Even though they said they were going to sleep, no one could.
The thought of Zhou Jianzhang and his group searching for them throughout the campus made them too terrified to even breathe heavily.
Would they find this place?
Could a flimsy door and window keep them out?
Even with the window and curtains closed, when those things stood outside and peeked in, would they still be able to see them trembling inside? After all, they weren’t human anymore.
Pink Hair couldn’t help but whisper to Xu Yiran beside him, “Stop shaking, you’re making the whole bed move.”
Xu Yiran whispered back, “… Sorry, I’m trying to control it.”
“It’ll be fine, go to sleep,” Li Zhi said softly, her voice calm and gentle. “Close your eyes and count. Don’t overthink things.”
Everyone took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and forced themselves to close their eyes and try to sleep.
It’s going to be okay. This is the staff dormitory—they won’t find us here.
Time passed, second by second, and in the still darkness, the ticking of the clock on the wall grew louder.
Tick—
Tick—
Like a lullaby, the ticking made everyone feel drowsy. Gradually, the small dorm filled with steady breathing. No one knew how much time had passed when the sound of chaotic footsteps approached from the flowerbeds outside the infirmary, getting closer to their building.
Li Jianxi, lying on the sofa, opened his eyes.
But he didn’t move. He continued lying still, listening as the footsteps drew nearer until they stopped right at the edge of their row of small buildings. After a brief silence, there was a faint, rustling sound—something was crawling, densely packed, slithering through the gap under the door, searching each room.
Outside the screen, Zhou Jianzhang and his group’s live stream was still running. The audience watched in horror as they searched the dormitory building, then moved on to the classrooms, and finally reached the staff dormitories. Though Zhou Jianzhang and his group still had human bodies, their eerie smiles and savage expressions revealed they were no longer human.
The audience, having already seen Li Zhi and the others hide in the staff dormitory, now held their breath as Zhou Jianzhang approached:
[OMG, everyone! Zhou Jianzhang looks scarier than the monsters in this game!]
[Who would have thought the biggest threat in this instance would be other players?]
[Midnight chase scene! Thrilling! I love it!]
[Zhou Jianzhang: “Li Zhi, are you hiding well? Because I’m about to start looking for you…”]
[Ahhh! The comment above is so creepy! If I were Li Zhi, I’d be suffocating by now!]
[Suffocating as Li Zhi? You must be underestimating her courage and skills! I’ll bet a pack of spicy chips that Li Zhi will KO Zhou Jianzhang!]
[Li Zhi may not even have to do anything. Li Jianxi alone could knock them out. This is still a school, so Zhou Jianzhang has to follow school rules, right?]
…
Room by room, Zhou Jianzhang’s group searched, and soon he was standing outside the infirmary.
Though he wasn’t human anymore, he didn’t realize it himself. His hearing and sense of smell had become incredibly sharp. There was no one in the infirmary, but in the adjacent room, he could hear eight distinct breaths.
Under the pale moonlight, a creepy smile appeared on Zhou Jianzhang’s face. He gestured, and the eight people slowly moved to the windows and doors of the dormitory next to the infirmary. Zhou Jianzhang and Bei Xuan stood at the front, pressing their faces against the window.
The room was pitch dark with no light at all, and heavy curtains and blinds covered the windows. By all logic, they shouldn’t have been able to see anything.
But after a moment, both of them grinned widely.
They saw it.
Seven prey, huddled together, hiding behind the curtains.
They opened their mouths, and countless black insects began pouring out like a tide, crawling toward the gap under the door.
Suddenly, there was a crisp click—the door opened from the inside.
Standing at the entrance was the school doctor, his expression stern. He coldly stared at them. “What are you doing?”
The eight of them immediately shut their mouths, and the insects disappeared in an instant.
Li Jianxi’s face remained impassive as he said, “This is the staff dormitory. Who gave you students permission to be here?”
His cold gaze swept over the group, a severe scrutiny in his eyes. “What class are you from? Who’s your class teacher?”
All eight took a step back in unison, fear creeping onto their faces.
Li Jianxi’s voice rang out sharply, “Wandering around the school in the middle of the night instead of sleeping? Stand right there! I’m calling your class teachers right now!”
After saying that, he turned to walk back inside, as though he was really going to make the call.
Zhou Jianzhang let out a few strange noises from his throat, “Teacher, we’re sorry. We’ll go back to sleep right away.”
Li Jianxi turned back and gave him a cold look. “If I catch you breaking school rules again, I’ll report all of you.”
Bei Xuan’s eyes flashed with unwillingness, but she also feared the teacher’s authority and the school rules. She glanced behind him, and through the slightly open door, she could clearly see the red heat signatures of the people hiding behind the curtain.
But she didn’t dare to enter. The teacher in front of her looked terrifying, and they couldn’t break school rules—especially not when caught in the act. The consequences would be dire.
The eight of them had no choice but to turn and leave.
Li Jianxi stood at the door, watching them walk away before finally closing the door and lying back on the sofa. The seven people inside had woken up long ago, but they covered their mouths, not making a sound. Only now did they breathe out in relief, as if they had narrowly escaped death.
