C60 — Discovering a Clue

Night fell early in the countryside, especially on such a chilly, snow-covered evening.

After dinner, Kou Dong found a chance to slip outside. He still held onto a sliver of hope, wandering around the village for a while. However, the only people he encountered were a few grumbling farmers who had reluctantly braved the cold to dump their wash water. These men were all broad-browed and thick-eyed, with the honest faces of simple peasants—completely different from the person he was searching for.

Despite circling the village several times, Kou Dong found nothing. Instead, it was Ye Yan who stood at the door, calling to him in a gentle voice, “Still not coming inside, Nannan?”

Kou Dong couldn’t afford to linger any longer. He sighed and replied, “Coming.”

The neighbor auntie next door let out a knowing chuckle, her eyes darting back and forth between the two of them.

“Ye boy,” she said loudly, “taking care of your little wife again, huh?”

Kou Dong’s face turned red, then green—his head spun at the mention of “little wife,” and even his teeth itched in frustration. Unfortunately for him, Ye Yan couldn’t see his reaction at all. Instead, he mistook the flush rising on Kou Dong’s cheeks for embarrassment, and that misunderstanding filled him with an unintentional sweetness.

“Auntie, don’t tease him,” Ye Yan said with a small smile, shifting slightly to block his little one’s gaze. “He’s thin-skinned.”

The auntie laughed even louder. “Oh my, look at you two!”

Even though they were both men, when it came to doting on someone, the care was unmistakable.

Ye Yan took hold of his sleeve and led him inside.

The room had been prepared long ago, with thick bedding laid out and a brazier burning several pieces of charcoal. Ye Yan used iron tongs to adjust the embers, making the flames burn even brighter. The old woman in the house couldn’t bear the cold and had already gone to bed, leaving only the two of them in the room.

Ye Yan asked softly, “Are you cold?”

He reached out and lightly touched the back of Kou Dong’s hand.

Kou Dong’s body had suffered under the hands of the kid-nappers, but after years of careful nurturing by Ye Yan, he had long since recovered. His skin was now smooth and warm to the touch, his cheeks full and rosy—nothing like the scrawny, starving beggar he had once been.

Kou Dong shook his head and turned his back to him. “Not cold.”

It wasn’t that he was ungrateful or unwilling to accept kindness, but the night had already fallen, and his grandmother wasn’t around. Naturally, he felt a bit nervous.

Sure, the romance mechanics in this game were designed to keep the NPCs happy…

But that didn’t mean he had to sell his body for it!

Kou Dong still wanted to hold onto the last shred of his dignity. At the very least, when he looked back on his life, he wanted to be able to console himself: Sure, I two-timed multiple NPCs, broke countless hearts, and made the game system weep in frustration—but deep down, I knew, I was still a good boy.

If he lost this final line of defense… well, he wouldn’t even be able to lie to himself anymore.

Might as well just slam his head into a wall and be done with it.

With that in mind, he kept a wary eye on Ye Yan, stealing glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He was deeply afraid that, at any moment, the other man would suddenly turn around and say, “Sleep with me.”

Thankfully, Ye Yan still seemed to have some sense of decency. He merely kept silent, focusing on poking at the fire.

The embers crackled loudly, and with every sharp pop, Kou Dong felt his heart burn a little hotter.

After a long moment, Ye Yan finally stood up.

He didn’t look at Kou Dong. Instead, he simply tucked in the bedding and asked in a low voice, “Going to sleep?”

There was something slightly unnatural in his expression.

Kou Dong sat stiffly, staring at the fire in the brazier. “Not tired.”

Ye Yan fell silent for a while before finally getting up. Instead of lying down, he lifted the quilt and placed a round metal hand warmer inside.

Kou Dong glanced at it, then quickly looked away, a bad feeling creeping up on him. “Uh…”

How long was this date supposed to last? Exactly what stage of the event was Ye Yan planning to take it to?

Was this really about to reach a part that couldn’t be described below the neck?

Kou Dong was still struggling, unwilling to obediently climb into bed. Ye Yan, however, didn’t force him. He simply sat under the covers in silence, warming a spot for him. Kou Dong tried to change the subject several times, but each attempt was swiftly blocked by Ye Yan’s short responses, leading them back into an awkward silence.

Their gazes met.

