GRMFBS CH288

“Was he hidden away during those thirteen years of disappearance?” Ji Yueming asked.

“No, he simply vanished,” Ning Xi replied.

This was the calculated result: during those thirteen years, Bai Ze did not exist in this realm.

“Time, huh…” Ji Yueming murmured softly.

When Yan Yan reappeared in this world, he was merely a frail child without the strength to truss a chicken. Bai Ze had been near death back then; for him to reappear so safely despite being that weak meant he must have been shielded in some protected place throughout those thirteen years.

Was it the Candle Dragon?

The Candle Dragon had not yet awakened. Still, she hoped that by the time the Candle Dragon woke, everything would be resolved smoothly.

Monster Doctor was in the north.

Toward the west lay a vast grassland, wide and ideal for concealment.

Autumn had just arrived, yet the northern temperatures had plummeted rapidly following several heavy rains.

A slender young man sat out in the open, warming himself by a campfire; though he looked refined and scholarly, he possessed an inexplicable touch of neurotic mania.

He had not come here to hide, but specifically to wait for someone.

Monster Doctor knew full well that he had survived the Black Nest only because Infinite spared him. And Infinite spared him solely for his ability.

Infinite had gathered the rules of many worlds. Some rules were like hard-shelled seeds that could neither be cracked open nor digested. When planted inside living beings, as if encountering soil and water, the seeds would sprout and take root. Once grown to bear fruit, Infinite could feast upon them.

Monster Doctor’s Psychic Scalpel was also such a fruit. Infinite had plucked it without consuming it because he had once hooked an even grander fruit with this skill—Deep Shadow’s skill.

He had targeted Deep Shadow not merely because Deep Shadow’s skill could devour anomalies and grant longevity.

Many possessed skills to swallow anomalies, and many lived long lives. Yet very few deduced that Infinite treated players as a kitchen, and Deep Shadow was the only one capable of exploiting that connection to digest Infinite in reverse. Just as Deep Shadow had traced back into Monster Doctor’s psyche the moment the Psychic Scalpel established a link.

Deep Shadow truly lived up to being someone who could sit at the gambling table with Infinite.

Since Deep Shadow shared such a connection with Infinite, Monster Doctor believed he could use it to decipher Infinite’s secrets. Secrets equated to power. Once he uncovered Infinite’s secrets, he could wield its power; even if he could not control Infinite, he could at least break free from its grasp.

Unfortunately, Deep Shadow never trusted him.

In his quest to unearth Infinite’s secrets, Monster Doctor had acted far too ruthlessly in the past. He believed that at such a stage, caring about so-called “morality” and “justice” was laughable. At first, he was willing to feign benevolence to achieve his goals, but once those “personas” became more of an obstacle than a help, he abandoned them without hesitation. Sometimes, “fear” proved far more effective than “admiration.”

Who would have thought that among the players who survived Infinite and rose to the top, there would still be someone as stubbornly dense as Deep Shadow?

Monster Doctor felt profound regret over this.

If Deep Shadow had agreed to cooperate with him, perhaps they would have unearthed Infinite’s secrets long ago.

Perhaps entering Infinite at a young age made it easier to preserve an ill-timed streak of chuunibyou idealism.

Only then had Monster Doctor reluctantly attempted to control him with the Psychic Scalpel. That single act forged a mortal enmity between him and Deep Shadow. Yet later, it also became the bargaining chip that preserved his life from Infinite—Infinite wanted Deep Shadow as well. A player who dared to digest it in reverse and actually succeeded in doing so—how ravenous must Infinite be for the rules nourished by such a person?

Yet Infinite simply could not pluck this fruit. It needed shears capable of harvesting it, and it favored Monster Doctor, who had once wedged himself into Deep Shadow’s mental vulnerabilities.

Deep Shadow was like a monster; having suffered a loss once, he rarely fell for the same trick twice.

Even if it acquired Monster Doctor’s Psychic Scalpel, Infinite could hardly replicate his past feat of embedding himself into Deep Shadow’s mental flaws. Thus, it had to keep Monster Doctor alive.

Now, however, Monster Doctor was no longer particularly obsessed with Deep Shadow.

He had fixated on Deep Shadow previously to pry into Infinite’s secrets. But now, he possessed a far superior quarry.

“Path of Survival” was truly a wonderful skill.

The Chronicle of the World had scouted the path for him.

He had investigated that target for a long time, finally confirming that aside from Rong Sui, there were no other threats beside him.

It had not been in vain that he spent so much time and effort.

The young man stretched out his hands, slowly turning his palms over the campfire to warm them.

The firelight shone through his skin and bones; beneath the translucent, pink flesh, something writhed like a parasite.

The omniscient Bai Ze.

Heh.

With Bai Ze in hand, why waste any more time grinding against Deep Shadow?

Zhan Yan perched atop Gu Jiancheng’s pencil case, the antennae on his head twitching slightly in apparent distress.

