Looking at Mu Ke, who simply would not stop crying, Bai Liu tried several times to calm him down, but nothing worked. In the end, Bai Liu even resorted to saying, “I’m ordering you to stop crying.” Mu Ke managed to clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, but tears still streamed steadily from his eyes. He looked miserably pitiful, shoulders trembling with suppressed sobs, and clearly wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.
Mu Ke had never considered himself much of a crybaby. But for some reason, the moment he saw Bai Liu, he felt like a child who had finally found the parent he could complain to after suffering a terrible grievance. And because that “parent” permitted him to vent his emotions, the tears simply wouldn’t stop coming.
It was embarrassing, yes—but he genuinely couldn’t control it.
Lowering his head in humiliation, Mu Ke nevertheless felt an odd, subtle sense of happiness beneath the shame.
Bai Liu gave up trying to deal with the quietly sobbing Mu Ke and turned instead to Liu Huai, whose expression had become rather difficult to describe.
Liu Huai’s face practically read: [So this is how you usually comfort your teammates?]
Bai Liu pretended not to notice. In the calm, businesslike tone he used whenever discussing plans, he smoothly changed the subject.
“Let’s discuss our next move.”
Liu Huai’s expression immediately turned serious. He looked at Bai Liu with complicated emotions swirling in his eyes. After witnessing Bai Liu’s entire process of “comforting” Mu Ke, he couldn’t help sighing in exasperation.
“I still can’t believe you talked me into this so easily. If I join your team, I’ll be making enemies of Miao Feichi and the others. Even if I clear this game alive, there’ll be endless trouble afterward.”
“But if you don’t join me,” Bai Liu replied evenly, “then you and your meimei will have difficulty even surviving this game.”
He lifted his gaze slightly.
“And Liu Jiayi will most likely end up either sacrificed for blood or eaten by Miao Feichi.”
Persuading Liu Huai had actually been very simple for Bai Liu. From the beginning, pulling Liu Huai onto his side had been the most straightforward option available.
The monsters inside Mu Ke’s room had already revived. Mu Shicheng’s speed-skill effects had been completely exhausted, which meant that if Bai Liu wanted to rescue Mu Ke himself, he would have to charge back into the ICU while surrounded by nurses.
Obviously, Bai Liu couldn’t manage that alone.
Nor could he send Miao Feichi in again. While it wasn’t impossible to manipulate them into moving, Miao Feichi’s skills had already drained his stamina bar dry. Like Bai Liu’s own exhausted state, that kind of stamina depletion couldn’t be restored with recovery agents, meaning Miao Feichi wouldn’t act recklessly again. At best, Bai Liu might have been able to trick Miao Gaojiang—a player with high defense but poor mobility—into going.
But for someone who needed to escape quickly, Miao Gaojiang was useless.
What Bai Liu needed was a player with excellent movement speed, strong concealment and escape abilities, and—most importantly—someone weak enough to control easily.
There was no better candidate than Liu Huai.
Liu Huai’s ward was located on the same fifth floor as Miao Feichi’s group, and finding him had been extremely easy. There were only three “investor” patients on that floor: Miao Feichi, Miao Gaojiang, and Liu Huai.
The wards assigned to “investors” had different markings. Excluding the rooms occupied by Miao Feichi and Miao Gaojiang, the remaining ward naturally belonged to Liu Huai.
And with both Liu Jiayi and the Life-Saving Remedy as bargaining chips, Bai Liu hadn’t needed even a minute to persuade him.
Liu Huai leaned back and collapsed onto the hospital bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling blurred by rising steam.
“You said Jiayi would become prey for us ‘investors’?” he asked hoarsely. “That we need children’s blood to water the beds so we can survive?”
“Two things in that statement are inaccurate.” Bai Liu calmly corrected him. “First, strictly speaking, it’s not the blood itself that keeps you alive. The blood nourishes the bed, which grows the Blood Lingzhi. What actually keeps you alive is consuming the Blood Lingzhi produced afterward.”
