She was definitely the female lead. Just now, she had shaken the male lead awake, pulling him out of a car crash nightmare—that was the scene they had just witnessed.

Soft, ethereal music played in the background as the male lead, looking exhausted, rubbed his temples and reassured the female lead that he was fine. He was undeniably handsome, and by conventional standards, he and the female lead were equally attractive. But for some reason, Ao Qingxue couldn’t shake the feeling that he just wasn’t as captivating as she was.

On screen, the beautiful couple nestled together and drifted back to sleep. In theory, this should have been a heartwarming moment. But instead, an overwhelming sense of unease crept in. Every little detail seemed to be hinting at something sinister—the way the female lead’s long hair coiled around him like a rope, the cold, muted lighting, the distorted shadows of plants swaying erratically in the corners, the overly close-up shots, the occasional voyeuristic or top-down angles…

All of these elements were the work of the Dreamweaver, constructing the world with pure mental energy. The background details of The Eldritch God were strikingly vivid, and the transitions between shots were so seamless that it was clear this wasn’t the work of an amateur.

The audience, who had initially been joking around, started getting drawn into the story.

【This setting feels so oppressive… I’ve never seen anything quite like it.】

【The background music is so weird. Did the Dreamweaver compose it too?】

【It’s unsettling. Gives me the creeps…】

To lighten the mood, Ao Qingxue chimed in, “Looks like the Dreamweaver is using a nonlinear storytelling approach. The car crash already happened at the start, and now, as the synopsis mentioned, the couple is about to leave for their honeymoon.”

Stories about divine beings usually follow a well-worn path: an ordinary protagonist accidentally encounters a god, gets showered with divine favor, and ends up spoiled beyond reason. It was a classic formula—predictable, maybe, but deeply satisfying. A timeless genre that never failed to hit its mark.

The viewers tuning into the live stream had come in with that exact expectation.

An Eldritch God? What’s there to be scared of? No matter how bad they are, they’ll be good to the protagonist—besides, most stories don’t even bother showing just how bad they really are.

Morning arrived. The couple hadn’t slept for long before they were up again. The male lead looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes betraying his lack of rest. By contrast, the female lead appeared completely refreshed.

The short film seemed to be set in the previous star epoch, back when people still lived on Earth. The trauma of the car crash had left the male lead too shaken to drive, but oddly enough, the female lead—the one who had been gravely injured—had no such fears. She took the wheel instead.

As their conversation unfolded, the audience learned more about their backstories.

The male lead was a university student majoring in history. He had met his now-wife during his freshman year. She was gentle, charming, beautiful, and talented—the kind of woman any man would feel lucky to be loved by. Their relationship was steady and sweet, just like any other young couple’s.

If there had been any turbulence in their story, it had come in the form of the car crash during their first-year post-graduation. The accident had left the female lead in critical condition, losing so much blood that she was rushed to the emergency room, teetering on the edge of death.

But miraculously, she survived. The ordeal only deepened their bond, prompting the male lead to propose.

Their honeymoon destination was an old castle. As they drove there, the male lead dozed off and fell into another nightmare—this time, he was suffocating, trapped inside a writhing mass of black sludge.

【This must be the Gothic castle from the synopsis, right? Wow, what a sight!】

【That castle is ancient… but the rose garden is stunning!】

【Heh, so when’s the romance kicking in?】

By the time they arrived, the sun was setting. The castle’s spires clawed at the sky, its weathered stone walls almost entirely swallowed by creeping ivy. In the front courtyard, blood-red roses and wild briars bloomed in chaotic splendor.

“Wait, isn’t it supposed to be winter?” Ao Qingxue frowned. “Why are the flowers in full bloom?”

The audience didn’t dwell on that detail. They were too preoccupied marveling at the castle’s interior.

【Did the Dreamweaver really create all this from imagination? Gothic architecture has been lost for ages, but this totally fits the ‘dark and ornate’ aesthetic!】

【Who is this Dreamweaver? Maybe an expert in historical restoration?】

【Also, why would the couple pick this place for their honeymoon? It’s covered in dust and looks like it hasn’t been lived in for decades. Definitely not your usual romantic getaway.】

According to the female lead, she was the one who booked the place. Supposedly, there was a caretaker living on the estate.

