After speaking, Bai Liu turned away and resumed tying his necktie, leaving Mu Shicheng standing there in stunned silence.
While they had been talking, Mu Ke—who had been lying on the bed—suddenly cried out in pain. Soaked in sweat, his legs twitching violently, he jolted awake. The moment he sat up, his entire body began trembling uncontrollably. Almost instinctively, he clutched Bai Liu’s white shirt tightly against his chest. His eyes were unfocused, his breathing ragged, tears still spilling down his face as though he had yet to fully wake from the nightmare.
Bai Liu called to him softly.
“Mu Ke. You’re alive. Calm down.”
The haze in Mu Ke’s eyes gradually cleared. Blankly, he stared at Bai Liu standing before him. Tears gathered little by little in his reddened eyes. His grip on the shirt loosened slightly, and Bai Liu immediately sensed that Mu Ke wanted to throw himself at him. He stepped back half a pace instead, then patted Mu Ke lightly on the shoulder in reassurance.
“It’s alright. You’re back in reality.”
“Bai Liu... wahhh—Bai Liu!!”
Mu Ke broke down completely, crying like a burst water pipe after being stretched past its limit. Only the sight of Bai Liu managed to steady him even slightly. His fingers clenched tightly around the hem of Bai Liu’s suit jacket as he looked up at him miserably, tears pouring down his face.
His voice was hoarse from screaming.
“I thought I was going to die in that school! They were trying to strangle me!”
Bai Liu lowered his gaze slightly, his tone calm and quiet.
“But you didn’t die. Which means you did very well—you survived. It’s over now, Mu Ke.”
Mu Ke continued sobbing uncontrollably, his chest rising and falling sharply. Midway through, he choked on a breath and hiccuped softly. Raising his tear-damp lashes, he looked cautiously at Bai Liu and asked in a small, fragile voice:
“I cleared the instance by myself, just like you said... so that means I passed, right? You’ll help me survive in the game from now on, won’t you?”
“I’ll do my best to train you so you can grow stronger and survive on your own,” Bai Liu replied bluntly.
Then his tone turned colder.
“But if all you do is rely on me without becoming more valuable yourself, I’ll very quickly stop investing in you altogether. Understand, Mu Ke? I don’t waste effort on things that bring no return.”
Mu Ke nodded frantically through his tears. His beautiful eyes were swollen red from crying, yet there was still a desperate, almost childlike relief in them—as though he had finally received recognition.
“I will! I promise I will, Bai Liu!”
“Starting with the next game, I intend to have you follow me.” Bai Liu stood and handed him a tissue, glancing sideways at him. “If you choose that, then we’ll need to clear fifty instances within sixty days. I plan to bring you into the league, but for that to happen, you’ll need to grow quickly.”
Mu Ke froze, staring up at him in shock while clutching the tissue.
Bai Liu looked down at him, his eyes utterly still.
“Can you do it? If not, I’ll arrange a different training route for you. You don’t necessarily have to follow me.”
Before Bai Liu had even finished speaking, Mu Ke bit down hard on his lower lip. His head bowed as his thin shoulders trembled slightly.
“If... if you need me to do it, then I can.”
“Have you really thought this through, Mu Ke?” Bai Liu asked flatly. “When I discuss something with someone, I prefer they look at me directly. Lift your head.”
Slowly, trembling faintly, Mu Ke raised his head.
Only then did Bai Liu clearly see the expression Mu Ke had been trying to hide.
The sickly little shàoyé knelt on Bai Liu’s bed, fists clenched against his knees, eyes red-rimmed and wet. His entire body was shaking uncontrollably as he stared up at Bai Liu with a pitiful, submissive expression. It was obvious he was terrified of the “fifty instances in sixty days” Bai Liu had mentioned. Fear had completely overwhelmed him, tears streaming nonstop down his face, yet he still tried desperately to suppress his sobs.
To most people, he would have looked heartbreakingly pitiable.
Bai Liu, however, remained unmoved.
“Mu Ke, you have other options,” he said calmly. “There are plenty of players in this game who rely on their appearance to gain audience donations. You could choose that route too. Following me will be difficult. So think carefully before you answer.”