Bai Liu lightly patted the bed beneath Liu Huai.
“For terminally ill patients like you, those children are simply the raw material used to create the Life-Saving Remedy.”
Liu Huai lifted an arm to cover his eyes, lips pressed tightly together as though he were trying to avoid facing reality itself.
Bai Liu raised two fingers.
“Second,” he continued calmly, “Liu Jiayi isn’t merely a target for the ‘investors.’ Her blindness also puts her at a disadvantage among the children themselves.”
His tone remained slow and measured.
“You know there’s also a minor version of Miao Feichi among the children. According to my little friend, that child likes eating other children’s flesh. Apparently, he’s particularly fond of trailing after Liu Jiayi, drooling.”
“A blind little girl like Liu Jiayi is disadvantaged in every possible way. For Xiao Miao Feichi, she’s the ideal target.”
“In other words,” Bai Liu concluded flatly, “your meimei is prey on both sides.”
Liu Huai’s fists slowly tightened.
After a long moment, he lowered the arm covering his eyes and looked directly at Bai Liu.
Meanwhile, Bai Liu continued as though discussing nothing more significant than the weather.
“And I can guarantee that my little friend will protect your meimei. The reason Liu Jiayi successfully contacted you tonight was because my little friend protected her.”
He paused.
“I told you before: Liu Jiayi is also the child my friend wants to adopt.”
Liu Huai inhaled deeply before sitting upright. Crossing his legs atop the bed, he fixed his eyes on Bai Liu.
“I believe you now,” he said quietly. “So what’s the plan?”
“The game’s overall logic is mostly clear at this point.”
Bai Liu leaned back casually, opened the drawer of Liu Huai’s bedside table, and pulled out a pen. Then he tore a mostly blank flyleaf from a nearby book and lowered his head to begin writing.
When analyzing things, Bai Liu preferred concise notes.
The pen tapped lightly against the paper as he wrote several keywords:
[Level 2 Game]
[50–80]
While writing, he explained:
“‘Love Welfare Home’ is a Level 2 game with a minimum mortality rate of fifty percent. The game divides our health values into two identities—‘Adults’ and ‘Children’—with each side occupying fifty percent of the total.”
He wrote two separate [50]s and drew arrows pointing against each other between them.
“But these two identity lines were never designed to cooperate. Since the game only permits fifty percent of players to survive, the more logical conclusion is that we—and the children sharing our health bars—exist in direct opposition.”
That was why Bai Liu had remained wary of Bai Six from the very beginning.
Because, in a sense—
“We are enemies of those children.”
Bai Liu looked up indifferently at the dark-faced Liu Huai.
“And the existence of the Life-Saving Remedy ultimately confirmed my theory.”
“If the ‘investors’ want to survive, they must extract blood from their corresponding children. Based on the timeline in the Mother Goose nursery rhyme—”
He recited calmly:
“‘Born on Monday,
Christened on Tuesday,
Married on Wednesday,
Fell ill on Thursday,
Worsened on Friday,
Died on Saturday,
Buried on Sunday.’”
“We have to extract the blood before the children reach the ‘illness’ stage on Thursday. Otherwise, once that stage passes, we’ll die within a day.”
He wrote:
[DDL: 3 Days]
“The reverse applies to the children as well. They need to escape Love Welfare Home before Thursday in order to avoid being bled dry. Their core objective is escaping the orphanage.”
Bai Liu tapped the pen lightly against the page, deep in thought.
“Actually, I think Bai Six—my younger self—had already realized the adversarial relationship between us. But when I deliberately handed him my weakness earlier, he understood what I intended to do.”
“And because he gained the ability to kill me whenever he wanted, he ultimately chose cooperation instead.”
Liu Huai stared blankly at Bai Liu’s remaining six health points.
Then he looked into Bai Liu’s eyes.
