Chi Zhan took a sip of cola.
By the time they finished cleaning up, half an hour had passed. Tao Ran dragged him into another round of games before reluctantly heading out.
During his recovery, the System hadn’t made much of an appearance. It seemed preoccupied, occasionally possessing the robot vacuum just to check in on Zhou Yanxing’s status. But lately, since Chi Zhan hadn’t been in contact with Zhou Yanxing, even those brief encounters had ceased.
The robot vacuum hadn’t moved in ages. Dust had gathered on its top, and when it was dragged over, a small cloud of grime scattered across the floor.
“Achoo!” the System sneezed.
Chi Zhan blinked.
“…?”
In its usual cutesy tone, the System whined, “Wipe me down, would you?”
Normally, Chi Zhan avoided touching the System. He feared physical contact might let it read his mind and expose his thoughts. But now, he quietly fetched a clean cloth and wiped the robot off.
Had the System evolved or something? It felt… smarter somehow.
Just as that thought crossed his mind, the System spoke up.
“I reported the irregularities in the romance target Zhou Yanxing to headquarters these past few days. They’ve since scrubbed his code thoroughly. There’s a bit of data delay, but in three days, everything should return to normal.”
Chi Zhan’s hand froze mid-wipe.
“If there was a bug in Zhou Yanxing’s code,” the System continued, “then in three days, all abnormally high favorability toward NPCs will be wiped clean. His affection toward players will also revert to normal. Only then can the game resume proper operation.”
Chi Zhan stood there, stunned.
Ding dong—
The doorbell rang.
He opened the door to find a deliveryman.
“Your chicken soup.”
“……”
***
Chi Zhan placed the chicken soup on the table and asked, “Weren’t you going to observe a few more days?”
“No, you don’t understand,” the System replied, its tone suddenly grave. “Romance targets are the core of this world. If one of them malfunctions, the entire world becomes unstable. It will eventually collapse—including your existence.”
Chi Zhan’s heart gave a jolt.
“What if… what if no bug is found? Will you send the target back for factory repairs?”
“There is a bug,” the System replied with utter certainty. “All the other targets in other worlds are functioning normally. Only this world is acting up. It’s a rare anomaly. Once we fix it, your mission will become much smoother.”
Chi Zhan had never cared about the so-called wish the System had promised him. All he wanted was to live here in peace. But why did they get to decide everything? Just erase data at will?
Yet reality was cruel. No matter how much he resisted, it would all be meaningless in the System’s eyes.
Folding the cloth into a neat square, Chi Zhan’s expression grew calm. He stood and asked, “If Zhou Yanxing resets to normal, will you stop staying in my home?”
“Of course. I’ve got other responsibilities. Once I confirm his code’s back to normal, I’ll leave. And once your mission is complete, I’ll keep my promise and grant your wish.”
“I understand.”
He couldn’t let the System detect his true feelings. A blank expression was his best disguise.
Three days later—it would be Saturday.
But when Chi Zhan heard the System’s explanation, the first image that came to mind wasn’t Zhou Yanxing. It was the crystal ball sitting on his shelf.
No matter why Zhou Yanxing hadn’t thrown it out yet, he was bound to do so eventually. And when that time came, he would cast it aside without a second thought. In Zhou Yanxing’s heart, Chi Zhan was no different from Xiao Wang or Xiao Jia—just another disposable NPC.
To once be considered a friend, only to become a stranger again… that was far crueler than having always been strangers.
Then came the news that Tao Ran would be moving away soon. A sharp wave of loss swept through Chi Zhan’s chest. He couldn’t quite explain why. Maybe it was only when something was about to be lost that you suddenly realized how much it mattered.
But in this game world, he was just an ordinary NPC. Powerless to change a thing.
As Chi Zhan tried to settle his emotions, his phone chimed.
[Your ‘Special Follow’ WT-Seven is now live! Come watch!]
Chi Zhan shoved his thoughts aside and clicked into the stream. No point brooding—thinking too much might tip the System off.
Seven hadn’t streamed in days, and the fans were getting restless. When Chi Zhan entered the room, the sheer flood of bullet comments nearly crashed his screen.
He tapped to disable the barrage, but a pop-up blocked him:
[Only the top contributor can turn off comments~]
Chi Zhan checked the rankings. Somehow, he’d slipped to number two?
The bullet comments weren’t that disruptive—they mostly hovered at the top and bottom—but Chi Zhan had never quite gotten used to these flashy, youth-centric features.
The top donor had spent twice as much as he had. After thinking for a moment, Chi Zhan suddenly remembered a special item in his inventory. He opened the Gacha Box, selected the monthly livestream card, and slammed it down hard—instantly taking the top spot.
[CHI sent 20x ‘Divine Right Hand’!]
The barrage vanished. Much better.
Seven wasn’t like other streamers. Most would thank fans for their gifts with a chirpy “Thanks for the present!” But not him. He simply played in silence. To this day, Chi Zhan had never heard his voice.
Today, Seven was using a brand-new character—a handsome guy in a trench coat. His skill? Tossing fireballs everywhere. Unfortunately, the damage was low and the aiming tricky, making it a tough character to master.
But Seven showed no hesitation. After a few test shots, he unleashed a combo that instantly wiped the enemy. Chi Zhan hadn’t even caught how he’d pulled it off.
Chi Zhan had used that character before—it was frustratingly underpowered, only viable with serious technical skill. So how had Seven made it look so effortless?
The only sounds from the stream were the clicks of keys and the hum of action—almost hypnotic. Chi Zhan was starting to feel drowsy.
Then Seven finally spoke.
“Heading back tomorrow to prep for a tournament. Won’t be streaming for a while. I’ll pick one fan today for a match.”
His voice carried no discernible emotion—clear, low, and cool like a mountain spring, with a calm resonance that seemed to soak into your skin like cold water. He sounded like he was speaking directly into the mic, his words quiet yet magnetic in the ear.