Every two lines Gu Jiancheng wrote, he would look up at the exquisite moth on the pencil case, his gaze a mixture of longing, reluctance, and restless temptation.

How nice it would be if you perched on the tip of my pen; why did you have to fly over to the pencil case?

One glance was all Zhan Yan needed to know what Gu Jiancheng was thinking. Heh, keep dreaming. Do you have any idea how much your pen wobbles when you write? Wobble a bit more and I’ll treat you to a live performance of a moth throwing up.

Though young Xiao Gu’s eyes brimmed with longing and reluctance, whatever schemes he entertained vanished after turning a few circles in his mind.

From the very first moment he saw the moth, he couldn’t bear to harm its wings, foolishly holding out his finger and waiting.

Zhan Yan rested comfortably on the pencil case, completely ignoring the pen tip that paused before him every now and then.

Gu Jiancheng didn’t seem surprised by why the moth never left the kitchen either; whenever Zhan Yan landed on his hand or pen, he never attempted to carry him outside. He merely brought his homework over to write and took his phone in to play, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

A world consisting of only a single kitchen was plainly abnormal. Yet young Xiao Gu failed to notice.

Even Zhan Yan was beginning to lose track. Was he truly investigating information, or was he dreaming?

In the dream, those discordant, grayish-black bits of information surfaced once more. Flapping his wings with practiced ease, Zhan Yan flew over to purge them, then returned to the pencil case.

Young Xiao Gu’s eyes tracked the moth’s circle before settling back down.

For some reason, he always felt that every time the moth flew in a circle, he felt a bit more at ease. As if the “monster hiding under the bed” had been cleaned away.

Young Xiao Gu felt relaxed and cheerful, yet sheepish at the same time.

Honestly, how old am I now? Still believing in some ‘monster under the bed’?

The moth settled upon his shoulder, catching a clear view of young Xiao Gu’s reddened earlobes.

Zhan Yan began wondering whether his current size would allow him to crawl onto his ear.

The phone on the desk chimed.

As if finally finding an excuse, Gu Jiancheng flipped his phone open immediately.

The sender was a classmate sharing a wildly popular anime.

The classmate was ecstatic, claiming the main villain was insanely powerful and cool!

Gu Jiancheng scoffed, typing rapidly:

Gu Jiancheng: [Chuunibyou.]

Gu Jiancheng: [How old are you, still liking villains?]

The classmate shot back unconvinced:

Classmate: [Then who do you like?]

Gu Jiancheng: [What’s so great about being a villain?]

Gu Jiancheng: [If you’re going to be something, be a hero.]

Classmate: [Aren’t you chuunibyou too?]

Classmate: [You’re not just chuunibyou, you’re childish!]

Classmate: [Only little kids like heroes. We’re mature adults now.]

Gu Jiancheng: [Heh.]

Gu Jiancheng: [‘Mature adult.’]

Gu Jiancheng: [Have you finished your homework?]

Classmate: […]

Perched beside the phone, Zhan Yan openly watched young Xiao Gu bicker with his classmate over which character was cooler and stronger.

Gu Jiancheng hadn’t paid it any mind at first. It’s just a moth; could it possibly read?

After a while, however, Gu Jiancheng felt increasingly self-conscious. He scratched his hair.

Why does it always feel like this moth can actually understand?

Gu Jiancheng: [Not chatting anymore.]

Gu Jiancheng: [Going to do homework.]

Gu Jiancheng turned his phone face-down on the desk and truly began doing his homework.

Zhan Yan landed back on his pencil case, his antennae quivering gently.

He had never seen young Xiao Gu leave the kitchen. Young Xiao Gu would exit through the kitchen door. To Zhan Yan, that door resembled looking at a backlit world from a dim space—nothing but a hazy white glare and blurry shadows. Whenever young Xiao Gu departed, he too turned into a fuzzy black silhouette in Zhan Yan’s eyes.

When he returned, it was as if he had already completed going to school, returning home, bathing, eating, and everything else. This kitchen felt like a compilation of every single kitchen scene clipped from Xiao Gu’s life.

Zhan Yan suspected this was a dungeon. Monster Doctor was very likely lurking in some corner of the dungeon, waiting for a chance to harm young Xiao Gu.

Tense as a drawn bowstring, he stood ready at any moment to help young Xiao Gu pummel Monster Doctor. And so he stayed braced… all the way until young Xiao Gu was about to enter university. Zhan Yan cleared out those anomalous bits of information every day, yet never once caught sight of Monster Doctor.

Where did Monster Doctor go?

Gu Jiancheng slid a card forward, gently nudging the moth’s feet. Instinctively stepping forward onto the card, Zhan Yan was lifted up by Gu Jiancheng.

He never seemed to think there was anything strange about keeping a moth that lived this long.

“I’m off to university,” the slightly older young Xiao Gu announced to the moth with jubilant excitement.

