“Since it’s your first time playing, I’ll give you a hint: this scenario is tied to twisted love.”

Shang Jingyan had come up with the premise on the spot. As a warm-up, it wasn’t particularly difficult to guess, though for the interstellar crowd, it might feel a bit unsettling.

“Just a heads-up—you can still back out now. Don’t come crying to me later if you get scared.”

“With Director Shang sitting here telling the story, how could we possibly be scared?”

Noel chimed in, half-joking, flashing a smile that somehow managed to be charming instead of sleazy. He knew exactly how to work his natural charisma. Staring at Shang Jingyan with dramatic intensity, he asked the first question.

“Are the man and woman in this scenario a couple? Or were they ever involved? Is there any romantic element between them?”

Shang Jingyan had expected this to be the first question.

“No. No. And no.”

Noel frowned in thought. “Are the two rings a matching set?”

“Yes.”

“Are they engagement rings?”

“Correct.”

Noel clearly wanted to make a strong first impression, but he quickly hit a wall. His friends, sensing his frustration, refrained from jumping in with the key questions, instead laughing and joking around.

X71 had never played this kind of game before, but as an AI, it was naturally intrigued by the question-and-answer format. It couldn’t help but ask:

[Yan Yan, can I play too?]

Shang Jingyan hesitated briefly before replying in her mind:

[I’m afraid not. They won’t be able to hear your questions.]

X71 let out a disappointed [Oh…] before adding: [Then I’ll just watch.]

From across the room, Zhang Nian noticed Shang Jingyan and Noel at the table and wandered over, eager to join in. “What are you guys playing?”

Luo Zhiyu quickly filled her in. Zhang Nian’s eyes lit up with excitement, and she rubbed her hands together. “I’m in! Alright—do the man and woman know each other? Are they close?”

Shang Jingyan nodded. “Yes to both.”

They weren’t a couple, but they were acquaintances. And with engagement rings in the dish, the group naturally suspected a third party.

“Does the woman have a boyfriend involved in this story?” someone asked.

“She does,” Shang Jingyan replied with a cryptic smile.

“Are there only three people in this story?”

“Yes, just three.”

Noel leaned in. “So… the woman and her boyfriend go out to eat. The boyfriend plans to propose and asks the man—maybe his friend, maybe a restaurant employee—to hide the rings in the dish?”

Zhang Nian tapped her chin. “That doesn’t make sense. Who puts both rings in the food? Usually, the one who proposed keeps one.”

Shang Jingyan nodded. “That’s incorrect.”

“Then does the boyfriend know this man?”

“No.”

Zhang Nian grinned. “I think we should be guessing in a more horrific direction.” Then she asked something no one else had thought to yet. “That ‘bang’ sound at the end… was it an explosion?”

“No.”

Zhang Nian glanced out the window, considering their surroundings. Since Shang Jingyan had made up the story on the fly, maybe it was inspired by the environment—like the high-rise restaurant they were currently in. “Was it the sound of something heavy hitting the ground?”

“Correct.”

Zhang Nian pressed on. “Was it a person? Did they fall to their death?”

“Yes, they did.”

A collective wow rippled through the group.

“Damn, Director Shang really went all in—there’s a death in this story?”

“I can practically see this high-rise restaurant now.”

“Hey, maybe the story takes place in a place just like this! Someone should ask.”

“No way! I still want to enjoy my meal!”

Shang Jingyan smirked. “Even if you asked, I’d just say, ‘I’m not sure.’”

If this were her past-life friend group, someone would’ve asked immediately if there was a corpse in the story—no way it would’ve taken this long.

Just then, Luo Zhiyu, who had been quiet, cleared her throat and hesitantly spoke. “Was it murder? And… is there anything supernatural involved?”

“No,” Shang Jingyan answered. “This is something that could absolutely happen in real life.”

“Was it an accident?”

“No.”

Then it had to be suicide. Luo Zhiyu asked, and Shang Jingyan confirmed it.

“Creepy… I’m already getting chills.” Zhang Nian rubbed her arms. Since there were only three people in the story, she took a wild guess. “Was it the woman who jumped?”

“Yes.”

