The digital countdown glowed ominously in the corner of her screen, a silent metronome ticking down to the start of the match. Qiao Zhi's fingers, poised over her keyboard, were steady, but the same couldn't be said for her pulse. It was a frantic, fluttery rhythm entirely caused by the voice that had just graced her headphones—a sound as soft and calming as a gentle stream, yet with the power to send a seismic shock through her system.
"Let's have a good match!" Gu Yangjin's voice had been a melody woven from pure silk, slightly muffled by the microphone but no less captivating. It wasn't loud or demanding; it was an invitation, a hopeful whisper that made Qiao Zhi want to vault through the digital divide and ensure she had nothing but good matches for the rest of her life.
