Chapter 2: Fortune Smiles Upon Me

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Setting aside the question of why a young man with such handsome and dignified looks, dressed like a gentle and ascetic priest, would be associated with a powerful song like “YMCA”—did he bear even the slightest resemblance to some golden-haired, chubby fellow who liked to eat McDonald's and drink cola? Absolutely not! This was nothing short of an affront to a handsome man.

—Ahem, well, back to the matter at hand.

The mismatch between the song and the person’s temperament was, in fact, a secondary issue. The primary question was: why did she suddenly hear that song?

Rachel believed she was the only one who could hear it, since everyone else around was still intently listening to Miss Robin’s speech.

Though Miss Robin’s fans were undeniably passionate, it wasn’t to the extent that they would shut out every other sound as if nothing but Miss Robin’s voice existed in their world.

Rachel gently nudged Montana beside her and whispered, “Senior, did you just hear music?”

Montana turned around in surprise. “What music—oh, I get it. You mean Miss Robin’s voice is as enchanting as the most beautiful song in the world, right? I understand, I’ve been there—first time seeing Miss Robin in person, it’s always like that. You can be more relaxed about it. As for me, I’ll just admit I’m a devotee of Miss Robin.”

Rachel: “...”

Rachel: “Alright then.”

Now she was certain that nobody in this room full of Miss Robin’s fans had heard that sudden burst of music just now—so the problem had to lie either with that Mr. Sunday or with herself.

Rachel: ...........

Better to rule out the former possibility first. According to Montana’s introduction, Mr. Sunday was an absolute elite of Pinoconi, a kind and gentle gentleman who cared about everyone. He could never be a fool.

But she could be.

Moreover, the song came from the world she lived in before crossing over.

During the rest of the lecture, Rachel couldn’t concentrate well; her mind was preoccupied with wondering what was wrong with her. Could it be that she was somehow clashing with this memory-rich world of Pinoconi?

She really could not afford to fail and have to repeat a year after dropping out!

Lost in these worries, Rachel listlessly completed the string test and, unsurprisingly, was admitted into Dreamweaving Academy—after all, she had never discovered any special talent for making money, nor was she particularly skilled at singing or dancing.

After confirming her enrollment, Rachel weakly smiled at Montana, who had sensed her condition, and said, “I feel a bit of ringing in my ears. Senior, how do I get to the school clinic?”

Montana smiled back, “This way. It’s quite normal—many feel a little uneasy when first exposed to memory essence. Let the adjuster take a look and resonate with you; it will pass quickly.”

There were indeed quite a few students experiencing memory essence for the first time. Rachel sat down in a small black leather chair and, following the firm words of the adjuster from the Celestial Ring tribe, looked up into their eyes.

Majestic and sacred yet ethereal and elusive, like a voice drifting from a distant place, Rachel recognized it—it was the Hymn of Harmony.

Every family’s members were required to sing this tune, praising Lady Hippe’s radiance and expressing the singer’s longing for universal harmony.

She blinked, feeling no change, but the adjuster, somewhat weary from overwork, said, “Alright, you can go back now, child. You’ll soon find that the world of dreams isn’t much different from reality.”

Rachel wanted to confirm one more thing: Would she no longer suddenly hear songs from her past life?

But the adjuster was already beckoning another student behind her, “Come on.”

She had no choice but to leave immediately.

*

Perhaps it was simply because this was her first exposure to memory essence that those ancient memories buried deep within her surged upward, or perhaps the family’s adjuster was extraordinarily skilled—anyway, for quite a while afterward, Rachel’s campus life proceeded peacefully.

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Like every civil engineering student, she frequented the library and the construction sites set up on campus for Dreamweavers, diligently studying theory, tackling the unavoidable advanced mathematics even after crossing worlds, and mastering the skills of cyber cleaning and cyber labor.

Good news: Dream engineering in the dream world did not require carrying heavy steel beams through swirling dust.

Bad news: Even in the dream world, civil engineering—or rather, dreamweaving—was still a profession demanding extensive internships and practical experience.

Moreover, the opportunity to gain such experience had to be fiercely competed for.

“Only those who have practical experience in their freshman year can be selected by renowned Dreamweaver groups as interns in their sophomore year!”

The lecturer loudly urged the students to push themselves harder. Rachel scoffed at the rationale behind these words, but at that moment she was broke. If she didn’t hustle, she would be reduced to eating bread and drinking plain water—or worse, be cast out from this dazzling dream world altogether.

Fate compelled her; fate made her strive.

Rachel’s grades were good.

