Reality
Yu Li glanced at the bracelet but wasn’t interested.
She tugged at Ying Yan’s sleeve and carefully examined her, making sure there were no injuries, before finally relaxing.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her senior, but over this period, she had noticed that Ying Yan was the type to report only the good news and keep the bad to herself.
Even if injured, she would act as if nothing had happened.
Zhuang Ji, having settled his personal grudges, returned to his initial cold and reserved demeanor.
He wanted to express concern, but the words forming in his mind were repeatedly revised and deleted, never reaching what he considered the perfect version.
Facing someone he wasn’t very close to required too much consideration; it was easier to be natural around family.
Moreover, he had even developed a rare sense of curiosity, wanting to leave a good impression.
After much deliberation, the three of them left the cinema and separated at the bus stop.
As Yu Li waved goodbye to Ying Yan, Zhuang Ji realized that the carefully prepared words he had rehearsed had missed the optimal moment and now seemed inappropriate.
He was slightly frustrated but said nothing.
After bidding farewell to her beloved senior, Yu Li noticed that her older brother seemed a bit displeased.
She half-heartedly said, “Brother, you’re already this grown up—don’t be jealous. I promise Senior won’t forget you.”
Zhuang Ji gave her a look meant to convey his feelings, planning to “retrain” his interpersonal skills.
His mischievous little sister only transformed into a considerate one, serving tea and attending to him, around the New Year—instantly understanding his intentions with a single glance.
But that was only for the red envelopes; otherwise, her true nature was fully revealed.
Ying Yan, boarding the bus, was still pondering the “special reward” she had received and didn’t notice Zhuang Ji sneakily glancing at her conflicted little eyes as she left.
The bracelet felt icy to the touch; its three chicken-blood stones were vividly red, almost dazzling.
Staring at them too long could even cause slight dizziness.
As if fearing she wouldn’t know how to use it, once her fingers touched the chicken-blood stone bracelet, a flood of information poured into her mind.
In short, the bracelet was a “special reward” capable of withstanding three fatal attacks.
If it absorbed enough fresh blood, there was a chance it could form a new chicken-blood stone, possessing the same effect as the original stones.
While providing protection, it also tempted the wearer toward malicious thoughts.
Ying Yan rarely tested human nature.
Although Yu Li and Zhuang Ji had shown trustworthy character, she still chose to conceal part of the bracelet’s “dangerous” information, only showing them the movie ticket.
This movie ticket was different from one purchased online; a line of gold-embossed small letters read: This ticket is unique, non-transferable, non-sellable, and can replace any task within one year.
These details meant she needed to watch a movie within a year to give the white porcelain sculpture a satisfactory answer.
Though the ticket didn’t explicitly state the consequences of skipping the viewing, betraying the mysterious and dangerous white porcelain sculpture would certainly lead to a horrific death.
Ying Yan put the bracelet and movie ticket away, got off the bus, and went to the market first, buying fresh chicken, duck, and fish.
She haggled successfully to get a cage as a gift from the vendor.
Back at her neatly arranged small apartment, she barely cleared some space and grabbed the flapping chicken.
With a swift cut, she killed it cleanly, placed a bowl of blood, and dropped in the bracelet.
Then she covered the bowl with plastic wrap and remembered to put the chicken into the fridge as food.
After finishing, Ying Yan managed to wash up and climbed into bed to sleep.
A faint metallic smell lingered in the room, gradually fading into the dark night, almost disappearing when drifting out the window.
The next day, at eleven o’clock, Ying Yan woke up to her stubborn biological clock.
She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then took her notebook to observe the bracelet that had soaked in the blood overnight.
The blood in the bowl had not changed, and no new chicken-blood stones had appeared.
Ying Yan lowered her head and crossed out “chicken” in her notebook, planning to eat stir-fried chicken chunks for lunch.
Her rented apartment was small but “fully functional.”
Just a few steps out of the bedroom was a miniature kitchen, with the fridge squeezed in tightly, barely fitting between the countertop and ceiling.
After lunch, Ying Yan sharpened her knife and turned her attention to the duck.
Unlike fish that could remain in a basin, chickens and ducks needed care, and their presence affected the air quality in the small apartment.
Soon, the duck was gone peacefully, the blood in the bowl was refreshed, and the bracelet continued soaking.
She had no classes today, but Ying Yan was not idle.
After completing the “midnight viewing,” the next task was eight days away.
She needed to carefully plan how to use this downtime efficiently.
First, attend school classes as much as possible, and not neglect part-time work.
Her bank balance was low and required purchasing necessary items, such as materials to study the bracelet and sharp weapons.
Second, increase daily exercise to regain her previous abilities.
Even if she couldn’t fully reach them in a short time, increased strength and endurance had only benefits.
