My childhood friend hated conquerors.

A full ninety-nine conquerors had come and gone-some dead, some insane.

One even leaped from the top of a high-rise, screaming, ‘Once I’m dead, he’ll definitely regret it.’

I asked him, ‘Why don’t you like them?’

My childhood friend answered, ‘Conquerors all deserve to die.’

Until later, when the Conquest System bound itself to me.

Trembling, I decided to avoid him.

Who knew that very night, he would cage me in front of the mirror, his voice hoarse.

‘Be good, Xixi. I’ll teach you how to conquer me.’

‘Don’t cry, don’t cry. Is our Xixi made of water?’

‘Why are you still crying? Do you want your brother to shut that mouth for you?’

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