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Invasion of reality (5)

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Chen Li deliberately chose to leave during the morning rush hour, taking advantage of the heavy flow of people and strong yang energy.

The morning, which should have been bustling, felt as if a layer of gray haze had settled over the air. Everyone hurried along with quick steps, avoiding eye contact. Even the breakfast stalls were fewer than usual.

People’s faces were filled with anxiety.

And today was only the fourth day since the supernatural phenomena appeared in this world.

After making sure no one could see him, System 001 floated beside him and still chose to speak directly into his mind: [The situation escalated too suddenly, and with how fast modern media spreads news, by the time your human authorities noticed, it was already impossible to contain.]

If it weren’t for the digital era, maybe they could have covered it up for a while.

Chen Li nodded silently. He stood amid the usually busiest crowd for a long time but couldn’t catch a single taxi. He had no choice but to order a ride through an app, waiting a full five minutes before someone accepted.

When the driver arrived, he looked Chen Li up and down through the window, as if trying to determine whether he was a human. The gaze made Chen Li uncomfortable.

After a moment, the driver gave a slight nod, signaling him to get in.

Once Chen Li got in, he was shocked by what he saw: dozens of yellow talisman papers were strung together, creating a barrier between the front and back seats.

The driver silently started the car after Chen Li fastened his seatbelt.

[System, do these talisman papers actually work?] Chen Li asked curiously.

System 001: [Only a small portion of your human talismans are effective. As for these ones the driver is hanging, they’re all fake.]

The driver casually pressed a button, and suddenly the car radio played the news.

The news anchor’s meticulous voice came through: “Recently, there have been frequent supernatural attacks causing injuries. Citizens are advised to reduce nighttime outings and avoid going out unless absolutely necessary…”

Hearing the words “supernatural” treated so seriously in reality made Chen Li momentarily dazed.

The broadcast continued, reporting recent incidents.

“On the night of April 24th, five middle school students held a dare game at midnight in their classroom, playing the pen-fairy game. An accident occurred and none survived. We warn everyone not to go out at night or engage with anything that might trigger supernatural events.”

“On the night of April 25th, a woman in red flagged down taxis. According to the Supernatural Regulation Bureau, this woman is believed to be non-human. Ten taxis carrying her experienced accidents, and one taxi disappeared entirely. If anyone encounters the missing taxi driver, please report immediately. The missing driver is described as wearing black with a tattoo of the letter F on his arm…”

Chen Li: [Supernatural Regulation Bureau?]

System 001: [It’s a special task force set up temporarily by humans to handle supernatural incidents. Almost 98% of them are veteran players.]

While Chen Li was chatting with the system, the driver suddenly turned his head and spoke for the first time since they met: “Passenger, you smell really nice.”

His pitch-black eyes stared straight at Chen Li.

But bizarrely, he twisted his neck 180 degrees to look at him!

Chen Li instantly freaked out and placed his right hand on the door handle, ready to jump out anytime.

What was strange was that the car kept driving smoothly on the road. The driver, seeing Chen Li’s movement, seemed momentarily stunned but then shook his head and turned back as if nothing had happened, murmuring, “So nice…”

Drool dripped from the corner of his mouth onto his arm.

The tattooed letter F on his arm was especially conspicuous.

Chen Li didn’t let go of the door handle, ready to jump out at a moment’s notice:
[001, is the missing driver from the broadcast just now him?]

System 001, taking advantage of being unseen, floated to the front to take a look:
[Yes, and he probably hasn’t realized he’s already dead.]

So, he kept driving passengers endlessly, following the same path he took in life.

[Sometimes these things happen, which is why he isn’t aggressive toward you.]

After all, he still retained some rational human thoughts at this moment, though he was greedily drawn to Chen Li’s scent and acted irrationally.

Chen Li stayed silent, afraid that any word might provoke him.

Thankfully, fewer people were on the road today, so there was no traffic. They arrived quickly under the FuTech Tower. Chen Li hurriedly opened the door and ran inside without looking back.

He could feel the stabbing gaze burning into his back. The driver didn’t leave but continued to stare hungrily.

Only after entering the building lobby, separated by the glass revolving door, did that cold, ominous gaze disappear.

System 001 sighed: [So this is what it means to have a ghost-attracting constitution?]

Others might never meet a ghost in their lifetime; for the host, it happened every time he stepped outside.

Chen Li pulled out his phone and called the police, reporting the missing driver’s description and last known location.

The police had obviously been alerted and immediately asked: “Did you notice anything unusual about him?”

All the drivers who picked up the ghost woman died, and this one disappeared, so it was obviously suspicious.

Chen Li didn’t hesitate this time and told them the driver could rotate his head 180 degrees.

No one who could do that could be alive. The police thanked him: “Thank you for your report. This matter will be transferred to the professionals. For your own safety, please leave the area promptly.”

Chen Li forced a bitter smile and agreed.

Right now, his own safety was probably the least guaranteed in the world.

As for the professionals the police mentioned, it was definitely that official Supernatural Regulation Bureau.

He hadn’t expected the organization to be so formal just four days after the phenomenon started. Chen Li became a little curious about that bureau.

As he thought, he walked to the front desk and gave a soft, obedient smile:
“I’m here to see someone.”

The moment he entered, the receptionist noticed him immediately—his appearance was just too eye-catching. She raised a sweet, responsible smile and asked: “Who are you here to see?”

Chen Li nervously tugged at the hem of his shirt: “Ah, I’m looking for Fu Moyang.”

He felt extremely uneasy inside.

Because time was tight, Fu Moyang only had a chance to tell him to come to the FuTech Tower to find him—without explaining what kind of situation it would be.

Do ghosts have jobs in the real world?

Thinking about Fu Moyang’s nine-to-five corporate grind, Chen Li couldn’t shake off the strong sense of dissonance.

Looking around at the suits of all the elites coming and going, he almost felt a wave of social anxiety.

It was only thanks to the chatterbox 001, who kept pointing out details about the company’s decor, that Chen Li didn’t chicken out.

The receptionist was stunned. She said the company didn’t have anyone by that name. But seeing Chen Li look so disappointed—like a kitten that just lost its favorite toy—she couldn’t help but say: “Fu is a somewhat uncommon surname. Our CEO’s last name is Fu, though.”

Chen Li’s eyes lit up: “May I ask the CEO’s full name?”

“Fu Yan.”

A name he hadn’t heard before.

System 001: [Still, you should meet him—what if it’s him?]

Based on what it knew about that ghost, being a company CEO actually fit his style perfectly.

Chen Li blinked eagerly: “Can I meet him?”

Before the receptionist could say no, he gave her a pitiful blink and added: “I just want to ask him one question.”

The receptionist, who was a face control, was instantly charmed and a bit dizzy: “Okay.”

Before she realized it, she had already dialed the number.

A somewhat cold voice answered on the phone: “What is it?”

Hearing that, the receptionist instantly snapped to attention and started regretting her decision.

Normally, without an appointment, no one gets to see the CEO. She was sure she was about to get scolded.

She glanced quickly at Chen Li’s handsome face, then felt a surge of confidence. Closing her eyes, she hurriedly said: “Someone wants to ask you a question, and they were wondering if you might…”

Before she could finish, the voice on the other end interrupted impatiently and coldly: “Is this your first day at work?”

The voice was a bit loud, and Chen Li, standing close by, heard it clearly. Not wanting to make things harder for the receptionist, he quickly spoke up: “Sorry, Mr. Fu, I insisted she ask.”

He raised his voice slightly to make sure the CEO could hear.

At the same time, a feeling of disappointment settled inside him—he already knew this wasn’t the person he was looking for.

After a two-second pause, perhaps surprised by how young the voice sounded, Fu Yan finally showed a hint of interest: “What is it?”

Chen Li was startled for a moment, then realized the question was directed at him. He hurried to speak before the impatient young CEO hung up: “I’m looking for someone named Fu Moyang.”

He didn’t expect much, but suddenly, there was a loud bang on the other end.

It sounded like something had been thrown or dropped.

The receptionist and Chen Li exchanged confused looks. She asked hesitantly: “CEO, are you alright?”

After a long pause, Fu Yan’s voice came through: “Send him up.”

To make sure she understood, he repeated sharply: “Let him come up!”

The receptionist breathed a sigh of relief: “The CEO says you can come up. Take the elevator to the 13th floor. A secretary or assistant will meet you there.”

Chen Li politely thanked her.

The receptionist wanted to cover her face in embarrassment. Wow, where did this well-behaved kid come from? She really wanted to take him home!

Since it was rush hour, there were quite a few people waiting for the elevator. They chatted about the latest gossip while waiting, and Chen Li found himself forced to overhear.

“Did you hear? Someone from the company next door was found dead in the bathroom this morning. The whole place is locked down now.”

“Yeah, heard it was brutal—definitely not something a human would do.”

“Probably a ghost again. Lucky our company hasn’t had any trouble.”

“The CEO said in the morning meeting that there’s absolutely no chance of any supernatural incidents here.”

“Why is he so sure? Maybe it’s because our company has good feng shui?”

Clearly, the employees held the CEO in some reverence—even when gossiping about him, their voices lowered.

The elevator climbed quickly, and as Chen Li stepped onto the 13th floor, a meticulous secretary was waiting and greeted him: “Hello, I’ll take you to see the CEO.”

“Thank you,” Chen Li said awkwardly.

Half the floor was for secretaries and assistants, the other half was the CEO’s office.

The secretary knocked: “CEO, your visitor has arrived.”

“Come in.”

The secretary stepped aside, gesturing for Chen Li to open the door and enter himself.

This was his first such formal business meeting, so Chen Li nervously opened the door and stepped inside.

A man sat on a pure black executive chair.

His custom-tailored suit was perfectly pressed, and a black-and-gold watch flashed on his sharp wrist, clearly very expensive.

Fu Yan was studying him, voice unreadable: “Please sit.”

Chen Li carefully sat on a nearby sofa.

The secretary kindly closed the door behind him.

Suddenly, Fu Yan stood up sharply!

His chair slammed back, hitting the glass.

Chen Li thought: …He probably now knows what caused that loud bang on the phone just now.

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Author’s note:

Little lamb:

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Invasion of reality (4)

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Chen Li’s rational mind screamed that he couldn’t let them keep playing—but ever since the little girl had entered the room, he’d been frozen in place. Even his soul form was somehow restrained.

He could only watch helplessly as the girl sat on the floor surrounded by dolls, holding the baby in her arms. She reached out and grabbed a toy carrot.

“Why won’t you listen?”

A rough male voice suddenly rang out in the room. It was identical to the man’s voice from the earlier argument outside. Startled, Chen Li looked around in alarm, but couldn’t see who had spoken.

Then another voice rang out—and this time, Chen Li’s gaze snapped to the source in shock.

The little girl’s lips were moving, but what came out wasn’t her childish voice—it was a woman’s sharp, accusing tone:

“Why are you bullying your little sister?!”

“Children who misbehave don’t get to eat!”

“You’re too selfish!”

She muttered to herself, but every word was an adult’s scolding voice, overlapping in a terrifying loop. The voices circled around her like a curse. Her eyes gradually went blank, hollow.

With each word, she forcefully shoved the carrot toward the baby’s mouth, playing “house”—pretending to feed her.

But the movements grew rougher and more violent. The baby’s face began to twist into something unnatural—first turning a deep, poison-like purple, then warping grotesquely. Its mouth remained wide open and bright red.

Then, to Chen Li’s horror, the toy carrot suddenly turned into a gleaming, ice-cold knife.

In that moment—seeing what the sister was doing to her “baby sister”—Chen Li finally regained the ability to move and speak.

He screamed: “Stop it!”

The baby’s head snapped around to face him.

Its grotesquely deformed face split into a bizarre grin. Then, with a mechanical hehehe, it spoke in a flat voice: “Mommy, Daddy, I love you.”

It was no baby at all. It was a silicone doll, its face still twisted into that unnatural shade of purple.

Clutching his chest in shock, Chen Li finally understood why it hadn’t bled when stabbed—only its face had changed.

It wasn’t real. Just a fake baby.

But before he could fully process the absurdity, the baby’s face suddenly zoomed toward him, enlarging several times until it was right in front of his eyes—nearly nose-to-nose.

“Mommy, Daddy, I love you.” The doll whispered, red mouth wide open.

Just like a startled cat reacting instinctively, Chen Li didn’t scream or run. His first reflex was to slap it hard. The doll flew across the room, landing on the floor with a lifeless thud.

