Reality
Sitting in the back seat of the taxi, Chen Li looked out the window, his face filled with worry: “Will injuries from the game carry over into the real world?”
With Gu Fu’s strength, he should have been able to rely on points to heal and come back out.
System 001: [No, they won’t. It’s just that the person who did that to him is terrifying.]
Chen Li paused and pulled his gaze back: [Fu Moyang really is… special, isn’t he?]
System 001 fell silent. After a moment of hesitation, it decided not to offend that ghost.
Just because its host was allowed to seek the truth didn’t mean it could speak out of turn.
Chen Li didn’t press further. He simply fidgeted quietly with the hem of his shirt.
The taxi driver kept glancing up at the rearview mirror, repeatedly checking Chen Li’s profile, as if trying to confirm something.
Finally, as they reached the hospital, he couldn’t help but speak: “Hey kid, I’ve seen your livestream clips. My daughter studies art too. Keep it up—you’re definitely going to win an award.”
Chen Li was stunned for a moment before realizing the driver was referring to the previous competition. He gave a shy smile: “Thank you.”
Only then did System 001 remember the messages still waiting to be dealt with: [That stream ended up way more popular than we expected. A bunch of streaming companies have been messaging you with contract offers, but I blocked them all.]
It sounded proud, feeling like it had been helpful: [If you’re interested, I can help you get the best deal.]
Chen Li shook his head: [No need.]
System 001 sounded a little disappointed: [Alright… Oh, by the way, the finalists for the Golden Butterfly competition will be announced tomorrow.]
Even though only three days had passed in the real world, to Chen Li, it already felt like a long time ago. He nodded absentmindedly: [Okay.]
The constant flow of people at the hospital made him uncomfortable, and he instinctively tried to find a quieter place.
Thanks to System 001’s navigation, he made it smoothly to the third floor. Just as he was heading up with a fruit basket, he ran into Gu Fu’s parents.
They recognized Chen Li. The couple’s faces were still streaked with tears, but they forced themselves to smile as they looked at him: “Xiao Li, you came to see Xiao Fu too?”
Chen Li nodded and handed them the fruit basket, at a loss for words.
He asked the system before coming and confirmed that, with Gu Fu’s current physical condition, he would be able to make it through this time.
But the poor couple in front of him didn’t know that. Gu Fu was their only child.
Chen Li: “Gu Fu will be alright.”
He spoke with such sincerity that it was hard not to believe him.
Gu Fu’s mother, a graceful woman, wiped her tears: “Mm. Gu Fu always liked playing with you since he was little. He’ll be happy to know you came.”
Gu Fu’s father, usually stern, now looked weary: “I just don’t understand… how could such a serious car accident happen all of a sudden?”
A car accident?
Chen Li didn’t show his confusion and quickly tried to comfort them as best as he could.
System 001 explained: [It’s an automatic correction mechanism of Horror Game. If someone dies in the game, a corresponding ‘accident’ is created in the real world.]
Because Gu Fu was still in critical condition, Chen Li couldn’t visit him in the ICU. After leaving his words and gifts with the parents, he walked out of the hospital, dazed.
System 001 thought he was feeling guilty and tried to comfort him: [This really isn’t your fault. Gu Fu had already developed an obsession with surpassing Fu Moyang. Even if he hadn’t tried to kill you, a confrontation between them was inevitable.]
In fact, if it weren’t for Chen Li’s involvement, Fu Moyang probably would have killed him outright.
Ghosts don’t think like humans. The only thing that restrains him is the little lamb he loves.
Back at his apartment, Chen Li collapsed onto the soft bed, his voice muffled with frustration: “I’m just wondering… what’s the point of this Horror Game?”
System 001: [Are you starting to suspect something?]
“Yeah.” Chen Li’s eyelids were growing heavy. “The game is deliberately gathering beings consumed by resentment, turning them into guide NPCs to help it collect fear points.”
That was the real issue: whether it was human players or NPCs, they were all just tools. Horror Game only cared about one thing—fear points.
But why is it collecting human fear?
System 001 was just about to say it didn’t know, when it noticed that its host’s voice had faded—he’d already fallen asleep.
His young face was flushed with a slight rosy hue. Seeing it, System 001 couldn’t help but feel a wave of parental affection as it sighed within its own space: Sigh… when did this timid, slightly withdrawn boy grow so much?
Humans really were strange creatures.
Unaware of System 001’s musings, Chen Li’s consciousness fully faded, and once again he slipped into a familiar dream.
This time, there were no loud noises in the dream. He was wearing red, held in someone’s arms, their wide fingers interlaced with his.
A cold breath flowed endlessly from behind him.
The man leaned in and whispered by his ear: “Sleep.”
The voice was indistinct, but Chen Li couldn’t resist. His eyes closed again, his breathing slowed, and he sank into unconsciousness once more.
Chen Li was awakened by a knock at the door. He got out of bed, still dazed, recalling the strange dream from last night.
Had he… fallen asleep in the dream?
The knocking continued. Still groggy, Chen Li walked to the door: “Who is it?”
Aside from Gu Fu, who else would visit?
“It’s me,” said a voice—his teacher’s—on the other side.
“Teacher?” Chen Li opened the door without hesitation, only to see a shadow dart past him into the room.
