The screen flared to life with "Boss Hu Tao Teases Employee Zhongli," and the cafe's hum hushed as Zhongli appeared, perched on a toilet, book in hand, mid-salute, a picture of stoic routine.
A flicker jolted the scene—the bathroom light snapped off, then on, off again, on again—Hu Tao's gleeful rhythm outside twisting the switch with a beat dubbed "Menglong," pure mischief in motion.
Zhongli's face sagged with weary resignation, a look that said he'd endured this prank too often, while the camera panned to Hu Tao, her grin wide as she toyed with her unflappable "employee."
Hu Tao cackled beside her screen, "Hahaha, Zhongli's so done—helpless on the throne!" her laughter ringing out, Tartaglia stifling his own chuckles to spare the sage's dignity.
Zhongli sighed, a faint crease of confusion on his brow—why had Liam conjured this indignity?—yet Hu Tao reveled in the absurdity, the mighty Morax humbled by her light-switch antics.
She'd never pulled this at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor—no electric lights there—but the video's hilarity sparked a wish she'd thought of it, her delight in the new "video" medium blooming fast.
Then the plot swerved: a guttural gurgle rumbled from Hu Tao's gut onscreen, her face paling as she clutched her stomach, panic flashing—diarrhea had struck at the worst possible time.
The parlor's lone toilet sat occupied by Zhongli, and Hu Tao's groan tore free, "Aww!" as she pounded the door, one hand on her rear, the other banging a frantic beat.
Her knocks morphed into a dance—bang bang, you've been hit by, a smooth criminal—her moves channeling Michael's godly flair, a desperate jig that had the cafe erupting in snickers.
Inside, Zhongli squat serenely, book steady, deaf to her pleas, while outside, Hu Tao's resolve crumbled, her eyes squeezing shut, mouth gaping in a wail as the inevitable hit.
"Mmm, heh, aaaaah!" she cried, the video freezing on her grimace, dubbing her "Smelly Peach" in silent text, a punchline that sent the crowd into hysterics.
"I'm dying—this is too much!" one gasped, clutching their side, while another wheezed, "Hu Tao pranked herself—genius!" their laughter shaking the cafe's expanded walls.
"Videos beat plays any day!" a third crowed, a fourth sniffing, "Wait, do I smell something?" their jests piling onto Hu Tao's filmed misfortune with gleeful abandon.
Tartaglia collapsed onto his desk, his restraint shattering, Zhongli's lips twitching upward in rare amusement—only Hu Tao sat stunned, her triumph flipped into a mortifying spotlight.
Her face darkened, a storm brewing as she shot up, "Liam, you're dead!" her voice a growl as she launched a crow-shaped blur at the counter, fury propelling her attack.
The projectile slammed into Liam, toppling him from his chair to the floor, her makeshift weapon—a fork, sans her Goma Staff—now jabbing at him as she demanded answers.
"Explain yourself—why'd you trash my image like this?" she snapped, her pride as Wangsheng's master stung after years unchallenged in Liyue's streets.
Liam nudged the fork aside with a grin, "If I said it's randomly generated, would you buy it?" his tone light, though he knew the excuse sounded flimsy even to him.
Hu Tao jabbed his cheek, "You think I'm that gullible? Delete this trash now!" her glare fierce, unconvinced by his dodge, her patience razor-thin.
He couldn't erase it—system rules held firm—but he pivoted, "Deletion's off the table, a principle thing; how about free Internet time forever as a peace offering?"
She paused, weighing it, then huffed, "Fine, you're lucky I'm generous," her cheeks faintly red as she climbed off him, satisfied with the deal and his contrite nod.
The hourly 100-Mora fee meant little to her wealth, but Liam's quick capitulation soothed her ego, though a nagging sense of being outmaneuvered lingered in her mind.
She flopped back into her seat, the cafe's laughter subsiding, her video humiliation a fresh legend among the fifty machines now buzzing with Super Mario and lingering giggles.
Liam dusted himself off, his system purring from the emotional surge—Hu Tao's rage, Tartaglia's mirth, Zhongli's quiet chuckle—a rich brew from a mere skit.
The crowd settled into their games, Mario's pixelated hops a softer draw, but the "Smelly Peach" saga echoed, a tale to lure more players and points in days ahead.
Hu Tao stewed, plotting silent revenge, her fork still clutched—she'd let this slide for now, but Liam's next misstep would feel Wangsheng's full, fiery wrath.
This cafe wasn't just a playground; it was a stage, and Hu Tao's bruised pride vowed to steal the show back, one way or another, from its grinning mastermind.
***
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