusal to waste a single holiday indoors, their habit of staying out until dark—it all fit the profile of archeologists studying a forgotten era.

They were learning to blend in, documenting societal data, immersing themselves in the ancient world’s customs, all to bring firsthand records back to their time.

Ye Ping'an’s wariness stemmed from the uncertainty of the future.

Much like how he’d once fretted over whether his interstellar livestream might expose Earth’s coordinates, inviting an invasion from opportunistic futurists.

And since these two could transport items across spacetime, he couldn’t help worrying they might "deliver" some high-tech weaponry.

That would be an outright dimensional overpowering.

The interstellar snacks they’d shared last time had probably arrived via a spacetime portal express.

Still, he reasoned, people who used such portals for snacks rather than weapons probably weren’t much of a threat.

Finishing his daily sketch, Zhu Jue set down his brush and flexed his stiff wrists.

Looking up, he saw Xiao Qingnang standing at the dorm entrance while Ye Ping'an diligently rolled cat fur off his clothes. Yuan Ye wielded a handheld vacuum, assisting from the other side.

"Old Man Xiao, you’re even furrier today," Ye Ping'an teased.

Ever since Xiao Qingnang started treating the kittens with acupuncture, he’d made a habit of de-furring himself in the hallway before entering.

"Two professors brought their cats in for check-ups today," Xiao Qingnang sighed.

After trending on social media days prior, word had spread about him—the heir of an ancient medical family studying in a modern western med school.

Especially after his acupuncture proved effective in treating paralysis, not just classmates but even faculty would now randomly call on him.

He’d hoped to be just another low-key student, but now he was practically a campus celebrity.

And of course, the questions never stopped:

*"Why didn’t you enroll in a traditional medicine university?"*

*"Xiao, planning to integrate ancient and western medicine?"*

*"Your family didn’t object to you studying western med?"*

Today’s fur coverage was indeed heavier than usual. Though Zhu Jue’s acupuncture treatments had progressed, recovery was slow, and thorough cleaning remained essential.

"How’s Pengpeng today?" Zhu Jue asked.

"Her hind legs are noticeably stronger," Xiao Qingnang replied with a faint smile.

Each day’s acupuncture seemed incremental, but the cumulative effect was undeniable.

"It’s Sunday—your association’s probably swamped," Yuan Ye remarked.

Both dorms had visited the campus pet club, and after the recent viral buzz, Bin University’s Stray Care Association had exploded in popularity. The campus cats and dogs now had flocks of online "aunties and uncles" virtually petting them daily.

Naturally, Pengpeng received the most attention, though her littermates had also been successfully adopted.

"Packed," Xiao Qingnang confirmed. "The club president said it’s lucky Bin University restricts public access, or with this level of attention, we might’ve gotten some troublemakers."

Countless people now wanted to see Pengpeng, Calico, and Orange. The association was flooded with membership requests, plus students sneaking in by tagging along with members.

A few visitors might seem harmless, but crowds risked stressing the cats in their office.

“The reason I came back late today was mainly due to a meeting. We’ve slowed down the membership approval process, and non-members aren’t allowed in the office anymore. Also, aside from the usual long-term duty shifts for familiar classmates, other members should minimize their visits to the office—let the little cat recover in peace,” Xiao Qingnang explained.

Whether it’s a patient or a sick cat, a safe and undisturbed environment is the most basic requirement for recovery.

Some people may have good intentions, wanting to show care, but in reality, they’ve already become a nuisance.

“True, the attention lately has been overwhelming. I’ve even seen people deliberately going over to take pictures of the cat just to ride the trend—I came across it on my phone,” Yuan Ye chimed in.

After chatting for a while, Xiao Qingnang finished removing the cat hair from his clothes, and the group settled back into their dorm. Meanwhile, Zhu Jue posted the dried color illustrations and photos to his social media.

As expected, it wasn’t long before he received a flood of likes.

Yan was busy editing photos of herself wearing a pale yellow dress from her visit to the dimensional convenience store earlier. Once done, she sent them to Zhu Jue.

**[Yan]:** [photo.jpg]

**[Yan]:** Hehe~ All edited.

**[Zhu Jue]:** [kiss emoji]

**[Zhu Jue]:** If you like it, let’s go buy this set next time?

**[Yan]:** No! Unless they stock it in the men’s section—then you have to wear it with me. [jumping excitedly]

Zhu Jue chuckled.

**[Zhu Jue]:** Fine, next time we’ll ask Lu Chen to place an order, and we’ll wear it together. [jumping excitedly]

He saved the photo, automatically uploading it to the cloud and storing it in a dedicated folder.

Turning up the screen brightness, he carefully adjusted the colors, scrutinizing the hues before continuing.

This one would be his next drawing.

Room 414 in the boys’ dorm was quiet. Xiao Qingnang meticulously cleaned his backpack again—not just for the couple’s health but also because walking around covered in cat hair during class wasn’t exactly presentable.

Sitting at his desk, he pulled out the specialized medical log he kept for the cat, Pengpeng, and slowly jotted down today’s observations.

A month had passed since he started acupuncture treatments for Pengpeng. Time felt both fast and slow; unconsciously, he’d already filled thirty pages. He hoped to finish this notebook soon—or better yet, not have to fill it at all.

After finishing the log, Xiao Qingnang paused, then sent a message from his phone.

His contact list wasn’t long—mostly classmates from his university program, none of whom he messaged often. Aside from the dorm group chat, there was only one person he talked to daily.

The sunlit profile picture of the beauty basking in light still hadn’t replied. Unbothered, he quietly flipped open his textbook, fingers resting on the pages, his eyes occasionally drifting to the phone tucked at the corner of the book.