Another round of hushed gasps.

Luo Zhiyu was now fully in the zone. “Did she kill herself because she saw the two rings?”

“Yes.”

Noel, who had been quiet for a while, finally spoke up again. “So… she didn’t want to marry her boyfriend and took her own life?”

“Not at all. In fact, she wanted to be with him.” Shang Jingyan reminded them, “This is a twisted love story.”

Luo Zhiyu’s brow furrowed in thought. Then she asked an odd but crucial question. “The ‘dish’ in the prompt… is it a meat dish?”

Shang Jingyan met her gaze, smiling as she nodded. “Yes, it is.”

Zhang Nian shuddered. “Shit. I think I just figured it out…”

Noel groaned. “Why am I still completely lost?”

Before Zhang Nian could finish piecing it together, Luo Zhiyu cut straight to the chase. “Is the meat… human flesh?”

Noel let out a sharp breath, goosebumps rising on his arms. Shang Jingyan’s response was unwavering. “You got it.”

“AHHH! Yan Yan, this is exactly how I feel when I watch your work!” Zhang Nian wailed, furiously rubbing her arms, while the rest of the group collectively recoiled.

Still horrified, Zhang Nian pressed on. “Wait, wait—was the person cooked into the dish… the woman’s boyfriend?”

At this point, they didn’t really need to ask. There were only three people in the story, two still alive. The answer was obvious.

Shang Jingyan nodded.

Luo Zhiyu was now completely immersed, her initial timidness gone. Her eyes sparkled—equal parts terrified and exhilarated. “Let me guess… she killed herself out of guilt? At first, she thought her boyfriend had fallen out of love with her?”

Shang Jingyan nodded again.

Some of the others were still struggling to piece it together, but Noel had connected the dots. His face turned pale. “How is this a twisted love story? There’s no love—just twisted!”

Luo Zhiyu followed up with the final question. “So the woman and the man conspired to kill her boyfriend?”

Shang Jingyan smiled. “Exactly.”

And with that, the full picture emerged:

The woman had once been a ruthless assassin, but after leaving that life behind, she fell deeply in love with her boyfriend. Lately, though, his behavior had been odd, as if he were hiding something. He refused to tell her what.

Consumed by paranoia, she reached out to an old partner—another former killer, now working as a chef.

“Darling, I know a restaurant that serves amazing food. Let’s go there for our anniversary.”

The boyfriend agreed, unaware that death awaited him.

“Eat him, and we’ll be together forever.”

The woman thought about it.

But when the dishes arrived, she found two rings hidden among them. Suddenly, all of her boyfriend’s strange behavior made sense—

He wasn’t trying to break up with her. He had been planning to propose.

By the time she realized the truth, it was already too late. Moments later, she leaped from the high-rise in despair.

Zhang Nian exaggerated his reaction. “Whoa, Director Shang! How did you come up with something so creepy in such a short time? That was terrifying!”

Sure, if you scrutinized the story, there were some unrealistic elements. But as a short horror piece, the setup, twists, and climax were all gripping.

Most of the key questions had come from Luo Zhiyu. She was spooked by the story itself, but the thrill of deduction had her cheeks slightly flushed. “This game is seriously fun…”

The group buzzed with excitement. Shang Jingyan’s little tale had helped them grasp the essence of horror-themed ‘Turtle Soup’—something that was unexpected yet perfectly logical, a twist that left you unsettled the more you thought about it.

“Damn, that gave me chills, but I can’t stop wanting to hear more… I need to come up with my own now!”

“I swear, I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“Hahaha, good thing the chef and owner didn’t overhear us, or we might get kicked out…”

“No kidding! I might start checking my food before I eat from now on.”

Someone even asked, “I feel like this story has potential for expansion. Director Shang, are you planning to develop it further?”

“Well… I haven’t decided yet.” Shang Jingyan took a sip of her cherry-red juice, though some vague ideas were already forming in her mind.

She had always wanted to direct a psychological thriller about a serial killer. But in her past life, that genre had been done to death, and it was notoriously difficult to get past censorship. Maybe in this world, she’d have a shot?

