C73 — Eight Tentacles

After leaving the company, Mu Sichen began investigating the bar mentioned by the general manager in his dream. Unfortunately, he wasn’t familiar with the company’s employees, and most of them had been affected by the dream, leaving them in poor health. This made it inconvenient for him to ask around.

However, He Fei’s father happened to know the general manager’s father. Volunteering to investigate the matter, He Fei came back with an unexpected conclusion.

 

“That can’t be right! The general manager clearly mentioned a bar. Could it be that his father doesn’t want to talk about it? Or maybe he doesn’t actually know his son that well?” He Fei speculated. “Besides, just because someone goes to a bar doesn’t mean they drink alcohol, right?”

“But bars are full of alcoholic drinks. If someone had a severe allergy that prevented them from even a drop of alcohol, they’d probably avoid such places altogether,” Mu Sichen mused. “Maybe this bar doesn’t even exist in reality.”

“You mean it’s in a dream?” He Fei asked.

Mu Sichen nodded.

He Fei sighed. “Well, that’s it then. There’s no way we can track it down in a dream. We’ve hit a dead end.”

“Not necessarily. We still have the game world,” Mu Sichen said. “All the questions we can’t answer here—maybe we’ll find them there.”

“So our next stop has to be the Butterfly, huh?” He Fei rubbed his hands together.

“It’s called Dream Butterfly Town,” Mu Sichen corrected.

“To be honest,” He Fei admitted, “no matter how fearless I act, the idea of actively seeking out another town to challenge still freaks me out. I’d much rather stay in Hope Town, work on infrastructure, and help the townspeople build a new home.”

“But, well… Butterfly and I have a grudge to settle.”

Even though they had beaten up the general manager in the dream, they never intended to hurt innocent people. Their goal was simply to drive out the mental pollution affecting the masses and prevent further harm.

But Butterfly lurked in the shadows, silently and invisibly taking lives. That alone had made them enemies.

“A strong fighting spirit is a good thing,” Mu Sichen remarked.

In the last town, they had fought to survive and to escape the game. But this time, it was different.

This wasn’t about preventing world destruction or being heroes.

This time, it was personal.

And that reason, more than any lofty goal, felt real—close enough to touch.

The two of them ordered several dishes, and He Fei tore into his ribs with a ferocious appetite, gnawing at the bones as if they were Butterfly itself.

Even after draining Mu Sichen’s extra cash, He Fei still wasn’t satisfied. He dipped into his own wallet and smuggled a whole case of beer back to the dorm.

Mu Sichen wasn’t much of a drinker, but tonight, he joined He Fei in drinking quite a bit.

Meanwhile, the little octopus, repulsed by the smell of alcohol, hugged a bottle of soda and gulped it down on its own.

It was He Fei’s first time facing real death so directly. He was in a terrible mood and drank even more.

Mu Sichen had been through too much lately. He wasn’t feeling great either. However much He Fei drank, he matched him.

Before they knew it, the floor around them was littered with empty beer bottles.

Drunk and holding his phone, He Fei suddenly started singing nonsense, staring at Mu Sichen and the little octopus as he belted out lyrics he had just made up:

“I’m all alone in my loneliness, you two wouldn’t understand—”

“I shouldn’t be here, I should be under the car—”

“There’s no place for me in your little world of two—”

No one knew who he was singing for.

Fortunately, there weren’t many students in their dorm building, so He Fei’s drunken antics didn’t disturb anyone too much.

Mu Sichen, on the other hand, was just as bad at holding his liquor—but instead of yelling and acting wild, he quietly sat there, absentmindedly squeezing the little octopus’s tentacles over and over again.

Usually he would pinch it too, but he was relatively restrained—always remembering that the little octopus was Qin Zu, so he couldn’t be too overindulgent. After a couple of gentle pinches, he would let go.

But now, being drunk, the taut strings in his heart had snapped; he was merrily pinching three tentacles with his left hand and three with his right

The little octopus’s face crinkled, and it was hard to tell whether it was happy or not—it just stared at the unusually animated Mu Sichen in front of it.

