My Strange Tale Love Strategy Simulator

Li Ziqing held the gift box in her hands and looked down at it for a long time.

She touched the brim of the beret with her fingertips, her fingertips gliding along the curved surface of the beret.

"It's so beautiful."

She carefully took the hat out of the box, held it in her palm, and examined it from all angles.

Seeing how she was holding the hat like a precious treasure, Zhang Ying couldn't help but smile. "Try it on."

"Um."

Li Ziqing pulled her hat down over her head, the brim so low it covered her eyebrows. She glanced at the ends of her hair hanging down her shoulders, then looked up at Zhang Ying with a questioning gaze.

Zhang Ying suppressed a laugh and shook his head, reaching out to help her pull her hat brim up slightly, his fingertips brushing against her cool forehead.

The brim of her hat stopped slightly above her hairline, just enough to reveal her slender eyebrows.

She hadn't worn it for long when she took the hat off her head and handed it back to Zhang Ying with both hands.

"Junior, could you keep this hat for me?" Her tone was soft, but disappointment was palpable. "If I keep wearing this hat, it'll fall off sooner or later."

"I don't want it to fall on the ground. This is the first gift you've ever given me."

Zhang Ying tucked his fingers together, holding the brim of the hat in his hand, and nodded. "Okay, I'll keep it safe for you. Contact me anytime you want to wear it."

Li Ziqing's lips curved into a smile, and she took half a step back.

She raised her right hand, and with the tip of her index finger she gently traced a line across the palm of her left hand, creating a thin crack in the skin from which a drop of dark red blood oozed.

The drop of blood didn't fall; it hovered half an inch above her palm and began to spread outwards.

First, it solidifies into a flat, round outline, then the edges curl upwards, as if being shaped by a pair of invisible fingers, gathering and solidifying layer by layer.

In no time, a hat exactly the same shape as the white beret landed in her palm, only its color was a very deep dark red.

Li Ziqing slipped the blood-red beret onto her head, the brim positioned exactly as Zhang Ying had adjusted it for her earlier. She gestured with her chin towards Zhang Ying: "How is it? Does it look like me?"

Looking into her bright, sparkling eyes beneath the brim of her hat, Zhang Ying said from the bottom of his heart, "Beautiful."

Li Ziqing turned her face away, raised her hand to press the brim of her hat, and covered the corners of her mouth that were turning up.

When she turned back, her expression had already returned to that of a confident, senior student. Her gaze swept over him as if she'd discovered something new. "Junior, you didn't call me over just to see me wearing a hat, did you?"

Zhang Ying was taken aback by her question, coughed twice, and then tried to sound serious. "Actually, there's one more thing."

His gaze lingered on Li Ziqing's black hair over her shoulder, then paused. "Senior, this hat doesn't quite suit your current hairstyle. I'm thinking of braiding your hair before you put the hat on; it would look much better that way."

Li Ziqing's expression remained unchanged, but her shoulders subtly twitched upwards, and her fingers unconsciously touched the ends of her hair near her ear.

She remained quiet for a long while, so quiet that Zhang Ying began to regret whether he had acted too hastily.

The only sound in the living room was the slight scraping of plastic as the little turtle climbed the rocks in its transparent box.

"You juniors have probably seen what my hair looks like in real life."

Zhang Ying nodded.

"My real hair is ugly." Her voice was low, as if stating a fact she herself didn't want to admit. "No matter how well these conjured hairs are braided, they can't change the fact that they're inherently ugly..."

"Absolutely not ugly," Zhang Ying said decisively. "Even if it's a transformation of hair, it's still your original beautiful look! It's just that you're currently lacking a good hairstylist, like me."

Li Ziqing wrapped her fingers around the lock of hair near her ear several times, then unwrapped them and wrapped them again, repeating this process three or four times.

Then she took the hat off her head, held it in her hand, and took a deep breath.

"Okay." She walked to the sofa and slowly sat down. She straightened her back, put her legs together on the sofa cushion, placed her hands on her knees, and gently placed her blood-red beret beside her legs.

