The cafe's uproar over Hu Tao's video humiliation settled into a cautious hush, the crowd's laughter fading as they recalled her sway—cross the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's master, and your afterlife might not rest easy.
Hu Tao, still smarting from her "Smelly Peach" debacle, shunned Silent Hill's lingering dread and Dig to Ascend's torment, her eyes landing on Super Mario as today's safer bet.
She squinted at the premise, "A princess nabbed by a dragon, saved by… a plumber?" her voice dripping with confusion—where were the gallant knights or dashing princes of legend?
No matter the odd hero, she craved a game that wouldn't spike her pulse or her temper, and this pixelated romp promised a gentler ride than her last digital disasters.
The screen bloomed with Mario's world, its controls—WSAD or arrows, plus an attack key—spelled out plainly, a simplicity Hu Tao grasped with a relieved nod.
She nudged the plumber into motion, a spry little bean in red, and within two steps, a mushroom trundled toward him, her first foe in this bright, blocky realm.
The tutorial flashed: jump to squash foes, and Hu Tao chirped, "Take this, mushroom—butt-sit special!" launching Mario skyward with a gleeful tap.
Her aim veered a hair off, landing him nose-to-nose with the chestnut boy, and with a pitiful hop and a fade, Mario vanished off the map's edge, her first life snuffed out.
She winced, "Oops," her cheeks flushing at the instant flop, but she rallied for round two, nailing the jump this time, flattening the foe with a satisfying squish.
A question-mark brick dangled overhead, and curiosity drove her to bump it, a giant mushroom popping out, tumbling right, then left off a pipe to bop Mario into a beefier form.
"Bigger? What's that do?" she muttered, shrugging it off as she pressed on, her fingers warming to the rhythm, the game's gentle curve suiting her novice hands.
The first level fell fast, Hu Tao mastering growth shrooms, life-ups, sunflowers, and invincible stars, her confidence surging as she strutted into the second stage, spirits high.
Across the cafe, Zhongli logged in with a different mission, his calm unshaken by Hu Tao's antics—her dread of Silent Hill had thrust its clearance onto him, a task he accepted with a sigh.
He'd rather sip tea or savor an opera than dabble in virtual frights, not out of fear—six millennia dulled such things—but a lack of thrill in facing mere ghosts.
Yet Hu Tao's orders held sway, and as her dutiful "employee," he donned the headset, entering Silent Hill: PT's looping corridors with the gravity of a scholar on a quest.
"Let's unearth this world's truth," he murmured, his tone steady, resolve firming as he resolved to treat this not as play, but as a mystery to unravel with his ancient wit.
The game opened with cryptic lines: "Be careful, the gap in that door… is an alternate reality," followed by, "I am me, can you be sure you're the only you?"—words he lingered on, sensing depth.
That "door" could mean the first entry, each cycle's gate, or the bathroom's lure, he mused, the notion of parallel realities hinting at a fractured self within the protagonist's tale.
A parallel world, dual identities—these threads tugged at his mind, their full meaning veiled until the game's layers peeled back under his meticulous gaze.
He pushed the first door, stepping into the initial cycle, his amber eyes noting the clock frozen at 23:59, the radio's faint crackle, and a heap of wine bottles signaling a drunkard's life.
The second cycle snapped the far door shut, the bathroom rattling from within but unyielding, and Zhongli's focus sharpened on two cockroaches dropping from the ceiling.
Instinct whispered that every speck mattered here, and he trailed the insects back to the first corridor's corner, where a photo frame now lay—absent moments ago.
This wasn't random; the game rewarded scrutiny, and Zhongli crouched in the virtual gloom, inspecting the frame, its sudden appearance a breadcrumb in this haunted maze.
Liam watched from the counter, his system humming as Hu Tao's giggles and Zhongli's quiet intensity wove a fresh emotional tapestry—levity and focus in equal measure.
The cafe buzzed with fifty machines, Mario's jaunty leaps a soft counterpoint to Silent Hill's creeping dread, drawing players old and new into Liam's expanding net.
Hu Tao bounced through her second level, her plumber's quest a balm after her video shame, while Zhongli probed deeper, his millennia of wisdom bent to crack a digital enigma.
This wasn't mere gaming—it was a clash of wills, and Liam leaned back, savoring the yield as Teyvat's boldest tangled with his worlds, their every move a pulse of profit.
***
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