“There are only six now,” Mu Sichen said somewhat unhappily, staring at the six tentacles. He pressed his scalding face against the little octopus’s cool head and murmured, “It clearly started with eight—how did two just disappear?”

As he spoke, hot tears streamed down Mu Sichen’s face, falling onto the little octopus’s icy head.

The little octopus was stunned.

Mu Sichen wasn’t crying because of the loss of two tentacles; he knew it was merely a part of the little octopus’s power. If Qin Zu were willing to restore that power, not only eight tentacles but ten, twenty—any number would be possible.

He was just using the occasion to vent his emotions:

for the loss of family,

for the hardships of life,

and for a game career with no visible future.

But the little octopus, frightened by Mu Sichen’s tears, became completely chilled. It struggled to retract a tentacle, placing its claw on top of Mu Sichen’s head, and in a youthful tone it communicated, “It doesn’t hurt, don’t cry.”

Mu Sichen couldn’t quite make out what it was saying, nor did he care. Instead, he grabbed that tentacle and bit it, comfortably remarking, “So cool—I want to eat ice cubes.”

Drinking raised body temperature, and normally one might crave something cool. Yet Mu Sichen treated the little octopus like a soft, squishy ice cube and nibbled on it until the little octopus became stiff and blank, not daring to move at all.

After messing around for half the night, both of them grew tired and crawled back to their respective beds to sleep.

He Fei tossed and turned in the heat, while Mu Sichen, with the little octopus serving as his natural cooling toy, soon fell into a deep slumber.

In his dream, Mu Sichen seemed to see Qin Zu again. Through the fog, even with the dense mist between them, Mu Sichen could feel Qin Zu’s puzzled gaze.

Whether it was because Mu Sichen was drunk or because Qin Zu genuinely had nothing to say, the dream was as hazy as a true, surreal vision.

When Mu Sichen woke up the next morning with a splitting headache, he only vaguely recalled that in his dream he had been enveloped in mist, and Qin Zu had reached out to tap his chest lightly twice.

“I’m never drinking again,” Mu Sichen said, somewhat regretfully.

“Thirsty… water…” He Fei hadn’t fully woken up yet, but it was clear he was thirsty—mumbling in his sleep for water.

Mu Sichen was thirsty as well. Just as he was about to get up to fetch some water—and pour a cup for He Fei—a tentacle, coiled around a bottle of water, was handed to him.

“Thank you,” Mu Sichen said with a smile.

He drank the entire bottle in one go and then realized: when the little octopus had handed him the water, its tentacle seemed excessively long.

The little octopus’s head was only about ten centimeters in diameter, and its tentacles were only about 15 centimeters long. They were elastic and could extend a bit when striking, but even then they wouldn’t exceed 20 centimeters. Yet earlier, it appeared as though the little octopus had dragged a bottle of water from the floor and handed it to him.

That must have been two or three meters long.

Moreover, during the process of handing over the water, Mu Sichen hadn’t seen the little octopus’s head at all—it was as if, under the blanket, a long tentacle had stretched out to fetch the water and then retracted again.

What was wrong with the little octopus?

Mu Sichen lifted the summer blanket and saw the little octopus curled into a ball, its eyes and mouth completely obscured by its tentacles, looking extremely withdrawn.

“What’s wrong with you?” Mu Sichen asked as he picked up the little octopus and casually pinched it.

The round head rotated slightly, revealing a pair of large eyes that glared at him furiously.

Why was it angry again?

Mu Sichen, who had blacked out and couldn’t remember what he did last night, tried hard to reflect on his actions.

The little octopus waved all eight tentacles at him aggressively, baring its teeth. Mu Sichen asked cautiously, “Did I do something wrong?”

As soon as he said that, the little octopus became even angrier, curling itself into a blue ball and rolling deep under the blanket.

Mu Sichen was completely bewildered.