Calm. Motionless. Like still water.
And in that instant, Liu Huai understood exactly what Bai Liu intended to do.
“I’ll ask you one last time,” Bai Liu said, lifting his eyes toward him. “Can you give up your life for your meimei?”
His tone was so calm it scarcely sounded like he was discussing life and death at all.
“Mu Ke and I are both nearly out of health. I assume you’ve already seen the policy on our side.”
Bai Liu spoke with complete composure.
“We protect the weak, not the strong.”
The reason Bai Six had ultimately chosen to trust him was precisely because Bai Liu had been willing to sacrifice himself so Bai Six could survive. To accomplish that, Bai Liu had willingly exposed the very weakness that allowed Bai Six to kill him effortlessly.
And Bai Six understood that.
He was intrigued by Bai Liu’s irrational willingness to devote and sacrifice himself completely.
That was exactly the reaction Bai Liu wanted.
No one understood better than Bai Liu how to earn the trust of his fourteen-year-old self.
To do so, he needed to become someone like Lu Yizhan—someone capable of sacrificing himself without hesitation for Bai Liu’s sake.
The fourteen-year-old Bai Liu trusted people like Lu Yizhan because he knew one thing with certainty:
If forced to choose between hurting himself or hurting Bai Liu, Lu Yizhan would always choose himself.
And so, in this game, the fourteen-year-old Bai Six trusted the current “investor” Bai Liu.
Bai Liu had transformed himself into Bai Six’s own version of “Lu Yizhan”—someone who would devote himself entirely to Bai Six, even at the cost of his own life.
Liu Huai’s expression shifted repeatedly, emotions flickering across his face one after another.
But Bai Liu acted as though he noticed none of it. He merely lowered his gaze again and continued analyzing the paper in his hands.
Completely unmoved by Liu Huai’s emotional turmoil, Bai Liu continued in the same detached tone:
“Also, if simply drawing blood from a single child were enough to grow a Blood Lingzhi capable of saving someone, then this game’s mortality rate wouldn’t make sense.”
As he spoke, he wrote:
[6] → [3]
“This is a Level 2 game with a mortality range between fifty and eighty percent. In a six-player death match, that means the expected death count should fall somewhere between three and 4.8 players.”
A few swift strokes later, he sketched a crude little girl on the page.
“But this dungeon contains a special variable,” Bai Liu said. “There’s also a player among the children.”
“Liu Jiayi.”
The moment Liu Jiayi’s name was mentioned, Liu Huai’s gaze locked onto Bai Liu’s face.
Bai Liu continued without pause.
“In a situation where only five children are available as blood sources, and assuming the minimum mortality rate of fifty percent applies, then at least three players must die.”
“If Liu Jiayi dies during blood extraction and occupies one of those death slots, and if all surviving players happen to be ‘investors’...”
He wrote:
[Maximum Investor Clearance Efficiency]
“Then, under the most ideal conditions possible for the investors, a maximum of three investors can survive.”
“Based on that ratio, and under the assumption of a fifty-percent mortality rate, one investor likely requires the blood of approximately 1.6 children in order to clear the game.”
Bai Liu wrote:
[1.6]
Then calmly circled both the [1] and the decimal [.6] separately.
His gaze remained calm and steady.
“So,” Bai Liu said, “who is the [1], and who is the [0.6]? The game has already made the answer fairly obvious.”
“The child we invested in is our core blood source—the [1]. By using the blood of the child tied to us, plus approximately 0.6 of another child’s blood to nourish the bed, we can cultivate a Blood Lingzhi capable of maximizing symptom relief for a terminal patient.”
Calmly, Bai Liu drew an X across the [1.6].
“But I’ve already ruled out this approach. The cost-performance ratio is too poor.”
He tapped the paper lightly.
“Under the most efficient conditions possible for an investor to clear the game, approximately 1.6 children are required per surviving investor. In other words, if one investor is sacrificed instead of drawing blood, then 1.6 children can be saved.”
