Chapter Fifteen: Counterterrorism Elite

Under Chuchu’s guidance, I registered a BnB account and patiently played a few rounds with her, but it didn’t take long before I grew bored. I exited the game, opened QQ, and stared blankly at the Windows desktop. Suddenly, a game icon depicting a pale gray little figure caught my eye. Below the icon was a line of unmistakable English letters—Counter Strike 1.5.

Curious, I double-clicked the icon. The computer screen instantly darkened, and a thrilling, stirring piece of music poured through my headphones. As the music played, the game entered the main menu, and on the right side of the interface stood a menacing figure in white, clutching a sniper rifle. So, it was a war game! My excitement surged, and I hurriedly clicked on “New Game” at the top of the menu.

“Huh? Why isn’t anything happening?” I muttered to myself.

Chuchu was still engrossed in her BnB match, but she heard me and glanced over at my screen, casually prompting, “Click ‘Join Game.’”

After I clicked “Join Game,” a local area network connection interface appeared. I stared at the screen for quite a while before I finally managed to join one of the servers. A moment later, the screen brightened again, and what I saw was a hand holding a pistol. I didn’t know how to control it; just a small nudge of the mouse sent the whole screen spinning wildly, leaving me disoriented, the muzzle of the gun pointed stubbornly at the sky, refusing to lower no matter how I twisted the mouse. As I struggled, a barrage of gunfire erupted in my headphones, and my screen instantly turned pure white.

“Ah! Why is the screen white?” I couldn’t help but nudge Chuchu beside me.

Chuchu took off her headphones, looking at me with a hint of exasperation. “Beizi Pig, you dummy! That’s a flashbang thrown by someone else.”

“Flashbang?” I was completely at a loss. By the time the white screen faded, my in-game character had already died a glorious death. Seeing my confusion, Chuchu quit BnB and opened the war game as well. As she started it up, she began to explain, “This game is called Counter-Strike. We usually call it by its English abbreviation, CS. It’s the most popular game at internet cafes right now! See, you’re behind the times.”

I nodded in agreement as I watched her skillfully set up a new room on the LAN. She leaned against my chest as she clicked the mouse rapidly, adding me to the room as well. After more than half an hour of fumbling, I finally learned how to buy weapons and perform some basic operations under Chuchu’s patient tutelage.

By the time she finished teaching me, Chuchu was thoroughly exhausted. She slumped against her chair, panting, and complained, “Beizi Pig, you’re hopeless! Teaching you is exhausting!”

“Heh.” Embarrassed, I scratched my head and tried to comfort her. “Good Chuchu, I’ll buy you a drink later, okay?”

Chuchu yawned, grumbled in reluctant agreement, then straightened up and prepared to duel me again in-game.

Chuchu picked the Counter-Terrorists, so I had to be a Terrorist. Following her instructions, I bought an AK-47, but after a few matches, I grew frustrated: whenever we faced each other, I would empty all thirty rounds without managing to kill her, while she could always take me down with a single shot.

“What a useless gun!” I slammed the mouse in annoyance and grumbled.

Before I could finish my second complaint, a new round began. I opened the buy menu again and suddenly spotted a heavy machine gun—code B51. Its intimidating appearance won me over immediately, and I decided to buy it for this round.

B51’s firepower was indeed impressive. With a hundred-round magazine, I no longer had to worry about running out of bullets, and Chuchu seemed wary of this gun too, falling to me several times in a row. Sadly, my good luck didn’t last long; Chuchu quickly figured out how to counter me. She exploited my inexperience and lack of skill to circle behind me and attack. The unwieldy B51 became a glaring weakness, and I turned into her moving target.

After several deaths in a row, I suddenly found I could no longer select the B51. I anxiously tugged at Chuchu’s sleeve. “Chuchu, why can’t I buy the gun anymore?”

Chuchu glanced at my screen, then pointed at the numbers in the lower right corner, explaining with mock seriousness, “You only have $125 left. How are you supposed to buy a gun? That’s what you get for picking B51 every round!”

So, it turns out you need money to buy weapons!

“But that gun looks so cool...” Even though I realized my mistake, I still tried to argue.

“Cool is useless, you blockhead.” Chuchu took off her headphones in exasperation, then leaned over to my ear and whispered, “Hey, where’s the bathroom?”

I didn’t expect her to ask me that, and I almost burst out laughing. I struggled to keep a straight face, shrugged, and replied with an innocent expression, “I don’t know either. Maybe ask the staff?”

Chuchu shot me an annoyed look before standing up. After a while, she finally returned, reached out, and pulled off my headphones. “Hey pig, it’s almost half-past nine.”

“Really?” Alarmed, I quickly quit the game and glanced at the time in the bottom right corner of the screen—sure enough, it was late! If I didn’t get home soon and my mom called my tutor’s house, I’d be in deep trouble!

We hurriedly paid and logged off, rushing out of the internet cafe. Only then did we realize it was raining outside. I told Chuchu to wait while I braved the rain to retrieve the bike from the parking spot. There was only a thin raincoat in the basket.

“Here, Chuchu, you wear it.” I tossed the raincoat to her.

Chuchu put on the raincoat and got on the bike, but when she saw that I didn’t have one, she felt a bit guilty. “Aren’t you going to wear it?”

“Heh, I like getting wet in the rain. It’s fine, the rain isn’t heavy. You wear it.” My explanation was insincere.

“Strange guy. I don’t like getting wet, and there’s nothing romantic about this.” Chuchu mused thoughtfully.

Is that so? Maybe it’s because I’m not Lin Wei by your side. My heart tightened, and I bit my lip.

As we rode along the empty streets, Chuchu grew quiet, probably tired as well. The rain drizzled down, and soon I was soaked to the skin.

Before we reached her house, Chuchu suddenly tapped my back, signaling me to stop. “Xiao Bei, I’ll get off here. Here’s your raincoat—put it on…”

“Okay.” I took the raincoat but didn’t put it on, just stuffed it back into the basket.

“I’m heading home. Remember to text me when you get there!” Chuchu shielded her head with her bag, quickly gave her instructions, and vanished into the curtain of rain.

Once I was sure Chuchu couldn’t see me anymore, I picked up the raincoat and carefully put it on, hoping my phone hadn’t gotten wet.

When I finally got home, it was already half past ten. After locking up the bike, I rubbed my aching shoulders and hurried upstairs. Standing at the door, I composed myself, rehearsed my excuse, and only then took out my key to unlock the security door…