Even the little girl seemed stunned. She stared blankly at him, along with the rest of the dolls.

What should have been a terrifying scene now felt strangely frozen, almost absurd.

Amid the thick silence, Chen Li blinked wide-eyed and asked carefully: “Did I break it?”

“Huh?” The girl looked at him, then at the “sister” on the floor—and suddenly burst out laughing.

“Hahahahaha!”

Not even the sound of the door opening or the man and woman walking in disturbed her laughter. She just kept laughing until the man grabbed her and slapped her hard across the face.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

The girl’s eyes went dull and lifeless the moment she saw the two adults.

The woman let out a pained cry: “How could you treat your own sister like that?!”

Her already sharp features twisted into something cruel and venomous: “You killed your sister! You’re a hopeless, wicked child!”

The girl, who had just looked so calm in front of Chen Li, now turned red-eyed under her parents’ scolding. Like a cornered animal, she let out a ragged scream: “No! That’s not my sister!”

“Shut up!” The man roared like a furious bull, nostrils flaring. Breathing heavily, he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the bedpost.

“Aah!” she cried out in pain, tears and blood streaming down her face. Struggling against him, she shouted, “My sister died half a year ago! That thing’s just a toy! It’s fake!”

She didn’t understand why the parents who used to love her had become so terrifying. All she wanted was to finally release the pain, neglect, and fear she had endured over the past six months.

“She’s dead! Why are you pretending she’s still alive?! I don’t have—mmph!”

She hadn’t finished speaking when the woman—her mother—covered her mouth. The woman’s gaze was cold as she looked at her and said: “You’re sick. Just get some sleep and you’ll be fine.”

Blood matted the girl’s hair to her forehead. The cold indifference on her mother’s face made her shiver. Finally, fear overtook her. She began trembling, even begging—but it was no use.

Her parents dragged her by the hair to the bathroom sink.

The faucet was turned on. Water quickly filled the basin.

Chen Li was once again paralyzed, his hands and feet ice-cold as he could only watch helplessly while the atrocity unfolded before his eyes.

In that moment, he suddenly understood—this wasn’t a dream, but a place akin to the girl’s memory. That’s why he couldn’t change or stop anything from happening.

“Mommy, Daddy, I love you. Mommy, Daddy, I love you. Mommy, Daddy, I lo—”

The doll that had fallen to the floor kept repeating the same phrase due to a faulty connection. Its head was turned precisely toward the bathroom, its plastic eyes reflecting the entire scene.

“Good girl, be a good girl,” the woman’s voice suddenly turned gentle, but her hands were brutally cruel. “Just go to sleep, and everything will be normal again. You’ll be the daughter Mommy and Daddy love the most.”

The man’s words were even colder: “You brought this on yourself for bullying your sister. You need to be taught a lesson. We’ve spoiled you too much.”

Water was forced into the girl’s mouth, nose, and ears. At first, she kicked and struggled, but gradually her resistance weakened until, in the final moment, her delicate hands stopped moving and fell limply over the edge of the sink.

The entire scene was reflected in the mirror, and through that reflection, Chen Li clearly saw the expressions on their faces.

It was also the moment the girl lost all signs of life that the world around him began to shatter. The ground beneath his feet split apart, and he plummeted straight down. The intense sensation of weightlessness caused his body to jerk—and he woke up in bed.

But the moment he woke, he felt an icy chill creeping up from his ankle, as if it were seeping into his bones.

[Host! Host! There’s a ghost! Ahhhh! It’s grabbing your foot!!!]

Chen Li tried to pull his foot back, but he couldn’t move.

Not only had he encountered the mirror ghost again—he was also experiencing sleep paralysis.

This time, he could hear System 001’s voice, but he couldn’t respond.

No matter how hard he tried—even with all his strength—he couldn’t move a single finger.

With great effort, he cracked his eyes open just a sliver and saw a vague, misty figure in the shape of a girl rise from the end of the bed and step directly onto his chest.

“Big brother, come play house with me, okay?”

His consciousness began to fade. Chen Li couldn’t move or speak—he could only struggle to keep his eyes open, desperately trying not to be dragged back into that “memory.” His instincts told him that if he fell into it again, he might never wake up.

But it was hard for a human’s will to fight against a ghost’s power. His resistance only bought him a few more seconds, and just before he fully lost consciousness, a furious shout rang out.

“Don’t bully my host!!!”

A glowing ball shot forward like a cannonball, slamming into the mirror ghost’s waist and sending her flying two meters before crashing off the bed.

Only then did Chen Li realize that the voice hadn’t come from inside his head—but from beside him.

The moment the mirror ghost left the bed, Chen Li snapped out of the trance of sleep paralysis. At that moment, he couldn’t even worry about being scared: “001, you have a physical body now!?”

“Eh? Oh wow, I do!” System 001 spun in circles, delighted.

The mirror ghost, now ignored, glared with furious eyes: “I’m going to eat you, you rotten brat!”

System 001 dodged nimbly, shouting “Ahhh!” as it psyched itself up—and charged again.

Not only did it have a physical form in the real world, but since it had been created by the Ghost King, it existed outside the Three Realms and could touch ghosts directly.

And so, against all odds, it actually started brawling with the mirror ghost.

But one was a ghost, and the other was just a puffy little spirit ball—with no real combat ability. It didn’t take long for System 001 to fall into a disadvantage.

While it was struggling, Chen Li didn’t just stand there blankly—he reacted instantly. He jumped up, grabbed a random vase, and rushed into the bathroom. There was a cracking sound, followed by the shattering of both the vase and the mirror.

The mirror split into countless cracks, reflecting the figure in a fragmented, shattered way.

Without hesitation, Chen Li grabbed a large bottle of body wash and smashed it against the mirror, breaking it even more thoroughly.

As soon as the mirror broke, the mirror ghost’s form immediately became blurry and illusory, until it completely disappeared. But before Chen Li could even exhale in relief, faint noises came from the bathroom in the living room.

Gritting his teeth, Chen Li grabbed a wooden rack from the living room. By the time he reached the bathroom, the mirror had already begun to reform, shrouded in a layer of mist. Without a second thought, he slammed the rack against the mirror again.

The bathroom mirror in the living room shattered completely.

Finally, the entire house fell silent.

Without an intact mirror to serve as a medium, the vengeful ghost could no longer enter the house without the owner’s invitation, and was forced to wander in frustration.

Chen Li, panting heavily, put down the wooden rack. Floating beside him, System 001 chirped curiously: “Host, how did you know the key was the mirrors?”

He recounted everything he had seen before falling asleep to the system. After listening, System 001 pondered for two minutes, then suddenly brightened up and said: “I found a related case!”

It circled around Chen Li proudly and explained: “This was a news story from five years ago. A couple had two daughters, but after the younger daughter passed away, the grief-stricken parents fell into deep guilt and hallucinated, mistaking a cloth doll for their deceased daughter. Their elder daughter, only nine years old, couldn’t bear their behavior and destroyed the doll, which led to her being brutally murdered by her parents.”

System 001 clicked its tongue: “After killing their elder daughter, the couple calmly kept the body together with the doll, until relatives who came to visit ten days later discovered the corpse’s foul smell. The couple is now undergoing treatment at a psychiatric hospital downtown.”

After reciting the news, System 001 added: “You humans are truly complicated.”

Chen Li said nothing and sat down on the sofa. The sunrise streamed in, casting light across the cushions.

He gently stroked Pipi, who was sleeping soundly, and the Ghost Bus nestled beside Pipi. His eyes gradually hardened with resolve: “Let’s go. We’re going to find Fu Moyang now.”

Watching his host’s growth, System 001 let out a soft, fatherly sigh.

Ah, my child has truly grown up.

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Author’s note:

001, if you keep taking advantage like this, someone’s definitely going to smack you!

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Invasion of reality (3)

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Hearing that chilling and bone-deep question, Chen Li was so terrified he opened his mouth but couldn’t make a sound—before he could utter anything, a piercing scream echoed in his mind.

System 001: [Aaaaah!!!]

Chen Li forcibly swallowed back the scream that had almost escaped. With a quick turn of his feet, he leapt straight into the nearby flowerbed, silently apologizing to the trampled plants in his heart. Using the waist-high bushes as cover, he dodged the female ghost’s first attack.

The ghost missed again and let out a furious shriek, like a wild beast provoked. She lunged at Chen Li with elongated fingernails aimed straight at his back.

Those claws could tear through a steel plate—if they hit a person, it would mean flesh ripped open and blood everywhere.

Already exhausted, Chen Li felt a pang of despair. Just as he thought he couldn’t dodge in time, something furry and orange darted out from his feet.

“Woof woof woof!!!” A startled corgi barked furiously at the ghost.

Chen Li blinked in surprise: “Pipi!”

He hadn’t expected that the runaway Pipi had been hiding in the garden all along.

Xiao Qian stopped in her tracks: “Oh no, my little dog.”

Grinning wickedly, she reached out to grab it—but just as her hand was about to touch Pipi, she yelped in pain and pulled back as if burned.

It was like she’d touched something terrifying. The skin on her right hand turned unnaturally red, and she let out a wretched scream.

Reacting quickly, Chen Li scooped up Pipi and bolted toward his apartment building. He ran nonstop all the way home, locked the door behind him, and finally set the dog down, panting heavily.

Pipi was clearly shaken too. Trembling, he curled up close to Chen Li, whimpering pitifully.

Catching his breath, Chen Li dragged his weary body to the couch: [001, what the hell is going on?]

He glanced at his phone—the time showed 9 PM, and the TV still displayed static.

System 001, recovering from its shock, responded: [They have merged.]

[What?]

System 001: [The Horror Game and the real world have merged!!]

Chen Li gripped his phone tightly.: [You mean the supernatural elements from the Horror Game are appearing in the real world?]

System 001 thought for a moment: [More accurately, the Horror Game has invaded reality. The whole point of those NPCs collecting “fear points” was to prepare for this. Originally, there was no ghostly energy in your world—but now that a breach has opened, it’s pouring in. If it continues, your world will become a supernatural world too.]

System 001: [Fortunately, the Horror Game has its own rules and limitations. Even in the game, ghosts can only kill under certain conditions—and that still applies in the real world. That dog is the perfect example.]

Chen Li paused and looked down at Pipi, who was circling him closely.

Pipi looked up at him with shiny black eyes: “Woof!”

No wonder the ghost had been burned when she tried to kill Pipi. It must have been one of the rules tied to using Xiao Qian’s body—she couldn’t harm her own dog.

Chen Li’s nose stung with emotion as he hugged Pipi and gave the corgi’s chubby butt a squeeze: “Your owner protected us.”

Pipi didn’t understand, but barked twice more and licked his human’s hand with his tongue.

System 001: [This dog might be the first—and probably the only—creature that instantly recognized its owner was possessed.]

Chen Li gently rubbed the dog’s ears, feeling a bit down.

This detail matched the lie the female ghost had crafted. She had said that Pipi suddenly went wild barking at a certain spot before running away in fear. That “spot” turned out to be her.

Chen Li thought for a moment: [001, about Xiao Qian…]

System 001 already knew what he was going to ask and answered firmly: [She’s dead. You saw her body change just now—no living person could twist like that. Even if we forced the ghost out of her, her soul had already dissipated.]

It was the first time someone he knew had died because of a supernatural incident. Chen Li felt lost, realizing just how terrifying it was for the Horror Game to start encroaching on reality. Anyone could die from a paranormal encounter—his friends, his teachers, even himself. People would be living in constant fear, and nightfall would become synonymous with danger.

He got up and boiled some chicken for Pipi. During the process, he forced himself to calm down, though his hands and feet remained icy cold.

System 001: [You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to look for him. Nighttime is far too dangerous for someone with your constitution.]

Other people might be able to walk safely down brightly lit streets, but if the host dared to go out now, he’d be torn apart by ghosts in minutes.

It was obvious who “him” referred to.

“Yeah.” Chen Li carried the chicken out of the kitchen. That was his plan anyway.

Fu Moyang still hadn’t contacted him. Maybe something had happened. But he couldn’t afford to panic right now.

After watching Pipi finish eating, Chen Li used an old shirt to make a temporary nest for it. Only then did he lie on the bed with his phone, replying to the flood of messages asking if he was safe.

To his surprise, someone had even created a fan thread for him on Weibo.

He browsed through it—and immediately exited with his face burning.

Wh-Why were these netizens so bold…?

