Reality
The initially restless barrage of comments gradually shifted focus from Chen Li himself to the painting as he began to work.
As time ticked by, the skeptical voices in the chat slowly faded away.
[Is this… a circus?]
[If I remember correctly, the Golden Butterfly competition doesn’t have any restrictions on themes, right?]
[The streamer’s painting feels so heavy.]
[It’s kind of suffocating to look at… but I can’t look away.]
The painting was still incomplete, but the heavy interplay of black and red had already begun to take shape.
Chen Li had completely forgotten he was livestreaming, fully immersed in his own world. His brows alternated between furrowing and relaxing as his long fingers skillfully blended the paint with his brush.
The eerie, grotesque horror of the horror circus was expressed through his unique artistic style. Bold, dramatic colors created a striking visual impact. What should have been a joyful, family-friendly circus scene instead gave off a suffocating, malevolent atmosphere at first glance—distorted human figures, monsters being whipped, puppets turning on their masters…
What kind of fear was hidden behind the curtain of this circus?
Once he started painting, Chen Li lost all sense of time and need for food or water. The barrage of comments evolved from noisy chatter to quiet admiration. As moonlight crept in, concern began to replace curiosity.
[Is the streamer not eating anything?]
These types of comments became more frequent until even System 001 couldn’t stay silent: [Aren’t you going to take a break?]
Apart from sipping a little water, he hadn’t stopped once.
At System 001’s words, Chen Li finally looked up and glanced out the window.
“It’s night already?” he murmured in surprise.
A smudge of paint stained his cheek, and his dazed expression sent the chat into a frenzy, viewers calling him “our little cub.”
Just as everyone thought he was finally going to take a break and eat dinner, he lowered his head and continued painting. The focused, almost obsessive look in his eyes was like a cold beam of moonlight—quietly intense and utterly mesmerizing.
[He’s so serious about it.]
[Where are the haters now? Who still dares to say he only placed because of his looks and marketing?]
[I checked that influencer’s previous work. Honestly, it’s literally one piece in heaven, the next in hell. Can they stop touching porcelain with our cub?]
Over the course of a day, public opinion online began to shift. Even though the snarky influencer who started it all had turned off comments on their posts, they couldn’t escape the backlash from their own rumors.
Not only did the attention they gained from playing the victim vanish, but even their core fanbase started shrinking. Many of their followers had tuned into Chen Li’s livestream, and one by one, they “jumped ship,” screaming in the chat and completely forgetting whose side they were originally on.
System 001 let out a cold snort: [Humans. So fickle.]
Then, with a flourish, he logged into ten alt accounts and began flooding Weibo with exaggerated praise for Chen Li.
Finally, at 3 AM, Chen Li set down his brush. The red livestream light blinked steadily, faithfully documenting every moment.
System 001 awkwardly said: [Hey… there’s a vending machine downstairs at the hotel.]
[Thanks.] Chen Li quietly packed up his materials and, following the system’s guidance, went downstairs to buy some instant noodles—completely unaware that his painting had once again catapulted him onto the trending list. Even the competition organizers had begun shifting their attention toward him.
The internationally renowned panel of judges had started to realize: a dark horse was emerging. With unstoppable momentum, Chen Li was on the verge of becoming the art world’s newest rising star.
. . . . .
At 9 AM the next morning, competition staff arrived to collect the artwork. When Chen Li opened the door, he nearly jumped in surprise.
Behind the staff stood several others—including his own teacher.
The moment the teacher saw him, he rushed forward and grabbed his hand in excitement: “Chen Li, you really pulled it off!”
He’d been watching the livestream since it started. Even though the other competition he originally encouraged Chen Li to enter didn’t go well, seeing his student shine on an even bigger stage filled him with overwhelming pride and emotion.
No one knew what Chen Li had gone through, but sometimes, inspiration just strikes like lightning.
“You’re the artist behind that circus painting?” a sharp-eyed older man with graying hair asked.