Lastly, Ying Yan pressed her fingers against the pen, lowered her eyes, and carefully considered how to implement the ideas in her mind in advance.
The Strange APP didn’t allow information exchange, but she planned to find a method that achieved a similar effect.
It wasn’t something she could accomplish overnight; she lacked a team, funding, and publicity.
The only things she wasn’t short on were technical skill and materials.
In the afternoon, while still contemplating her plan, she appeared at the Somnus Café.
The scene before her made her pause, feeling a surreal sense of absurdity.
A young man leaned against the bar, black hair messy, long bandages wrapped around his neck and arms.
A plaster covered his left cheek, giving his originally handsome face a rough, fierce edge.
His head was slightly lowered, exuding a “not happy at all” melancholy.
Ying Yan knew how much the owner treasured that almost celebrity-like face; after all, he often bragged, “The husband’s beauty, the wife’s pride.”
A facial injury was catastrophic for someone with a top-tier love-brain.
As for why she knew the owner had such a love-focused mindset, it went back to when she first met him.
She had wanted a job with high freedom and came across Somnus Café’s job posting.
To her disbelief, they weren’t hiring servers but emotional consultants.
At that time, the owner was immersed in the bitterness of love, anxious and fixated on his first love, ignoring the café entirely.
Ying Yan was drawn to the café’s location and went for the interview, thinking, “Might as well try.”
Though inexperienced in romance, after hearing the owner describe his first love, she felt confident.
When it came to romance and poetry, she was hopeless.
A suitor who had once admired her had mocked her as a “wooden-headed flirt” after being rejected.
But she knew exactly how to deal with a “tsundere.”
In the end, everyone was happy: the owner found love, and she secured a satisfying job.
Now, Ying Yan chose her words carefully, trying to understand what had happened without hurting the owner’s fragile heart.
“Boss, were you robbed?”
Well, not very tactful.
Hearing this, Wei Xiqing at the bar straightened up and said, “No, I just watched a movie. I didn’t expect it to be so sinister there, attacking my face so cruelly.”
If A Yang saw this, not only would she worry, it would damage his perfect image.
This was pure love-brain behavior, unmatched.
Ying Yan paused before asking, “Midnight viewing?”
Wei Xiqing immediately straightened and said, “You also…”
Ying Yan nodded.
The Strange APP limited posts, but those in the know could still communicate online and offline, though details were often blurry.
Wei Xiqing tried to recount his specific experience but realized Ying Yan couldn’t hear, so he gave up.
He leaned lazily against the bar and said, “Forget it, I created a group for unlucky folks with the Strange APP on their phones. Join, and I’ll cover you.”
Ying Yan gave him a skeptical look and said bluntly, “Boss, I don’t think you’re up to it.”
Wei Xiqing was struck in the chest by the comment and said, “Don’t underestimate me. Last night was just an accident. I’m trained—I can handle two or three adult men easily.”
Doubt lingered in Ying Yan’s eyes.
She took out her phone with a boss-like aura and said, “Scan to join my group; I’ll cover you.”
After all, the boss was linked to work, so it had to be taken seriously.
Wei Xiqing studied her carefully, and from any angle, she looked like a fragile little girl.
Though judging by appearance isn’t ideal, he had checked her background and confirmed she came from a normal family.
“Stop joking. I’ll add you to the group, so you have support for missions later.”
Ying Yan’s expression was blank. “I’m not joking. You should be honest with the boss lady. If she gets targeted by the APP too, no one to help her—it could go badly.”
Wei Xiqing’s expression grew serious.
He had only been thinking about not worrying A Yang, neglecting the possibility Ying Yan mentioned.
“Today we’ll close early. Salary as usual. I need to go home for a bit.”
No work, salary still paid.
Ying Yan’s eyes lit up at this unexpected luck.
She didn’t fuss with the boss, happily joined the group, and returned to her small apartment.
By evening, the blood in the bowl hadn’t decreased at all.
Ying Yan crossed out “duck” in her notebook, just as she was about to deal with the “fish,” when a faint light emerged from the bracelet.
A long red ribbon fell to the floor, and the room’s light illuminated a broken white porcelain face.
A light, floating sigh sounded, carrying the tone of an elder’s tolerant exasperation toward a junior.
“No need to try shortcuts; they won’t work. To gain divine protection, the sacrifice must be human. The total blood volume must exceed 4.5 liters.”
Seeming to see Ying Yan’s small plan, the white porcelain sculpture’s gentle voice explained:
“It cannot be crowdsourced; it must come from the same person. The deity dislikes dishonest trickery.”
“Oh, it can’t be lent to others either. That’s fine, I simply don’t like it.”
“The deity only favors clever children.”