Words like “贴贴” was considered one of the milder things they were saying. They were calling him “wifey” with such enthusiasm that it made the comments on his livestream look tame in comparison.

Chen Li was even a little relieved that Fu Moyang hadn’t seen any of it. With his personality, he’d get jealous in an instant…

System 001, taking initiative, helped him set up an officially verified Weibo account. The username was simply his real name, and the bio said: “Champion of the Golden Butterfly Youth Division.”

The profile picture, however, was of a giant wolf wrapping its tail possessively around a tiny lamb, which was barely the size of its paw.

The moment he saw it, Chen Li’s face turned bright red.

Others might think it was some kind of cool special effect, but he recognized it immediately—that was from two instances ago. Him and Fu Moyang. He hadn’t expected the system to capture that exact moment.

System 001 shamelessly admitted to his sneakiness: [I’ve been recording videos of every instance too.]

Face flushing, Chen Li pulled the blanket over his head and decided to ignore the system for now.

As soon as the account was verified, System 001 used his powers to give it a quick boost. Fans flooded in instantly.

Everyone was stuck at home and bored, so their responses were especially enthusiastic.

Looking at the rapidly growing follower count, Chen Li felt a warmth in his heart. He posted a short Weibo update: “Stay safe.”

The image he included was a quick sketch he’d drawn earlier.

The comment section lit up immediately.

[Aaaaah, the drawing is so cute!]

[You’re finally here!]

[Take care and stay safe!]

The comments started off fairly normal, but soon enough, it turned into a full-blown emotional outpouring from fans. One desperate comment, practically written in blood begging his “wife” to livestream again, was upvoted to the top.

Blushing and flustered, Chen Li quickly closed Weibo. Only after logging out did he notice that Gu Fu had replied to him almost instantly.

Even though Gu Fu had tried to kill him in the previous instance, he didn’t actually know Chen Li’s identity and hadn’t really hurt him. Aside from some lingering awkwardness, Chen Li genuinely hoped nothing bad would happen to his childhood friend. Seeing Gu Fu’s message first made him breathe a sigh of relief—then his heart began to race.

Gu Fu: [I’m just glad you’re okay. Don’t go out at night for the next few days.]

Gu Fu: [I’ll be discharged the day after tomorrow. If you have time, can we talk? There’s a lot I want to say to you.]

Chen Li hesitated for a moment before replying with a simple [Okay.]

As the second-ranked player on the leaderboard, Gu Fu might know things that even the system couldn’t detect.

With unease lingering in his chest, Chen Li slowly closed his eyes, trying to relax his tense body.

. . . . .

When the clock struck midnight, the bathroom mirror fogged up. Droplets of water trickled down its edges, gradually merging to form a humanoid shape out of mist.

Step by wet step, it walked out of the bathroom. It reached toward the person tossing and turning in bed, gently resting a hand on his ankle.

“Big brother, come play with me.”

With a metallic clang, Chen Li opened his eyes and found himself in an unfamiliar environment.

To his shock, he realized he was no longer in his own room, but in a completely unfamiliar one. Judging by the overwhelmingly pink decor, it clearly belonged to an innocent, pampered little girl. The entire room was drenched in shades of pink—pink walls, pink bedsheets, and dolls scattered across both the bed and the floor.

Am I dreaming?

Chen Li tried to pinch himself, but realized he had no physical form. His translucent body couldn’t touch anything, and no matter how he called out to the system, there was no response.

Did I become a wandering spirit in my own dream?

Just as he was struggling to make sense of it all, he suddenly heard arguing outside the room. He couldn’t pass through the white door, so he pressed his ear lightly against it, trying to listen.

At first, the voices were muffled and distant, like they were behind a thick wall. But then, they rapidly grew clearer, drawing closer.

It was a child arguing with two adults.

“You’re the older sister—why can’t you give in to your little sister?!”

“She’s not in good health, you need to be more understanding.”

“She’s still so young. As her big sister, you need to act more mature.”

“Get away from me!” the girl screamed, clutching her head.

Her outburst abruptly silenced the adults outside. A moment later, the door burst open and then slammed shut again with a loud bang.

A young girl, around eight or nine years old, with her hair tied in pigtails, stormed into the room, clutching something tightly in her arms. Without hesitation, she threw herself onto the bed.

Even though Chen Li knew dreams were often illogical, he was still stunned when he saw what the girl was holding.

It was a sleeping infant.

But from the argument just now, hadn’t it sounded like this older sister hated her little sister?

The girl didn’t seem to notice the spirit presence in the room. She gently shifted the baby into a more comfortable position so it was sitting upright in her lap. The movement woke the baby, who immediately started crying—mouth wide open, wailing loudly, tiny fists waving in distress.

“Waaah—waaah—”

Amid the baby’s noisy cries, the little girl smiled innocently, as if she heard nothing at all.

“Let’s play house, little sister.”

---

---

Invasion of reality (2)

---

System 001 spoke up shakily: [Could it be that you remembered wrong? We already passed the sixth floor.]

Chen Li stared at the glowing red number 7, his delicate Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he replied: [Hmm, then I’ll go back down and take a look.]

This time, he didn’t let himself get distracted looking for Pipi. He stepped down steadily, one foot after the other, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the stairwell.

“The… sixth floor?” Chen Li suddenly stopped in his tracks, his scalp tingling as he stared at the number 5.

It was a stairwell he knew like the back of his hand, yet right now it felt eerily unfamiliar—ominous and terrifying.

[Aaaaaaahhhhhh—!]

Chen Li froze for a second before realizing the scream was coming from System 001, shrieking directly inside his mind.

[System, what’s wrong with you?] he asked, instinctively covering his ears, though it did no good.

The sound was coming from within his brain, loud and jarring—like something straight out of a horror film.

System 001 screamed: [It’s a ghost hitting the wall!]

Chen Li: [Weren’t you the one who said you’re not scared of this kind of thing?]

System 001 faltered, suddenly hesitant: [That was when we were inside the game. From my perspective, it all just felt like playing.]

But now they were encountering something supernatural in the real world—and that changed everything.

[…]

As they talked, Chen Li kept running downward. He should’ve reached the fourth floor by now, but no matter how far he went, he was still stuck on the fifth floor—running in circles, going nowhere.

Panting slightly, he leaned against the stair railing. Just then, the silence was broken by the sound of footsteps from above.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Heels. The sound of high heels clicking against the floor.

Startled, Chen Li looked up and, through the gaps in the railing, he saw a pair of black high heels. Above them was a short black skirt ending just at the knees.

Worried he might see something he didn’t want to, Chen Li quickly looked away.

Xiao Qian leaned forward slightly, a few strands of her wavy shoulder-length hair falling to obscure her face: “Mr. Chen?”

Hearing her voice, Chen Li quickly responded: “It’s me.”

Xiao Qian looked anxious: “You’re stuck in the ghost hitting a wall too?”

“Yeah,” Chen Li nodded, rubbing his arms.

He looked back up at Xiao Qian.

She said: “I heard that to break out of a ghost hitting a wall, you have to jump out of the cycle. Try opening that door.”

Chen Li turned to look at the door to his right. This was the fifth floor—his floor. Behind that door was his apartment.

As if drawn by some invisible force, he placed his hand on the door, about to push it open—when a sudden jolt of unease flashed through his mind.

Just moments ago, Xiao Qian had clearly been heading downstairs—so why was she now above him?

A chill slowly crept up from the soles of Chen Li’s feet. He froze in place, too afraid to move.

Xiao Qian’s puzzled voice came from above. She was staring at him intently through the gap in the stair railing: “Why aren’t you opening the door?”

For no logical reason, Chen Li had a gut feeling that opening that door would lead to a bottomless abyss—that he would be smashed to pieces.

Whether it was instinct or intuition, he let go of the doorknob.

The once-normal-looking door revealed its true form: a charred, pitch-black wooden door. No matter how he looked at it, this was not the door to his apartment.

Seeing him let go, Xiao Qian’s voice turned frantic and angry: “What are you doing?!”

She suddenly reached out, trying to grab him. Her once-delicate face twisted into a terrifying expression, as if she were about to devour him.

He must not let her grab him—

That thought surged violently through his mind. Chen Li turned and bolted a few steps. But she moved even faster—her long, sharp fingernails were almost at his back.

From who-knows-where, a burst of courage welled up inside him. Chen Li pushed off with both hands, vaulted over the stair railing, and leapt straight down the central stairwell.

But the pain he was expecting never came. He hadn’t actually fallen all the way from the fifth floor—his feet landed firmly on solid ground.

He stumbled a bit, then looked up and saw a number—6.

He had escaped that ghost hitting a wall nightmare!

As he was finally recovering from the shock, System 001 stammered in his head: [A-Are you crazy!? If that had been the fifth floor, even if you didn’t break any bones, you’d be limping for weeks!]

Clearly, spending too much time around Fu Moyang had rubbed off on him. This system used to have such a sweet and gentle host—now it was picking up his madness.

Chen Li wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and smiled slightly at the voice: [Don’t worry, I’m fine.]

His heart was still pounding violently.

System 001 huffed proudly: [It’s not like I was worried about you or anything.]

Chen Li continued down the stairs. This time, he easily made it to the ground floor, where he saw Xiao Qian calling out for Pipi in a worried voice.

When she saw him, she ran over without hesitation: “So Pipi wasn’t upstairs either, huh?”

She looked completely normal—aside from her slightly smudged makeup.

System 001 whispered in his mind: [That probably wasn’t the real her just now.]

Even though he had just gone through all that, Chen Li still felt his skin crawl as she approached.

Xiao Qian muttered sadly: “Pipi must be so scared…”

Chen Li forced himself to offer a few comforting words. Then, almost casually, he asked: “You… didn’t go upstairs just now, right?”

What he really wanted to ask was whether she had experienced anything strange—but he didn’t want to alarm her.

After all, encountering supernatural stuff in the real world was downright terrifying.

Until he figured out whether he was the problem, or if the real world had gone wrong, he had no intention of letting it show.

Xiao Qian looked genuinely confused and shook her head: “Nope.”

Chen Li gave a strained smile: “It’s fine. Let’s keep looking.”

After what had just happened, he really couldn’t bring himself to let Xiao Qian—just a girl—search for the dog alone at night.

She nodded, then glanced at his face: “You sure you’re okay? You look super pale.”

His face really was handsome. No girl could ignore that.

“I’m fine.” Chen Li took the lead and started calling out, “Pipi! Pipi!”

System 001: [What kind of dog is it, anyway?]

Chen Li: [A slightly chubby corgi. Short legs, but really well-behaved.]

System 001 had gone off to look up pictures of corgis. When it came back, its tone was a little sour: [What’s so great about dogs anyway? Just a bunch of fur. Round shapes are obviously the ideal companions for humans.]

Chen Li chuckled: [Mhm, a round and chubby system is very cute.]

As if he had read System 001’s mind, he added seriously: [001, even if I never have to play another Horror Game again, I still think of you as my best companion.]

With a whoosh, System 001 turned red and started mumbling, too flustered to say anything.

While they were chatting in their shared mindspace, they had already walked through half the neighborhood garden. Not only was there no sign of the dog—there wasn’t even a stray cat in sight.

Normally at this hour, quite a few residents would be out for an evening walk, but tonight, no one had come out.

Only a few people passing by from work hurried along without stopping.

Chen Li hesitated and stopped walking: “Has anything strange happened around here lately?”

“Huh?”

The moment Xiao Qian spoke, Chen Li immediately realized something was wrong.

Too close. Her voice was way too close.

It was practically spoken right against his back.

He took two casual steps forward, trying not to show any reaction. Xiao Qian reached out toward him: “You…”

“Hey, aren’t you Chen Li?”

A voice suddenly called out from behind, interrupting her.

The speaker was someone Chen Li didn’t recognize—a man in his thirties, approaching quickly. Strangely, Chen Li felt relieved.

“You are?”

The man sped up and stopped in front of him: “My girlfriend watched your competition livestream a while back! Said you won the youth division at Golden Butterfly, right?”

He usually didn’t follow that kind of thing, but Chen Li had been trending online several times back then—and with looks like his, he was hard to forget.

This was the first time someone had recognized him as a champion. Chen Li looked a little shy: “Yeah.”

The stranger was naturally friendly and didn’t seem to mind Chen Li’s introverted demeanor. He greeted him cheerfully: “Things have been weird around here at night lately. What’re you doing out this late?”

Chen Li froze for a second: “Weird?”

