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Bonus chapter! Thank you to JustSomeOne for the donation! ^^
***
Everything happened too fast. The players barely had time to react before the worm vanished into the wound, leaving only a trail of crimson blood and a small, gaping hole.
In a dungeon, having an unknown parasite burrow into your body was never a good sign.
The expressions of every player instantly sharpened with wariness—not toward the environment, but toward their infected companion. Some even took a few steps back, putting distance between themselves and the afflicted man.
The player in question was already ashen-faced, sweat pouring down his forehead as he clutched the upper part of his leg in a death grip, as if that could somehow stop the worm from crawling upward.
Mu Ye’an frowned. Without a word, he drew a knife and tossed it coldly at the player’s feet.
The blade clattered against the ground, the sound crisp and final.
The man stared at the knife, understanding dawning—and his face paled further.
In dungeons, the golden rule for infections was simple: amputate the affected area immediately to stop the spread. The same logic applied here. If the worm hadn’t traveled far, cutting off the infected limb could still save him.
But the worm had entered his foot.
Losing a foot here would render him immobile in a dungeon where they hadn’t even located Miao Village yet. How far was it? Could he keep up? He’d be left behind—no question.
And in this game, being left behind meant death.
His gaze locked onto the blade, his expression twisting between terror and indecision. Even if the others didn’t abandon him, how many could calmly sever their own limb?
Even if the system could restore it after clearing the dungeon.
The pain had faded, and the wound no longer bled—but his sweat only grew heavier, his face contorted with dread. Minutes passed, yet he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the knife.
Maybe it’s just a normal worm. Maybe there’s another way to get it out.
Clutching at that sliver of hope, he chose not to cut.
The other players said nothing. They wouldn’t make this choice for him. After surviving too long in this hellish game, they’d long since shed the luxury of mercy.
But caution was non-negotiable. One by one, they edged further away. No one knew what that worm would do—better safe than sorry.
Fang Qingyuan’s eyes glinted coldly as he shot Mu Ye’an a subtle glance. The latter gave an almost imperceptible nod.
None of the players noticed.
But the livestream audience did.
[You fool! Absolute fool!]
[BIG BRO, WHEN MU YE’AN THROWS YOU A KNIFE, IT’S NOT A SUGGESTION—IT’S A WARNING!]
[Leg or life? HOW IS THIS EVEN A QUESTION?!]
[This player clearly hasn’t heard of these two top-tier experts—no idea about their reputations at all. They might seem easygoing, but these two are the type who’ll help you lose your dignity if you don’t keep it together yourself!]
[Forget whether Mu Ye’an will kill him—just getting infested by that worm in this dungeon is a death sentence. Chopping the limb off might’ve given him a sliver of hope, but now? Zero chance.]
[Huh? What’s the big deal with that worm?]
The question instantly drew the audience’s attention, flooding the screen with frantic follow-ups.
The original commenter didn’t beat around the bush:
[Miao Village’s other name is Miao Gu Village—that thing isn’t just a worm. It’s a *gu insect. Once it burrows into you, it’ll devour your organs in no time. And after gorging itself, it’ll use your body as a breeding nest, spawning swarms of more gu insects. The entire village is basically a gu farm.] (T/N: *In Chinese culture, a Gu (蛊) is a venomous poison or supernatural creature created through a dark ritual, often associated with black magic and folklore.)
[Worse, each gu insect type has different symptoms. Finding a cure is near impossible because what kills one might do nothing to another. The only universal rule? Once infested, consider yourself marked for death.]
[So far, only one player on the leaderboards has cleared this dungeon—solely because the gu insects happened to avoid them out of sheer luck.]
[Oh, and it’s not just the bugs… That pretty NPC you all like? Yeah, he’s definitely doomed.]
***
Unaware of the players’ plight, Ruan Qing was currently spinning in circles in the backyard behind the kitchen.
The village chief’s death meant a funeral—and that required feeding the entire village.
Normally, neighbors would pitch in, but Miao Village’s residents were notoriously cold. No help was coming. He’d have to do everything himself.
Though Ruan Qing had never cooked before, he’d watched others do it and could manage simple dishes.
That confidence shattered the moment he stepped into the kitchen.
The stove was the old-fashioned kind, fueled by firewood—which needed to be chopped first.
Perhaps anticipating her death, the original owner’s mother had stockpiled logs. All he had to do was split them.
Too bad she hadn’t accounted for her son’s utter incompetence with an axe.
After half a day of struggle, Ruan Qing had barely made a dent in the pile. His palms were raw and burning from the recoil of each failed swing.
But the funeral feast couldn’t wait. Neither could his own hunger. The cooking had to happen.
You see, Miao Village had no convenience stores—everything had to be self-sufficient, including food.