He spoke with matter-of-fact indifference.
“We bloodsucking adults are worth far less than the children surviving. Protecting them yields a much higher clearance efficiency.”
As he spoke, Bai Liu casually drew a shield around the crude sketch representing Liu Jiayi. Then he looked up at Liu Huai.
“So in the end, I chose to prioritize preserving the children’s side of the health bar. This so-called Life-Saving Remedy is meaningless to Mu Ke and me. We won’t be following that main quest.”
After saying this, Bai Liu paused. His unreadable gaze settled on Liu Huai’s pale face.
“But your situation is different.”
“Mu Ke and I chose to sacrifice ourselves for our younger selves, but if the plan succeeds, we ourselves won’t actually die. We can still clear the game.”
“But you, Liu Huai...” Bai Liu looked quietly at the silent man before him. “You and Liu Jiayi are two independent individuals standing on opposing sides. If you choose to protect Liu Jiayi first, then there’s a very high probability you’ll die from blood deficiency.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“So what will you choose?”
It was an unimaginably cruel question.
Yet when Bai Liu asked it, there was no trace of cruelty in his tone—only calm curiosity.
He watched Liu Huai with focused seriousness, but there was also something else in his gaze: the detached scrutiny of someone observing a lifeform fundamentally different from himself.
How far could Liu Huai really go for his meimei?
Could the love he spoke of truly reach the point where a person, like that strange man Lu Yizhan, would willingly surrender all of their own interests for such an irrational emotion?
Especially for someone like Liu Huai, whose desire to survive was so strong.
Bai Liu thought about it absentmindedly as the tip of his pen tapped rhythmically against the shield drawn around Liu Jiayi’s figure. Soon, clusters of black dots spread across the shield like stains of shadow.
Liu Huai sat rigidly beside the bed like a silent plant incapable of speech.
The daggers hanging from his hands remained motionless, but his breathing had become frighteningly rapid.
Bai Liu quickly withdrew his gaze.
On Liu Huai’s face, he had seen naked struggle and terror—fear so intense it twisted his features. It was the fear of approaching death, of something inevitable and uncontrollable.
And that fear was genuine.
That hesitation was genuine.
In that instant, the “love” Liu Huai had repeatedly spoken about—the love that supposedly allowed him to sacrifice everything for Liu Jiayi—suddenly seemed, to Bai Liu, almost like a performance born from self-indulgent sentimentality.
Very quickly, Bai Liu lost interest.
He looked away indifferently.
So it was still the same after all.
He had thought he might glimpse something in Liu Huai that he himself could never understand—something like what existed in Lu Yizhan.
But in the end, it was no different.
Just like countless declarations of “I love you” and “I’d give everything for you” that people chewed over endlessly in their mouths like sugarcane fiber.
After all the sweetness had been sucked dry, what remained when they spat it out were only tasteless dregs.
The sweetness had always been for themselves alone.
What they handed to others was merely saliva-soaked residue from their own self-infatuation—worthless scraps that crumbled apart the moment they were # Nоvеlight # touched.
People were selfish in the end.
Bai Liu spoke lazily.
“If you want to clear the game as an investor, I can also ask Bai Six to help you extract—”
“Bai Liu.”
Liu Huai abruptly interrupted him.
“If I die... will your friend really adopt Jiajia?”
Bai Liu looked up.
Fear still lingered on Liu Huai’s face, along with a faint, deeply buried anxiety.
He looked like an animal being forcibly separated from its young.
There was an almost neurotic unease in his expression.
“Jiajia can’t see, and she’s very attached to me. I’m afraid she won’t live well alone after I’m gone.” Liu Huai lowered his eyes slightly. “Your friend seems like a good person. I think he’d take proper care of her.”
“If possible... could you also help find a way to cure her eyes...”