The man scratched his head awkwardly: “Oh, I guess you’re one of the skeptical ones, huh?”

“What?” Chen Li looked genuinely confused.

With his delicate, dazed expression, he looked like a lost little animal. Anyone would soften at the sight.

The man was surprised: “You haven’t heard? It’s been all over the internet.”

Chen Li shook his head and gave the most believable excuse he could think of:
“I’ve been painting the past two days. Haven’t checked my phone.”

Hearing that, System 001 finally realized something wasn’t right. It immediately connected to the internet through its own consciousness.

The man believed him without hesitation—after all, a champion’s word was as good as truth.

He said: “Just two days ago, tons of people online started saying they’d seen ghosts. Some even talked about stuff like Horror Game and instances or dungeons. At first, I didn’t believe any of it either. But then, this afternoon, the authorities suddenly issued a statement advising everyone to stay home at night and avoid going out alone. That’s when I figured… something serious must be going on.”

System 001 returned, clearly shaken after finishing its online search: [Host, everything he said is true—and the situation is way more complicated than we thought.]

It was frustrated with its own carelessness—how could it have taken several hours after returning to the real world to notice any of this?

Noticing Chen Li’s uneasy expression, the man assumed he’d scared him and quickly added: “But don’t worry too much! Even if ghosts are real, they don’t bother normal people—as long as you don’t do anything reckless. I’m just a corporate slave, so I still have to go out. That’s why I watched a crash course today. Some guy claiming to be a ‘player’ livestreamed it—said if you don’t go looking for trouble, you’re fine.”

“Looking for trouble” included things like playing horror games or wandering around alone in the dead of night.

Right now, even though it was nighttime, it was only 8 PM.

In a bustling city, 8 PM was still prime time—plenty of people were still out and about, so the “yang energy” of the night was relatively strong. Under these conditions, being outside wasn’t dangerous.

Still, after saying all that, the man couldn’t help but feel a chill in the air. Goosebumps rose on his arms. He quickly asked Chen Li for a selfie and waved goodbye, hurrying off.

Horror games. Instances. Players…

Words like these had always been restricted by the game rules—never allowed to be mentioned in the open. This was the first time Chen Li had heard someone say them in real life.

That sudden split between realities almost made him wonder if he was still trapped in the game.

[001, just now he said normal people won’t encounter ghosts unless they go looking for trouble, right?]

Chen Li’s voice tightened. A creeping sense of unease began to rise in his chest.

But before the system could respond, Chen Li continued: [Then… what about people like me, who naturally attract ghosts?]

As if on cue, footsteps—clack, clack—echoed behind him.

The doubts he’d tried to ignore finally came to the surface. The woman’s flawless makeup, her elegant dress and high heels—none of it matched the story she’d told earlier, about searching for a lost dog all night and all day.

Even the slightly smudged eyeliner had been caused by those tears she’d shed—on purpose—outside his door just now.

It was like a perfectly staged performance… ruined by a costume that didn’t fit the role.

System 001 shouted in alarm: [RUN!!]

There was no need to ask questions. With that one cry, Chen Li took off without hesitation.

Behind him, the sound of high heels followed fast and sharp. Xiao Qian twisted her head unnaturally as she ran, chin to the sky and scalp facing down, grinning as she called out: “Why didn’t you open the door?”

---

---

Invasion of reality (1)

---

Chen Li almost fell headfirst into the bottomless abyss, but fortunately, the quick-eyed and sharp-handed system caught him just in time.

Still shaken, Chen Li patted his chest: “What just happened?”

Did the Horror Game really collapse??

System 001’s voice was serious: [I’m not sure. But right now, aside from some players who are still trapped in instances, all the players who were originally in the space have been forcibly ejected. I can’t reach Joker and the others, either.]

Thinking of those terrifying-looking but actually gentle, guide NPCs, Chen Li spaced out a little, hiding the disappointment in his heart: “…Can we still go back to the real world?”

He needed to find Fu Moyang immediately. He had promised—this time, it was his turn to go looking.

System 001: [You can. But once you return to reality, you may never be able to come back here again.]

“Alright, let’s go.” Chen Li gently touched the Ghost Bus in his arms. “Can I bring it with me?”

“Meow~” The Ghost Bus rubbed against him.

System 001 hesitated for a moment: [But it will have to abandon its original form and remain as a toy car forever.]

The Ghost Bus let out a series of meows—it might look strange on the outside, but it was acting just like a spoiled, affectionate cat rolling around.

Chen Li understood its meaning: “Are you really okay with this?”

The Ghost Bus wiggled its windshield wipers to show it was fine.

System 001, for once, didn’t fight for his attention and spoke in an unusually serious tone: [Let’s go.]

A flash of light, a whirl of dizziness—and when Chen Li opened his eyes again, he was staring at the most familiar ceiling in the world: his own bedroom.

He sat up in bed and felt something hard beside him. Grabbing it, he realized it was the Ghost Bus, which had followed him back.

It was even more lively than he expected. Its little tail moved to wrap around him, nuzzling affectionately: “Meow~ Meow~!”

Overjoyed, Chen Li tugged on the cat ears atop its roof: “That’s great! You’re still full of energy!”

He had been worried the Ghost Bus might lose its ghost energy after entering the real world.

After playing with it for a bit on the bed, Chen Li didn’t forget the more important matter. He asked the system in his mind: [001, how many days have passed in reality since we returned from the instance?]

System 001: [Two days.]

Since the windows and doors had been tightly shut, there wasn’t any dust despite no one being home for two days. Chen Li glanced out the window—the timing of their return couldn’t be worse. The last rays of the sunset were fading, and in just a few minutes, the moon would rise.

Without hesitation, he said: “I want to see him now.”

There was no need to say who “him” referred to.

System 001 sighed: [The air is thick with the smell of love.]

System 001 only dared to be this snarky when Fu Moyang wasn’t around. Chen Li’s cheeks turned red, and he pretended not to hear it.

Despite the teasing, System 001 dutifully began looking up information: [I remember he said he’d be waiting at the FuTech Tower… Ah, found it.]

Chen Li’s eyes sparkled: [Where is it?]

FuTech was the wealthiest company in their city, and its towering headquarters was something of a local landmark. But Chen Li rarely went out, so he had no idea how to get there.

System 001: [I can set the GPS for you, but… are you sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow? It’s already past working hours. The building should be empty by now.]

Despite being a big corporation, FuTech’s culture—thanks to its top boss—strongly discouraged overtime.

Chen Li looked a little disappointed: “Then I’ll go tomorrow.”

No matter how impatient he was, rushing over blindly wouldn’t help.

And this would be their first meeting in the real world.

Chen Li couldn’t hold back—he got up and looked at himself in the mirror: “001, what do you think I should wear tomorrow?”

In the mirror, the boy’s features were delicate and bright, his black-and-white eyes lively and expressive. When he looked at someone with those soft eyes, even the toughest person would melt.

At some point, a light mist had formed on the mirror, making his reflection a little blurry.

System 001 complained: [Host, you look just like a middle schooler sneaking out to meet their online boyfriend.]

Chen Li pouted in protest and mumbled: “I am not.”

The boy and his system continued bickering as they walked out of the bathroom—neither of them noticing the most important thing:

Why was there mist on the mirror in a bathroom that hadn’t been used in two days?

Behind them, the fog on the mirror slowly began to gather, forming the shape of a bizarre face. In the smooth surface of the glass, hollow eyes stared at Chen Li’s retreating back. Its mouth moved slowly, as if murmuring a curse.

Back in the kitchen, Chen Li found nothing but a sandwich that was about to expire.

He had always lived a very disciplined life—so much so that he used to calculate exactly how many bites he needed to finish a meal. He’d never thought eating a sandwich for every meal was odd. But ever since meeting Fu Moyang, he’d been finding excuses to treat himself more. Without realizing it, even his taste had become picky.

As he ate the cold sandwich, he missed Fu Moyang even more. Feeling a little wronged, he sipped some milk, then stuck out his soft pink tongue to lick away the milk foam.

System 001 had no idea whether to feel happy or sorry for that person.

At the very least, this pampered, spoiled host of his was never going to be able to live without him again.

Chen Li had just finished dinner and hadn’t even had time to digest. Rubbing his slightly rounded belly, he turned on the TV. For some reason, it was only showing static. He flipped through several channels, but they were all the same.

System 001 replied absentmindedly: [Probably because you forgot to pay the bill.]

Knock knock knock.

The sound of knocking at the door quickly drew Chen Li’s attention away from the suddenly malfunctioning television. He walked over and asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Xiao Qian. We’ve met before,” a woman’s soft voice responded from outside.

Through the peephole, Chen Li saw a delicate and somewhat familiar face. But at this moment, she looked especially lost—even through the peephole, her pale complexion was impossible to ignore.

As if sensing his gaze, she looked up toward the peephole: “Can you help me?”

Her face suddenly loomed closer in the viewer, the unnaturally wide distance between her eyes startling Chen Li into stepping back. Thankfully, he quickly realized it was just her pressing her face closer to the door.

Chen Li rested his hand on the doorknob, hesitating: “Did something happen?”

Xiao Qian nodded: “My dog, Pipi, is missing.”

System 001 asked, confused: [Who’s Pipi?]

Chen Li replied silently in his mind: [Her dog. She lives in the same neighborhood as me. I’ve seen her walking it before.]

She was the only person in the community he was even vaguely familiar with. She had once taught him how to train dogs. But due to his personality, their relationship had never progressed beyond knowing each other’s names.

Sensing his silence, Xiao Qian covered her face and sniffled helplessly: “I’m really worried about him. I’ve been searching all day. I live alone and don’t know anyone nearby… I only found your apartment number because I asked the property manager…”

Faced with a gentle girl asking for help—especially since the missing dog was one he recognized—Chen Li couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He opened the door: “Don’t worry. It’s still early. I’ll help you look.”

It was only around 7 PM—unlike the eerie nights in Horror Game scenarios, the real world had no rules about staying indoors after dark. The neighborhood was relatively safe, so Chen Li didn’t think much of it.

Xiao Qian was overjoyed: “Thank you, thank you so much!”

Chen Li pressed the elevator button and asked: “When did Pipi go missing?”

Xiao Qian looked a little confused: “It was last night. It suddenly started barking like crazy at one spot, then ran off. Normally it’s really well-behaved and never runs around. I hadn’t closed the door tightly, and by the time I realized it, it was already gone.”

“Sounds like it got scared,” Chen Li said, watching the elevator slowly rise.

Xiao Qian looked even more puzzled: “But there was nothing there at the time…”

As they talked, the elevator inexplicably stopped on the third floor and wouldn’t come up.

Chen Li pressed the button again, slightly puzzled: “Is it broken?”

Xiao Qian didn’t seem too concerned: “Maybe someone’s holding it on the third floor.”

Chen Li shook his head: “But the people on the third floor just moved out a few days ago.”

He remembered because the moving noise had been pretty loud.

They waited in silence for a while. The quiet between them became a little awkward, and Chen Li snuck a glance at Xiao Qian.

Her face still had tear streaks, with pale lines where her foundation had been washed away, and her black eyeliner had smudged slightly, making it hard to read the expression in her eyes.

Trying to ease the awkwardness, Chen Li asked: “Are there any places in the complex you haven’t checked yet?”

She walked Pipi around the neighborhood every day—the security guards even knew her. If Pipi had left the complex, they would’ve noticed. And she had just said she’d contacted building management, so it was unlikely Pipi had left the area.

Xiao Qian tucked her hair behind her ear, sounding a little down: “I guess I haven’t checked the unit building behind this one yet.”

She looked exhausted.

Chen Li completely understood.

After all, anyone who lost a beloved pet would be worn out—especially after searching almost an entire day.

He glanced again at the elevator. It was still stuck on the third floor. So he suggested: “Let’s start searching from this building. I’ll go upstairs, and you check downstairs.”

All the unit buildings looked nearly identical. For a dog, it would be hard to tell one from another.

Pipi might have tried to come home already, now pitifully sitting in front of the wrong door, waiting for someone to open it. After all, to animals, all these doors probably looked the same.

Xiao Qian mustered a little energy: “Thank you. I’ll go check downstairs then.”

“Alright.” Chen Li waved to her and started heading up.

The stairwell was dim, lit only by the faint green glow of the emergency exit sign. Since the elevator had been installed, few people used the stairs, so the broken lights had gone unrepaired for a long time.

The building only had eight floors, and the number of steps between each was the same.