"It's up to you, Master Zhang."

Zhang Ying chuckled at her last form of address. He stood up, walked behind her, and took a wooden comb from his pocket.

He bought this comb on a whim when he passed by a general store today. It has wide teeth and rounded teeth, making it suitable for styling soft hair.

He weighed the comb in his palm, stood in front of Li Ziqing, and gently gathered a lock of her hair that was hanging down her shoulder.

The moment the comb teeth touched the ends of her hair, Li Ziqing's shoulders tensed up abruptly.

Her breathing stopped. Like someone choking her, her body instinctively dared not exhale.

She didn't call for a stop, nor did she move away. She simply closed her eyes. Once closed, the sounds in her ears were no longer just the subtle friction of comb teeth brushing against her hair.

The shadow hidden in her heart surfaced before her eyes.

The locker room door was kicked open, and several dark figures were reflected in the mirror, forming a semi-circle. The blades of scissors were open, and the clicking sound of metal rubbing and colliding echoed in the small space, round and round, like a music box that never stops.

The ballet dancer buried her face between her knees, strands of her hair falling to her feet.

Zhang Ying stopped combing his hair. He keenly sensed that the aura emanating from her had changed.

It wasn't an overwhelming outpouring of resentment, but something finer and more fragmented, like cold air seeping out from the cracks after being compressed to its limit.

He removed the comb from her hair, his palm hovering above her shoulder, not touching her directly, but letting the warmth of his palm rest on her shoulder through a layer of air.

"Senior," he said softly, but each word was enunciated firmly.

"Your hair is really good, so soft and smooth, it opens with just a stroke of the comb," Zhang Ying said calmly as he combed his hair. "I used to comb my friend's hair, and his hair was like a steel wool ball. Yours is a hundred times better than his."

Li Ziqing's shoulders twitched, and he let out a very low laugh, as if he had choked on something.

Zhang Ying put down the comb and used her fingers as a comb to draw a middle parting line from her scalp downwards. She then slowly began to weave using the weaving techniques she had learned from videos.

The living room light shone on Li Ziqing's back, illuminating the boundary between her white dress and fair skin. She remained motionless, quietly feeling the ten fingers running through her hair.

Zhang Ying braided a side braid that hung down on Li Ziqing's right side.

As he finished the braid, he took a thin black rubber band from his pocket, wrapped it three times around the end of his hair, and secured the last knot. The rubber band snapped, tightening and loosening, and the braid stopped steadily below his right ear.

He curled the stray hairs on her left side outwards with his fingertips, then took a half step back, looked her up and down, picked up the white beret on the coffee table, and gently placed it on her head, lifting the brim to reveal her braided hair.

"Okay," he said.

Li Ziqing opened her eyes.

On the coffee table in front of her was a small round mirror, which Zhang Ying had taken from the bathroom while she had her eyes closed. The mirror reflected the living room sofa, coffee table, and the small turtle box, but not her face.

But her gaze didn't linger on the mirror. She turned her head and looked at Zhang Ying's face behind her.

Zhang Ying had a fine layer of sweat on his forehead, whether from nervousness or seriousness, it was hard to tell.

She stared into Zhang Ying's eyes, where two tiny reflections appeared in his pupils: a girl wearing a hat, with braided hair hanging down beside her ears, and the hem of her white dress lying quietly on the sofa cushions.

She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again.

Tears welled up without warning.

Blood-red dewdrops gathered in his eyes.

Blood and tears slid down her cheeks, dripping onto the neckline of her white dress, forming a small, dark red flower.

Zhang Ying panicked, grabbed two tissues from the coffee table, and knelt down in front of her, wanting to wipe her tears but not daring to touch her. The tissues trembled twice as they hung beside her cheek.

Li Zi took the tissue from his hand and pressed it to the corner of her eye.

The tissue turned dark red the moment it touched the blood and tears. She didn't wipe it away, but just pressed it against the paper, the corners of her mouth curving up wider than ever before.

Daily task one completed.

[Reward: 1 point of sanity]