Chapter 5: “All in all, a lovely night.”

There was no moonlight in Xiangyang Town. The night sky hung oppressively low, swallowing everything in darkness. The small town lay still and silent, like a coffin with its occupants resting in eerie tranquility.

Inside a dimly lit room, a single stone eye projected the scene before Shi Jinshui and his teammates.

The image was sharp—so sharp that even the blush on the ghost’s face was clearly visible.

Wang De let out a long hiss. “Damn. Love drunk is terrifying.”

Mao Ziyu was well-known across major game hubs. It wasn’t just his terrifying circle of friends—each one more fearsome than the last—but also his own supernatural ability, which was equally unsettling.

Love drunk.

That was his ability.

In this twisted game, high-level abilities couldn’t be understood at face value. Their names rarely conveyed their true power, evolving unpredictably as the player grew stronger. And when it came to Mao Ziyu’s ability, one thing was both well-known and deeply disturbing—he could turn ghosts into hopeless romantics.

Every embarrassing, brain-melting symptom of love-struck fools in the real world? Those same effects manifested in ghosts. With the right moves, Mao Ziyu could make any ghost obsessed with him, willing to do anything for him—give him anything, sacrifice anything.

In a game crawling with ghosts, that meant he was practically untouchable.

Especially when he wanted to… get multiple ghosts involved.

The vengeful ghost that should’ve been attacking him had instead turned into a lovestruck fool, completely forgetting its original purpose.

Shi Jinshui watched the scene for a long time, his expression heavy. The deep creases on his face seemed to sink even deeper. “So, this game really does have ghosts.”

“Boss, what do we do?” Wang De whispered. “Are we still grabbing Sang Chen?”

“I already said—just avoid a direct confrontation with Mao Ziyu.” Shi Jinshui’s voice was steady. “Right now, he’s busy getting cozy with that ghost. How hard can it be to pull out a newbie who doesn’t even know he has an ability?”

He was genuinely curious about Sang Chen’s ability. That swollen stomach had to be more than just a weird anomaly—there had to be something powerful behind it.

What he hadn’t told the others was that he wasn’t dead set on killing Sang Chen. If the kid’s ability turned out to be useful, he’d consider pulling him into their team. They were down a member anyway.

Besides, he actually kind of liked Sang Chen. Easy on the eyes, obedient, seemed like the type to follow orders without question.

So tonight, he had to get Sang Chen out of there—figure out exactly what they were dealing with.

Wang De squinted, sizing up their teammates. Mentally running through different ability combinations, he grinned. His eyes narrowed into thin slits. “Piece of cake.”

Once it passed 9 p.m., Xiangyang Town became eerily silent, as if the entire place had been cut off from the world. Not a single sound.

The four of them moved in sync, their footsteps and breathing echoing in the empty town, each sound unnaturally crisp. They quickly took their positions, each step growing lighter as they closed in on their target.

Under a moonless sky, in a town where people were nowhere to be seen, they reached the house without making a sound.

The stone eye flickered, casting an eerie green glow in the darkness. Shi Jinshui raised a clenched fist to signal his team.

The tip of his index finger gleamed with the same ghostly green light as the stone eye. With a small flick, he carved a faint streak of green into the night.

Sang Chen thought he heard something—like the sound of liquid splattering onto the floor.

Was he imagining it?

By the ghost’s pattern, it should’ve been his turn next. The thing should have crawled under his bed by now.

He was tense.

But… the ghost was still snuggled up under the covers with Mao Ziyu.

He should be relieved, right?

Late at night, the imagination tends to run wild. Stuck between feeling relieved and on edge, Sang Chen’s mind wouldn’t stop conjuring up terrifying thoughts about whatever was inside his stomach. Each scenario was worse than the last. He had been forcing himself to stay awake for so long that his nerves were practically tense.

His heavy eyelids fluttered a few times before finally losing the battle against a sleepiness more overwhelming than ever. His vision blurred, and his sore eyes were swallowed by the dark.

Meanwhile, the ghost that had been obediently curled up in Mao Ziyu’s blankets poked its head out. Mao Ziyu reached over and pushed it back down, but a few seconds later, it surfaced again.

Though the ghost’s face still carried that beautiful, bashful flush, it no longer seemed infatuated with Mao Ziyu’s embrace. Instead, it slithered out from under the blankets and started crawling toward Sang Chen’s bed.

Mao Ziyu followed its movement, his already large eyes widening into saucers, his mouth forming a perfect “O.”

With four beds crammed into the living room, each pressed against a wall with a narrow walkway between them, he didn’t even need to turn his head. Just shifting his gaze was enough to see, in the dim light, an unsettling sight—countless grayish-purple ghostly hands reaching out from beneath Sang Chen’s bed, all scrambling to get out at once.

