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.