As Chen Li climbed, he called out softly: “Pipi… Pipi…”

He quickly reached the next floor. Casually glancing up, a large, round floor number appeared before his eyes.

A white background with red text: the number 7—the seventh floor.

Chen Li froze, his whole body going stiff. He frantically reached out to the system in his mind:

[System, system! Did I just skip the sixth floor?!]

His apartment was on the fifth floor—how could the next floor up be the seventh?!

---

Author’s note:
The final scenario takes place in the reality.

---

---

Sacrificial Lamb (14)

---

“Aaaahhh!!”

Chen Li turned back in shock, still holding the fake severed limb in his left hand, blood dripping from it: “Did you hear someone scream?”

Fu Moyang casually held his right hand and led him forward: “Hm? Probably someone got caught by a vengeful ghost. This town is crawling with them now.”

Chen Li dropped the prop in his hand, eyes drifting to their interlocked fingers. His face flushed red: “Why did you come here?”

Fu Moyang tilted his head to look at Chen Li’s rosy cheeks, amusement dancing in his eyes and smile: “I missed you.”

Though his tone was teasing, the look in his eyes was so focused and sincere, it left no room for doubt.

Chen Li’s face, which had only just started to cool, turned red again. His big, dark eyes shimmered: “But what if they reveal your true identity after leaving the instance?”

They had been terrified moments ago, but once they reached safety, it wouldn’t take long to figure out Fu Moyang’s role in the game.

If the top-ranked player turned out to be non-human, it would send shockwaves through the entire player community.

Seeing that he was genuinely worried about him, Fu Moyang’s cold heart softened: “Don’t worry. This will be my last game.”

That reminded Chen Li—Fu Moyang had entered Horror Game differently than the others. He’d come willingly. That meant Horror Game couldn’t threaten him the same way.

Fu Moyang continued: “I’ll take you out too. But this Horror Game is acting strange lately. It might collapse on its own before I even have to do anything.”

“Collapse?” Chen Li’s eyes widened in surprise. “You mean the game itself will shut down?”

Fu Moyang didn’t explain further. He gently rubbed the corner of Chen Li’s eye: “Mm. But for now, we need to get out of this instance first.”

If Horror Game were to collapse, then what would happen to the players? And what about the guide NPCs with physical bodies? What was the real purpose behind collecting fear points?

Chen Li had so many questions, but before he could ask them, the mansion caught fire. Orange flames and choking smoke filled the air. He had no choice but to push all his thoughts aside.

From within the roaring blaze came the cries of babies and the desperate screams of men and women…

The peaceful facade of the town was finally torn away, revealing hellish chaos beneath. Screams rang from every direction.

They soon found the High Priest trying to flee through the back door of the mansion. His body was covered in blood, a far cry from the proud, untouchable figure he had been.

When he saw Chen Li and Fu Moyang, terror flooded his eyes, and he began to mutter incoherently.

“N-no… I already sacrificed the Holy Son like you asked! Why won’t you leave me alone?!”

He was still wearing that grotesque mask, with every carved eyeball weeping bloody tears.

Fu Moyang raised a hand and pointed in the air: “I’m not the one who wants you dead.”

Behind the High Priest, three ghostly figures emerged.

Chen Li immediately recognized them—Zhou family members, the ones who had died so tragically in their own home.

His expression turned complex, but not surprised: “So it really was you who killed them.”

He had long suspected it. The High Priest always went to the back mountain to perform rituals, and he’d return with mud on the hems of his pants. The night the Zhou family died, however, there was no such mud—meaning he’d changed his clothes to hide the blood.

Chen Li had pieced it all together already. What he couldn’t understand was why the High Priest had lied to the townspeople about needing to sacrifice the Holy Son and Holy Maiden, and why they kept disappearing.

Figuring out the truth behind those disappearances was the players’ main objective in this instance. If they couldn’t complete that mission, the only other way to escape was for all players to die.

Chen Li sighed: “I didn’t expect I’d end up being an NPC and help the players complete their mission.”

The Zhou family’s ghosts slowly crept closer to the High Priest. Their long, hooked claws tore at his body, blood and flesh splattering like shredded rags.

Fu Moyang blocked Chen Li’s view with a hand, but the screams were enough to make one’s scalp tingle.

Most of the other vengeful ghosts held grudges against the town itself. But the Zhou family had died at the hands of the High Priest—they hated him most of all. Even though they had only recently become ghosts, they were still determined to kill him.

Amid the shrieks, there came the soft crack of breaking wood. Chen Li quickly pushed Fu Moyang’s hand aside just enough to peek through the gap—and saw what had become of the High Priest.

His wooden mask had split in two and fallen to the ground, revealing his real face. But it seemed his face had fused with the mask—when it came off, layers of skin peeled away with it, exposing gaping sockets, raw red muscle, and yellow sinews writhing like maggots.

The High Priest touched his face in horror. Pain seared through his nerves as his fingers met bare flesh: “Ahhh! My face!!”

Chen Li’s complexion went pale: “His eyes…?”

The most horrifying thing wasn’t the torn skin—it was the multiple eyeballs spinning rapidly in each hollow hole, reacting to the pain.

The grotesque mask with many eyes… his real face had matching eyeballs underneath!

Chen Li had seen many terrifying things, but even he couldn’t help shrinking back.

The Zhou family’s ghosts kept tearing at him. His legs were stripped down to bone, and his waist had turned to a mangled mess of blood and meat. Still, the High Priest glared toward Chen Li’s direction, his remaining eyes filled with a complex, unreadable emotion.

This time, Chen Li finally recognized the emotion in the High Priest’s eyes—jealousy.

He was jealous of him.

Fu Moyang noticed his fear and pulled him into his embrace, shielding him completely from the horrifying sight and the dying screams.

Surrounded by Fu Moyang’s familiar scent, Chen Li’s tense body finally relaxed a little. The words the young maiden had said to him earlier resurfaced in his mind.

It was like a pair of invisible hands had connected all the scattered clues into a clear line that flashed through his thoughts.

“I know why the Holy Sons and Holy Maidens always go missing in this town!” Chen Li suddenly looked up, urgency in his voice.

“They were all chosen by the High Priest—and all of them were good-looking. But their real purpose wasn’t for sacrifice—it was because of his twisted jealousy!”

The flames blazed higher, the entire town engulfed with nowhere to hide. Chen Li spoke faster: “The High Priest was born with multiple eyes, and he envied those who looked beautiful. So after elevating them to the position of Holy Son or Holy Maiden, he’d torture them to death with his own hands!”

No wonder the other day, the High Priest had stormed into his room in a rage, and the young maiden had instinctively thought he was going to die.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened in that mansion. The others had gotten used to it and had become accomplices, helping him keep the truth from the townspeople.

Fu Moyang patted his head: “Now do you understand why I said everyone in this town deserves to die?”

Chen Li shook his head.

Fu Moyang said evenly: “The High Priest was born deformed. From the moment he came into the world, he was bullied for his grotesque, many-eyed face. He barely survived to adulthood, and when he did, he came up with the idea to pose as a priest and deceive the ignorant townspeople into making offerings. In truth, it was all just a way to take revenge. Every older townspeople had once bullied him, and the younger ones became accomplices in his sacrifices. So not a single person here is innocent.”

As he spoke calmly, the High Priest’s screams grew fainter until they vanished altogether. The Zhou family ghosts had devoured his brain and the last bits of flesh from his body.

With the real boss of the instance dead, the entire instance began to collapse. The flames lost their heat, and the cries around them faded into the distance.

Chen Li looked up at the sky. A giant hole had torn through it, clouds being sucked inward, lightning snaking through the air, and fierce winds howling.

This had never happened before. No previous instance had ever ended like this—not even the exit had looked anything close to this apocalyptic.

It was as if the sky itself had been punctured.

System 001: [Congratulations, Host. You’ve collected 1000 fear points.]

[A thousand?!] Chen Li squinted against the wind. [Wasn’t it only six hundred a moment ago?]

System 001 sounded confused: [I don’t know what happened either. Suddenly, all the fear points from the NPCs in this instance were collected.]

Technically, fear generated by NPCs shouldn’t be collectible—it belonged to the game system itself.

For this to happen… it was like the game had bugged.

Or maybe… it was doing its final tally.

A chilling thought crept into Chen Li’s heart.

Could the game really be collapsing on its own?

It should’ve been a good thing. But instinct told him otherwise—this wasn’t a cause for celebration.

The hole above them started sucking everything upward. Debris and rubble from the town floated into the air, reversing gravity. It was impossible to tell where the ground ended and the sky began. Gravity itself seemed to be breaking down.

Fu Moyang placed a hand on the back of Chen Li’s neck, gently massaging it with a soothing tone: “Don’t be afraid. Just sleep. When you wake up, everything will be okay.”

As consciousness started to fade, Chen Li grabbed his hand tightly: “I’ll find you in the real world!”

Fu Moyang’s hand paused. His silver-grey eyes softened deeply: “Then come find me.”

“I’ll be waiting for you at the FuTech Tower.”

That was the last thing Chen Li heard before his world went black.

. . . . .

Chen Li shot upright, a sharp pain searing through his head.

The screams, the fire, the hellish chaos—gone.

All around him was calm, serene, pure white.

Something brushed against his hand. He looked down and saw Ghost Bus gently nudging him with worry.

He scooped it up: “I’m okay.”

He was back in the system space.

It looked the same as always—stark white—but something felt different. The corner that had once been filled with little trinkets System 001 liked was now completely empty. Even the poker set it used to play with Joker was gone.

Chen Li: “001, did something happen out there?”

The glowing ball floated over, stammering: “Um… You’d better see for yourself.”

Chen Li pulled it into his arms and walked to the only door in the space.

When he opened it, he was met not with the familiar floating cubes of the player space—but an endless void of black nothingness.

The entire player space had vanished.

---

Author’s note:

The story is about to end~

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Sacrificial Lamb (13)

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The dim room was lit only by a few slivers of moonlight, casting a faint glow.

The prosthetic limbs before him were stained with blood. They looked and felt disturbingly real. After mentally preparing himself for most of the day, Chen Li finally reached out to pick them up. A few smears of fake blood streaked his face.

One particular smear, intentional or not, brushed lightly past the corner of his eye, lending his already delicate features an even more fragile allure.

He stood in front of the mirror for a full ten minutes, clearly very pleased with how he looked: [System, don’t I look terrifying like this?]

System 001 replied stiffly in a monotone: [Yes, very scary. It’s like Kayako’s¹ been reincarnated.]

At this rate, he’d be eaten alive the moment he stepped outside, so naive and unaware.

In the mirror, another tall figure appeared behind him. The man wrapped his arms around Chen Li from behind, his voice low and deep: “You look fierce. Very scary. Remember to use the method I taught you to scare them.”

His gaze softened slightly, and unlike the system, his words sounded far more sincere.

That was enough to make the little lamb’s heart flutter—his invisible tail practically wagged with joy.

Taking the opportunity, Fu Moyang gave his waist a gentle squeeze while teasing: “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

Chen Li nodded firmly: “Didn’t you already give me a protective charm?”

As he remembered it, he pulled it out again to double-check. Holding the red cloth in his hand, his face turned slightly red as he asked suspiciously: “Why did it have to be a bridal veil?”

Fu Moyang answered with a straight face: “The more festive something is, the more ghosts fear it. And you have to keep it on you at all times.”

“Oh.” Chen Li stopped questioning it and trustingly tucked the red cloth back into his shirt, patting it as if to confirm it was safe.

Watching this man shamelessly and emotionlessly trick his host—especially now that System 001 knew Fu Moyang was the one who created it in the first place—System 001 could hardly bear to watch.

There wasn’t anything special about the cloth. Just a bit of ghost energy attached to it. Honestly, even if Chen Li carried nothing, no ghost would dare come near.

After all, the host now reeked of the Ghost King’s aura, inside and out.

. . . . .

It was already night by the time Chen Li descended from the temple. The paper figures dutifully carried his sedan chair to the edge of town. At some point, clouds had crept in and covered the crescent moon.

Feeling uneasy, Chen Li tugged at his collar to hide a conspicuous bite mark.

He was supposed to head down after lunch, but Fu Moyang had “teased” him again, and before he realized it, the sky had darkened.

The bridal veil tucked against his chest, warm against his skin, brought him some comfort. After stepping carefully out of the sedan chair, he bowed his head slightly and thanked the paper figures.

The paper figures covered their faces shyly, giggling and twirling in little circles before scurrying off.