Her education before crossing over had given her a refined aesthetic sensibility, and her efforts after arriving here had cultivated disciplined study habits. Thus, after the first month when other students were still distracted, she performed quite well in exams.

She qualified to attend the internship interview, and Montana was so excited that she gave Rachel a subtle, more vibrant nude makeup two hours early.

“Good luck!” she said, using a comb and hairdryer to neaten Rachel’s long hair. “Don’t be nervous. Your grades have always been excellent, right? They won’t find anyone better suited than you.”

Rachel took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if lowering her heartbeat to its lowest, “Thank you, senior. I’ll do my best!”

In truth, Rachel believed she was the best candidate—her grades were top-notch, she wasn’t shy during interviews, and before crossing over she had gained considerable experience in spring and fall recruitment seasons during her senior year... In short, this was a Rachel at level 99 of experience!

Accompanied by Montana, she arrived at the teaching building of the Dreamweaving Academy; the interview classroom was on the first floor, so Montana could only see her off there.

“Don’t be nervous. As long as you keep calm, you’ll be the best!”

Montana gave Rachel two thumbs up.

“I’ll wait for you outside! Let’s go to the library together tonight!”

Rachel turned and walked into the building.

The spacious corridor was floored with neat wooden planks, and her heels made a faint tapping sound as she walked. After losing Montana’s company, the nervousness inevitably wrapped around her.

Sitting on a chair outside the classroom, her anxiety intensified until sweat appeared on her palms. After all, this was an interview that would determine her future.

Her fingers gripped her skirt tightly as she whispered to herself: You can do this, you will surely succeed, good luck come, good luck come, good luck from all directions...

Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming impulse, from deep within, as if someone had suddenly thrown a speaker and a whole sound system into her brain and pushed her onto a stage.

Every muscle in her mouth and throat tensed, ready to—

Sing.

Not good—in a teaching building corridor?

Seeing another student ahead of her, Rachel hurried to the restroom. She couldn’t just burst into song before the interviewers; she had to try to vent this impulse first.

But why? Was it the same reason as when she heard “YMCA” earlier?

The urgent impulse was nearly unbearable. Pushing open a stall door, Rachel felt no different from a student rushing to relieve herself. She couldn’t hold back—the entire inside of her mouth itched, especially the tip of her tongue, as if a layer of fuzz was growing.

Finally, the moment she opened her mouth, those unpleasant sensations instantly vanished:

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Good luck come, I wish you good luck come

Good luck brings joy and love

Good luck come, we all wish good luck come

Facing good luck, thriving and prosperous, spreading through all seas

Fold a thousand paper cranes, tie a red ribbon

Wishing kind-hearted people good luck every day[1]

...

This song was heard every New Year’s Eve throughout the streets and supermarkets before Rachel crossed over.

Her college roommate, a fan of gacha games, would nervously play this song as temporary background music every time she drew a card.

A classic mystical tune—

“Good Luck Come.”

After finishing the entire song at a volume she couldn’t quite suppress, the cheerful melody still lingered in her ears.

Rachel covered her flushed cheeks and stepped out of the stall.

She hoped there was no one else in the restroom besides her... hopefully.

She intended to splash some cold water on her face; after all, makeup quality in dreams was top-notch and waterproof.

Yet, when she looked in the mirror, she suddenly noticed a pale red scarf around her collar that matched her Dreamweaving Academy uniform quite well.

On her curled hair, a small but exquisitely crafted paper crane was pinned, its wings still trembling faintly.

Rachel raised her hand to touch the paper crane and then the neatly tied scarf.

They truly existed.

She couldn’t help but recall the lyrics she just sang. Even after eighteen years of silence, the memories were vivid.

Wait—could it be...

The countless fantasy novels she read in her past life surged over her like a tidal wave, along with the knowledge she gained after arriving here: destiny, commands, star gods...

Being an ordinary person in this world was exhausting; was she finally destined to not be ordinary anymore, Jojo?

Rachel pursed her lips. She actually found this version of herself quite attractive, even somewhat resembling an architectural artist. So she didn’t adjust her attire but returned to the waiting area just as the heavy double doors to the classroom swung open and a voice called out her name.

Rachel hurried inside and bowed to the panel, “Greetings, teachers. I am Rachel from the Dreamweaving Academy.”

When she looked up, she saw among the interviewers—right in the center—a purple-black bird perched on one man’s shoulder, with a long, downward-curved beak and golden eyes.

The bird spoke, its voice kind and gentle: “Please begin your self-introduction, Miss Rachel.”