Then, the caretaker appeared. And in unison, the entire audience let out a string of curses.

She was the default character model.

Not just that—her design looked deliberately cheap and unfinished. Silver-gray hair, hunched posture, a face as crude and blocky as a melted wax figure, with deep wrinkles etched like they’d been hacked in with a chisel. When she spoke, her smile had the stiff, uncanny movement of a puppet.

“Wel—come—to—the—man—or—” she drawled.

Ao Qingxue got chills. “Come on, author, this is not the place to cut costs!”

【AHHH this is the first time a default model has creeped me out this much!】

【Damn, does this Dreamweaver have a thing for horror? This is the second time I’ve jumped!】

【If I were the male lead, I’d be running right now. Nope, nope, nope!】

What the audience didn’t realize was that there was a term for this exact kind of discomfort: the uncanny valley effect.

Generally, people feel a natural affinity for humanoid figures. But once something crosses a certain threshold—almost human, but not quite—it stops feeling familiar and becomes deeply unsettling.

Especially when the protagonists looked indistinguishable from real people, the sudden introduction of something eerily off only made the contrast more jarring.

On-screen, however, the couple acted as if nothing was amiss. The female lead even smiled warmly and shook the caretaker’s hand.

That night, nothing happened. After tidying up, the couple went to bed.

Then the screen cut to the dead of night. The male lead’s face filled the frame, his expression troubled as he tossed and turned. Another nightmare. The camera pulled back—he was alone in bed. His phone, resting on the nightstand, displayed the time:

3:00 AM.

The camera panned lower and lower, until even the fibers of the carpet were in sharp focus, then drifted toward the door, peering through the narrow gap.

Ao Qingxue joked, “This angle makes me feel like a little bug squished in the doorway…”

By now, she was getting used to this Dreamweaver’s style and had a gut feeling that whatever came next would be far from ordinary. Instinctively, she tensed up, leaning back slightly. But when the next shot appeared, she still couldn’t hold back a scream—she shot upright in her seat.

On-screen, the entire spiral staircase was swallowed in darkness, save for the dim glow of a single candle. That lone flickering flame barely illuminated the bottom of the staircase, revealing a grotesque, towering figure casting an impossibly long shadow on the wall. From its head, a mass of writhing, tentacle-like appendages squirmed and twisted.

A heavy, deliberate footstep echoed in the vast, empty space.

Then another.

And another.

The thing was slowly making its way up the stairs—heading straight for the male lead’s room.

【AHHHHHHHHHH!】

【Oh god, I almost started crying!】

【This is terrifying, help! I can’t watch this alone!】

【I just threw my cup across the room!】

【What the hell is that thing?? Is this the “Eldritch God” from the title?! Wasn’t this supposed to be a sweet romance drama?!】

【No wonder this castle gives off such an eerie vibe—THERE’S A MONSTER!】

While the story technically wasn’t horror, the interstellar audience wasn’t unfamiliar with monster elements. Normally, in these kinds of plots, the creature was just an obstacle for the leads to overcome—a thrilling but ultimately harmless setback. The male or female lead would heroically defeat it, and then everything would be back on track for a romantic happy ending.

【Where’s the female lead?! Hurry up and save him!】

【Male lead, WAKE UP! Stop sleeping!】

【I’m on edge—wait, why did the camera cut back to the bedroom?! It’s even scarier when we can’t see what’s happening!】

The livestream chat was in complete chaos, as restless as a pot about to boil over. On the screen, the male lead remained fast asleep, blissfully unaware.

Thud.

Thud.

The footsteps grew closer and closer—until, suddenly, they stopped right outside the door.

A suffocating silence fell.

Ao Qingxue held her breath, her toes curling involuntarily.

Then came a voice.

“Is… anyone… there…?”