Chen Li’s eyes curved into a soft smile before he turned to face the town.

The streets were completely empty—so quiet, even the wind didn’t stir.

To keep himself brave, Chen Li chatted with System 001 while walking deeper into the town. Even though he’d already seen the area during the day, it looked far more eerie at night.

“Shh, shh, don’t cry, be good.”

Suddenly, a ragged woman appeared from around the corner, cradling a baby and softly cooing at it. When she saw Chen Li, she looked up and smiled: “Isn’t my baby cute?”

Someone showing up like this at a time like that—there was no way it was normal.

Chen Li trembled and shone his lantern forward. But aside from his own shadow, there was nothing on the ground.

The woman’s smile stretched wider and wider, until her lips nearly reached her ears: “My child… what are you doing here?”

With that, she tossed the baby in her arms. The bundle rolled across the ground, unraveling to reveal a small, pale skull.

There were visible bite marks on the bone—clearly made by wild beasts.

System 001 dutifully explained: [That’s a ghost that’s been wandering for over ten years. Her child was the sacrifice. After the child was chosen and sent up the mountain, she went mad. She snuck up the mountain while no one was looking but only found her child’s small, mangled corpse. Then she killed herself.]

System 001 couldn’t help spitting in disgust: [The High Priest claimed the sacrifices were chosen by the gods, but in truth, they always picked the weakest in town. Everyone here is both a victim… and an accomplice.]

Chen Li’s body went stiff: [Something’s wrong. Why is she calling me her child…?]

System 001 thought for a moment: [Maybe you look too much like a little cub. She mistook you for her baby.]

Chen Li: […You do know I’m an adult, right?]

But seeing the ghost inch closer and closer, he turned and ran without another word.

The female ghost let out a heart-wrenching wail: “My child! My baby! Don’t take my child away!”

Even so, she didn’t dare come any closer.

There was an aura around Chen Li that terrified her to the core—an instinctive, primal fear that kept her at bay. If not for her already twisted maternal love, she wouldn’t have approached at all. Like a rat scurrying through a sewer, her long black hair covering her eyes, she slowly retreated into the shadows.

Chen Li was gasping for breath as he ran: [Is she gone?]

System 001 hesitated for a moment: [Yes, she’s gone.]

Still shaken, Chen Li glanced back. Sure enough, nothing was there. When he looked up, he realized he’d somehow run all the way to the High Priest’s residence. The lanterns hanging by the gate flickered inexplicably.

[Is the High Priest inside?]

System 001 scanned the area: [No, but the players are.]

Wiping away tears that had nearly spilled from fear, Chen Li firmly pulled a prosthetic limb out of his system inventory: [Lead the way!]

Compared to pretending to be a ghost to scare others, he now looked more like someone who had been bullied.

System 001 didn’t dare say that out loud and instead focused on giving directions:
[They’re on the second floor.]

The mansion had a second floor, but Chen Li had never been up there, even when he lived here as the Holy Son. Without hesitation, he stepped onto the wooden staircase. The old planks creaked under his feet, the rotting sound exposing his location instantly.

Inside the room, the terrified players exchanged anxious glances like startled quails. One particularly skittish female player clutched her ears and whispered a scream: “A ghost! It’s a ghost!”

“Shut up!” snapped the floral shirt man shooting her a glare.
“We should’ve just offered you up as a sacrifice from the start.”

They had been chased all day by vengeful ghosts that attacked indiscriminately across the town. They’d just barely managed to hide here, and any semblance of civility had long since crumbled. One male player who was too slow had already been torn to pieces.

Exhausted, they had no choice but to keep running. The room had no windows, and the only exit was through the door.

Ignoring the woman’s desperate struggle, the floral shirt man grabbed her and threw her outside. When no screams followed—just a dull thud—he finally felt safe enough to step out.

Though disgusted by his actions, the others followed. The woman, now sprawled on the ground and trembling, scrambled to her feet: “Wait! Don’t leave me!”

Unfortunately for them, they had no idea Chen Li had a cheat-like system on his side. No matter where they ran, he could find them. Eventually, he caught up with them at a corner.

The moment they saw his face, the players froze.

They instantly recognized him—he was that unlucky Holy Son they’d sacrificed earlier. The fear in the air abruptly stalled.

They had thought they were being chased by a ferocious tiger… but it turned out to be a puffed-up kitten.

Chen Li tilted his head, recalling how Fu Moyang had taught him on the bed to act scary. He mimicked the motion, waving his severed limb: “Rawr!”

Super Fierce.jpg!!!

But the system remained silent—no increase in fear level.

Chen Li looked disappointed, “menacingly” glaring at the humans before him.

Was my voice too soft just now?

Unable to help himself, he waved the prop again, genuinely confused: “You’re not scared of me?”

“You’re just a weak NPC who got played,” the floral shirt man sneered, his face now twisted with contempt.

“Even if you’ve come back as a ghost for revenge, so what?”

His expression grew even more menacing. If he could kill this NPC once, he could do it again.

The other players looked at him in disbelief.

Who was the one just now running for his life alongside them?!

Before the man could continue, footsteps echoed from the end of the dark corridor—

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Heavy, deliberate steps weighed with crushing pressure, as if invisible hands were wrapping around their throats. Panic surged, clawing at their hearts.

Except for one person—Chen Li.

Without even turning around, he knew who it was. Feeling aggrieved without realizing it, he said softly: “They’re not scared of me.”

Fu Moyang approached slowly, a faint, amused smile on his lips: “Oh?”

His silver-grey eyes glinted with murderous intent.

He reached out to ruffle Chen Li’s hair: “They’re definitely scared. You’re so fierce—how could they not be?”

As the last word fell, an invisible wave of pressure spread out. The players dropped to their knees, trembling uncontrollably.

Fu Moyang said sincerely: “See? They were just putting on a brave face.”

Suddenly, a sharp stench filled the air.

Chen Li looked at the floral shirt man in surprise. A suspicious wet patch was spreading from his crotch.

“Ew,” Chen Li muttered, turning away in disgust.

He hadn’t expected his act to be that scary—he’d actually scared someone into wetting themselves.

System 001: [Fear level +10 +10 +10…]

The other players were equally stunned. No one had imagined the usually arrogant, experienced floral shirt man would end up humiliated like this. They quietly edged away from him.

His once-contemptuous expression froze, then twisted into shame and fear.

Someone in the dark finally recognized Fu Moyang’s face. The system’s announcement of increasing fear level sped up noticeably.

It was the first time Chen Li had ever received such a surge of points all at once. Overwhelmed, he looked toward the man for guidance.

Fu Moyang thought to himself: Too cute.

After watching the little guy rely on him for a moment, Fu Moyang finally looked at the players, his voice cold and dismissive: “Still not leaving?”

The suffocating pressure on their hearts eased. They didn’t even have time to wonder why the top-ranked player was colluding with an NPC—they just turned and fled for their lives.

It wasn’t until they’d run far enough that the others were out of sight that the floral shirt man finally stopped to catch his breath, his face dark as the bottom of a pot: “That lunatic… Who touched my shoulder?! Do you have a death wish?!”

The player who had been running in the same direction turned back and stared at his shoulder in horror: “B-but… none of us were behind you.”

The floral shirt man’s anger immediately froze. A chill shot up from the soles of his feet straight to his brain.

A smiling face appeared beside his ear, and the female ghost whispered in an eerie tone: “Have you seen my child?”

---

Author’s Note:
Half-recycled the plot summary.

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1. Kayako Saeki is a fictional character and the main antagonist of the Ju-On and The Grudge horror franchises film. (not attaching the picture, cause I’m scared -Taw) ↩︎

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Sacrificial Lamb (12)

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Chen Li’s memories of what happened next were hazy. He felt like a small boat drifting aimlessly on the turbulent waves of the Shanghai sea, helplessly carried along by the roaring tide.

Finally, just as dawn broke, the tsunami subsided—and he completely lost consciousness.

When he regained some awareness, it was already afternoon. He felt a mischievous hand bothering him, interrupting his restless sleep.

With his eyes still closed, Chen Li swatted the offending hand away from his waist. Fu Moyang caught his hand and began to play with it.

Not satisfied with that, he brought Chen Li’s hand to his mouth and gently bit down on his fingers.

A tiny current of electricity surged through Chen Li’s body, fully waking him up. He sighed helplessly and opened his eyes: “I’m hungry.”

His voice was still a little hoarse, the tone tinged with a hint of grievance.

Then he suddenly felt himself being pushed again by the bad guy.

Chen Li blinked in disbelief, trying to recall what he had just said—he couldn’t figure out which word had caused the ghost to react like that.

Fortunately, Fu Moyang still had some conscience. He didn’t make any more moves on him. After contentedly grabbing Chen Li and giving him a quick kiss, he got up: “I’ll go prepare breakfast for you.”

With his memory returning, Fu Moyang had become even harder to handle. Chen Li found himself missing the ghost who used to blush more easily.

Breakfast wasn’t anything fancy. To take care of Chen Li’s body, exhausted from the night before, only light and simple food was laid out.

Fu Moyang, shirtless, scooped rice porridge for him. His strong back was covered in scratch marks—left by a little cat last night.

Even though he could have used ghost energy to instantly heal, he deliberately left the scars as if they were badges of honor.

Blushing, Chen Li muttered softly: “Pervert.”

Fu Moyang handed him the porridge, his voice low and warning: “Don’t tease me again.”

Chen Li: …Who said I was teasing you!?

He pouted and took a big sip of the porridge. The texture was smooth but had some undercooked rice grains mixed in. An overly rich sweetness exploded on his taste buds.

With a gulp, he swallowed.

He stared blankly at the bowl in his hand. The white porcelain with blue patterns held smooth, creamy porridge. The consistency looked just right, and it looked like a perfectly made bowl of porridge.

Chen Li even wondered if something was wrong with his taste buds. He turned his head toward Fu Moyang.

The man was watching him with a deeply unreadable, yet clearly expectant, look in his eyes.

Like a big dog waiting for praise.

It was obvious who had made the porridge.

Chen Li’s feelings were complicated—he hadn’t expected Fu Moyang to have any weaknesses.

He’d almost thought Fu Moyang was perfect, able to handle everything like a flawless butler when he was in trouble before.

Fu Moyang, tired of waiting for a response, took the initiative. Clearing his throat casually, he asked: “Is it good?”

Chen Li looked up and gave him a sweet smile—like an angel—and handed the bowl back to him—

“Why don’t you try drinking it yourself?”

“…”

Silence. Still silence.

Fu Moyang’s smile completely vanished after he took a big sip of the porridge he’d made himself. Expressionless, he set down the bowl.

Chen Li was about to comfort him, but suddenly ghostly flames ignited right on the dining table. Moments later, even the bowls were completely destroyed, leaving the tabletop spotless, as if the simple meal they’d just had was all an illusion.

Chen Li’s stomach let out a soft gurgle.

For once, Fu Moyang looked flustered, but his face quickly returned to calm as he said: “I’ll go have someone make more.”

No sooner had he spoken than several waist-high paper figures came running in, panting.

They quickly served the dishes again. Watching their busy little forms, Chen Li felt an odd fondness despite how creepy they were—maybe because Fu Moyang had made them himself.

Remembering something long forgotten, Chen Li tugged on Fu Moyang’s sleeve.

“Did you give me the system?”

Fu Moyang refilled his porridge and nodded without much interest: “Yeah, it’s that little thing in your head that talks to you all the time.”

Chen Li was curious: “So you’ve known all along?”

“I could tell, but I wasn’t interested in eavesdropping,” Fu Moyang replied casually, fingers absentmindedly playing with Chen Li’s messy hair.

Chen Li distinctly heard System 001 sighing in relief inside his head, even making a soft whimpering sound.

He kindly pretended not to hear.

As they ate this afternoon meal, someone who had just started feeling lively couldn’t help but want to come over for hugs and kisses.

Chen Li firmly pushed him away. Blushing, he quickly changed the subject to avoid any shameless remarks: “My NPC mission panel won’t open in this instance. Do you know why?”

Fu Moyang’s expression grew a bit serious, though he still played with Chen Li’s hand: “The Horror Game’s malfunctioning.”

Though he’d expected it, Chen Li was still surprised.

Fu Moyang went on: “I don’t know exactly what will happen, but I suspect that after hiding all these years, it’s about to launch some kind of operation. I exploited a loophole to become the instance’s hidden boss.”

“A hidden boss? I thought you were the final boss of this instance.”

