C70 — Seeing Isn’t Believing

This fact was a bit of a shock to Old Man Kou, the father.

He cupped his son’s face, still finding it hard to believe that his kid had grown so tall—taller than him even. What on earth had he been eating to grow like this? Fertilizer?

He couldn’t help but stretch out a hand and mutter, “But I remember you were only this tall…”

The 21-year-old grown man Ye Yanzhi: “…”

He couldn’t help but grit his teeth. “Yes, I’m tall.”

Some students jogged past nearby. When they heard Kou Dong’s remark and saw the height he was gesturing, their pace slowed. Their gazes toward the two of them were filled with suggestive meaning.

Especially their eyes, which flicked down to glance at Ye Yanzhi’s pants, then gave him a once-over.

 

Ye Yanzhi was suddenly hit with an unjust accusation and couldn’t help but press his lips tightly together.

Kou Dong also picked up on the unintended innuendo in his words and hurriedly ruffled his kid’s hair. “That came out wrong.”

Ye Yanzhi saw his sincere attitude in admitting fault and eased up a little.

But the very next second, the man in front of him followed up with: “You shouldn’t be that long yet anyway.”

Ye Yanzhi: “……???”

Ye Yanzhi thought—were they really going to have to go to the bathroom to confirm the facts before he believed him?

He also recalled all the times before when Kou Dong had insisted he call him dad, pinched his face, and taken all sorts of liberties. His teeth itched with frustration. He had thought that when he leveled up, Kou Dong might rein it in a bit. But no—his mouth still led him straight into trouble.

He solemnly declared: “I’m longer than that.”

Kou Dong laughed and patted the back of his head. “Alright, alright, I won’t hurt your pride.”

Ye Yanzhi: “……”

Whose pride are we talking about here?

He glanced up but didn’t say more. He directly dragged the still-curious Kou Dong away. “Come on, let’s talk somewhere else.”

That glance happened to meet the eyes of the psychology teacher standing by the window.

The young psychology teacher’s face held no trace of a smile. He lowered his gaze, still holding a white porcelain cup in his hands. His eyes were cold, almost emotionless, as he watched the two of them run off hand in hand. After a long moment, he pressed his palm heavily onto the desk.

That exact spot was where Kou Dong had pressed his hand earlier—it still retained a faint warmth.

He paused, lips brushing against the cool porcelain rim of the cup, though he didn’t drink from it. His lips merely pressed against the surface briefly before pulling away.

The man pulled back slightly, and only after a long silence did he let out a faint sigh. “What a shame.”

The flutter of wings stirred in the room. Tiny, shimmering butterflies burst out from the man’s sleeve, spiraling around him in the air.

One butterfly landed gently on his fingertip. He stroked its quivering wings and murmured softly, “Good child… do you like him?”

The butterfly’s antennae twitched, as if responding.

The psychology teacher’s lips curled deeper into a smile.

“I like him too,” he said coolly. “Don’t worry—”

“He’ll be ours.”

He began to hum a tune, the lyrics were broken and the words were unclear, he continued humming as he turned and pressed something on the wall. With a faint click, a section of the wall slid back to reveal a new door.

There were no lights inside.

No windows either—not a sliver of light could get in from outside.

Yet it wasn’t completely dark. Faint, glowing specks of phosphorus glimmered like stars, dimly outlining the shapes of the furnishings within. The psychology teacher hummed his song, smiling as he lit a red candle on the table.

The flame flickered, and the butterflies drew back slightly.

If Kou Dong were to walk into this place, he’d probably be shocked by what he saw.

In the slowly unfolding light, what was revealed was a slender, meticulously polished golden cage—no taller than half a man, and just wide enough for one person.

The cage was dusted with shimmering powder left behind by butterfly wings, so thick it even carpeted the floor inside. A red silk cushion sat there, just large enough for one person to sit on.

The cage was incredibly narrow—only a not-yet-fully-grown boy could barely stretch his legs out in it. An adult would have to curl up tightly to fit.

Anyone inside couldn’t reach their hands out, yet the butterflies could freely slide their proboscises through the gaps.

In the corner of the room was a large box. When opened, it revealed a massive pair of butterfly wings, nearly a meter long. Their colors were vibrant and rich, but perhaps from repeated struggles, one wing joint drooped limply.