A slow, rasping whisper seeped through the door, neither distinctly male nor female. It wasn’t just the words—it was the sound itself. Hidden beneath the speech were faint, unnatural noises: a brittle, unsettling scraping, the wet squelch of something shifting, like jaws clicking together.

【I’m curled up under my blanket, trembling.】

【Oh god, is the monster checking to see if the male lead is awake? What happens if he is?!】

【I’m watching this with my face half-covered, peeking through my fingers!】

No response came from within the room.

After a moment of silence, the heavy footsteps retreated.

Time stretched.

Eventually, the male lead stirred, groggy and unaware. He blinked blearily at the empty space beside him, then let out a yawn and mumbled, “Ugh, this room doesn’t even have a bathroom. So inconvenient…”

Ao Qingxue practically shrieked, her accent slipping out in her panic. “Why would you go to the bathroom NOW?!”

The background music sharpened into a piercing note.

In the corner of the screen—lurking just beyond the stairwell—a single, inky black tendril slithered into view.

The monster hadn’t left.

It had been pretending to retreat, baiting him into revealing himself.

As the male lead wandered toward the bathroom, his shadow stretched and twisted unnaturally behind him.

If he turned around now—just once—he would see it.

It was watching.

It was testing him.

The audience collectively lost their minds. Some fled the livestream in terror, but even more poured in, summoned by word-of-mouth. Clearly, viewers were spreading the buzz, dragging their friends into the nightmare.

It was universal: no matter where in the galaxy, people watching horror would instinctively turn to bullet chat shields for protection.

Ao Qingxue had never seen her chat explode like this before. For a solid ten minutes, comments flooded the screen in a never-ending cascade—something that only happened in the streams of the biggest influencers.

By now, everyone had caught on. The most repeated word in the comments wasn’t romance.

It was horror.

…Could it be? Was this Dreamweaver actually crafting a horror story?

The thought stunned Ao Qingxue.

No Dreamweaver had ever taken that approach before—not that she’d ever heard of. Literary works were meant to be beautiful, comforting, something that filled people with warmth and inspiration. That was the widely accepted norm.

Her pulse hadn’t settled since the first scare. She wanted to exit, the tension was too much—but when her finger hovered over the “X” button… she hesitated.

Because, somehow… this Married to an Eldritch God film was actually kind of captivating.

She was terrified.

But she couldn’t look away.

How bizarre.

Fortunately, the male lead’s late-night trip ended without incident. Still drowsy, he shuffled back to bed and drifted off again.

The room fell into absolute silence. The monster, seemingly satisfied, did not return.

Yet moments later, the male lead’s eyes flickered open.

In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, a sheen of cold sweat glistened on his forehead.

“…Huh?”

Ao Qingxue and several sharp-eyed viewers caught the meaning behind this shot.

Wait.

He knew?!

His psychological endurance was that strong?!

Before they could even voice their shock, the male lead silently turned his head—staring at the empty space beside him.

The screen faded to black.

A line of text appeared: (To be continued…)

The bullet chat fell eerily quiet for half a second—then exploded.

【NOOOOOO, WHY END IT HERE?!】

【The female lead is missing, the monster appeared—this confirms it! She’s definitely the Eldritch God!】

【But hold up—so this “Eldritch God” is actually terrifying?!】

–

V059 Star.

The system, upon reviewing Shang Jingyan’s final product, nearly crashed on the spot.

【……】

Shang Jingyan, completely unfazed: “My story does fit the ‘contract marriage to true love’ theme. And it meets your criteria. What’s the problem?”

System: 【But…】

Shang Jingyan: “Check the Heartbeat Points.”

Sure enough, on the panel, the Heartbeat Points had skyrocketed past 10, shooting up to 15 in just a single hour—she had already exceeded her goal.

Keep in mind, she had started at negative 100.

Which meant… 115 people experienced an overwhelming surge of emotion while watching.

Across the entire galaxy, no other newcomer had ever achieved a number this absurd.

The system was speechless.

【……】

This wasn’t the kind of heartbeat I meant…!