Ye Yan: “……”

Kou Dong: “……”

Ye Yan: “……”

Kou Dong: “……”

Kou Dong nearly cursed aloud. He wiped a hand over his face—what the hell was this? Was the game really not going to progress the dating event unless he got into bed?

Not even a single word now? Wasn’t this basically forcing him to comply?!

The NPC didn’t care, of course. If anything, he might even be happy Kou Dong was here. But Kou Dong himself felt nothing but discomfort. He couldn’t stay stuck in this dating segment forever, unable to exit.

Clenching his teeth, he finally steeled himself, stood up, and declared, “I’m tired.”

…Damn it!

The moment he spoke, the NPC reacted instantly. Ye Yan looked up at him and lifted a corner of the blanket, patting the mattress lightly.

“I thought Nannan would be sleepy by now,” he said with a smile. “Go to bed early.”

Kou Dong: “……”

Don’t think he didn’t see the obvious joy on the NPC’s face! The man could barely contain his happiness!

With no way out, he trudged over to the bed, sat on the edge, and started to remove his shoes. Before he could even finish, a hand reached over from behind him, gently knocking his cloth shoe off.

The shoe fell to the floor with a soft thud.

The warmth of the young man’s body radiated toward him, a steady heat unique to someone brimming with youthful energy. It was winter, and it was bitterly cold outside. Kou Dong instinctively leaned closer toward the warmth.

Ye Yan immediately noticed this reaction and, without hesitation, pulled him even closer.

Now, both of them were overheating.

Kou Dong could hardly breathe.

Hurriedly, he pushed Ye Yan away, his heart pounding. “Too close.”

He thought such a statement might make the NPC unhappy, but Ye Yan didn’t seem to mind at all. Instead, he merely smiled and asked in a low voice, “Did I scare Nannan?”

Kou Dong: “…Mm.”

Honestly, he wanted to throw the NPC out of bed altogether.

Ye Yan, on the other hand, merely stroked his hair, his voice warm. “No need to be afraid. Big brother is here.”

Kou Dong: “……”

I wouldn’t be afraid if you weren’t here! YOU are the reason I’m afraid!

Ye Yan, completely unbothered, started patting Kou Dong’s back lightly, as if coaxing him to sleep. He seemed to be in a very good mood.

“Nannan, call me ‘Ye Yan-gege.’”

Kou Dong buried his face in the blankets, pretending to be an ostrich.

He had called him that many times before, but now, with them pressed this close together, the title felt entirely different. He never cared for calling someone “brother” or any other affectionate names, but saying it in this context…

It suddenly carried a whole new meaning.

Kou Dong felt a strange sense of embarrassment.

Ye Yan wasn’t in a hurry. He continued patting him gently and called again in a soft voice, “Nannan.”

After a long silence, Kou Dong finally let out a small, barely audible murmur:

“Ye Yan-gege…”

Ye Yan’s heart melted instantly.

He had never realized how much power a few simple words could hold. But—if it was for these four words alone, then no matter what, he would be willing to go through fire and water.

“In a few years,” Ye Yan murmured, “when Nannan grows up, move in with gege.”

He paused for a moment before adding, his voice carrying an unmistakable implication, “Then, Nannan can sleep with gege every night…”

Kou Dong: “……”

Help! Someone’s being a scoundrel!

Kou Dong stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed.

Ye Yan’s voice was soft and slow, his grip on Kou Dong’s hand tightening just a bit more.

“—Gege will protect you for a lifetime.”

He patted the boy’s forehead.

“Do you believe me?”

Kou Dong was dazed for a moment before finally smiling slightly. He quietly responded, “I believe you.”

Even in the darkness of the night, Kou Dong could see the young man’s eyes brighten instantly, as if coated with a completely different kind of light.

Outside, the wind and snow grew fiercer, rattling the windows with loud gusts. The blanket was warm and soft, and the young man patted his back while humming a lullaby in broken intervals.

Within the gentle tune, Kou Dong slowly closed his eyes and drifted into an unconscious sleep.

But Ye Yan didn’t sleep.

He played with Kou Dong’s hand, which lay outside the covers—a slender, fair hand.

The smile on his lips gradually faded, and his eyes darkened bit by bit.

“Nannan…”

If Kou Dong had been awake at that moment, he would have been shocked to realize that Ye Yan’s expression—when not smiling—bore a striking resemblance to the NPC he had been searching for.