This university student who hadn’t even graduated yet suddenly began listing precautions for raising a child.
The scene felt strangely incongruous.
For a moment, he resembled not a college student at all, but a weary parent like Liu Fu or Xiang Chunhua.
The fear on Liu Huai’s face never faded.
But every word he spoke revolved entirely around Liu Jiayi.
Compared to his own death, what terrified him more seemed to be the possibility that Liu Jiayi would suffer after he was gone.
“She doesn’t like sleeping alone at night,” Liu Huai murmured softly. “She has a little teddy bear I made for her. It’s old, but it’s her favorite. If you take her out of the welfare home, remember to bring it with her.”
“She doesn’t talk much usually, but she’s very well-behaved. She just gets scared if things stay quiet for too long. If that happens, just turn on the television for her.”
“She likes hamsters too... but she doesn’t know her own strength. Don’t buy her one. If it dies, she’ll cry horribly...”
Bai Liu remained silent for a very long time.
Then he looked at Liu Huai and interrupted him.
“So you’ve really decided to sacrifice yourself for your meimei?”
Liu Huai fell quiet for a second.
“There’s nothing to think about.”
His voice was low but steady.
“The only reason I entered this game was so she could have a brighter future someday.”
“But before anything else... she has to stay alive.”
Liu Huai’s thoughts were frighteningly clear.
He looked at Bai Liu and forced out an ugly, bitter smile.
“Bai Liu, if I were as strong as you or Mu Shicheng, maybe things would be different.”
“But I’m not.”
“I can’t give her a brighter future anymore. But there are still things I can do.”
His voice trembled slightly.
“I can trade my life for hers.”
“That’s the only thing left that I can still do for her.”
Then, as if finally exhausted, Liu Huai let out a long breath.
“Actually... death isn’t that hard to accept.”
His shoulders slumped weakly.
He shook his head in a daze, muttering softly as though trying to comfort himself.
“I already knew this day would come eventually after entering this game.”
“It’s just... Jiajia still doesn’t have anyone reliable by her side.”
“And she’s never even seen what I look like.”
“I just... can’t accept that.”
But unwillingness changed nothing.
Inside this game, if he lived, Liu Jiayi would die.
This cruel world gave him no room to resist that reality.
“If killing anyone at all could let me survive...” Liu Huai murmured hoarsely, “then no matter who it was, I think I would’ve done it...”
His voice trailed off.
For a long time, he said nothing more.
Tears slid silently from the corners of Liu Huai’s eyes and splashed onto the daggers clenched tightly in his hands.
Once, he had used those very daggers in an attempt to kill his closest friend simply to survive.
But in the end—
he met someone he could not betray.
Bai Liu didn’t interrupt him.
Liu Huai sat beside the bed that was meant to be nourished with fresh blood, his pale face resembling that of a corpse already prepared for burial. The hand gripping the dagger trembled faintly.
Bai Liu found it strangely amusing.
Only now was Liu Huai finally beginning to fear death.
When faced with the certainty of dying, Liu Huai’s first thought had been Liu Jiayi.
Only afterward had he thought of himself.
That instinctive emotional priority was something Bai Liu genuinely found incomprehensible.
Liu Huai lowered his head with a miserable smile. He clenched his fists tightly, inhaled deeply, and finally looked up again.
“Bai Liu,” he said quietly, “I remember your personal skill is called ‘Trade.’”
“If I die... I can give you something extremely valuable.”
He looked utterly drained.
Exhaustion seeped from every inch of him, and his face carried a strange hollowness that resembled liberation.
Fear and tears still lingered in his eyes.
He grabbed Bai Liu’s hand, his voice breaking.
“But only if you help me...”
“Help Liu Jiayi see again, right?” Bai Liu finished calmly.
He glanced at Liu Huai’s exhausted, desperate face before shifting his gaze away again.
“Wait until you’re actually dying before bringing it up.”
“I don’t make empty trades.”
