C91 — Chi Lian’s Holiday

Mu Sichen admitted that he was looking forward to dreaming of Qin Zu.

He wanted to use the faint mark in his palm to build a bridge between the real world and the game world — to see Qin Zu in his dreams, chat like they used to, and ask a few questions.

For example, what price did Qin Zu pay to participate in the battle between the Butterfly and the Deep Sea?

He also secretly hoped that Qin Zu would tap his chest once more and send over a little octopus again.

Even just a single tentacle would be fine.

Come to think of it, by the number of days, Mu Sichen had only known the little octopus for less than a month.

But time was merely a human perception — sometimes a day felt long, and sometimes a year flew by.

Some people became lifelong friends at first glance, while others remained acquaintances even after half a lifetime together.

Although he hadn’t spent long with the little octopus, just those first three days were enough to make him fond of it.

With this very subtle wish in his heart, Mu Sichen slept deeply that night — a rare, dreamless sleep.

In the midst of it, he vaguely felt like he heard a long sigh and sensed a large hand gently brushing over his head.

The feeling was so faint that Mu Sichen forgot all about it upon waking.

But his mood was great.

Even though he didn’t dream of Qin Zu and the little octopus didn’t appear, Mu Sichen still felt refreshed.

Having slept from about 3 p.m. to 8 a.m. the next morning, the ample rest had clearly restored his energy.

Upon waking, he looked at the two lifeless counterfeit plush toys in his bed and chuckled at himself.

He really didn’t know what kind of madness came over him yesterday to actually fall asleep hugging a plush toy, hoping to dream of Qin Zu.

It must’ve been due to exhaustion. When the body was unwell, emotions dropped, and you started to crave comfort and companionship — like a little child.

Now that he was well-rested, his brief moment of vulnerability had vanished.

In fact, the little octopus not being here was a good thing.

Qin Zu was, after all, a deeply scheming god-level monster. His goodwill always came with hidden motives.

Mu Sichen reminded himself that he shouldn’t let his guard down just because the little octopus was cute and straightforward.

The little octopus could cause mental contamination in the real world — it was better that it hadn’t followed him here.

After mentally reassuring himself, Mu Sichen felt a lot more relaxed. He tossed the two useless counterfeit plushies back onto He Fei’s bed, getting ready to get up and wash.

The plush toys lightly landed on He Fei, who unexpectedly let out a pained groan.

“Ugh… it hurts…” He Fei half-opened his eyes and whimpered softly.

Mu Sichen looked at his hands, puzzled. “I didn’t throw them hard… And even if I did, plush toys shouldn’t hurt — they’re soft.”

“It’s not… the throw… that hurts… My whole body… feels like it’s been… run over… by a steamroller…” He Fei said weakly, stumbling over his words like he could barely string a sentence together.

“What happened to you?” Mu Sichen asked.

After a night’s rest, he felt totally refreshed — how did He Fei end up feeling worse after sleeping?

“Did you stay up all night?” Mu Sichen guessed.

He Fei barely managed to lift his eyelids and said as smoothly as he could: “No… I slept straight through… but I kept dreaming of being hunted down all night… didn’t sleep well at all… and now it feels like I did extreme workouts the day before… Every muscle and bone hurts… Help me…”

“I’ll go buy you some food. You should get more rest,” Mu Sichen said.

He Fei’s symptoms seemed somewhat similar to the aftereffects of excessive mental energy depletion that the system had mentioned.

But both he and He Fei had entered Dream Butterfly Town at the same time and left together. Mu Sichen had even made an extra trip to the “Sea of Consciousness,” completely exhausting his mental strength. Logically, his condition should be worse than He Fei’s.

Yet here he was, full of energy, while He Fei looked seriously ill.

Was He Fei’s recovery ability just that poor?

Mu Sichen brought breakfast back, helped He Fei out of bed, waited for him to use the bathroom and eat, then helped him back into bed.

By then, it was already 9:30 a.m. — Monday. Based on the time, Chi Lian and Cheng Xubo should be at work.

Mu Sichen sent a message in the group chat:

[How’s everyone feeling today?]

Cheng Xubo replied:

[Feeling great. I spent the whole day at the library yesterday — it’s like I got an extra day of rest. Three days off really does feel different from just two. I’m in top shape today!]