The figure quickly made itself at home on his sofa, lounging there with no regard for manners. He waved Chen Li over with a serious tone: “Xiao Lizi, come, come.”
His calm and casual demeanor almost made Chen Li feel like they were old acquaintances, even though this was their first meeting.
His teacher stood at the door with an apologetic smile, clearly not expecting the man to be so forward. He made the introductions: “Chen Li, this is Mr. Omicho.”
He turned back to Omicho: “And this is…”
Omicho cut him off impatiently: “I know, I know!”
Then he looked eagerly at Chen Li.
In the art world, the name Omicho stood for authority—and not just because of his exceptional artistic talent, but also his notoriously eccentric temper.
Chen Li thought back carefully. After he finished streaming the competition, the judges had all crowded around to view his painting. He vaguely remembered seeing Omicho among them.
But Omicho hadn’t been a judge for this year’s Golden Butterfly competition.
Though puzzled, Chen Li remained polite and invited the mentor inside. After greeting them, he went to get some drinks and said a little apologetically: “All I have is orange juice and water.”
The more Omicho looked at him, the more satisfied he felt.
What a modest and composed dark horse.
The elderly man waved his hand: “Orange juice is fine.”
Once Chen Li placed the juice on the table, the three of them sat in awkward silence, just staring at each other.
In the end, it was the calm and dependable teacher who finally broke the silence: “Xiao Li, Mr. Omicho is here today because he wants to take you on as his last disciple.”
At that point, even the teacher couldn’t help sounding a little excited. Omicho’s difficult personality was well-known in the field—he never accepted students and didn’t care to offer anyone guidance. Everyone knew that.
But Chen Li shook his head: “I’m afraid I can’t accept.”
The mentor inhaled sharply, clearly anxious: “Xiao Li, this is a very rare opportunity.”
“But I already have you,” Chen Li said with confusion.
Omicho’s eager gaze shifted from Chen Li to the teacher.
The teacher, suddenly feeling enormous pressure, wiped the sweat from his brow: “It’s not the same. You know I have many students, and what I can teach is mostly systematic knowledge. But you—your future holds much more.”
At that point, tears began to well in the teacher’s eyes—genuine emotion, not for show.
He had always felt a quiet pain for this overly obedient, unambitious student.
System 001 chimed in inside his head: [Didn’t expect this human to be so sincere.]
Omicho, usually razor-tongued, now seemed at a loss for words. He fumbled, repeating the same few phrases.
Unaccustomed to receiving kindness, Chen Li lowered his head and stayed silent, nervously picking at his fingers.
Suddenly, Omicho sprang up: “Oh right, right! The results were just released—your painting received the highest score! You’ve earned a direct spot in the finals!”
The joy in his eyes was undeniably genuine.
Chen Li’s eyes curved into a smile: “Thank you.”
Omicho scratched his head: “I know this must all feel like it’s happening too fast. But the finals are just a few days away. Focus on preparing for that. Once it’s over, you can give me your answer then.”
Surprisingly, the notoriously temperamental master was quite easy to talk to. Chen Li nodded seriously: “Alright. I’ll think it over carefully.”
After they left, System 001 asked quietly: [Host, are you planning to enter the next instance after the Golden Butterfly competition ends?]
Chen Li responded quickly: [Yes.]
Over the next few days, he would devote himself entirely to preparing for the competition—and give himself a complete, honest answer.
A rush of inspiration flooded his mind. It wasn’t just the scenes from the instances—he now had so many more things he wanted to paint.
And most importantly, there was that dream that had been with him since he was sixteen.
At this moment, even the face of the person in the dream no longer mattered. He just wanted to paint it. That was enough.
It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his heart, and Chen Li smiled: [Let’s go out and buy some supplies!]
Until the day the finals began, he never had that dream again. The once dark and terrifying dream seemed to have faded because of that strange sleep—perhaps even becoming… comforting?
Startled by the bizarre thought, Chen Li shook his head vigorously, trying to shake it out.
The teacher, who was driving, glanced at him and thought he was still nervous. He tried to reassure him: “D-Don’t be nervous.”
He almost bit his own tongue.
Chen Li: “I’m fine.”
Honestly, you seem more nervous than I am.
The finals of the Golden Butterfly competition were conducted under full lockdown. Aside from invited guests, only participants, judges, and staff were allowed inside. But oddly, a large crowd had gathered outside the entrance this time.
Curious, Chen Li opened the car door and stepped out. He was just starting to wonder why there were so many people when a wave of screams engulfed him.
“He’s here!!!”
A girl shouted, and a crowd rushed over—some even holding banners and flowers.
Amid the excited chatter, Chen Li, dazed and confused, realized… these people had come to cheer for him?
Security quickly rushed in and surrounded him, escorting him inside. Although the crowd was large, it was more orderly than expected. It seemed many already knew he didn’t like being disturbed. Most people just watched from a distance and didn’t come too close.
Just before stepping through the main entrance, Chen Li suddenly turned around to face the crowd. Blushing, he spoke very softly—but clearly: “Thank you.”
Author’s Note:
Li Bao is getting more and more outgoing www
Next chapter: cannon fodder incoming, with face-slapping action—smack!