At the base of the wings were faint bloodstains. The cut was jagged, as if someone unskilled had hacked them off with a blunt instrument.

The psychologist’s smile deepened. He slowly stroked the supple surface of the wings with his fingers.

“My darling,” he said slowly,

“Last time, you escaped…”

“This time, that will never happen again.”

—

Ke Dong took Ye Yanzhi straight back to the dormitory.

Ye Yanzhi followed behind with his schoolbag, glanced around, and immediately spotted which bed was Kou Dong’s. He silently sat on it, watching Kou Dong jog over to lock the door.

Ke Dong turned the key, then turned around and froze for a second—Ye Yanzhi was already sitting on his bed.

He actually had a bit of a cleanliness obsession when it came to his bed. He didn’t like others sitting on it.

But then he thought back: when Ye Yanzhi was just palm-sized, he used to sleep by his pillow all the time—who knows how many nights they’d spent like that?

Thinking that way made it easier to accept. He walked over and patted Ye Yanzhi on the head to check how he was doing.

Ye Yanzhi lowered his head slightly and let him touch. As soon as Kou Dong tapped his head, a familiar interface popped up:

—

[Name: Ye Yanzhi
Status: Heir of the Ye Family
Current Stage: Adulthood
Growth Method: Please give him enough love! The more love he receives, the faster he grows!
Abilities:
Koi Luck (Activated – Level 3; offsets player’s Luck E attribute)
Strategy (Activated – Level 2)
Combat Power (Activated – Level 2)
Special Ability: Not yet unlocked
Current Intimacy Level: Level 2]

—

Ke Dong examined it carefully. Sure enough, the words “in transition” had disappeared now that Ye Yanzhi was in his adult phase. He scrolled down to check his ability stats—all had increased significantly. This was clearly no longer the same palm-sized figure with weak battle power.

Only the intimacy level had barely increased. After several copies, it had only gone up around ten points—from Level 1 to Level 2.

Kou Dong pointed at that line, looking dissatisfied:

“Why is this so low?”

Ye Yanzhi lightly frowned:

“Naturally because… we’re not intimate enough.”

Kou Dong was even more displeased.

“We’re not intimate?” he said, baffled. “Us?”

 

Ye Yanzhi was just about to say something comforting—when Kou Dong blurted out his next line:

“We’re father and son!”

What was more intimate than that?!

Ye Yanzhi: “…”

Whatever comforting words he had prepared were completely swallowed.

He just stared at Kou Dong, completely expressionless.

Kou Dong, filtered through his own “fatherly lens,” now saw everything Ye Yanzhi did through a haze of loving pink bubbles. His whole demeanor even gave off a kind of oddly saintly kindness.

“You’ve been asleep so long, you must be tired, right?” he asked gently.

“If you need to rest, go ahead first—then we’ll talk about clearing the level.”

Ye Yanzhi lowered his lashes, feeling a bit powerless inside. He’d clearly thought of hundreds of ways to kill this man, running them on a loop in his head… yet when it came down to it, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I’m not tired,” he said simply.

Before he could finish his sentence, there was a knock at the door—

knock knock.

Then came a slightly anxious voice from outside:

“Tiantian? Tiantian? Are you back?”

Calling out “Tiantian” in a boys’ dorm was already odd, but Song Hong didn’t care at that point. He called a few more times, then breathed a sigh of relief when the door finally opened from the inside.

“Thank goodness, you—”

He lifted his eyes, immediately catching a scent—clean and light, completely unlike Kou Dong’s. That was when he realized the one standing at the door wasn’t Kou Dong, but a tall, slender boy with dark eyelashes and deep, defined features. His whole presence felt clean and composed.

Song Hong blinked, stood on his tiptoes to peek inside—and finally saw Kou Dong sitting on the bed.

Kou Dong opened his mouth to explain:

“This is Ye—”

But the boy cut him off calmly:

“I’m Ye Yanzhi.”

“…Ye Yanzhi?”

Song Hong’s eyes flicked between the two of them, finally settling on the unfamiliar boy, suspicion in his tone:

“How come I’ve never seen you before?”

Still calm and composed, Ye Yanzhi replied:

“There was a mix-up. I got placed in a different class.”