“It’s the High Priest,” Fu Moyang’s eyes flashed coldly. “Want to go down the mountain?”

He had some scores to settle.

Although they’d made a deal—he promised to bring the Holy Son up—he hadn’t expected such rough method.

Originally, he hadn’t planned to let him live. But when he learned from the paper figures that the little lamb had been tied up, he almost wiped out the entire town below.

Foolish trash.

Fu Moyang swallowed his murderous intent, lowered his eyes, and gently bit the hand that was a size smaller than his own.

Chen Li glared at him and tried to pull his hand back, but then felt a kiss on his palm, making his face flush even more. He hurriedly said: “Okay, okay, let’s go down now!”

He had a strong feeling that if he stayed here any longer, he’d be bullied again by the bad guy.

Besides, there were still many things he wanted to figure out.

Fu Moyang reluctantly let go of his hand and instead wrapped his arm around Chen Li’s waist, leaning close to whisper in his ear: “How about we go kill all those players who’ve been bullying you?”

Since last night, those silver-grey eyes had unmasked their slit pupils, wild and beastlike.

Chen Li smacked his head lightly.

He was a bit annoyed: “You can’t kill people.”

Fu Moyang looked down at him and, seeing no trace of fear in Chen Li’s eyes, his mood brightened and his tone softened slightly: “But they probably won’t survive the next couple of days anyway.”

“Why?”

Fu Moyang explained: “This instance has two modes: easy and hard. Before you came up the mountain, they were already locked into hard mode. Remember the day you came back from the Zhou family?”

Chen Li nodded, still shaken: “Yeah. After the sacrifice was gone, the townspeople started acting weird, like they’d gone mad.”

If it hadn’t been for the ghost bus helping him out, he might not have escaped.

Fu Moyang: “It was the ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Chen Li tilted his head.

“Ninety-nine percent of NPCs who die unfairly in Horror Game turn into vengeful ghosts. This town has had a tradition of offering sacrifices for many years. How many innocent people have been killed? How many became vengeful ghosts?” Fu Moyang slowly explained.

Chen Li thought for a moment: “So the shrine never really protected them. It was just the townspeople’s wishful thinking and the High Priest deceiving them.”

Fu Moyang rewarded him by ruffling his hair: “Smart.”

But if that’s the case, the High Priest only needs sacrifices to fake rituals and consolidate his power. So why lie about needing a Holy Son or Holy Maiden? And why do those exalted holy children keep disappearing, always needing to be replaced?

There had to be more to it.

Thinking about the strange emotions he saw hidden in the High Priest’s gaze when he looked at him gave Chen Li chills.

He looked up and met Fu Moyang’s eyes: “Let’s go down the mountain now. I want to see the town.”

Even though going down the mountain was his idea from the start, Fu Moyang was a little displeased: “You want to save them?”

Chen Li shook his head, blinking with a small voice: “No… they bully me. I just want to scare them.”

Fu Moyang said nothing. Chen Li felt nervous: “Am I being too mean?”

“No,” Fu Moyang said in a low voice, “Too cute.”

Then he couldn’t resist and lowered his head to kiss him.

The sticky wet sounds filled the room again, occasionally mixed with faint, pitiful whimpers.

He didn’t know how things ended up like this, but just as Chen Li was about to be dragged into bed, he bit Fu Moyang’s tongue hard just in time.

The metallic sweetness of blood spread from where their lips and tongues met. Fu Moyang clung to it like a dying man grasping his last drop of water, reluctant to part as he swept through one last time before letting go.

Perhaps it was the lingering influence of the last instance, but when Chen Li tasted Fu Moyang’s blood, he wasn’t alarmed. In fact, he swallowed it without thinking.

Once he realized what he’d done, he panicked and buried himself under the covers like a frightened little ostrich, mumbling an apology: “S-Sorry.”

There was still a glimmer of excitement in Fu Moyang’s eyes as he said: “Did you know that for a ghost, blood from the tip of the tongue is like vital essence?”

Swallowing that kind of blood—it was practically a bold confession of love.

Just that one sentence cost him half an hour of coaxing before he finally got the little ostrich to crawl out of bed.

Once their relationship was confirmed, a thoroughly indignant Chen Li dropped all pretense and showed his spoiled, willful side. He raised his foot to kick him: “It’s all your fault!”

“Yes, all my fault,” Fu Moyang said as he gently caught his pale, delicate foot and carefully helped him into socks and shoes.

Seizing the moment, Chen Li made a demand: “From now on, you’re not allowed to kiss me without warning.”

Fu Moyang helped him into a new robe, his tone gentle but firm: “No.”

That was the one thing he wouldn’t compromise on.

Wrapped in the oversized robe, Chen Li poked out two fingers to tug at Fu Moyang’s sleeve, his voice soft and sweet: “Th-Then next time you kiss me… you have to tell me first. That way I can be mentally prepared.”

“Alright,” Fu Moyang lowered his head. “Then I’m asking now—can I kiss you?”

“…Mmph!”

---

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Sacrificial Lamb (11)

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The ghost lowered his head and glanced at him, displeased with his wandering thoughts. He leaned in again, pressing the scale close to him, his breath brushing intimately against his skin: “You belong to me.”

“So whatever you’re thinking right now is not allowed. All you need to do is look at me.”

Even with the red veil still between them, Chen Li could hear the unspoken threat hidden in that shadowed voice. But he had no strength to soothe or resist, especially since the Fu Moyang behind him was becoming increasingly outrageous!

A sharp, deliberate suck on the back of his neck made Chen Li’s scalp tingle as he gripped the hem of his clothes tightly: “W-Wait!”

He didn’t even know whether he was saying that to the core of the ghost or to the ghost himself. Either way, neither stopped—in fact, both only intensified their actions.

The ghost in front of him grew sullen upon seeing his “resistance.” Without a word, he began unbuttoning his clothes. Even the intricate dragon-patterned fastenings couldn’t hold out for long under his hands, and the snow-white inner garment was soon revealed.

Fu Moyang went even further—his hand slowly slid down Chen Li’s spine until it rested at the tailbone, as if something there fascinated him. He kept kneading the spot while whispering softly in his ear: “I remember everything now.”

The heat of those words poured into his ear and soaked into his mind, but his muddled brain couldn’t make sense of them—nor the madness laced beneath the surface.

Chen Li trembled, feeling like a sweet strawberry filling being sandwiched between two rough cookies.

When a coarse tongue scraped across his tender skin, the corners of his eyes reddened as he shivered: “…No.”

The red bridal veil finally fell to the ground.

The ghost halted, staring at him in a daze. His tongue slid over sharp fangs, revealing an extremely aggressive expression: “So beautiful.”

The helpless little lamb was bound, his neck tilted upward in a sacrificial pose, revealing the pulsing veins beneath his pale skin—so full of vibrant life, yet so fragile.

Just a light touch would tear them open, and that delicious vitality he craved would drain away. But if it could become his one and only treasure, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Moved by the thought, the ghost’s fingers involuntarily reached for that neck, pressing down on the most fatal artery.

Chen Li looked up at him in a daze, his eyes blank. A patch on the back of his neck, already swollen and numb from repeated abuse, throbbed faintly.

Behind him, Fu Moyang giggled softly and murmured: “He wants to kill you.”

That was his core—the true essence of who he was.

A mass of malice, shadows, and negative emotion.

This was him.

Raw, unfiltered, nothing but a clump of filth.

He would stop at nothing to keep the things he desired by his side forever.

The ghost’s grip tightened. The skin beneath turned red from the pressure. He slowly lowered his head, sharp canine teeth and cold breath brushing close enough to feel.

But he never followed through with his intentions—because suddenly, someone hugged him.

The unfamiliar sensation made his entire body freeze. He didn’t dare move, afraid he might scare off this small creature that had come to him of its own accord.

Warm, gentle breath brushed against his shoulder. Chen Li held him by the neck and whispered: “I’m sorry.”

Through the ghost before him, he was apologizing to that failed wedding from four years ago.

Everything had come back to him.

At sixteen, he had destroyed that wedding—and run away.

This apology wasn’t spoken by his sixteen-year-old self, but by the him whose soul, at this moment, is twenty years old—and has fallen in love with this ghost.

From behind, Fu Moyang suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse: “After you ran away, the core I had originally separated from was too severely shaken and was forced to return to my body.”

When he woke up, he couldn’t remember anything. All he knew was that a part of his memory was missing.

To fill the void in his heart and suppress the urge to destroy the world, he came to the Horror Game in search of some kind of thrill.

Fu Moyang let out another soft laugh: “So it turns out I fell in love with you at first sight… even earlier than I thought.”

Both times they met—it had always been this way.

As the final word left his lips, his expression suddenly darkened: “It’s time to go.”

His patience had reached its limit. Even if the other being was a version of his former self, he would never allow his little lamb to be touched.

Chen Li suddenly felt a tightness around his waist, then the world shifted as he was lifted into someone’s arms.

The ghost, stunned by the hug and the apology, finally snapped back to awareness. He realized, at last, that there were “others” in the room—and that his lamb was about to be taken away.

The silver-grey vertical pupils were ferocious, like a wild beast that had broken free of its leash, and a meaningless growl rumbled from deep in his throat.

In an instant, black energy streaked with crimson swept through the room, setting everything ablaze.

Everything—except the small space where Chen Li stood—was devoured by flames.

Fu Moyang slowly materialized, coldly watching the ghost go mad.

Four years ago, it had been the same—the core went insane when the young man ran away.

The pain of those memories came rushing back, yet he felt no torment.

Because now, he was holding his lamb.

The ghost didn’t react with surprise when he saw a ghost identical to himself appear in the room. His eyes turned blood-red, hands morphing into black claws as he lunged straight for Fu Moyang’s chest, aiming to rip out that falsely-beating heart and crush it without hesitation.

Fu Moyang dodged swiftly, still cradling Chen Li. The red hem of his wedding robe lifted into a sweeping arc through the air.

Both ghosts were deliberately avoiding injuring Chen Li. Though they weren’t fighting at full force, their destructive power was immense—within moments, the entire room collapsed with a thunderous crash, and the piled-up treasures and gemstones were obliterated in an instant.

They stood atop the ruins, like wild beasts battling for their mate and territory, engaging in a brutal, primal fight.

The two were equal in strength and fighting style. If not for their concern for the young man, they would have already ended in mutual destruction.

The ghost finally spotted an opening. A massive, pitch-black claw lunged straight at Fu Moyang’s neck.

“Watch out!” Chen Li’s mind went blank. He raised his arms and shielded Fu Moyang’s head with his own body, trying to block the attack.

Both ghosts’ pupils contracted. One withdrew his move, the other dodged.

Fu Moyang growled: “Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

It was the first time he had ever shouted at Chen Li, his murderous aura leaking uncontrollably.

That “opening” just now had been deliberately left by him. He never imagined that the timid, trembling little lamb would suddenly find such strength to protect him.

Fu Moyang’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking, dread creeping up from deep within.

If he hadn’t dodged in time—or if the other ghost hadn’t withdrawn—then the person in his arms right now would be a cold, lifeless corpse.

It was the first time he had ever experienced fear.

Standing amidst the rubble, he held the person in his arms tightly, checking his breathing over and over again, like an addict desperate for a fix.

Chen Li gently comforted him, heart aching: “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.”

He seemed unaware of—or simply unconcerned by—the terrifying expression on the man’s face.

As he spoke, he couldn’t help glancing at the other figure.

The ghost had dropped to one knee, the dark claw reverting to a human hand, knuckles defined and covered in fine scars deep enough to expose bone. A wound in his abdomen nearly split his torso in half, but he didn’t even spare it a glance. His eyes were locked on Chen Li, wild and obsessive.

He had struck with the intent to kill, so the backlash from withdrawing his attack hit him hard.

The murderous aura that had surged through him crumbled the moment Chen Li finally looked his way. The ghost’s fierce eyes welled with bloody tears as he reached toward him and pleaded: “Don’t go.”

Looking at the ghost’s core, Chen Li’s breath nearly stopped. Then his vision went black, and something covered his eyes.

Fu Moyang felt the delicate, curled eyelashes brushing his palm and heard a hoarse voice whisper: “Don’t look.”

Like a wounded wolf desperately hiding its injury, wanting to lick its wounds alone, he tried to conceal his shameful past completely.

Centered in this room, the rampaging ghost energy radiated outward in all directions. This surge of power came from Fu Moyang himself, aimed at destroying this place. Unleashed and uncontrolled, the energy quickly engulfed the entire city.