Zhan Yan fluttered his wings. For some reason, looking into young Xiao Gu’s bright black eyes, he felt a sense of bewilderment lurking behind that jubilance.

Not the uncertainty of facing a new chapter in life, but… a hard-to-describe bewilderment that made one’s heart ache.

“I got into the best medical university around here,” young Xiao Gu continued sharing the good news. He licked his lips and smiled even wider.

Zhan Yan went still. He remembered.

Xiao Gu had once told him:

“In the past… I wanted to study human medicine.”

Zhan Yan could still recall Xiao Gu’s slightly dazed smile at that moment. That expression was neither having achieved a cherished dream, nor having gained and lost it.

That expression was having never obtained it at all.

Xiao Gu had been dragged into Infinite before even starting university!

The moth’s wings and antennae trembled with rage.

Infinite is truly a monster!

“Hey,” young Xiao Gu, still immersed in the dungeon, gently touched the moth’s antennae. “Are you happy for me?”

He was still smiling, a contented smile of dreams realized.

Yet the subconscious sense that something was wrong left a trail of bewilderment in the depths of his eyes. Under the lamplight, those bright black eyes looked as if they were glistening with tears.

Zhan Yan took flight and landed on Gu Jiancheng’s nose. His light, soft wings gently brushed against the corners of Gu Jiancheng’s eyes.

A fabricated future always passed quickly. Xiao Gu would step out that door, and by the time he stepped back in, a semester had flown by.

Every time he returned, he wore a bright smile; occasionally he would grumble about professors, classmates, or coursework, but his smile was always filled with contentment. Yet the bewilderment and unease in his eyes grew steadily heavier.

One year, two years.

In the dream, the nineteen-year-old Xiao Gu slumped over the kitchen counter, gazing at the moth before him, and suddenly asked:

“Have you ever heard the story of a man who dreamed he was a butterfly?”

Zhan Yan twitched his curled antennae.

Gu Jiancheng poked at them: “I told it to you while doing homework before. You definitely know it.”

Helpless, Zhan Yan fluttered his wings.

Satisfied, Gu Jiancheng smiled: “I knew you knew.”

He went quiet for a moment, staring at the moth’s translucent wings, and asked again:

“Why a moth?”

Zhan Yan sighed. I want to know why a moth too.

What could a tiny moth do? One gentle pinch from someone’s fingers, and it dies.

Back when using Di Ting’s perspective, he could at least grab Xiao Gu by the scruff and bolt. Even as a cat or a dog, he could do so much more. But as a moth, he couldn’t help with anything.

Gu Jiancheng carefully touched the moth’s dreamlike wings, the light in his dark eyes dimming:

“Why do you stay in the kitchen all the time?”

“Others dream of becoming beautiful butterflies, so why am I a moth?”

Thirteen years of dreams shattered.

The person trapped in the cocoon tore it open, only to find himself still inside the kitchen.

Breaking from the cocoon into a pupa had merely granted a glimpse of the truth.

Xiao Gu, his eyes dimmed, stood up covered in wounds from battering the kitchen to pieces.

Shattering the second layer of the dungeon, the one emerging from the pupa had not become a beautiful butterfly, but a moth.

The moth caught sight of a flame.

Like the Little Match Girl seeing food, shelter, and home within the firelight.

Why does a moth plunge into a flame?

Because within the flame, it saw something it was willing to trade its life for.

Was it an illusion? He didn’t know.

Yet perhaps, if he staked everything, he could turn that illusion into reality?

One who wishes to throw themselves into the flame must first submerge into the deepest shadows.

The stellar core hidden beneath the shadows had been burning all along.

Gu Jiancheng jolted awake from his dream.

The dorm room was very quiet, filled only with the breathing of his roommates.

Zhan Yan’s breathing was distinct, pulling him toward it like a magnet.

Is Yan Yan awake?

Gu Jiancheng held his breath involuntarily.

Zhan Yan’s breathing was somewhat rapid, sounding deeply distressed.

Panic instantly seized Gu Jiancheng.

“Yan Yan?” he called out softly.

“Mmh,” Zhan Yan answered in a faint breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just had a dream.”

Gu Jiancheng wasn’t sure if he misheard, but he felt Zhan Yan’s whispered tone held a slight nasal thickness, as if he were on the verge of tears.

Wanting to hold him, Gu Jiancheng rolled over, causing the iron bed frame to creak. He stopped instinctively.

Dorm rooms truly were inconvenient. Biting his lip, Gu Jiancheng was about to move again when rustling sounds came from above.

Zhan Yan reached his hand through the railing at the head of the bed.

“Xiao Gu…”

Gu Jiancheng grabbed his hand immediately.

Both hands were warm; both pairs of eyes were open in the dark.

The ceiling was black, the air silent; the hand clasped in his palm was soft and steady, pulling him out of the dream in an instant.

Gu Jiancheng let out a slow breath, his heart settling into peace.