“Is that so…”

Song Hong still had doubts, but when they entered the copy earlier, it was said that there would be eight players—yet only seven had appeared. If someone really had been misplaced due to a system bug, that could explain it.

He didn’t press further. After entering the room, he turned to Kou Dong:

“Nothing happened, right?”

Kou Dong walking off with an NPC had worried him.

“I was just thinking—if you still weren’t back in two hours, Ah Xue and I were going to come rescue you.”

Kou Dong quickly explained:

“It’s fine, really. The guy tried to trap me, but my kid—Ye Yanzhi—cut him off. Close call, but it’s all good.”

Hearing that, Song Hong finally relaxed a little toward Ye Yanzhi, giving him a quick glance.

“Ye Yanzhi, right?” His tone softened as he smiled.

“I’m almost allergic to that name now. The last copy gave me a full-blown trauma…”

He was referring to the boss in the “Caisheng” copy, who had set countless traps. Kou Dong got caught more than once and had almost been stuck there for good.

Ye Yanzhi replied briefly:

“I’ve met him too.”

That made Song Hong feel even more confident. If Ye Yanzhi had survived the last copy and came out unscathed, it clearly meant he was an experienced player.

—And experienced players were good.

They weren’t rash or panicky like newbies, nor cocky and trouble-seeking like half-baked veterans. At the very least, they could be relied on when it counted.

 

Then he got down to business:

“Now that we’ve regrouped, we should plan our next move. I’m worried about Ah Xue—something doesn’t seem right with her.”

That concern had been sitting in Kou Dong’s heart too.

He asked:

“You think she might actually listen to what the NPC said?”

Song Hong gave a small, wry smile.

“If it were something ordinary, she really wouldn’t be tempted. But if that scarred man is really related to her that way… I’m afraid she won’t be able to stop herself from killing him.”

Kou Dong recalled the story the psychology teacher had told about a father and daughter, and his heart tensed. He looked at Song Hong and said, “Their relationship…”

Song Hong gave a solemn nod.

“His story wasn’t complete yet,” he said in a low voice. “That girl… her mother developed a terminal illness from overwork…”

Due to the game rules, they couldn’t directly say the rest aloud, but after exchanging glances, they understood each other.

If that was how it was, then Scarface was Ah Xue’s father—the one who loved to gamble, racked up debt, and then ran off on his own, leaving his wife and daughter behind to shoulder everything.

It might sound simple on the surface, but for a sensitive and intelligent girl like Ah Xue—growing up without a father, burdened with debt, and supporting a frail mother whose medical expenses depended entirely on her—it was a life full of judgmental stares, suffering, and hardship. All of that forged her calm, unusually composed nature.

Looking back now, in the prime of her youth, she never had the chance to be pampered, never bought herself a pretty dress. To earn more money, she even risked her life repeatedly by entering these terrifying copies.

How could she not feel resentment?

And that resentment—if you trace it back—where else could it fall?

Song Hong completely understood her hatred. He knew Ah Xue from the real world and knew exactly how her useless scumbag father had ruined her life. He even ground his teeth in frustration on her behalf.

If this were reality, Song Hong might’ve handed her the knife himself. But this was a game. And if the girl truly let herself be consumed by revenge, she’d end up just like the other victims—another pale corpse lying cold on the ground.

That was something Song Hong absolutely didn’t want to see.

“For the next few days, I want to keep an eye on her,” he said wearily. “We can’t let her do something like that.”

Kou Dong nodded and suggested, “Let her come stay here. We’ll all watch over her—it’s safer.”

Ye Yanzhi stood nearby with his arms crossed, saying nothing. With others around, he didn’t act the same as when it was just Kou Dong—his expression remained calm, and he truly did resemble the composed twenty-one-year-old he claimed to be.

Kou Dong glanced at him a few times, vaguely feeling that this version of him looked a little unfamiliar.

Song Hong hesitated. “Having her stay in the boys’ dorm… isn’t that inappropriate?”

Kou Dong replied, “She’s about to lose her life—who cares about that?”

Song Hong thought about it, then nodded. “Fair point.”

But they couldn’t wait until nightfall. The dorm aunties were around during the day.

“How’s she going to get in?”

He didn’t want to alert the NPCs—God knows which one of them might be a psycho.

Kou Dong said mysteriously, “I saw a story like this on the forum once…”

Song Hong: “???”

