Reality
It wasn’t as futuristic as he’d imagined. This place looked just like an ordinary arcade. It was hard to connect it with the mysterious, otherworldly block they had just seen. Everything here felt grounded in reality—they even had a few vintage arcade machines from decades ago.
System 001 sneered: [Don’t tell me you were expecting something like a holographic gaming pod.]
Chen Li pressed his lips together and instinctively ignored the comment: [How do you play the games here?]
The arcade looked rather deserted.
System 001 explained: [You use points. Everything in the Horror Game can be exchanged for points. If you have enough, you could even buy this entire block and make it your own.]
Fear points could be exchanged for regular horror points at a 1:1 ratio.
No wonder so few people came to places like this—points were valuable to every player.
System 001 coaxed: [Come on, you’ve got tons of points right now. Just a little will get you ten game tokens.]
Surprisingly, Chen Li was tempted. Because of his personality, he had never been to a place like this before. He was curious: [Alright… just once, then.]
[Yes!] The system was even more excited than he was.
Neither of them had ever played arcade games before, but they quickly exchanged for ten tokens. Every game here, no matter how big or small, only cost one token. With System 001 guiding him, Chen Li tried out many games he had never played before. He only stopped, still not fully satisfied, when there was just one token left.
Chen Li’s cheeks were flushed: [What should we play with the last one?]
System 001 dropped its usual mature tone and asked happily: [Is there anything you want to try?]
Chen Li looked around and quickly set his sights on a pink machine: [I want to try the claw machine.]
The transparent walls of the claw machine were filled with plush toys. He walked over, full of anticipation, and inserted the final token.
[I want that little lamb.]
He made a silent wish and began maneuvering the joystick. The silver claw moved left and right, finally stopping above the lamb.
Both the human and the system held their breath as Chen Li pressed the button carefully.
But the claw didn’t drop.
“What’s going on?” Chen Li was startled.
What happened next was even more shocking — the joystick began to move on its own. Meanwhile, the countdown on the claw machine had already hit zero. The flashing red “0” was glaring and urgent, startling him enough to take a step back.
The claw finally moved into position, lowering by itself and grabbing a small blue object — a plush doll in a blue-and-white suit, with a round body. Its mouth curved into a half-smile, and its hollow white eyes were surrounded by black rings. A magician’s top hat sat atop its head.
Even though Chen Li didn’t recognize the doll, a strange sense of dread washed over him the moment he saw it.
“Is this machine broken?” he muttered, suddenly realizing how eerily quiet it had become.
There had been two or three others around earlier. Why was it so silent now…?
He whipped his head around—the arcade was completely empty.
At some point, he had been left all alone.
“Hello.”
The sudden voice nearly gave Chen Li a heart attack. He yelped and, without daring to turn around and look at the creepy doll, bolted for the entrance. He yanked the door open and ran out, only stopping once he had put good distance between himself and the arcade block.
[System, didn’t you say nothing supernatural happens in the player space?]
Chen Li’s hands were ice cold. He had just finished a horror mission and hadn’t fully calmed down—this new incident rattled him even more.
System 001 was just as confused: [Is your ghost-attracting trait really that strong already? I’d better send you back.]
And with that, it transported him back to the pure white system space.
That space was still protected by the barrier System 001 had left last time after being provoked by those ghouls—it should’ve been completely safe.
Chen Li opened his eyes… and immediately saw the doll, standing in the room and greeting him.
“Hello.”
System 001 was instantly proven wrong: “…”
Why did this doll look so familiar?
This time, Chen Li heard the voice clearly. It sounded oddly familiar—like he had heard it somewhere before.
Five seconds later, both man and system spoke in unison:
“Joker?!”
“The Puppet?!”
The puppet let out a creepy giggle: “That’s me.”
It had admitted to both identities.
System 001 shouted, furious: [I knew it! You’re the ‘Phantom Puppet’ — number eight on the NPC leaderboard! Why did you sneak into the last mission and get close to my host?!]
The puppet shrugged: [Just doing my job.]
System 001 snapped: [Bullshit! You’re obviously up to something! And you even followed him back here!]
It was so angry it was ready to pounce.
The puppet wasn’t about to back down either. Its eyes flashed red, and it lunged forward too.
The next second, both of them were suspended in midair.
Chen Li held the puppet in one hand and the system in the other, shaking them both lightly: “No fighting.”
He was remarkably calm inside—maybe even a little resigned.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to feel scared, but now that he had calmed down and looked properly at the puppet’s short, chubby body, he just couldn’t reconcile it with Joker from the last mission—someone who had killed without blinking and delighted in grotesque performances.
Chen Li looked thoughtful: “So this is what you really look like.”
That explained a lot—like why Joker’s circus had included freak shows and colorful lights that clearly didn’t match the era it was supposed to be set in.
The puppet behaved itself in his hand: “I mean no harm. I just wanted to see you. You left the last instance without saying goodbye.”
Chen Li: “…Because I cleared the game.”
The puppet’s eyes lit up: “So it wasn’t a goodbye after all?”
It looked so hopeful that, after a moment of hesitation, Chen Li gave a small nod.
System 001 grumbled irritably: [What exactly do you want?]