And to his cub as well.

Ye Yan lowered his head and blew a soft breath against the sleeping man’s ear.

The man, who was particularly sensitive around the ears, shivered slightly even in his sleep.

 

Ye Yan pinched his soft earlobe, bringing his face even closer, and whispered against the curve of his ear, “Remember two things.”

“One, do not trust the system.”

“Two, no matter how they try to convince you—

you do not belong here.

Remember to escape.”

He paused briefly, his expression shifting slightly, before adding a third point.

“Three, don’t try to make anyone call you ‘Dad.’ He is not your child… Hmm?”

Even Ye Yan himself looked a bit confused after saying this.

But the third message had entered his database at the same time as the first two.

And Ye Yan could sense a familiar presence in its source.

It was him.

Or rather, a part of him.

In the end, he chose to believe it.

“Stay safe,” he murmured, pulling the blanket higher over Kou Dong’s body. His brows furrowed, and his eyes reddened—an extremely rare sight, looking almost… pitiful.

Kou Dong’s body began to gradually turn transparent.

Ye Yan saw it happen but made no move to stop it.

He simply watched quietly, without tears, only whispering a final instruction in a low voice.

“…Remember to come back and visit.”

—

When Kou Dong woke up, he had already exited the dating module.

His head was resting beneath the frames of several character portraits. As soon as he opened his eyes, the characters within the dating interface frantically reached down, as if trying to touch him.

The mermaid was the most eager, his tail almost curling around Kou Dong’s wrist.

But the moment Kou Dong’s eyes snapped open, the mermaid was startled and quickly tucked his tail back in place, sitting properly.

Fortunately, Kou Dong paid them no attention.

Instead, he stood up and rummaged through the room for paper and a pen.

After finally finding them, he gripped the pen and quickly wrote down two characters:

“Change” (变故).

Beneath it, he drew four lines, connecting to four names: Godfather, Mermaid, Evil God, Ye Yan.

– The Godfather’s change lay in the illness of his adopted child.

– The Mermaid’s change lay in losing track of the person he was searching for.

– The Evil god’s change lay in the fall of the True god.

– Ye Yan’s change lay in the death of Xiao Shuanzi.

These were the defining major events of this game copy.

Before these events occurred, the story within the instance had always been warm and harmonious.

In fact, the dating module followed this unbroken timeline—

– The adopted child had no hereditary illness, and the godfather personally taught him how to dance.

– The True god had not fallen for the sake of his believers and instead became a couple deity alongside the Evil god.

– Xiao Shuanzi had been loved and protected by Ye Yan, a childhood sweetheart bond so sweet it needed no words.

Everything had been beautiful.

No regrets. No painful losses.

The NPCs and the characters Kou Dong played all lived smooth, unhindered lives, untouched by calamity or suffering.

And the so-called game rules —they only emerged after disaster struck.

The system began introducing players, and from that moment on, both NPCs and players could die within the game.

The main NPCs’ minds began to twist, their humanity crumbling…

—What was the root cause of all this?

Kou Dong pressed his pen heavily against the paper and wrote down a second word:

Departure.

Be it death or merely leaving, for the NPCs, it was the same— someone vital to them had vanished.

This disappearance set off a chain reaction, and by the time Kou Dong entered the copy, the story had already deviated completely from the harmonious backdrop it originally had.

His pen tip hovered in hesitation before he finally wrote a third word.

—Collapse.

The thought was absurd. But Kou Dong couldn’t shake the eerie feeling—

It was as if the entire game didn’t align with its creator’s original intent.

By the third date, this feeling had become even stronger.

If the game truly had a creator, then this person knew him inside and out.

Every story crafted within the game carried traces of his shadow —not to flatter himself, but Kou Dong could say with certainty:

Whoever created this game didn’t harbor malicious intent toward him.

And they never meant to show him a world of bloody, horrific slaughter.

On the contrary… they wanted to show him a world full of love.

Kou Dong’s heart suddenly clenched.

He turned to look at the dating module.

The NPCs still stood inside the frame, their hands stretching longingly toward him.

For the first time, Kou Dong examined them with scrutiny.

And then, in an instant— clarity struck.

…Of course.

The dating world…

That was the world the creator had truly intended to make.

---

TN:

I feel bad for the NPCs ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