Half an hour later, Song Hong puffed and panted as he carried his blanket outside, claiming he needed to find a sunny spot in the backyard to air it out. Another hour later, he struggled back in, the blanket now bulging suspiciously, but he walked calmly right past the dorm auntie.

The auntie, though puzzled by his back-and-forth with the blanket, merely gave him a “this one’s crazy” look—and didn’t ask a single question.

Let him do what he wants—after all, in elite high schools like this, it wasn’t uncommon for students to become neurotic under pressure.

 

Meanwhile, Song Hong, panting, carefully placed his blanket back on the bed. He lifted one corner—and there, inside, was a person.

The girl lay quietly within, staring at them blankly: “…”

So this was how they chose to do it? Seriously?

She was small and slender, and once wrapped in the quilt, not even a trace of her silhouette showed. She glanced around at the room, then turned her head back, locking eyes with the three of them.

“You guys planning to give me a tour of the boys’ dorm?”

“Of course not,” Song Hong wiped the sweat from his forehead, “It’s just for safety. It’s better if we stay together.”

Ah Xue narrowed her eyes. “Not because you want to keep an eye on me?”

“…”

That one hit too directly. Song Hong didn’t know how to respond and silently shot a pleading look at Kou Dong.

Kou Dong, however, admitted it outright: “Yeah. —It’s for your own good.”

The girl narrowed her eyes and gave both of them a sweeping glare, then muttered just two words: “Idiots.”

 

She hugged her knees and went quiet.

The two “idiots” glanced at each other awkwardly. Ye Yanzhi, who had been standing silently with arms crossed, finally spoke up: “Now that she’s here, isn’t she even closer to that man?”

“…”

Well… that was true.

Song Hong, a little too emotionally involved, had overlooked the detail. But staying close might actually be better—they could keep an eye on her. Otherwise, once the dorm matron left at night, who knew if Ah Xue might just grab a knife and go chop someone up?

It wouldn’t be surprising —this girl had done something like that before.

So that night, the four of them crammed into the two-person dorm room. At first, Song Hong had planned to squeeze in with Kou Dong, but then saw that Ye Yanzhi wasn’t planning to leave either—and was completely stunned.

What, didn’t he have a place to sleep?

Why was he still here?

He gave Ye Yanzhi several glances, which didn’t go unnoticed. The boy, having made himself comfortable on Kou Dong’s bed, lifted his eyelids and looked back calmly. “What?”

Song Hong was so thrown off by his casual attitude that he even double-checked the door number.

No mistake—this was his and Kou Dong’s dorm.

So why did he suddenly feel like the outsider?

He tentatively asked, “You’re staying here too?”

Kou Dong had just come out of the steamy bathroom, his hair still dripping. Naturally, he answered, “He’s sleeping with me.”

Song Hong: “…???”

What?

Kou Dong added, “Otherwise I’d be worried.”

His kid had to stay close to his dear ol’ dad!

Song Hong stared wide-eyed at the both of them, thinking: This player might just be an undercover NPC. In all the instances they’d been through, he’d only ever seen NPCs throwing themselves at Kou Dong—not players getting this close to “Sweetie Kou.”

The boy seemed pleased by Kou Dong’s words. Silently, he took the towel from him and started drying his hair. Kou Dong just sat there, content, enjoying the care like a dutiful father being pampered by a filial child.

 

Song Hong: “…All right, sure.”

He forced himself to believe this was pure brotherly love—socialist friendship, harmonious and healthy, with absolutely nothing weird about it.

He had no idea that, in Kou Dong’s eyes, this was the perfect image of a loving father and obedient son.

Since those two were now sharing a bed, Song Hong found an extra mattress and laid it on the floor. The top bunk was given to Ah Xue, and Song Hong, being cautious, locked the door several times. He slept right at the foot of the ladder to the top bunk—so that the moment anyone climbed down, he’d wake up.

The young girl sat cross-legged on the top bunk, her voice drifting faintly through the room: “Am I the prisoner here?”

Song Hong replied, “Then be the prisoner. We can’t just let you walk off to your death.”

He turned off the light and whispered quietly to the two boys in the bottom bunk, “Be careful.”

Kou Dong gave a quiet “mm” in response.