The dense text on the page refused to sink in, so he switched to his laptop, pulling up the acupuncture case studies and research papers he’d downloaded recently.

Ye Ping’an stepped out of the bathroom and glanced over, immediately feeling his brain assaulted by the sight of Xiao Qingnang’s PDF-filled screen. He decided he needed a round of gaming to recover.

*Medical students are warriors. No comparison. Absolutely none.*

Then he looked at the other med student in the room—still drawing his significant other. *Ah, a future love warrior in the making.*

Ye Ping’an couldn’t help but worry. *Please tell me future love-struck idiots won’t make entire planets pay if they break up…*

The period drama he’d been binge-watching lately had really gotten to him. The plot was so melodramatic—why did celestial beings dragging out their relationship drama always have to wreak havoc on the mortal realm? What did mortals ever do to deserve that?

All he could hope was that these two would stay sweet and harmonious on Earth before returning to the stars.

Xiao Qingnang had barely made it through a tenth of the case studies when his phone finally lit up.

She had sent a few amusing images.

Not photos, but cute, contemporary-style Q-version illustrations of cats. The first one depicted Pengpeng, the calico mother cat, an orange tabby, and a few other kittens. Scrolling further, he found more—Q-version scenes of her cuddling a kitten, and him performing acupuncture on one.

“Drawn by Student Zhao. Adorable.

“The association plans to use them for social media promotion.”

**[Xiao Qingnang]:** Very cute. Perfect for promotion.

He downloaded and saved all the images, trying to recall who Student Zhao was—but nothing came to mind.

Though skilled in traditional painting (he’d sketched many medicinal herbs before), this modern, stylized approach wasn’t his forte.

Still, ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‍this kind of art was more accessible to contemporary audiences, easier to digest at a glance.

Pondering, Xiao Qingnang stood and glanced at Zhu Jue, who had paused to let his latest drawing dry.

“Zhu Jue, do you remember any Zhao in the association who draws? From the art school, maybe?”

Zhu Jue tilted his head, thinking for a moment before shaking it. “Zhao? An art student, probably. Can’t say I recall.”

Xiao Qingnang hummed in acknowledgment, then typed out a message while standing beside him.

**[Xiao Qingnang]:** By the way, which Zhao is this? I’ve been thinking of starting an account on traditional medicine tips—illustrations might make it more approachable.

"We probably don’t know each other well. It seems to be a male classmate—the club president just showed it to me. Should I ask the president for you?" she replied.

His brow relaxed slightly as he typed quickly, "No need. I haven’t fully thought it through yet. If necessary, I’ll ask myself. Zhu Jue’s art style is also excellent, but he might not have the time."

Xiao Qingnang stood there, his height giving him a clear vantage point. Casually, he took a photo of two paintings Zhu Jue had left drying on the desk and sent them over.

He had already liked the previous seaside painting and photo posted by the couple. This new one would likely be shared by Zhu Jue later once it dried—or perhaps saved for tomorrow.

In Girls’ Dorm 320, Gu Jiasui received the casually snapped photo.

Zhu Jue’s painting?

At first, she clicked on it absentmindedly, having already seen the posts on social media and left her routine like and congratulatory comment.

But when she noticed one painting that hadn’t appeared online, Gu Jiasui froze.

In this painting, Yan was dressed in the formal attire of a noblewoman from the Great Zhou Dynasty.

Though traditional revival was now in vogue, there had been a period of cultural disconnection. In Gu Jiasui’s eyes, aside from professional restoration institutions, most mainstream traditional clothing stores had modernized their designs.

Zhu Jue’s work was meticulous, down to the intricate details of the hair ornaments.

But Yan’s outfit was different—the cut, the color scheme, even the hair accessories were unmistakably from the same era.

They belonged to her own past.

Gu Jiasui’s fingers moved, zooming in again and again. To her discerning eye, this skirt grew increasingly familiar.

Not because she had worn it herself, but because, during a certain period in the capital, this style had been all the rage at poetry gatherings and garden banquets. Noblewomen from prominent families had tailors from the famed Yun Dressmaker visit their homes for fittings.

"Did she go to a traditional clothing restoration site?" Gu Jiasui mused, though the hastily done hairstyle and minimal makeup seemed out of place.

The garment itself was impeccably restored. She enlarged the image and searched online, only to find no trace of it anywhere.

Turning away, Gu Jiasui was about to ask Yan where she had gone that day when a realization struck her. She bit back the question before uttering it.

Wait.

She zoomed in once more, her gaze fixed on one particular detail.

In this painting, Yan was sipping tea.

Zhu Jue’s skill shone through, capturing the beauty of the teacup with remarkable accuracy.

But the cup in her hand was a "Glazed Illusion Chalice."

In the present day, fewer than ten of these chalices survived, all housed in major city museums.

Where had this one come from?

A suspicion Gu Jiasui had once buried resurfaced.

What if this painting didn’t depict the present, but the past?

As a man, Zhu Jue might have overlooked the finer points of a woman’s hairstyle, but the precision in the clothing, accessories, and chalice suggested this scene was etched vividly in his memory.

Gu Jiasui was certain she had never seen Yan’s face before.

Yet in her past life during the Great Zhou Dynasty, the number of noblewomen who had interacted closely with her—enough to leave an impression—was vanishingly small.

If Yan had encountered her in that life and she simply didn’t remember, it was entirely possible.

Gu Jiasui waited until the next day, but the couple never posted the painting online.

By December, a week had passed since she first saw the image, and it still hadn’t been shared.

Knowing the couple—especially Zhu Jue, an unabashed "show-off" when it came to their relationship—his silence only deepened her conviction that they were hiding something.

To others, it would just look like a lovely traditional-themed photoshoot turned into art.

But with their frequent posts, why skip this one?

Were they afraid she might see it?