Just then, He Fei lay there with his mouth wide open, looking like a fish that had dried up on land, rasping, “Thirsty… water…”

Mu Sichen figured he should get moving, so he got out of bed, grabbed a bottle of water for He Fei, patted his face to wake him up, and handed him the drink.

“Thanks,” He Fei croaked. “A lifesaving spring of nectar!”

As Mu Sichen turned around, his foot knocked into an empty beer bottle, producing a crisp clinking sound.

They hadn’t cleaned up the room last night, and the floor was littered with bottles, an absolute mess.

Just as Mu Sichen was about to tidy up, a blur of blue suddenly leaped off his bed with a “whoosh.”

The little octopus darted past Mu Sichen at lightning speed, landing precisely on a half-full beer bottle. Its tentacles coiled around the cap, twisted forcefully, and—pop!—the cap came off.

Last night, Mu Sichen and He Fei had downed a total of 16 bottles, leaving 8 unfinished. The little octopus used all eight tentacles at once, instantly emptying the remaining bottles.

A blush appeared on its face, and its eight tentacles drooped limply, its eyes turning hazy.

“I thought you didn’t like drinking?” Mu Sichen scooped up the little octopus. Its body was burning hot—it clearly wasn’t feeling well.

The little octopus gazed at Mu Sichen in a daze, opened its mouth, and a stream of alcohol-scented bubbles floated out.

In no time, the dorm was filled with shimmering bubbles.

He Fei clutched his head. “Hurry—hurry and open the window! Just smelling alcohol makes me want to puke.”

Mu Sichen quickly opened the window, watching as the dreamy bubbles drifted outside. In the morning sunlight, they refracted rainbow hues before popping midair.

After airing out the room and cleaning up, Mu Sichen carried the sickly-looking little octopus into the bathroom, giving it a bath to wash away the lingering alcohol scent.

While toweling the little octopus dry, Mu Sichen finally recalled his drunken antics from the night before—and suddenly understood why the little octopus had been angry this morning.

Anyone would be terrified if they were bitten all night by a drunken lunatic.

That explained why, upon hearing the sound of beer bottles clinking, the little octopus had immediately rushed down to chug all the remaining alcohol—it was trying to prevent him from drinking again.

Mu Sichen poked one of the little octopus’s tentacles, which was now so soft it had lost its usual bounce, and said helplessly, “I felt awful this morning—I wasn’t planning to drink again anyway. The leftover beer could’ve been returned. Why did you have to go and finish it all?”

The little octopus curled up completely in the towel, weakly lifting a tentacle to smack Mu Sichen.

Once.

Twice.

Three times…

Eight times.

Yes—eight times. Each tentacle delivered one hit.

“Why so many hits?” Mu Sichen’s post-drunk brain struggled to process the logic.

It wasn’t until he returned to the dorm, spotting the knockoff plush octopus that He Fei had kicked to the floor, that a realization struck him—

When had the little octopus’s eight tentacles returned?

Mu Sichen tried to recall, and that surreal dream surfaced in his mind—

Qin Zu, shrouded in mist, reaching out and tapping his chest twice.

It was those two taps that had restored the little octopus’s eight tentacles.

Could Qin Zu really transmit power across worlds that easily?

That seemed unlikely—otherwise, the world would have been thrown into chaos long ago.

Had Qin Zu actually responded to his drunken rambling?

Just because he’d casually asked why the little octopus only had six tentacles—Qin Zu had gone out of his way to restore them through a dream?

And not only that, but he had even enhanced their abilities?

That didn’t make any sense. The little octopus wasn’t trying to conquer the world—what was the point of increasing its power?

The only purpose seemed to be… fulfilling Mu Sichen’s drunken wish.

Mu Sichen gently held the little octopus’s tentacle and said softly, “That’s great—they’re all back. I’m really happy.”

The drunken little octopus lazily opened its eyes. Upon seeing Mu Sichen’s smile, it stretched out its tentacles and stopped curling up.

So easy to coax.

Mu Sichen’s heart melted instantly, even softer than the little octopus’s tentacles.

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TN:

They’re so sweet 🤭