***
Bonus chapter! Thank you to --- for the donation! ^^
***
The man had anticipated this situation. He didn’t bother finishing off his enemies—instead, he turned and sprinted in the direction the boy had just fled.
His speed was unprecedentedly fast, unnaturally so.
The man’s name was Ji Shiyan, and he had come to Miao Village to die. The dense swarm of gu worms behind him would surely grant his wish.
But suddenly, he no longer wanted to die.
The moment he saw what happened in the lake, that desire vanished.
He didn’t know why, but the sight of that simple kiss had set his blood boiling and his heart pounding violently.
For an instant, it was as if he could hear the world around him—the soft rustle of leaves in the wind, the distant drip of dew into water. The lifeless, stagnant world seemed to suddenly come alive.
In that moment, he felt he had found the meaning of his existence.
He was born to meet his destined partner.
Or, more accurately, he was born for the boy in the lake.
Without hesitation, Ji Shiyan dashed toward where the boy had disappeared.
The boy wasn’t fast, and Ji Shiyan caught up to him quickly. However, someone was already by his side.
…It was his fiancé, Miao Li.
Ji Shiyan’s figure melted into the shadows as he watched the two, a perfect pair. His gaze shifted to the gu worms that had stopped nearby, and his brow furrowed deeply.
The gu worms, agitated by the scent of blood, were far more terrifying than before—their speed and frenzy suggesting they wouldn’t stop until they had devoured every living thing in their path.
Even though they were mere worms, their bodies radiated madness and greed, a ravenous hunger for the living.
Yet now, they hesitated, not daring to crawl even an inch closer to the boy, as if paralyzed by fear.
The boy was so weak he could barely stab someone with a knife—so the source of the gu worms’ fear was obvious.
They were afraid of the man called Miao Li.
Ji Shiyan watched as the boy was swept into the man’s arms, his eyes darkening with a chilling intensity, a murderous intent so sharp it was almost tangible.
The boy really knew how to attract trouble. It seemed he would have many more people to deal with.
Ji Shiyan stood quietly, watching the two figures disappear into the distance before finally turning back the way he came.
The scent of blood and the swarm of gu worms had long since vanished. The man who had lain on the ground was gone too, without a single trace left behind.
Two stab wounds to the heart—no ordinary person could survive that, no matter how strong they were. And with the countless gu worms added to the mix, that man should have been completely devoured by now. Satisfied, Ji Shiyan turned and left.
***
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” Miao Li held Ruan Qing gently as he walked slowly toward the village chief’s house, his deep voice thick with guilt and heartache.
Ruan Qing clung to Miao Li’s neck, burying his face in his chest, looking utterly pitiful, as if he still hadn’t recovered from the terrifying ordeal of being taken hostage.
Hearing Miao Li’s words, he shook his head, his eyes red-rimmed. “It’s not your fault… I was careless…”
“Go to sleep.” Miao Li tilted his head slightly and pressed a soothing kiss to Ruan Qing’s cheek, his movements tender.
“Sleep will help.”
There was something almost hypnotic in Miao Li’s voice. The moment he spoke, Ruan Qing felt an overwhelming drowsiness settle over him, so heavy he could barely keep his eyes open.
This was clearly unnatural.
A flicker of resistance flashed in Ruan Qing’s beautiful eyes, but in the end, they fluttered shut as he lost consciousness.
By the time Ruan Qing woke again, it was already evening.
Surrounded by mountains, Miao Village was shielded from the sun both in the early morning and late afternoon. Only at midday did the light manage to break through.
Now, only the last stubborn rays lingered at the village’s edge.
Ruan Qing sat up and glanced around. The surroundings were eerily silent, as if no one was there at all—even Miao Li was nowhere to be seen.
He rubbed his temples, then got out of bed.
His home was nearly fully decorated, draped with red silks and lanterns. Despite the absence of people, the place looked undeniably festive. Anyone could tell a wedding was about to take place here.
Except… for the coffin in the mourning hall.
Ruan Qing stepped slowly into the hall, adding a handful of ghost money to the burning offering basin. The flickering flames cast light on his delicate features, painting his face in shifting hues of ethereal beauty—and something faintly sinister.
The bright red mourning hall, the pitch-black coffin, and Ruan Qing’s plain white mourning clothes created a jarring, almost surreal scene, carrying an indescribable sense of unease.