“Thank you, Mr. Li,” Li Zhi’s gentle and calm voice broke the silence in the darkness.
Li Jianxi closed his eyes. “Go to sleep. It’s over.”
This time, it really was over. Though still shaken, the exhaustion of the late night soon overtook them.
Early the next morning, they were all jolted awake by the familiar sound of the wake-up bell. Groggy, they sat up in bed. As their minds cleared, they remembered the terrifying events of the previous night, and Qing Lin suddenly snapped awake.
“What the heck! How did they even find us last night? I thought for sure we’d been caught!”
Li Zhi rubbed her eyes. “We were found. Mr. Li just drove them away.”
Tan Manyu, putting on her shoes, said, “If they really do have insects inside them, some types of bugs can sense heat signatures. No matter how well we hide, they’d be able to see us clearly from outside.”
Everyone shuddered at the thought.
As they finished getting ready, they noticed Li Jianxi was no longer in the room. Yawning, Li Zhi walked over to the infirmary and saw Li Jianxi already in his white coat, holding a black mug in his hand, waiting by the water dispenser for the water to boil. The loose strands of hair on his forehead gave him a slightly tired look from waking up early.
Li Zhi stood at the door for a moment, then couldn’t help but chuckle.
It seemed even NPCs in the game world couldn’t escape the fate of having early morning responsibilities.
Li Jianxi’s previously dazed expression shifted as he unconsciously straightened up. When he turned his head and saw Li Zhi smiling at him, he pressed his lips together and asked, “Would you like some water?”
Li Zhi walked in. “Sure.”
Li Jianxi retrieved a disposable cup from the cabinet under the water dispenser. Once the water had boiled, he first poured her a cup of warm water before filling his own black mug. Seeing the tea leaves floating up in his cup, Li Zhi asked, “Do you like tea, Mr. Li?”
Li Jianxi nodded. “It helps wake me up.”
The two stood close, and Li Zhi caught a faint whiff of the tea’s aroma. His slender fingers gripped the handle of the cup, the knuckles slightly reddened. Sensing her gaze, Li Jianxi instinctively tightened his grip.
After a brief moment, Li Zhi stifled a laugh. “Mr. Li,” she teased, “Isn’t it too hot?”
Li Jianxi snapped back to reality and quickly walked to his desk, setting the scalding cup down. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his white coat, subtly rubbing the skin that had turned red from the heat.
The sun had not yet risen fully, only casting a golden edge along the horizon. They stood side by side in front of the infirmary, and after finishing her water, Li Zhi spoke softly, “Mr. Li, we’ll be leaving here soon.”
By the end of the day, she would take care of those creatures. At the latest, by midnight, after completing the dormitory mirror game, they would clear the level.
Li Jianxi turned his head, quietly watching her.
Li Zhi pulled out the sunflower pendant from her pocket and gave it a little shake. “Did you find me because of this?”
After a moment, Li Jianxi slowly nodded.
Li Zhi smiled. “So, you’ve always remembered me, haven’t you?”
Because he remembered her, he had come to find her.
Li Jianxi turned back to look at the sun, which was just about to break through the clouds. He said softly, “Yes.”
“I asked you before,” Li Zhi squinted into the distance, her voice soft and gentle, as if wrapped in the morning mist, “Why did you help me? You didn’t answer then. Can you tell me now?”
The pale sky was now bathed in brilliant golden light, and in an instant, the dawn broke forth in splendor. The sunrise inside the game world didn’t seem all that different from the one outside.
After a long pause, Li Zhi finally heard his voice. “I don’t know.”
He looked down at the mug in his hand. The curled tea leaves had unfurled in the hot water, their dark green color sinking to the bottom of the cup, lightly floating.
“I saw you turn back to the shrine to save your teammate, then carry out half of her body,” he said quietly.
He remembered it so clearly, even the expression on her face. He recalled how she had walked out, her eyes—once always smiling—now shattered like ice. She had buried her teammate, then walked off alone to vomit.
Li Jianxi turned and looked at her calmly. “In that moment, you seemed strangely familiar to me.”
As though he had seen her somewhere before.
But where? He had searched through the endless abyss of his memory but found no trace of her.
It was, without a doubt, their first meeting.
This inexplicable sense of familiarity made him reveal the secret of the shrine to her. It made him unable to stop noticing her, unable to resist being drawn closer.
It was a strange, almost dreamy thought, and Li Jianxi felt a little uncomfortable after saying it. But Li Zhi didn’t seem to mind. After a moment of contemplation, she asked, “Aside from the memories of this world, do you have any other memories?”
Li Jianxi shook his head.
He was born an NPC. From the moment he gained consciousness, he had been roaming through different game worlds, playing various roles. This was his task, or rather, his default programming. He couldn’t defy this setting, and at most, he could help the people he wanted to help within the constraints of the rules.
In the past, he had helped other players, but they only saw him as a kind NPC, no different from any other NPC in the game.
Only Li Zhi treated him as a real person, someone with self-awareness.
When she asked him, “Will we meet again?” it was the first time he had felt what it was like to be expected.