“Following me into the league, or becoming a fairly strong donation-based player under my guidance—either path could help you survive. Which do you choose?”
Bai Liu lifted his eyes to look at him.
“If you follow me, you’ll improve very quickly. From both the perspective of my own needs and your future development, my suggestion is that you try following me first. Use me to build up your panel attributes. If you can enter the league with me, all the better. If you can’t, the growth you gain can still be useful to me elsewhere. I can always find other league members.”
He paused.
“To put it simply, you’re a backup option. Someone to fill numbers.”
“So?” Bai Liu extended a hand toward him. “What’s your choice?”
Mu Ke knew what the league was.
When he had exited the game earlier, he had seen the fireworks and the system notifications. But he’d logged out almost immediately because he had been too terrified.
Any normal newcomer, after surviving a game by the skin of their teeth, would only want to escape as quickly as possible. Only someone with a mind wired like Bai Liu’s could casually linger behind gathering information. Mu Ke simply didn’t possess the psychological stability necessary to remain calm after a near-death experience.
That terrible sensation after clearing the game—the feeling of having nothing to hold onto—reminded him of drowning in Siren Town.
Except this time, Bai Liu hadn’t been there to pull him out.
An environment without Bai Liu made Mu Ke deeply uneasy.
Ever since Bai Liu had dragged him out from the bottom of the sea, Mu Ke had developed an almost irrational psychological dependence on him. In Mu Ke’s subconscious, Bai Liu stood above the game itself. He had even bypassed the system’s restrictions to save him. That alone gave Mu Ke a sense of security unlike anything else.
Which was why, after nearly dying once again, his shattered nerves had instinctively driven him to log out directly into Bai Liu’s room.
Mu Ke was afraid of the league.
He knew it would be infinitely more dangerous than the solo instance he had barely survived. A newcomer like him would probably have a ninety percent chance of dying.
He blinked slowly, his tear-stained lashes lowering as his heartbeat accelerated.
Mu Ke understood very clearly that Bai Liu was cold by nature. He would not save him every single time. Even the previous rescue had only happened because Mu Ke still possessed value at the time—the Siren’s Amulet.
And that value had already been exhausted.
Bai Liu was not a good person.
But he was trustworthy.
Mu Ke lifted his gaze directly to Bai Liu, cautious and tentative like a small animal facing danger.
“If I follow you... will you promise to do your best to keep me alive in the game?”
Bai Liu answered patiently, almost gently:
“I promise.”
That was the foundation of all Mu Ke’s trust in him.
As long as Bai Liu gave his word, he had never broken it—no matter how desperate the situation became.
And Bai Liu had promised not to abandon him easily.
Even if the league sounded terrifying.
“Then...” Mu Ke carefully placed his hand into Bai Liu’s. His voice still carried the thick nasal tone of someone who had cried too hard, tinged with grievance and complaint. “I want to follow you into the league.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I don’t want to clear games alone anymore.”
Bai Liu lightly shook his hand before releasing it, signifying the establishment of their partnership.
“Alright,” he said mildly. “Understood.”
But the next second, that faintly gentle expression—the polished “business face” he used to coax people into cooperation—vanished entirely. Bai Liu immediately shifted into work mode.
“Then when can you be ready?” he asked. “Once we enter next time, there’s a high chance we won’t be coming back out for quite a while.”
His gaze swept over Mu Ke.
“You look like you need rest. And since you’ll essentially be disappearing for two months, you should probably inform the people around you.”
A pause.
“But we don’t have much time. I can give you one day at most to prepare. Can you manage?”
Mu Ke’s lips trembled slightly. He clearly wasn’t accustomed to being pushed into such an intense pace immediately after clearing a game, but beneath Bai Liu’s calm gaze, he still nodded quickly.
“...Okay.”
“Then go home for now.” Bai Liu picked up his phone and began calling the boss. While waiting for the call to connect, he looked back at Mu Ke. “I’ll have the boss pick you up. You have my address and number already. Once you’re ready tomorrow, call me.”
“You can either come directly, or I can pick you up. Which do you prefer?”
“Can... can I come find you?” Mu Ke asked carefully.
“Sure.” Bai Liu didn’t particularly care.