Earlier, she’d had some inspiration related to aquariums and fish. Now, she had another idea stacking on top of it. Too many ideas were a blessing—and a curse…

The conversation spiraled further into wild speculation. Meanwhile, Noel had been struggling ever since the mention of ‘meat dishes.’ By the time the soup’s backstory was revealed, he couldn’t take it anymore—he excused himself and bolted for the restroom. When he returned, his face was pale, and he sat weakly in his seat.

“Noel, you okay?” Shang Jingyan asked with mock concern. “Were you too scared? You could’ve excused yourself earlier, you know.”

She had warned them upfront, but clearly, he had overestimated his tolerance.

“Scared? Of course not! That’s ridiculous,” Noel blurted instinctively before coming up with a lame excuse. “I just… ate something bad.”

Though, admitting he had food poisoning in front of the person he wanted to impress didn’t exactly help his image.

Trying to salvage some dignity, he added, “I’m fine now…”

Before he could finish, the server placed a dish of crispy fried meat in front of them. Noel glanced at the meat, his mind making an unfortunate connection. His expression went through an entire drama’s worth of changes before he clutched his stomach again. “I need to excuse myself… one more time.”

Zhang Nian nearly died laughing and whispered to Shang Jingyan, “Yan Yan, I’d bet money he’s never watched your films. No way his tolerance would be this low otherwise.”

Shang Jingyan calmly nibbled on a piece of crispy meat, looking completely unbothered. “I think he’s finally becoming tolerable.”

Zhang Nian cracked up. “Hahaha!”

Like a peacock that had failed to fan its tail, Noel returned from the restroom thoroughly defeated. For the rest of the night, he barely had any energy, while Shang Jingyan became the undeniable center of attention.

Everyone, especially those new to the game, was hooked. By the end of the night, nearly every Dreamweaver at the gathering had gravitated toward their table.

This was a room full of creatives. If nothing else, they knew how to spin a story. The new ‘soup’ scenarios they came up with were full of unexpected twists and thrilling reveals.

Someone even suggested developing an app specifically for ‘Turtle Soup’ stories, so future gatherings would have even more to play with.

–

The gathering stretched late into the night. By the time they parted ways, Shang Jingyan had a whole list of new contacts in her mind-link device.

As for Noel? He had completely vanished—either too embarrassed to face her or just terrified of her in general.

She made a mental note to reach out to Luo Zhiyu. The girl had truly shined tonight, surprising even the Dreamweavers who knew her well. It was probably the first time they’d seen her so engaged at a social event.

Shang Jingyan also noticed something interesting—Dreamweavers generated far more heartbeat points than regular audience members. It seemed like mental strength played a role in the system’s calculations.

Her current heartbeat count was nearing 150,000.

What exactly was this value for? She was eager to find out if it could be exchanged for something useful.

X71 had been watching the whole time, positively beaming with pride. [Yan Yan, I think you’ve inspired at least fifty people with new ideas tonight!]

Shang Jingyan smirked. [And I’ve probably scared at least a hundred more.]

X71: […That’s a blessing for them!]

Shang Jingyan laughed.

She teased, “You’ve gone from opposing horror to being my biggest supporter?”

Walking through the night breeze, her silver hair and long trench coat fluttered behind her. Beneath the coat, her black evening dress swayed like ocean waves, and her emerald eyes sparkled with amusement.

Passersby glanced her way, curious. In this era, concealed earpieces were common, so they didn’t find her talking to herself strange. Instead, they wondered, Who’s on the other end of that call, making this striking young woman laugh like that?

X71 felt an odd sense of lightness, almost as if its system was overheating. But that was silly—AI systems didn’t have physical forms.

Still, the thought warmed it. She’s talking to me. Just me.

[Of course!] X71 declared proudly. [I was created to support you, after all.]

It was right there in the system manual—each system bonded to one host for life. It was a connection even more stable and enduring than love.

That’s why it had been so nervous at first, afraid it would end up like one of the failed cases.

But now? Now, it refused to believe this was a failure.

Maybe this was why other systems in the manual had always stood by their hosts…

Wait, which systems were those again? Why couldn’t it remember?