Chi Lian didn’t respond.

Monday mornings usually didn’t have any game-companion orders, so Mu Sichen took advantage of the quiet time and logged into two computers to handle some boosting tasks.

He kept at it until noon, when hunger reminded him it was lunchtime. Only then did Chi Lian reply in the group chat.

Chi Lian:

[Took a day off. Feel like I’m dying. It hurts to even breathe.]

At the same time, He Fei cracked his eyes open and said, “Hungry… can you… get me lunch… please?”

Mu Sichen: “…”

Cheng Xubo was in a completely normal state — he had stayed in Hope Town, never entered Dream Butterfly Town, so his body and mind were never separated. Plus, he had an extra day to rest, so of course he felt great.

Chi Lian and He Fei, on the other hand, had not only gone without sleep for 28 hours, but also experienced the separation of mind and body for more than a day.

Whether it was healing their minds or re-integrating body and spirit, recovery time was necessary — physical discomfort was to be expected.

The abnormal one was Mu Sichen.

The system had given them seven days off, which meant they’d need that full time to completely recover.

Mu Sichen recovering so quickly… was strange.

“What exactly happened to me?” Mu Sichen frowned, deep in thought.

He tried to recall last night, but aside from a deep, restful sleep, he remembered nothing at all.

After a while of thinking, He Fei’s stomach called for attention again, so Mu Sichen had to pause his thoughts and go downstairs to buy food for him.

On his way back with lunch, Mu Sichen couldn’t help but worry about Chi Lian.

At least He Fei had him around to take care of him, but Chi Lian lived alone in a rented place — and now she’d even missed work.

Even though it wasn’t his fault, he still felt a little guilty.

If they hadn’t waited a whole day and night for him before returning to the library, they wouldn’t be in this condition.

Mu Sichen gave a self-deprecating laugh.

In the game, he was responsible for the lives of tens of thousands, ruling an entire town.

But in reality, he couldn’t even help a friend — he’d even caused Chi Lian to lose a day’s wages.

“If only I were really someone important,” Mu Sichen muttered to himself.

At the very least, he could’ve granted Chi Lian a few days of paid leave and told her not to worry about work — just to focus on resting.

But unfortunately, he was just a broke student.

All he could do was send a few hollow messages of concern. He couldn’t even travel to take care of her.

They were over two thousand kilometers apart — going there wasn’t something he could just decide on a whim.

Chi Lian, however, didn’t blame Mu Sichen. She quickly replied:

 

[It’s fine. I haven’t used my annual leave yet, so I just took this chance to use it and rest. Don’t worry about me. I’ve asked a close friend to come stay with me for a few days.]

Only then did Mu Sichen feel a little more at ease.

This time, he lacked experience — next time, he had to make sure they returned to the library as soon as possible, and only after properly recuperating should they come back to the real world. Otherwise, they’d keep disrupting everyone’s real-life routines.

He thought about how eager he had been to charge straight into the second “pillar.” Fortunately, the system had stopped him.

It took He Fei and Chi Lian a full three days of lying in bed before they could barely get up.

Over those days, Mu Sichen had been taking care of He Fei — buying meals, helping him in and out of bed.

Chi Lian’s situation was even better; word was that her best friend had taken such meticulous care of her that she’d even been fed directly, and insisted on helping her take a bath.

This left Chi Lian quite conflicted — her body was just weak, not paralyzed. Yet her best friend was treating her like she was completely disabled.

Chi Lian:

[Something’s off, something’s really off — does my best friend have a secret crush on me? Who takes care of someone this attentively?]

[I told her it was too much, that I could manage on my own now and just needed rest. I even said she could go home and take a break. She refused!]

From the excessive exclamation marks, Mu Sichen sensed something wasn’t right.

Sure enough, at 2 a.m. that night, Chi Lian sent another message:

[She said she’s going to make bone broth for me tomorrow — but why the hell is she chopping bones in the middle of the night?? And what kind of bones is she chopping? It sounds terrifying!]

As it happened, Mu Sichen had just finished a late-night companion gaming order and was still awake when the message came through.

From Chi Lian’s message alone, Mu Sichen could already imagine an entire horror movie plot.

His instincts told him something was wrong on Chi Lian’s end.

