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Andre, who had been standing behind Zhi Wei all this time, fell silent for a moment before taking a soft breath.
Once again, he understood.
Slowly, he began to clap, his voice filled with admiration. "Even children are captivated by your charisma, Chief. You were born to be a Chosen God."
Zhi Wei was rendered speechless—doubly so.
First, a child cursed her, and now even a teddy bear did the same!
"Honestly, I can’t wait to buy that starship now," Zhi Wei said through gritted teeth, glaring at Andre. "Once we get it, you can sit in the pilot’s seat while I pick a bedroom in the back to sleep in—far away from your nonsense."
Coming from aristocratic roots, Andre was no stranger to politicians who wore two faces in public and private. He wasn’t fazed.
Instead, he was puzzled by Zhi Wei’s indifference.
"Weren’t you just moved and touched earlier?" Andre asked curiously.
"Don’t you feel that crushing pain when the world seems to shatter? That gray, hollow ache that makes you want to curl up and cry for days, not speaking for weeks? Even after pulling yourself together, the gloom lingers, and the sight of hypocrites becomes unbearable?"
Zhi Wei’s gaze turned incredulous.
Her expression was complicated. "...That’s oddly specific. Did you go through something like that before?"
Andre stammered, then fell silent.
Zhi Wei laughed.
"Here’s the thing," she said. "People judge actions, not intentions. If someone keeps up an act long enough, it might as well be real."
"But if they drop the act halfway, they end up hurting others and themselves. Makes sense, right?"
Andre nodded. "Exactly. No one compares to you, Chief. You’re naturally noble—no acting required. No one can outdo you."
Zhi Wei paused.
"What is wrong with you?" she asked, genuinely baffled. "Your judgment is really..."
Really questionable! Ugh!
She sighed and turned to look at Andre, who happened to glance back at the same time.
The midday sunlight spilled over his long, curled lashes, making his deep blue eyes shimmer like a cold, clear pool.
His face was stern, yet he fumbled with clumsy words just to please her. Was that really so unforgivable? Didn’t he deserve a little grace?
Zhi Wei shoved the bouquet into his arms.
Andre blinked, startled, but instinctively cradled the flowers.
A large bundle of orange blossoms filled his embrace. As he looked down, his golden hair spilled past his temples, brighter than the petals.
Zhi Wei’s anger faded.
What was his crime? He meant well. Why stay mad? Better to focus on lunch.
They grabbed a quick meal in the satellite city.
While eating, Andre kept refreshing the donation page.
By the time they finished, contributions had climbed to 6.5 million.
Andre beamed, calling it luck.
"Having money when you need it—that’s the best kind of fortune!"
Zhi Wei: ...Your luck is my misfortune.
They spent the afternoon shopping before returning to the secondhand shop by evening.
Zhi Wei toured the starship again.
The interior wasn’t much—worn and dated—but thanks to diligent maintenance bots, it wasn’t dirty.
The retrofitted suites had decent bedrooms, complete with bouncy mattresses. Zhi Wei sat on one to test it.
The material felt like slime, clinging to her when she stood.
She’d probably sleep till 5 PM on this thing!
Andre inspected the navigation systems. Starship piloting was part of his aristocratic upbringing—he had the training, but his skills were mediocre.
Luckily, the autopilot was reliable.
At checkout, Zhi Wei stayed aboard, watching the kitchen bot cook, while Andre went to pay.
Moments later, he returned, bewildered.
"They said we don’t have to pay, Chief," he said, grinning like a fool. "Someone already covered it—they’re donating the ship to us!"
Zhi Wei: ???
What did that mean?! Wait, if the payment failed, the money stayed untouched, and they got a free starship?!
After so much failure, the absurdity felt almost poetic.
That "haha, failed again" kind of feeling.
She really needed to pray—not to the kind of deity she could run against, but one that might actually grant her luck!
Why was everything going wrong?
Zhi Wei whipped around, fixing Andre with a sharp look.
"You’re really..."
Andre blinked. "What did I do?"
He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "Are you mad at me?"
He seemed ready to snap but held back, stiffening. "Are you firing me as your deputy?"
If Zhi Wei had known about his "bonus features," she might’ve reconsidered hiring him!
"Helping" was supposed to speed up her elimination, not her success!
"What’s going on?" she demanded.
Andre shrugged. "No idea. Talk to the owner. As your deputy, I can’t speak for you."
Zhi Wei groaned. "You’ve already done plenty on my behalf."
"Those were background tasks—deputies handle those. But public appearances are the candidate’s job," Andre insisted.
Wow, he was a stickler for tradition!
But Zhi Wei had switched from a talent show to a godhood campaign—this wasn’t about "public appearances," it was a genre shift!
She closed her eyes, pained. "Who wants the spotlight? I sure don’t! And yet, here I am, flashing my—"
Andre gasped. "Really?!"
He yanked off his uniform jacket, draping it around her waist like an apron.
Zhi Wei roared, "I’m not actually—ugh! Never mind!"
No, her backside wasn’t on display, you literal-minded noble!
Steeling herself, she prepared to argue with the owner.
There was no way she’d accept a free starship.
If this was just Andre’s connections at work, she’d refuse outright.
But the truth was even stranger.
The owner waved off payment, saying, "This was donated by one of your supporters."
Zhi Wei: "...Wow."
So besides cash, they were accepting in-kind contributions now?