Ruan Qing wiped the fine sweat from his brow and picked up the axe again to chop firewood.
But his hands ached more and more, trembling from the pain, until he finally decided to just make all the dishes cold-tossed.
The original owner couldn’t cook, so serving cold dishes would fit the character anyway. It wasn’t like the villagers were likely to eat them.
The firewood he’d chopped should be enough to at least steam some rice. Ruan Qing carried the split logs into the kitchen and started trying to light the fire.
He thought it’d be simple, but after what felt like forever, the fire still wouldn’t catch. Instead, he choked on the smoke, coughing uncontrollably.
"Cough! Cough!"
His eyes stung so badly he could barely keep them open. Wiping tears from the corners, he pulled the unlit firewood back out of the stove.
The kitchen sat in a corner of the courtyard, and with the door left open, anyone outside could see inside.
Passing villagers couldn’t help but pause at the sight of the pitiful young man, but in the end, none stepped forward to help.
They had their own tasks to handle and no time to spare. After lingering for a moment, they reluctantly moved on.
Ruan Qing had long noticed the eyes on him—not just in the courtyard, but ever since he’d entered this instance. The gazes never stopped.
Even when he’d slipped away to the edge of the woods earlier, the villagers had found him effortlessly.
What was more unsettling was that their stares weren’t like those of NPCs in other instances. The villagers didn’t feel alive at all—their eyes held no warmth, no emotion.
If he hadn’t seen them physically looking, he might not have even realized they were watching him.
And with the original owner’s mother recently deceased, villagers kept coming to pay their respects, constantly coming and going.
Under these conditions, he was effectively under surveillance, unable to do anything.
Ruan Qing’s gaze lingered thoughtfully on the unlit firewood. Though it hadn’t caught flame, it still smoldered, black smoke curling up from the charred tips, embers flickering faintly at the edges.
The kitchen, tucked away in the corner, was far from the mother’s room and the mourning hall—but only a single wall separated it from his room.
He’d already searched the original owner’s quarters. There was nothing unusual, no clues to be found. Even if… it were destroyed, it wouldn’t matter.
In a village where people died often but new faces rarely appeared, empty rooms were plentiful.
If his room was destroyed, he would have a legitimate reason to move out—and escape the prying eyes of the villagers.
Besides, with the villagers right in the yard, they would never let the fire spread to the ancestral hall, let alone burn down the original owner’s mother’s room. The clues would still be there for him to investigate later.
Ruan Qing lowered his gaze faintly, deliberately shifting the firewood toward a patch of dry weeds nearby while pretending to focus on the stove.
As if he were earnestly trying to start a fire, completely unaware that the firewood he’d pulled out still carried embers.
Embers alone wouldn’t ignite firewood instantly, but dry grass was another matter. As the sparks neared the brittle weeds, thin tendrils of smoke curled up—before flames swiftly took hold.
Yet before the fire could grow, a bucket of water came crashing down, mercilessly dousing the small blaze.
Miao Ciyu set the bucket aside and stared at the young man, who looked up at him in dazed confusion.
His face was smudged with soot, like a little stray cat, and the smoke had left his beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears—painfully pitiful.
His delicate features still held a trace of bewilderment, as though he hadn’t realized the danger of what had just happened.
The houses in Miao Village were all wooden, aged to the point of being tinderboxes. A single fire could reduce everything to ashes.
Miao Ciyu frowned slightly at the clueless boy. "You can’t even light a stove properly?"
Finally snapping out of it, Ruan Qing’s expression twisted into annoyance and impatience. He seemed on the verge of snapping "None of your business," but—perhaps out of grudging acknowledgment that he’d been helped—he only let out an irritated huff.
Clearly, he had no intention of showing gratitude.
Miao Ciyu’s gaze darkened uncontrollably at the sight of his willful yet oddly obedient demeanor.
He stepped forward, gripping Ruan Qing’s wrist to pull him up, then took his place by the stove. With practiced ease, he rearranged the firewood and began reigniting the flames.
For someone who usually exuded icy detachment, Miao Ciyu now sounded almost like a fussy old housekeeper as he explained, "Don’t add too much firewood at first. Use dry grass as kindling, then add logs once the fire’s stronger."
Just as he was about to continue, the figure beside him had already turned away impatiently—as if assuming that with someone else handling the chore, he could just wait for the meal to be ready. The epitome of spoiled entitlement.
The boy was the type to push his luck, and a blatant bully who preyed on the meek.
Miao Ciyu glanced sideways at the retreating figure nearing the doorway and spoke coolly, "Stop."
"Did I say you could leave?"
Watching the boy freeze, he let out a faint, humorless chuckle.
"You didn’t actually think I’d help you for free, did you?"
When I get rich, I'll tell no one but there will be signs😌....
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