He couldn’t just stay in the dorm anymore. With time off during summer break, he had to go see Chi Lian.

He immediately began checking flights and aimed to book the earliest one for the next morning.

Just as he was about to hit “purchase,” a message popped up from Cheng Xubo in the group chat:

[Don’t be scared — I’m right outside your apartment. Just come open the gate.]

As it turned out, back when Chi Lian first suspected her best friend of developing feelings beyond friendship, she had already decided to subtly reject her.

Since the friend hadn’t made a direct confession, Chi Lian couldn’t just come out and say it, so she called in backup — her comrade Cheng Xubo — to come pose as her boyfriend.

This way, she could reject her friend without confrontation and use “my boyfriend’s here to take care of me” as a reason to send her home.

Cheng Xubo lived closer to Chi Lian — just a two-hour train ride away. After work that evening, he bought a ticket and rushed over.

Since Cheng Xubo had arrived, Mu Sichen held off on buying the flight.

Even if he got the earliest flight, he wouldn’t arrive until the afternoon. That would be too late to help — distant water couldn’t put out a nearby fire. Now that Cheng Xubo was there, two people were definitely better than one.

He kept a close eye on the group chat.

He Fei, who had been asleep for three days, was also wide awake. His energy was much better, and after napping all day, he couldn’t sleep now. He was scrolling through his phone.

He noticed the conversation too.

“Whoa, sister Chi’s situation is getting spicy,” He Fei said, completely unserious. “Is her best friend going full scorned lover mode?”

“I wish it were just a scorned lover,” Mu Sichen replied with a frown.

What he was really worried about were the black dots leaking into the real world.

If He Fei could encounter the Butterfly, then Chi Lian could very well be exposed to other god-level beings’ powers bleeding into reality.

Come to think of it, they — the players — were the first to be entangled with the other world’s powers.

The system never clearly explained why they were dragged into the game world, but Mu Sichen suspected it had something to do with those powers leaking into the real world.

Thinking about it this way, it actually made perfect sense that infiltrating forces had begun appearing around them.

Mu Sichen asked:

[Chi Lian, did you find the game My Ideal Town online by yourself, or did someone share it with you?]

There was no reply for a long time.

Both He Fei and Mu Sichen grew visibly anxious. They wanted to call, but worried that a phone call might distract Chi Lian and Cheng Xubo at a critical moment. They were so nervous they started pacing in circles around the dorm room.

 

Thankfully, the game app allowed them to view the status of town members. Mu Sichen opened it and saw that both Chi Lian and Cheng Xubo were still marked as alive — which gave him some relief.

 

But then he noticed something: Cheng Xubo’s energy bar had dropped by one full section.

Cheng Xubo had used a game skill in the real world.

Mu Sichen and He Fei’s expressions both changed instantly.

 

[What’s going on? Why did Cheng Xubo use a skill?!] Mu Sichen quickly asked in the group chat.

After a few tense moments, Cheng Xubo finally replied:

 

[Sorry — Chi Lian was crying so hard just now, I panicked too. Didn’t have time to check my phone.]

[What happened?!!!] He Fei replied with a barrage of exclamation marks.

Then Chi Lian started a group voice call. Mu Sichen and He Fei rushed to answer.

As soon as the call connected, Chi Lian’s sobs came through:

“M-my best friend is dead… what do I do? How could this happen?”

“…No way…” He Fei murmured.

From his expression alone, it was obvious that He Fei had already filled in the blanks with some dramatic soap opera scene — something like the friend confessed, saw the boyfriend, flew into a jealous rage, and was killed in a fight.

“So then… did Cheng Xubo commit accidental manslaughter?” He Fei asked.

“What are you even saying!” Cheng Xubo’s voice shouted from the phone, furious.

“I didn’t kill anyone! Her best friend… she was already dead! Oh god — who the hell has been taking care of Chi Lian these past few days?”

 

This wasn’t just a game anymore — real-world horror always ran deeper than anything that happened inside the game.

Mu Sichen quickly said, “Slow down — tell us everything clearly.”

Chi Lian calmed down a little and began recounting what had happened over the past few days.

Three days ago, feeling weak and unwell, she asked her best friend to come take care of her. Her friend agreed readily.

When the friend arrived, Chi Lian could barely speak — she managed a quick hello before drifting off to sleep.