The thought flickered through X71’s mainframe, but before it could linger, Shang Jingyan’s voice pulled it back.

“You’re such a good system^[1]TN: Agree. X71 is quite adorable.,” she said. “Oh, right! Didn’t you want to play ‘Turtle. Soup’ too? Let’s do a round, just the two of us.”

She was going to give X71 one of the classics—the story that had given ‘Turtle Soup’ its name: A ship captain, years after a near-death experience, orders turtle soup at a restaurant. But the moment he tastes it, he realizes something horrifying—the ‘turtle meat’ that had once saved his life had never been turtle at all. It had been human flesh.

X71 was stunned. She remembered? It was thrilled—this was a private round, just for them!

[Yes! Let’s play!]

–

That night, the audience on the Evergreen forums noticed an old post suddenly getting bumped to the top.

The title read: [We all get scared by Director Shang’s films and ideas, but what about fellow Dreamweavers? How do they feel about her? Any insiders want to spill the tea?]

Before, there had only been a handful of speculative comments.

But now? Overnight, replies started pouring in.

[Personal experience tells you: Yes. Not only will you, but you’ll also be just as sleepless as the audience! QAQ]

[It’s 3 AM, and I’m tossing and turning in bed while reading this post. Liked in silent agreement…]

[Director Shang—terrifying woman. Wherever she goes, horror follows.]

[Hahaha, what’s going on? Why are there suddenly so many replies? Are you all Dreamweavers? Did you guys have a gathering with Director Shang?]

[Curious—what happened? Did she tell you a horror story?]

[Hold up, let me grab an ear—I wanna hear it too!]

[Director Shang led us in a game. I have a feeling this is about to take the entire Dreamweaver community in the Exile Star System by storm.]

[Don’t worry, everyone! The app for the game is already in development. In a few days, you’ll all get to experience the fear firsthand (dog emoji).]

[Perfect for gatherings and playing with friends. Share this wild goose and make your buddies scream for you (dog emoji).]

The forum thread’s Q&A format was perfect for this. Some Dreamweavers immediately opened a new post, transcribing Director Shang’s riddles along with some of the most mind-bending ones that had emerged at the gathering.

Some unlucky users stumbled into the thread, ignored the warning tags, and let their curiosity get the best of them—leading to an influx of screaming prairie doge reaction gifs flooding the comments.

–

Ao Qingxue’s Streaming Room.

“A new mini-game from Director Shang?” Ao Qingxue’s curiosity was piqued by the barrage of chat messages. “Alright! As soon as I finish today’s playthrough of Building 18, I’ll check it out!”

Almost right after the shocking reveal in Lu Zibing’s stream—that the ‘female protagonist’s daughter’ was part of the mystery—Ao Qingxue found a crucial clue in her own playthrough.

However, she hadn’t gotten it through Lin Huailu. Instead, it came from Lin Xiaomei.

After finding Diary Fragment #1, she didn’t rush forward blindly. Instead, she deliberately kept her distance from Lin Huailu, staying on high alert.

Her focus shifted to Lin Xiaomei. She was convinced that the girl had to be a key figure—otherwise, why would her ragdoll be able to trigger overlapping timelines?

That ragdoll looked creepy as hell, but surprisingly, it had helped her more than harmed her.

As she spent more time with Lin Xiaomei, she realized the girl wasn’t a bad kid. She had gotten caught up with the bullies only because she’d been a victim herself.

This was a common dynamic in bullying situations—those who once suffered become passive accomplices just to avoid being the next target.

Except… Lin Xiaomei wasn’t really an accomplice at all. Later, in one of the inquiry sequences, Ao Qingxue discovered that Xiaomei had actually stepped in to protect Xiao Shuai. During the infamous bathroom prank, she was the one who rushed to rescue the teacher after overhearing what was happening.

Lin Xiaomei came from an extremely poor family. When Ao Qingxue checked the school’s parent contact records, she only found her grandmother’s name. The sections for ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’ were left completely blank.

Over the past few in-game days, Ao Qingxue had spent more time fixing Lin Xiaomei’s torn clothes and getting her some new ones than focusing on anything else. In this age of interstellar civilization, poverty was practically a thing of legend. People knew, theoretically, that children in past star eras had suffered like this, but few had ever seen it firsthand.