The woman who’d paid stood nearby.
She approached, greeting Zhi Wei warmly. "Hello, Candidate Zhi Wei."
Zhi Wei’s idol training kicked in—her face-recognition skills were top-tier.
She never forgot a fan, always ready with personalized fan service on second meetings.
So she knew exactly who this woman was.
It was the older lady with slightly graying temples who had stepped forward to grasp Zhi Wei’s forearm and attempted to transfer credits to her via her neural interface when she first transmigrated and was spouting nonsense on stage.
Earlier, when Zhi Wei observed her, she had thought the woman resembled a scholar.
And indeed, Professor Xu’s self-introduction confirmed Zhi Wei’s assumption.
“My surname is Xu. I’m a professor at Lanmeng Academy.”
Zhi Wei immediately tried to decline the donation: “Hello, Professor Xu. The thing is, we’re buying this starship for future convenience, so there’s really no need for you to donate it to us.”
She spoke earnestly, “I’d prefer to pay for it myself. Please.”
Professor Xu’s tone was gentle, almost ethereal: “You won’t accept it? I was afraid you might find it too shabby.”
Zhi Wei shook her head, her words smooth: “Shabby isn’t the right word. These are the marks of time and history.”
So what if the little ship she fancied was a bit worn? It wasn’t just any ordinary vessel—it was a starship!
Professor Xu’s gaze seemed distant, as if her mind were floating elsewhere. Every word she spoke carried a drifting, unfocused quality.
Zhi Wei kept talking to her, but the professor only gave her a deep, lingering look at first before turning her attention back to the starship.
Professor Xu murmured, “I saw you at the noon rally, comforting that child.”
Her voice softened further: “Others wouldn’t even shake hands with a voter unless cameras were rolling. But you took her to meet the candidate she admired, then consoled her when she was disheartened. You didn’t boast about it—you simply followed your heart.”
Zhi Wei hurriedly tried to downplay herself: “I was just speaking offhand, Professor Xu. You know how it is—I didn’t really do anything, and I even got a bouquet out of it!”
She struggled to explain, but to Professor Xu, her defensiveness only proved she preferred action over praise.
Professor Xu smiled. “You’re a kind person. On the path to becoming a deity, maintaining kindness is no small feat.”
Her words were cryptic, hinting at meanings without fully revealing them.
Her eyes lingered on the starship. “This vessel may look battered, but its systems are intact. It could hold its own against warships ten times its size. The inside matters far more than the outside.”
Andre, standing behind Zhi Wei, couldn’t resist whispering, “The commander’s outside is quite lovely too.”
Zhi Wei shot back, “That’s not the point.”
Professor Xu echoed dreamily, “Exactly. The point is the inside.”
Zhi Wei, utterly sincere, clarified, “The point is, please don’t pay for me. Thank you.”
Professor Xu seemed surprised but insisted, “Many who begin the journey to godhood immediately adopt the privileges of deities—accepting offerings, whether in credits or goods. You could just as well accept this starship as my offering to you.”
Zhi Wei: …An offering? What, like I’m already dead?
Since when did offerings consist of secondhand, run-down starships?
She made a swift decision: “No, no—Andre! I’ll hold her back, you go pay! Hurry!”
Andre blinked. “Huh?”
“One more ‘huh’ and I’ll pluck every strand of your pretty golden hair bald! Go!”
Andre scrambled off.
Only then did Professor Xu turn back to Zhi Wei. Hesitating, she asked, “This isn’t a small sum.”
Zhi Wei replied sincerely, “Which is why it’s better off in your hands than mine. You’re a professor, after all.”
A faint smile touched Professor Xu’s lips.
She regarded Zhi Wei solemnly, her words weighted with implication: “I’ve spent my life searching for the world’s way forward. But time is fleeting, and human effort has its limits.”
Yet, in Zhi Wei, she glimpsed a strange possibility.
When one campaigns to become a deity, most shed their humanity to embody divinity. But what if a candidate who clung to kindness, who remained steadfastly human, could offer a new path?
After exchanging contact details, Professor Xu departed.
Zhi Wei watched her slow, drifting figure recede, thinking the professor seemed almost mystical.
Wonder what she teaches.
Andre returned, payment completed.
Zhi Wei suddenly asked, “Did you notice her at noon?”
Andre racked his brain before admitting, “No.”
He added sheepishly, “Our campaign team is too small. We could really use a security officer—someone to monitor our surroundings. In situations like today, they could’ve alerted us.”
Zhi Wei looked up, meeting his clear blue eyes—glass-bead bright, ocean-deep, reflecting her own image.
“Let’s call it… The Azure,” she declared.
Andre blinked again. “What?”
A small smile curved her lips. “This starship. Its name is The Azure.”
A tribute to the blue planet she could never return to—Earth.
Still, Zhi Wei held onto the thought that once she was eliminated, she might find a way home.
With a deep breath, she rallied herself and nudged Andre. “Come on, let’s go check out of the hotel.”
“And after that?” Andre asked, bewildered.
The abrupt question gave Zhi Wei pause.
Where to? Leave the temple district? Hold another rally? Roam aimlessly for a month until the elimination round on February 1st?
“No idea,” she admitted, but her uncertainty quickly hardened into resolve.
As always, no matter the challenge, she’d summon the courage to press forward.
Zhi Wei clapped Andre’s shoulder. “Adventure awaits! Ready, my lieutenant?”