“That’s me,” Chen Li replied shyly, a bit stunned.
He recognized the visitors as famous painters. Each one of them had a serious expression.
“It’s him. I watched the livestream.”
“Truly impressive for someone so young!”
“Absolutely remarkable!”
As soon as he answered, the group of judges broke into excited chatter, all trying to squeeze into the room at once—pushing and shoving each other in their eagerness until they got stuck in the doorway, grumbling as they tried to get in.
Chen Li: “…”
His teacher exchanged a glance with him and shrugged helplessly.
At that moment, a well-dressed man in a suit handed Chen Li a business card and said politely, “If you ever want to hold an art exhibition, feel free to contact me.”
“Thank you,” Chen Li replied courteously as he accepted the card. “But I’m just a student—probably no one would be interested in a solo exhibition.”
The man adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, surprised. “You’re very modest.”
By now, his name was already well-known both online and in the art community. That dark and oppressive painting of a circus had gone viral, even though it was only seen through screenshots from a livestream. Everyone who saw it came away with a different interpretation.
Some said it was a critique of capitalist exploitation, while others thought it was a protest against animal performances. Many layers of meaning were embedded in the piece.
One thing was unanimous: it was an excellent work. Just looking at it evoked a range of oppressive emotions. It was hard to believe such a mature painting had been completed in a single day—and by someone so young.
Crowds had started gathering outside his hotel. In the end, he only managed to get home smoothly with the help of his teacher.
The first thing Chen Li did after returning home was fill the bathtub with warm water and sink into it, finally allowing himself to relax.
He hadn’t slept at all in the hotel, and had even gone back to add some final details to the painting.
The moment the hot water touched his skin, it felt like it pulled him back to reality from those twisted, nightmarish bursts of inspiration. He let out a sigh of relief and slowly closed his eyes.
[001, wake me in ten minutes.]
Noise. Loud, exaggerated noise.
Cheerful trumpet music, congratulatory speeches, the clinking of glasses—everything blended together, sounding both near and far.
Wasn’t he at home? Why was it so noisy?
Perplexed, Chen Li forced his eyes open just a crack.
Familiar red silk came into view.
Ah—this dream again…
But this time, unlike before, there were many more guests making a commotion outside.
Where is that person… the one from the dream?
The exhaustion in Chen Li’s body had followed him into the dream. He couldn’t even lift a hand. He let himself fall back, the soft red bedding sinking beneath him.
The noise outside kept prodding at his mind.
He could only catch vague snippets of words.
The word “bride” came up again and again—along with “lord.”
“Lord”? Who was that?
So noisy. Too noisy. He just wanted to sleep.
A few faint, whimpering sobs escaped from Chen Li’s throat, almost involuntarily. Then, he felt a shadow fall over him.
The presence brought with it a familiar pressure, silent and overwhelming. The moment the figure appeared, all the noise outside faded away—like a retreating tide.
The room fell into absolute stillness, broken only by a faint sound of breathing.
At last, it was quiet again. Chen Li relaxed once more, completely unguarded under that intense gaze—like a kitten lying belly-up under a lion, exposing its softest spot.
Go ahead and look, if that’s what you want.
He thought this with a vague sense of defiance, until consciousness slipped away entirely.
[Host! Host, wake up!] System 001 called out.
Whoosh.
Chen Li sat bolt upright in bed: “Did I fall asleep?”
System 001: [You’ve been asleep for an entire day.]
He checked his phone—sure enough, it had been a full day since he’d returned from the hotel. It was already midday.
He blinked, confused: “But… I remember being in the bathtub yesterday?”
System 001 paused, then quickly made something up: [Oh, you were really tired and crawled out by yourself. You must’ve forgotten from being so out of it.]
In truth, System 001 had been disconnected the whole time and had no idea what had happened. It had only just reconnected—and found Chen Li sleeping soundly in bed.