Right before sleeping, she vaguely noticed her friend’s face looked unusually pale, but didn’t think much of it.

Her friend’s name was Yang Yunyun, a beautiful girl who always dressed up — never left the house without makeup. Chi Lian just assumed her face looked strange because of too much powder.

Over the next few days, all her meals were prepared by Yunyun. She made pork blood soup and chicken blood soup daily, saying it would help replenish energy and blood.

Chi Lian was never picky — if someone cooked, she would eat without question.

But Yunyun’s dishes were always undercooked.

The pork blood soup was maybe half-cooked, with blood floating visibly on the surface. Chi Lian drank it anyway, even though it made her want to gag.

Still, since she’d asked her friend for help, she didn’t complain. One bowl after another, she drank every pot of blood soup Yunyun made.

But today, something felt seriously off.

When she asked Yunyun to leave, the request was denied — so she reached out to Cheng Xubo for help and asked him to play the part of her boyfriend.

That night, while Yunyun was chopping bones in the kitchen, Chi Lian lay trembling under her blanket, a fruit knife clutched in her hand and hidden inside the covers, praying that Cheng Xubo would arrive soon.

Then, from right above her head, Yunyun’s voice suddenly rang out.

“Why do I hear the elevator? Is someone outside our door?”

Just as Chi Lian’s phone lit up, she saw a message from Cheng Xubo:

[I’m at your front door. It’s late, so I won’t knock — open up for me.]

Chi Lian was about to push Yang Yunyun aside and rush to the door — but suddenly, she heard the sound of chopping bones coming from the kitchen.

Yang Yunyun was speaking right above her.

So who was chopping bones in the kitchen?

A cold sweat broke out over Chi Lian’s body. She gripped the fruit knife tightly and, with trembling fingers, quickly sent the smart lock password to Cheng Xubo.

Luckily, she had recently installed a smart lock for convenience — now Cheng Xubo could let himself in.

Then came Yunyun’s voice, eerily calm:

“What are you doing?”

Her hand rested on the blanket.

“Someone’s opening the door… How does he know your passcode? Did you tell him?”

Before Chi Lian could reply, Yunyun yanked the blanket away — just as the front door creaked open.

The moment she saw Cheng Xubo, Yunyun’s face twisted in fury. She lunged at him, grabbing his neck with one hand and snarled,

“Who is this? Why did you bring some balding man here in the middle of the night? What’s he trying to do?”

Cheng Xubo gasped, struggling to breathe. He grabbed Yunyun’s arm, trying to pry her off.

But the moment he pulled — her entire arm came off.

The room went still.

Cheng Xubo and Chi Lian froze, stunned.

Yet the chopping sounds from the kitchen continued.

Only then did they both realize:

Though Yunyun had just lost one arm, both arms were already missing from her upper body.

So who was chopping bones in the kitchen?

Now it was clear:

This wasn’t human.

And the thing that had been caring for Chi Lian these past few days… what exactly had it been?

Chi Lian’s voice shook:

“Yunyun… let’s talk this through calmly… why get so emotional?”

Yunyun’s furious expression slowly faded. Her face became still, her eyes soft.

She looked at Chi Lian and said gently:

“You found out. I just… wanted to see you again. I heard you weren’t well, and I was worried.”

Chi Lian, despite everything, was someone who had fought in another world.

Her initial terror was quickly replaced by steely calm. She pushed Cheng Xubo behind her and carefully stepped closer to Yunyun.

Looking at the spot where Yunyun’s arm had fallen off — where there should have been blood, but wasn’t — she asked quietly:

“Yunyun, what happened to you?”

She slowly reached out her hand, touching Yunyun’s cold, pale shoulder.

In that moment, her mind flashed to her own “cut-and-paste” skill from the game.

Could that lost arm… be put back?

Yunyun gave a sorrowful, twisted smile and whispered:

“You’re not afraid of me… That’s really kind of you.”

“I’m the one who hurt you. I’m sorry. I’ve already paid the price. I just… wanted to see you, to take care of you.”

She turned and gave Cheng Xubo a resentful look. Her tone chilled:

“Now that he’s here… I guess it’s time for me to go.”

And with that, she collapsed to the floor, hard.

At the same moment —

the chopping sounds in the kitchen finally stopped.

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