Mao Ziyu had been through plenty of horror games, had seen his fair share of terrifying scenes, but this—this looked like something straight out of hell, or maybe one of those eerie religious paintings. The sheer number of hands stretching and clawing sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

The ghost that had climbed out of his blankets was the fastest. Before the others could even emerge, it had already made its way onto Sang Chen’s bed, propping itself up beside his stomach, staring at it intently.

One by one, the other ghosts dragged themselves out from under the bed, jostling for space. Before long, a whole circle of them had formed around Sang Chen’s belly.

The dim lighting made it impossible for Mao Ziyu to read the expressions on their swollen, rotting, or blotchy gray-purple faces. But from the way they sat or crouched there, dead silent yet seemingly tense—maybe even excited—it was clear they were all fixated on Sang Chen’s stomach.

Then, one ghost moved first.

It shifted to the head of the bed, reached out, and pried open Sang Chen’s mouth before lowering its head.

At first, Mao Ziyu thought the ghost was trying to kiss him.

Then, he saw its translucent head disappear into Sang Chen’s mouth.

“…?”

Mao Ziyu’s jaw went slack. His brain completely short-circuited.

As the ghost inched further inside, the others—who had been crowding around Sang Chen’s belly—turned their heads to watch.

Mao Ziyu snapped out of it, scrambled off his bed, and dove into the circle of ghosts.

This… this was the most absurd thing Mao Ziyu had ever seen in his life. Getting swarmed by so many ghosts at once—was he even capable of handling it?!

But just as Mao Ziyu was about to intervene, the ghosts vanished.

Standing by the bed, Mao Ziyu stared at Sang Chen’s stomach in a daze, unable to process what had just happened. After a long moment, he finally turned and left the room.

Outside, the windless, lightless night pressed down thick and heavy.

Four corpses lay sprawled across the courtyard, their blood seeping into the dry, withered grass.

Mao Ziyu walked up to Shi Jinshui’s body and reached into his empty eye socket, plucking out the stone eye. It rolled in his palm, capturing its owner’s final moments.

The last thing it had seen was a blade—dripping wet, unnaturally pale, slicing through the darkness with an almost blinding sharpness.

Then came the sound.

A veil of crimson poured down.

A wet, heavy splatter.

And then, the dull thud of steel burying itself in the earth.

To the right, three crimson veils of blood fell simultaneously, three bodies collapsing in perfect sync—each taken out with a single strike.

The stone eye vanished from his palm, but in Mao Ziyu’s mind, the scene played out clearly.

Shi Jinshui’s team had crept toward their house in the dead of night. Just as they were about to enter through the courtyard gate, four figures dressed in black appeared soundlessly behind them. Without hesitation, they pressed down on their heads and slit their throats with eerie, elongated blades.

The dawn crushed the darkness, like a sun forced through a thin membrane of flesh, casting a hazy, indistinct light over the world.

One by one, the four people in the living room woke up.

The first to stir was Gu Ziyan. She stretched lazily, looking well-rested. “Guess this game really doesn’t have ghosts. How’d you all sleep?”

Still groggy, Mao Ziyu cracked his neck and glanced over. “Slept well. It was a wonderful night.”

Sang Chen: “…”

Drowsy and lightheaded, he felt like the air was thinner, as if the oxygen in the room had somehow decreased. He mumbled, “Same here.”

His gaze drifted to Yan Mo’s hand, still marked with those faintly blackened claw scratches. He hesitated before cautiously pointing it out. “Yan Mo’s scratches… I remember they weren’t there before we slept. They’ve darkened a bit—could they be ghost marks?”

Gu Ziyan followed his gaze to Yan Mo’s arm, which was still hanging off the edge of the bed. She thought about the implications, shuddered, and rubbed her own arms. “That’s creepy as hell. You think it’s really that bad?”

Sang Chen recalled the far more horrifying sight from last night—when that ghost’s head had dangled right above her. He fell silent.

“You feel anything, Yan Mo?” Gu Ziyan asked.

Only then did Sang Chen notice Yan Mo had finally woken up. He was leaning against the wall, long legs bent at an angle, looking like he was halfway between sleep and consciousness. His voice was still husky from just waking up. “No. Were there ghosts?”

Sang Chen: “…”

Then what the hell was that desperate struggle of the ghost he had seen from last night?

Just as he was about to question Yan Mo’s absurd level of composure, he caught sight of Gu Ziyan—her cheeks tinged red as she nodded in agreement.

The words in Sang Chen’s mind shifted into a scrolling marquee of disbelief: Truly worthy of the Game City’s crowned pretty boy.

“Anyway, it was a wonderful night,” Ma Ziyu declared.

Yan Mo and Gu Ziyan nodded immediately. “Mhm!”