An unfathomable black mist swallowed the “city prison” he had built with his own hands. The ground where they once stood turned into nothingness.

With his eyes covered, Chen Li’s ears became more sensitive. He could hear cries and pleas for help, near and far.

They were the city’s gathered grievances and resentments, all devoured by the ghost energy, leaving no trace behind in the world.

The ghost energy attacked everything it could detect indiscriminately—but it consistently avoided the small area where Chen Li stood. This ruined patch had become the only safe sanctuary.

How long had passed, Chen Li didn’t know. Eventually, all the sounds faded away, leaving a silence so deep it unsettled him.

They could leave the painting now.

The thought flashed through his mind, and he couldn’t help but reach up to brush away the hand covering his eyes.

This time, Fu Moyang didn’t stop him. He obediently withdrew his hand.

Around them was the same void of darkness as when they arrived. The man holding him was steady, walking step by step in the opposite direction from before.

Behind them was the fading glow. The ghost’s core stood there, expression dark and unreadable, with no intention of chasing after them. Bloodstains had dried into strange patterns beneath his eyes. He just watched.

Saying nothing. Doing nothing.

Watching the lamb be taken away with an unexpected calm.

Until the very last second before leaving, Chen Li suddenly opened his eyes wide.

Because he heard the ghost’s voice—echoing from inside his heart, sinking deep into his bones and marrow.

“It’s alright, because I know I already have you—in the future.”

Startled, Chen Li turned back. The ghost’s core in the fading light smiled at him—an earnest sigh, and yet a curse meant to bind them for all eternity: “We will always be together.”

“Ugh!”

Chen Li forced his eyes open and gasped for air, like someone who’d almost drowned.

He curled his fingers, his racing heart and the golden shrine before him both telling him he was back.

A shadow fell across his face as Fu Moyang looked at him with a smile: “Let’s continue what we didn’t finish.”

His emotions finally seemed calm, though the repressed feelings in his eyes betrayed his unease. Then, without leaving room for argument, he bent his head and kissed those soft lips.

Chen Li’s eyes reddened. His fingers clenched at a small corner of the man’s shirt. Between breaths, he asked: “What now?”

“The wedding night.”

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Author’s note:
Lights out!

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Sacrificial Lamb (10)

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It was just a light pat, but System 001 still looked deeply aggrieved.

Looking at the glowing ball in his arms, Chen Li thought for a moment and decided to voice the bold idea that had just come to him: [001, do you think there’s a chance… that the ‘father’ you keep talking about is actually Fu Moyang?]

System 001: […What?]

If heartbreak made a sound, the room would be filled with the crackle of shattering pieces right now.

Chen Li shook the glowing ball in his hand with a puzzled expression.

Hmm, it looked like it had just suffered a huge blow.

The originally soft white glow of the ball dimmed all at once. Even its voice was trembling: [W-What are you saying?]

Chen Li absentmindedly rubbed the ball in his hand: [Do you have any memories of your father?]

System 001 froze.

[N-No, I’ve known what my mission was since birth. After being given that mission, I found you.]

[I remember you said I was selected through a random draw,] Chen Li said thoughtfully. [But I’ve always had doubts. Out of all the people in the world, why was I chosen? And you had my information from the very beginning.]

The host is even smarter than expected. Though System 001 prided itself on being a highly advanced life form, its mind went completely blank at this moment. It was horrified to realize it couldn’t refute any of it.

The selection of the host had been predetermined when System 001 was created. As for Chen Li’s information—his fear of ghosts, timid behavior, and the contradictory combination of rigid habits and an odd fascination with eerie aesthetics—all of it had been there from the start.

It hadn’t collected that data itself. Which only left one possibility: the person who created it had implanted all of that information from the beginning.

Chen Li: [What I don’t understand the most is this—everything in existence operates with a purpose. Just like this Horror Game exists to continually harvest fear points. At first, I thought you were the same, but you never asked for anything. It really seemed like you were created solely to assist me. That’s why I stopped thinking you were working with the Horror Game.]

And it wasn’t until today, after witnessing Fu Moyang’s incredible and meticulous crafting abilities, that Chen Li felt like he had finally grasped the elusive butterfly by its wings.

Fu Moyang had also mentioned before that he’d lost part of his memory. Even if it sounded like he was fishing for sympathy, it wasn’t the kind of thing someone would make up just for fun.

System 001 wasn’t stupid. The host had said so much already—no matter how much it tried to deny reality, it could piece together the rest from here.

For once, it spoke with a pitiful tone: [So you’re saying that… Fu Moyang’s core separated from his body four years ago, and during that time, the core took a liking to you, kidnapped you for a wedding, then returned to his body. Knowing he’d forget everything upon reuniting with his body, he created me as a chance for the two of you to meet again?]

No wonder it could manifest in this place—this city was created by Fu Moyang. As his creation, it naturally had the right to appear freely here.

Even though the system was just calmly analyzing the facts, Chen Li’s face slowly began to flush.

W-Why did this sound like he’d been kidnapped by a bandit for marriage?

System 001 was so shaken it couldn’t say another word. It dimmed into a solitary little ball, growing more and more horrified the more it thought.

If Fu Moyang really was its father, then what had it done??

From the start, it had been vehemently opposing the two of them being together, even going so far as to badmouth him to the host.

Thinking back to the things it had said when they first met, System 001 gave another violent shudder. It felt like its career as a system was officially over.

There wasn’t much time left for discussion—soon, a voice came from outside, calling them to come out.

This time, the voice sounded like a woman over forty. She deliberately pinched her voice into a high-pitched tone, her words theatrically exaggerated: “Bride, come on out now! Don’t miss the auspicious hour~”

Hearing that, Chen Li instinctively wanted to step back, but System 001 bumped into him and urged in a quick voice: [Host, if you want to break out of this memory node, you have to stop repeating the past! Things can’t unfold the same way!]

With that, it automatically vanished.

“Things can’t unfold the same way… it can’t…” Chen Li pressed his aching head.

All those memories he had deliberately repressed after being traumatized came flooding back. He suddenly remembered more details.

Four years ago, he hadn’t tried to escape. He had just curled up woodenly in the corner of a room. Even when he heard someone calling him from outside, he didn’t go out, causing them to miss the auspicious wedding hour. The rest of the wedding rituals were skipped, and he was simply dressed and shoved into a room to wait for the groom.

He couldn’t let it be the same as four years ago. Which meant—this time, he had to go through with marrying Fu Moyang at the auspicious hour.

Chen Li mumbled very quietly: “Why does this feel like someone’s wish fulfillment?”

Whose wish was being fulfilled… didn’t need to be said.

He didn’t hesitate anymore and opened the door.

The moment they saw Chen Li, the man outside—dressed as a woman—froze, then looked down at him and shrieked: “Aiya aiya! Hurry up, don’t miss the auspicious hour! If we’re late, that master will kill us all!!”

His voice suddenly shot up on those last two words.

It was a sentence that should have been terrifying, yet the man still wore a stiff smile on his face.

After all, it was the Ghost King who got married—how could the ghosts not smile?

The ghost reached out and clapped his hands. From around the corner, several children carrying a sedan chair appeared. But on closer inspection, they weren’t children at all—they were dwarves. They carried the sedan chair so low that Chen Li could easily sit down without any effort.

Once seated, the ride was steady and smooth—he wasn’t jostled at all. It was eerily similar to the paper figures wedding procession in the earlier game instance.

Clearly, whether it was the core or the main body, the aesthetic preferences were exactly the same.

Having already experienced one bizarre wedding procession, Chen Li was relatively calm this time. Still, he clenched his fists nervously, his face pale, as he was carried into the bustling main hall.

With the red veil covering his head, he couldn’t see what was happening outside, but he could feel the change. The rowdy, festive atmosphere instantly vanished the moment he entered. Even the faint clinking of dishes and chopsticks ceased. The silence was so complete, it was as if someone had hit the pause button.

And it wasn’t surprising.

A certain Ghost King, after being separated from his main body, had become even more arrogant and domineering. He casually conjured up a hundred ghosts from resentment just to follow human wedding customs—so the little bride he snatched would feel honored by the grand ceremony.

But the moment that little bride appeared, dressed in the clothes he had prepared and veiled in red, he still couldn’t suppress the wicked intent surging in his heart.

All those ghosts had lost their “eyes” and “mouths.”

His bride didn’t need to hear any other voices, didn’t need to be seen by anyone else.

It was enough for him to see only him, listen only to him, and desire only him.

If Chen Li were to lift the bridal veil right now, he would see the handsome Ghost King—origin of all ghosts—standing at the top of the ceremonial platform, his face twisted by his own obsessive desire. The look in his eyes seemed desperate to imprison him.

This was the truest, most unfiltered side of Fu Moyang, one he had never shown before.

But unfortunately, Chen Li knew nothing. Unaware and oblivious, he raised his head and gazed at him through the hazy red veil.

A soft wave of ghostly energy lifted his right hand, and Chen Li, going along with it, rose to his feet and stepped up the altar stairs. The matchmaker ghost beside him didn’t dare to touch him and nervously whispered: “Please lift your foot over the fire basin.”

Even the fire basin was made of gold and encrusted with gems and jade. The lifelike golden dragon encircling it was clearly crafted by a master. Only Fu Moyang would squander a priceless artifact like that for a one-time use.

The entire wedding scene was steeped in opulence and indulgence. The word “luxury” wasn’t nearly enough to capture the brilliance of it all. The floor was paved with fine Hetian white jade and refined gold; pink sapphires worth billions at auction were tossed aside as flowerpot decorations. Exotic flowers from the Western regions were bunched together like common wildflowers. All of this—just to win a single smile from his beloved.

Fu Moyang’s eyes were full of anticipation. If he had a tail, it would’ve been wagging like crazy.

Only the matchmaker ghost, who officiated the ceremony, still had a mouth to speak. He glanced up at the sky—which had just been clear and bright—and saw it suddenly darken as thick, heavy clouds rolled in. Yet he looked pleased and shouted: “The auspicious hour has arrived! Let the ceremony begin!”

Fu Moyang stared at the human standing before him, his silver-grey vertical pupils unblinking.

Even through the veil, Chen Li could feel the man’s piercing gaze on him. The bird in his heart—one that had been fluttering all along—suddenly beat its wings wildly, leaving his mind a jumbled mess.

It had been four years, and yet everything felt so different now.

“One bow to Heaven and Earth—”

“Second bow to the parents—”

“Husband and wife, bow to each other—”

Fu Moyang never looked away from him for a second, his eyes filled with nothing but him.

This was the little bride he had chosen—his prey, his offering, his lamb.

Even though he hadn’t had a drop of wine, Chen Li felt intoxicated. His steps were light and dreamy as he was led into the bridal chamber.

The moment he stepped inside, his chaotic mind finally started to clear.

Through the bottom of the red veil, he looked around the room—the one that had haunted his dreams since he was sixteen. With a mixture of emotions, he quietly walked over and sat on the bed.

Unlike the fear he had in his dreams or memories, this time, sitting on the soft mattress, he felt a strange and secret joy.

So this is what it felt like—he had just married Fu Moyang.

System 001 didn’t dare show itself, but from the dramatic fluctuations in the host’s emotions, it could more or less guess what he was thinking.

It was speechless. It should’ve known—despite appearing timid, its host had a heart more passionate and straightforward than anyone else’s. Once he set his sights on something, he would never let go.

Though as timid as a lamb, he had an unexpected obsession with the supernatural. If any normal person had gone through a ghost wedding, they’d be terrified and desperate to escape. But he? Not only was he happy, he even wanted to draw it as a keepsake… In a way, he and Fu Moyang were a perfect match.

Soon, footsteps approached from outside. Fu Moyang opened the door and walked in, holding a wedding scale¹ made of wolf bones as he slowly approached.

“My little lamb.” He leaned in close, his eyes filled with a violently suppressed possessiveness.

Even through the red veil, Chen Li felt something light and soft fall on the top of his head.

Unlike four years ago, the man was in a much better mood now that the ceremony had gone smoothly. He didn’t seal Chen Li’s movements. Instead, he reached out with the wedding scale, just about to lift the veil when—

Chen Li suddenly trembled without warning, a chill rising from the base of his spine.

A shadowy voice whispered low and slow:

“I finally found you.”

And then, something cold and wet gently licked his soft, delicate earlobe.

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Author’s note:
Things are heating up.

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1. ↩︎

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