The boss arrived not long afterward.
This was already the second time he had come to Bai Liu’s tiny rental apartment to pick up little shàoyé Mu Ke. The first visit had made him a stranger; the second made him a regular.
Although his expression remained rather strange, he still greeted Bai Liu respectfully. But the moment he stepped inside and saw Mu Ke sitting red-eyed on the bed—looking like he had just cried himself senseless—the boss’s expression instantly twisted.
The poor little shàoyé even had marks around his wrists and ankles, as though he had been tied up.
But that wasn’t the most shocking thing.
What truly stunned the boss was the sight of a handsome but exhausted-looking male university student asleep at Bai Liu’s desk. Mu Shicheng had apparently fallen asleep waiting for Bai Liu and Mu Ke to finish talking. He wore clothes bearing his university emblem, while Bai Liu’s jacket had been draped over his shoulders. He looked utterly sleep-deprived, dark circles hanging beneath his eyes.
The boss slowly turned to look at Bai Liu—who also appeared slightly tired and sleep-deprived—and his entire expression became indescribable.
You beast.
How many men did you mess around with in one night?!
Bai Liu noticed the [N O V E L I G H T] boss’s increasingly distorted expression, but since he never bothered trying to interpret other people’s thoughts, he ignored him entirely and simply walked Mu Ke toward the door.
Mu Ke followed obediently, though he kept glancing back every few steps, clearly distracted. Remembering the deeply questionable scene he had just witnessed, the boss finally failed to suppress his curiosity.
After leaving Bai Liu’s apartment, he coughed twice and asked casually:
“Mu Ke... that university student in Bai Liu’s room just now—what’s his relationship with Bai Liu?”
“Oh, him.”
The moment Mu Ke heard Mu Shicheng mentioned, his mood instantly turned complicated—and sour.
He knew who Mu Shicheng was.
Fourth place on the New Star Points Leaderboard.
Stronger than him. More useful than him.
And obviously someone much closer to Bai Liu than he was.
Bai Liu’s attitude toward Mu Shicheng was completely different. After Mu Shicheng fell asleep, Bai Liu had even draped a jacket over him. When speaking afterward, he had unconsciously lowered his voice, as though afraid of waking him. When Mu Ke had glanced at Mu Shicheng a few extra times, Bai Liu had even explained that Mu Shicheng’s stamina had been severely depleted during the game and that he needed proper rest.
...Treatment Mu Ke himself had never received.
Used to being specially cared for by everyone around him, Mu Ke had already noticed Bai Liu’s lukewarm—and initially somewhat impatient—attitude toward him.
Compared to that, Bai Liu’s treatment of Mu Shicheng was clearly special.
And it left Mu Ke feeling strangely bitter.
He gave a small snort, indignant.
“Him? He’s just someone Bai Liu plays games with. Same as me. One day I’ll surpass him beside Bai Liu! I’ll make Bai Liu like playing games with me more! Starting tomorrow, I’ll be gaming with Bai Liu every day—there’s no way he can beat me!”
“...”
The boss listened in numb silence, internally shaken to the core.
Is the competition among you masochists really this intense?!
You’re even fighting over who gets to “play games” with him?!
And little shàoyé, do you really need to work this hard?! Can your body even handle playing games with Bai Liu every single day?!
“...You should still take care of your health,” the boss said awkwardly, his expression incredibly complicated. “That kind of activity is... physically exhausting. You should rest more lately.”
“I can’t.” Mu Ke looked gloomy and absent-minded. “Bai Liu gave me assignments for the next two months. I have to play games with him fifty times.”
He sighed mournfully.
“And they’re five-player games too. I don’t even know if my body can handle it. I’ve never played with multiple people before. And Bai Liu only gave me half a day to rest before we start...”
The boss froze completely.
“...”
This Master Bai Liu’s demands are fucking insane!
Fifty games in two months?!
And they’re multiplayer?!
Even corporate slaves get days off, but Bai Liu won’t even give Mu Ke time to recover. He actually expects him to work overtime participating in “multiplayer games” with him?!
What an absolute scumbag!
The boss concluded grimly:
This beast Bai Liu is literally running a 996 schedule.