Sang Chen blinked, then shamelessly went along with it. “Mhm.”

Whatever. They were the weird ones here.

Besides, it wasn’t him the ghosts had been after—it was those three peculiar individuals.

At this point, he wasn’t even curious about what had happened to the ghost Mao Ziyu had tucked into bed last night.

One of the golden rules of being a lowly grunt: Never pry into your boss’s affairs—especially when it involves… extracurricular activities.

The night had passed without further incident, and Gu Ziyan had clearly relaxed a little. “Can I take a shower? This place seems pretty safe, and I feel gross after skipping last night.”

Mao Ziyu shook his head. “Better not. Cai Chang’s death was way too suspicious. His cause of death was ‘an accident,’ but let’s be real—most game deaths happen in bathrooms. It’s not just showering; avoid doing anything unnecessary for survival.”

Gu Ziyan took his advice seriously and nodded immediately. Then, after a brief hesitation, she asked in a small voice, “…But what if I really can’t hold it in? Is the bathroom dangerous too?”

Turns out, the bathroom was very dangerous.

It wasn’t Gu Ziyan who ran into trouble—but they did hear about someone dying there shortly after they stepped outside.

While they were out searching for food, they noticed a crowd moving toward the left side of the town center. Curious, they followed and asked around—turns out, someone in that room had died last night.

A lot of players had gathered. When Cai Chang died yesterday, Sang Chen already knew—there would be clues on the corpse. That’s how the game worked. It was common for at least one player from each team to come check out the scene.

He scanned the crowd but didn’t spot Shi Jinshui or his teammates.

“Damn! This death is even weirder than yesterday’s. What the hell happened to him?”

Hearing that, Sang Chen’s attention was immediately drawn forward. But the body was in the bathroom—space was tight, and they’d arrived late. Stuck at the back, they could only listen to the people up front.

“We don’t know either,” a male player was saying. “Last night, we took turns standing watch. He had the last shift—took over from me. Before I went to sleep, I saw him head to the bathroom. I was exhausted, and it was his turn anyway, so I didn’t wait for him to come back.”

He didn’t do anything wrong, but maybe there was some guilt eating at him. As he spoke, he felt the need to justify why he hadn’t accompanied the dead man to the bathroom.

“This morning, I heard someone throwing up in there, and that’s when I realized something was wrong. Other than that, I don’t know anything.”

“…The puking was me,” another man spoke up, his voice hoarse, like his throat had been wrecked. “I wasn’t disgusted by him, I swear, I wasn’t… I just…”

Sang Chen was dying to know what happened to the dead guy, but the man cut himself off right there, leaving him on edge, itching for answers.

Yan Mo, on the other hand, had no such frustrations. Even though they were at the back, he was tall enough to see straight through the doorway.

Sang Chen turned to look at him, and the moment he did, Yan Mo shifted his gaze over as well. His eyes flicked downward, landing on Sang Chen’s stomach, and then he lifted his chin slightly in a forward motion.

…Was he telling him to use his “pregnant” status to push through the crowd?

Sang Chen hesitated, looking down at his belly. Should he really do it? In the end, he placed a hand on his stomach and suppressed the urge to claw at his curiosity.

Yan Mo turned away, but when he glanced back a moment later, Sang Chen was still standing there—head lowered, long lashes casting shadows over his face, absently rubbing his stomach.

He looked away again.

Checked back.

Sang Chen was still rubbing his stomach. One stroke at a time.

“……”

Before Sang Chen even knew what was happening, a sudden force yanked him upward. In the blink of an eye, he was perched on Mao Ziyu’s shoulders.

Caught off guard by over a hundred pounds of dead weight, Mao Ziyu staggered forward. He glanced down and saw Sang Chen’s shoes dangling in front of his chest—then realized that meant Sang Chen’s stomach was right behind his head. The words that had almost left his mouth were instantly swallowed back down. He shut up real quick.

Sang Chen, on the other hand, nearly had a heart attack. Seriously, what kind of grunt had the guts to ride on the boss’s shoulders? Mao Ziyu was even harder to mess with than the higher-ups.

Just then, the man who had been struggling to speak finally managed to choke out his next words.

“I—I’m sorry… I only got three hours of sleep, I was so tired when I woke up, I wasn’t fully awake yet, and then I looked down and… he… he was…”

Inside the toilet.

The dead player had unusually long hair for a man—inky black strands spilling over the toilet bowl. His head was wedged inside, his limbs splayed stiffly, his expression frozen in a grotesque rictus. His eyeballs bulged, pupils nearly dilated to nothing.

From the mess of hair, two fingertips and the tips of his shoes barely poked out.

The rest of him was… gone. As if he’d been sucked into the depths of the toilet.

At that moment, a single absurd thought popped into Sang Chen’s mind—

He looks like he got flushed.