But if it told the host that, with how easily frightened he was, he’d definitely panic.
So System 001 chose a harmless lie.
After sleeping a whole day, Chen Li expected his body to ache, but aside from being ravenously hungry, he felt surprisingly well—refreshed, even. Hearing System 001’s explanation, he didn’t dwell on it and got up to cook himself some egg fried rice.
System 001: [We should head to the next instance now.]
After everything that had happened, Chen Li was unexpectedly calm: “Alright.”
He washed the dishes, messaged his teacher and Gu Fu, then followed the system into the pure white space.
As soon as he arrived, he was stunned by what he saw.
The Phantom Puppet, the Ghost Bus, and System 001 were… playing Fight the Landlord1, each occupying one corner like a power triangle.
Chen Li blinked: “So you’re still here.”
He said this to the puppet—Joker.
Joker, ever the gentleman, tried to stand and bow to him, though his short and chubby puppet body made the motion look completely awkward.
Chen Li chuckled: “Looks like you’ve all been getting along just fine.”
System 001: [Bah! Who’d want to get along with that thing?!]
Joker: “How rude. That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”
Seeing that a fight was about to break out again, Chen Li quickly changed the subject: “So, which instance am I going to next?”
System 001 turned around: [I picked one where you can play both a player and an NPC. But you’ll need to make sure your identity stays hidden.]
Joker’s eyes swirled mischievously. No matter which instance he heard Chen Li was headed to, he was already planning to strike first—kick out the core NPC of that instance and take the spot for himself.
Chen Li understood it was doing this to help deal with Gu Fu. He smiled slightly: “Thanks.”
The white light ball—System 001—suspiciously shimmered pink: [Hmph. You should be thinking about which ‘teammate’ to take. Don’t forget—you promised to introduce him to Gu Fu.]
Chen Li hesitated a bit before finally speaking: “What if I already have someone in mind?”
[Who?] System 001 suddenly had a bad feeling.
Chen Li: “Fu Moyang.”
System 001 and Joker shouted in unison: “Absolutely not!!”
Even the Ghost Bus couldn’t help honking in protest: “Meow!”
Chen Li looked innocent: “But he promised to go with me to the next instance. He’s the only one who knows my real identity right now. Gu Fu still needs an explanation, and if Fu Moyang plays the role of my teammate, Gu Fu won’t try to insist on partnering with me out of worry.”
System 001 fell into a deep silence—and panic.
Because it realized… the host was right.
In the end, the most trustworthy person was actually that evil ghost!
System 001 slumped in despair: […Fine. Let’s go, then.]
Joker glanced at System 001, then at the little cotton candy. From just a few lines of dialogue, he had figured out the whole situation. And just as Chen Li was being teleported, Joker transformed—no longer a chubby doll, but a refined and elegant clown.
System 001 stared coldly at him: [So it’s true—you used that ridiculous form just to win the host’s trust.]
Joker tipped his hat with perfect poise: “It’s called strategy.”
He swiped a finger through the air to bring up his mission interface.
[Please choose the instance you want to enter next.]
[Would you like to use your Identity Swap Card to replace the core BOSS of the next instance?]
[Yes.]
Joker didn’t bother hiding his intentions. Right in front of System 001, he chose to follow Chen Li into the new instance.
Suddenly, a blaring alert rang out:
[Alert: World A-301 cannot be entered!]
[Alert: World A-301 cannot be entered!]
[Alert: World A-301 cannot be entered!]
The same message repeated three times.
System 001 couldn’t help but ask: [What’s going on?]
Joker’s expression instantly turned dark: “Someone beat me to it.”
Those damn bastards!!
Author’s note: Every guide-type NPC just wants to stick with Li Bao.
- 斗地主 (Dòu dìzhǔ) is a competitive two-on-one poker card game popular in China with three players. One of the players acts as the “landlord” and the other two players who cooperate against the landlord are called “peasants”. The game is mainly popular in China. ↩︎