The puppet didn’t really have an answer. It was just drawn to Chen Li and really wanted to see him. In truth, it had no legitimate reason for following him.
Chen Li gently set both the puppet and the system down, starting to feel tired: “System, I want to go back.”
This time, System 001 was eager to help: [I’ll send you back right away!]
“Wait—!” the puppet called.
But before it could say anything more, System 001 had already activated the teleportation. Chen Li didn’t even have time to react before he found himself lying in his own bed.
He blinked in confusion, feeling like he had missed something Joker wanted to say. But the familiar softness of his mattress was just too comforting—he was soon overcome by sleep.
. . . . .
Chen Li slept all the way until the next morning. He compulsively tidied his bed before finally sitting down at the dining table to start the day.
As he munched on a sandwich, he opened his phone and saw a bunch of messages from his friend, Gu Fu, asking about something related to trending news.
Trending? What trending?
Still groggy, Chen Li tapped on the shared link Gu Fu had sent. It led to a Weibo post that was still going viral.
The comment section was a battlefield of arguments, leaving Chen Li stunned.
The most shared image in the post was taken during the day of the Golden Butterfly preliminary competition—and it was clearly a candid shot, taken from a hidden angle.
There were people praising his looks, but also plenty accusing him of riding the hype or faking popularity.
Just then, System 001 came online: [That Weibo post from the person who secretly photographed you went viral.]
Normally, a post like that would only stay hot for a day at most. But it had already been two days, and it was still trending. Even if the Golden Butterfly organizers had tried to boost interest with some marketing, this level of attention was unusual.
Sensing something was wrong, System 001 dug into the details—and nearly swore in anger.
Trying to keep calm, it explained: [The list of people who passed the preliminaries came out yesterday. Someone leaked that your painting made the cut. Then a so-called art blogger made a sob story post, heavily implying that their spot was stolen—and their followers started targeting you with online abuse.]
“Online abuse?” Chen Li looked blank. “But I didn’t steal anyone’s spot.”
He had entered the competition fair and square.
System 001 was frustrated: [He implied that you were chosen by the judges because your looks brought attention to the Golden Butterfly competition.]
Chen Li simply responded with a casual “Oh” and didn’t pay it any more mind, sending a message to Gu Fu instead.
System 001: [Aren’t you angry? Aren’t you upset?]
It was nearly losing its patience.
Chen Li slowly typed: [Why should I be angry?]
His personality made him avoid engaging with the outside world, and he kept any indirect attacks like this at a distance.
On the other hand, he was quite receptive to the kind words people said about him.
Thinking of the kind comments from the online users who praised his looks, Chen Li couldn’t help but blush.
Well… some of the comments were a little too intense. A quick glance at them made his ears burn with embarrassment.
Just under five seconds after he sent his message, Gu Fu replied immediately.
Although it was only text, it was clear how urgent he was.
Gu Fu: [Don’t pay attention to those people online, don’t be upset. Are you at home? I’ll come over right now.]
Was he as anxious as the system?
Chen Li swallowed the last bite of his sandwich and drifted off in thought… Hmm, he felt like painting.
Just coming out of the mission, he was immediately filled with inspiration.
The strange scenes from the circus twisted and weaved together in his mind, forming the perfect image.
It wasn’t until the doorbell rang that he snapped out of his thoughts. Looking at his phone, he realized only fifteen minutes had passed.
He walked to the door, and sure enough, Gu Fu was there.
He was dressed in a sunny, high-end sports outfit, looking rushed but still neat, and when he saw Chen Li open the door, he immediately broke into a smile: “I’m here.”
“Come in.” Chen Li gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “Sorry to make you worry. The stuff online doesn’t affect me.”
Gu Fu stared at him for half a minute, looking unconvinced. He only looked away when Chen Li started to feel uncomfortable, scratching his head: “I guess I’m just too worried about you.”
He gave a goofy smile: “Oh, right, I still haven’t congratulated you on passing the preliminaries.”
“Thanks.” Chen Li’s eyes curved into a smile as he poured milk from the fridge for him.
He remembered how much Gu Fu liked milk. Back when they studied together, he would often treat him to milk.
As Chen Li raised his arm, part of a pink card peeked out of his pocket.
Gu Fu’s smile froze for a moment, but he quickly resumed his casual grin: “What’s that?”
Chen Li blinked in confusion, pulling the card out of his pocket and realizing it was actually an invitation to the Hearts Guild.
It had been given to Fu Moyang by the Puppeteer in the instance, and now it was passed on to him.
He hadn’t expected it to follow him into the real world.
Chen Li nervously explained: “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a small advertisement. I forgot to throw it away.”
Gu Fu suddenly stood up and grabbed Chen Li’s hand just as he was about to throw the card away. His grip was so strong it left a red mark, but he didn’t seem to notice at all.
“Li Zi, have you… gone through something lately?” he asked.
It was the first time Chen Li had ever seen his usually cheerful childhood friend show such a dark and shadowed expression.
Author’s note:
Just a reminder for those who forgot — Gu Fu has appeared twice before!
Hmm, could Gu Fu be that “K” who’s the second player on the list? Actually, ever since he showed up, I thought he had something to do with the horror game…