It’s eerily unsettling.
Even the livestream audience could sense this discomfort—a suffocating, spine-chilling feeling, as if something terrifying lurked nearby, ready to pounce and tear into them at any second. It was enough to make one’s heart race inexplicably.
[I always feel like there’s something off about this mourning hall. Every time I see it, my scalp tingles, like thousands of ants are crawling all over my body.]
[Hard agree. The black-and-red color scheme is seriously unsettling. I just want to rip off those red ribbons on the coffin. I get that the bride is eager to marry her beloved, but putting big red flowers on a coffin is a bit… ahead of its time.]
[Of course it’s unsettling—the village chief is floating right there. Every time I see her, my heart skips a beat. That head-to-toe bright red is horrifying. Even though I know she’s been helping the bride, I’m still scared of her.]
[Has anyone noticed the village chief is appearing faster than before? At her previous rate, she should’ve only reached hip-level by now, but she’s already up to her waist. Feels like she’ll fully materialize in two days max.]
Hovering behind Ruan Qing was a crimson figure, eerie and menacing.
More and more of the red figure had become visible—now up to her waist—but her arms were nowhere to be seen, as if she’d been severed at the torso.
Her manifestation speed had indeed accelerated, especially inside the mourning hall.
The audience speculated it might be because her corpse was placed there. After all, vengeful spirits always gain the most power near their own remains.
The village chief was likely no exception.
For the players, this was actually good news. Normally, key NPCs or dungeon bosses were suppressed by the game’s mechanics, only appearing on the sixth or seventh day. Yet here was the village chief, already half-manifested by the third day. That meant she probably wasn’t tied to the seventh-day climax, so her threat level couldn’t be that high.
Many viewers finally relaxed. As long as she wasn’t the most dangerous entity, things were manageable.
But one viewer who’d seen this dungeon before felt something was off. He quickly typed out a rebuttal:
[No, that can’t be it. She’s always fully manifested on the sixth day, and being in the mourning hall never sped it up before. There’s got to be another reason she’s appearing so fast this time.]
He had a hunch it was connected to the mourning hall’s decorations.
The problem was—the streamer had arranged everything himself.
The red flowers on the coffin? Tied by him. The red lanterns? Hung by him. Even the red ribbons, originally placed by the villagers, had been moved by his hand.
It seemed everything was meant to make the mourning hall look more presentable, yet the more he arranged it, the more unsettling and bizarre it became—as if it were all just careless mistakes and coincidences.
No!
The viewer’s eyes widened as he suddenly realized something, a point they had all overlooked.
Watching the livestream through a screen lessened the dungeon’s influence on the audience. Even through the barrier of the screen, they felt uneasy—so the people inside the mourning hall must have felt it even more intensely.
There was no way the young man on screen didn’t know.
Not only did he know, he was likely even fueling it!
But the problem was, if the young man was so afraid of ghosts, why would he set up a scene that benefited them?
And the village chief was trying to steal his body—why would he deliberately nurture ghosts?
The viewer knew his theory sounded absurd, yet he couldn’t find any explanation to convince himself it was all just coincidence.
He typed out his discovery and sent it, but it was quickly buried in the flood of comments, making no ripple, drawing no attention.
In fact, it was completely filtered out by the livestream.
Any comments related to the dungeon were automatically blocked by the system—and Ruan Qing wasn’t even reading them in the first place.
Ruan Qing crouched in front of the treasure basin, staring blankly at the burning ghost money inside, motionless as if lost in thought.
Then, abruptly, he turned his head toward the courtyard.
The large black dog was walking toward him, its pace slow and deliberate, exuding an overwhelming pressure. Even in its calm state, it seemed like some kind of terrifying beast.
A flicker of surprise crossed Ruan Qing’s eyes. Aside from their first meeting, this dog had been practically inseparable from Miao Li—so why was it alone now?
Had Miao Li left it behind to protect him?
Though Ruan Qing hadn’t seen where Miao Li went, he knew he had returned to the northern side to repair his house.
Miao Li seemed unusually fixated on that house—obsessed in a way that wasn’t quite normal, as if there was something special about it.
Unfortunately, Miao Li spent most of his time there, leaving Ruan Qing no opportunity to investigate. Nor could he investigate it.
Anything related to Miao Li always made him feel deeply unsettled—and often drove him to act in ways beyond his control.