He stretched out his legs, feeling a faint sense of awkwardness. It wasn’t the first time he’d shared a bed with Ye Yanzhi—back then, Ye Yanzhi had been no bigger than a palm-sized child and didn’t take up any space, he just curled up beside his pillow.

But now… things were different. Ye Yanzhi was now taller than him by half a head.

Though the boy’s physique wasn’t fully developed yet, his frame already hinted at long legs and a narrow waist—his hands and feet were visibly long. The single bed was narrow and cramped, forcing the two sixteen- or seventeen-year-olds to lie side by side, arm to arm, leg to leg.

Both had just bathed, and the air was faintly sweet with body wash. For some reason, the fragrance now felt vaguely sticky and cloying.

Kou Dong’s foot moved unconsciously—and was immediately noticed by the person beside him.

Ye Yanzhi opened his eyes in the dark.

His pupils, unlike those of the NPCs which were faint and diluted in color, were pure black. Kou Dong, already accustomed to the dark, could see the outline of his thick eyelashes. His voice involuntarily softened, “Just changing positions.”

The boy stared at him in silence, and after a long moment, clamped his legs around Kou Dong’s.

With a twist of his body, he practically pulled Kou Dong into his arms.

The position made Kou Dong feel seriously threatened. He instinctively kicked his legs to escape this “trap,” but Ye Yanzhi leaned in and breathed softly against his ear—just a puff of warm air—and Kou Dong’s whole body went weak. A tingling numbness spread from head to toe, and he couldn’t muster even a hint of resistance.

“Be good,” Ye Yanzhi said softly. “Sleep.”

Kou Dong rested his head on Ye Yanzhi’s arm and took a deep breath.

He hadn’t noticed before, but now he realized—this kid had surprisingly firm muscles. Unlike himself, who was more soft and skinny, like a poached chicken.

The poached chicken murmured, “All right… tomorrow morning, I’ll cross the platform and buy you some oranges…”

Ye Yanzhi’s lips twitched slightly.

This guy—never forgot the “father and son bond,” even for a second.

Kou Dong mumbled a few more words, then fell asleep leaning against him.

Night deepened. Song Hong, sleeping on the floor, had unknowingly dozed off too, one hand still holding onto the ladder.

At some point in the early hours, a figure sat up on the top bunk.

The girl leaned against the railing and looked down, sighing softly.

…There was no other choice.

She had finally found that person here. If she let him escape in the game this time, how many more years would it take to track him down again?

She didn’t use the ladder—instead, she reached out one leg and carefully stepped onto the edge of the bottom bunk. Though not very tall, she was agile. She landed silently, not making a sound.

She put on her shoes and quietly moved to open the door.

A voice suddenly came from behind her: “You’ve made up your mind?”

Ah Xue startled and turned her head, seeing the player she’d only met today. The boy was already half-sitting up in bed, one arm still wrapped around someone, calmly watching her.

What unnerved her was that when she had climbed down, she hadn’t sensed him at all. It was as if he had melted into the bed, into the room itself—just another piece of the game’s environment, like the table or the wall.

She steadied her wildly beating heart and answered, “Yes. —I’ve decided.”

“How confident are you?”

Ah Xue said, “Fifty percent.”

But that fifty percent—was already enough for her to take the risk.

The boy stared at her steadily and said calmly, “Now it’s sixty.”

Ah Xue didn’t quite understand what he meant, still standing cautiously.

“You’re not going to stop me?”

Ye Yanzhi shook his head.

Ah Xue nodded slightly at him, said a quiet “thank you,” and then gently opened the door. Ye Yanzhi watched her figure disappear through it. Moments later, the person in his arms whispered softly, “She left?”

Ye Yanzhi replied, “She did.”

“Good,” Kou Dong murmured, tugging tighter on a corner of his sleeve. “I believe she’ll come back.”

Hatred wasn’t something that faded with time. It was like wine—it only became stronger, more potent as it sat.

Rather than waiting until it became something uncontrollable, it was better to let her understand the truth fully, while she still had her reason.

He had always believed Ah Xue was a smart girl. She knew how to make the most of the rules—without staining her own hands with blood…

“She’ll handle it beautifully.”

Meanwhile, out in the hallway, the girl stood looking up at the dormitory door, then she drew out a gleaming, cold steel knife.

---

TN:

I need to update moreeee 😮‍💨