[Man, if it weren’t for the protagonist, she’d be surviving off the free soup and rice at the cafeteria.]

[Baby needs a hug, QAQ.]

[I refuse to believe she’s a bad person. She’s been through too much.]

The protagonist, Langzhu, often found herself staring at Xiaomei in a daze. That’s when pop-up prompts would appear: [You’re reminded of someone from your past. You can’t help but want to take extra care of her.] The game wasn’t even being subtle about it.

After a few days of this, Lin Xiaomei suddenly handed Ao Qingxue a small, crude-looking talisman pouch. The black fabric was stitched with white sigils, giving it an ominous, eerie vibe.

“Teacher, I made this. It’s for protection. Take it.”

[MOTHER OF—I’m terrified! Over in Lu Zibing’s playthrough, she got a similar item from Lin Huailu, and it led to her nightmare-death!]

[This one looks even sketchier! Should the streamer accept it??]

[They’re both surnamed Lin… I feel like they might be related somehow.]

Ao Qingxue held the talisman pouch and said, “I trust my instincts. And I trust Xiaomei.”

That night, in the game, she had Langzhu place the talisman under her pillow before going to sleep.

–

Darkness swallowed Ao Qingxue’s vision. When she opened her eyes again, the game had force-switched to a first-person perspective—just like it had in Lu Zibing’s stream.

Her blurry vision gradually sharpened. She found herself standing at the entrance of the No. 2 High School’s track field. The noon sun blazed overhead, casting crisp shadows under a sky so blue it looked unreal.

[Okay, wow, streamer’s dream sequence already looks way more normal than Lu Zibing’s. Unfair!]

[Hahaha, Lu Zibing’s gonna be pissed: “Who are you calling cursed?! Lies! Slander! I will BONK you with a toilet plunger!”]

[Don’t forget the mop (doge emoji).]

“Lang Tingyao!”

A few girls called out her name. Ao Qingxue’s vision followed the protagonist’s line of sight, turning toward them. The chat exploded:

[Wait, aren’t those the little protagonist’s dormmates? I saw them in Lu Zibing’s stream!]

[“Lang” surname? Yeah, this confirms it—this is definitely Langzhu’s daughter!]

[Her name is actually really pretty.]

One of the girls handed Lang Tingyao a cold drink, an awkward attempt at making amends. But Lang Tingyao only gave them a cool, unreadable look before saying, “You think this makes up for what you did to me?”

The air turned heavy. The girls looked uncomfortable. After a pause, one of them muttered, “But… we didn’t really do anything. And the ones who actually bullied you—didn’t you already get back at them? They even apologized to you…”

Up until now, most viewers had assumed the horrors of No. 2 High School revolved around school bullying. But now, things weren’t adding up.

Had Lang Tingyao already dealt with her bullies?

That did make sense. Her diary had an entry that read: “If they try me again, I won’t hold back.” Whatever had truly terrified her—it wasn’t just bullying.

Lang Tingyao let out a cold laugh and turned away, clearly uninterested in entertaining them any further. Her posture radiated absolute indifference—these people weren’t worth her time. They were just annoying.

As the audience watched the story unfold in silence, Lang Tingyao made her way toward the school’s small grove of trees. That’s when Ao Qingxue finally noticed a boy standing at the edge of the woods.

“Lou Huailin!”

Lang Tingyao’s steps quickened, her voice lifting with joy. The interstellar viewers—sensitive to anything even remotely romantic—immediately caught on.

[OMG, the protagonist’s daughter had a boyfriend ten years ago! New clue unlocked!]

[Back then, they called this ‘puppy love,’ haha.]

[Wait… why does ‘Lou Huailin’ sound familiar? Is it just me?]

The boy stood tall and straight, like a young poplar tree, already carrying the presence of a grown man despite his school uniform.

Golden sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled light over him. Even from behind, he looked effortlessly handsome.

Ao Qingxue almost got carried away, momentarily thinking she was playing a high school romance game.

Then he turned around.

And his face—was identical to Lin Huailu’s.

Her blood ran cold.