I picked up a boyfriend in the infinite game

Song Guicheng was plunged into an impenetrable darkness. The darkness was not like the inky black of night, but rather like solidified wet mud, heavily enveloping his limbs. Every movement was accompanied by sluggish resistance, and even breathing felt suffocating in his chest, as if a cold stone was pressing down on him.

Just a few steps away from the clinic, Little Flower, who had been obediently curled up at his neck, suddenly slipped off his shoulder. Her light pink paper skirt shimmered in the dim light, and her short legs moved quickly, running towards a narrow, dark crevice by the wall.

Song Guicheng knew Xiaohua's habits all too well; she would only be in such a hurry when she discovered a special clue, and would never run around aimlessly. He followed her almost without hesitation.

But as soon as he took the third step, he suddenly felt a sense of weightlessness under his feet, as if he had stepped on a thin film or as if the ground had suddenly cracked open.

Song Guicheng's pupils contracted slightly, his body instinctively leaning forward, strands of hair whipping across his face. His fingertips tried to grab the base of the wall beside him, but only encountered a cold, dark void. A dizzying sensation instantly enveloped him; the sounds of the wind and the voices of people in the alley disappeared, leaving only deathly silence.

When he opened his eyes again, he was already trapped in endless darkness.

Song Guicheng tried to raise his hand. He could feel his arm moving, but he couldn't see any outline of it. Even his skin color seemed to be swallowed up in the darkness.

He tried to touch the small flower on his shoulder, but his fingertips only grasped at nothingness.

"Xiao Hua?" Song Guicheng called softly, his voice spreading in the darkness, but he received no response. Only his own echo swirled in his ears before being swallowed by the darkness again.

His vision completely failed here. Even though his five senses were far superior to those of ordinary people, he could only see the boundless blackness in front of him. Even when he stretched his hand out in front of him, it seemed to merge into the darkness, and he could not see any outline. Even the touch of the ground was so blurry that it felt like stepping on cotton.

His sense of smell was amplified to an extreme degree. The rich stench of blood mixed with the sour smell of rotting flesh rushed into his nostrils like a tide, as if countless rotting corpses were piled up around him. Even the air became sticky and felt icy cold against his skin.

Song Guicheng tried to mobilize the faint "eternal" power within his body. A faint warmth emanated from his fingertips, but he couldn't even gather enough light to illuminate an inch in front of him. This darkness seemed to devour all energy.

He slowly straightened up, his fingertips touching the dagger tucked at his waist. The coldness of the hilt seeped through his fingertips, making his tense nerves relax slightly.

Song Guicheng moved his feet slowly. The ground beneath his feet was supple and slightly damp and sticky. He didn't know if it was blood or something else, but it gave him an ominous feeling. The texture was like the hollowed-out corpse in Li Laosan's kang (heated brick bed) hole, and it felt like it would break if he stepped on it with the slightest force.

He moved with extreme lightness, constantly on guard against any potential dangers. He knew this was no ordinary darkness; it was most likely a hidden space within a dungeon.

Even though it was so quiet that he could hear his own heartbeat, Song Guicheng seemed to be able to catch countless tiny sounds, without a source or direction, just floating in the darkness.

The faint sobs were like the choking of a child abandoned in the dark; the sharp hissing was like the wailing of a woman tormented to the extreme; the muffled growls, mixed with the cracking sound of bones breaking, were layered together, seemingly without any real sound fluctuations, yet clear as if countless vengeful spirits were howling right next to your ear, piercing your eardrums.

Filled with heart-wrenching despair, it sometimes seemed close to my ear, sometimes far away in the distance, making it impossible to distinguish whether it was real or a hallucination brought about by the darkness.

He could even feel the rustling of the fabric, as if someone in tattered clothes was wandering aimlessly in the darkness, their footsteps as light as feathers, yet each step felt like a blow to his nerves.

Song Guicheng took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down and suppress the gloom in his heart. He didn't call out to Xiaohua again, afraid of disturbing something.

The pressure in the darkness grew heavier, as if countless eyes were staring at him. Those unseen gazes, filled with resentment and greed, fell upon him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

But Song Guicheng didn't panic. He closed his eyes, temporarily abandoning his useless vision, and instead activated his other senses. He tried to discern the direction of the vengeful spirit's cries, and tried to detect if there were any other smells in the air besides the stench of blood and decay.

Just then, his fingertips suddenly touched a faint warmth, not from himself, but from the darkness diagonally in front of him. The warmth was very faint, as if it were guiding him.

Song Guicheng hesitated. Was the sudden warmth in the darkness salvation or destruction? But he knew he had no other choice.

From the moment he stepped into this darkness, something awaited him ahead.

Following that faint warmth, Song Guicheng walked step by step into the depths of darkness. He knew that what lay hidden behind this darkness might be the key to unlocking the secrets of the dungeon.

……

……

Song Guicheng walked alone for a very long time, his steps gradually becoming heavy and echoing from the initial steady pace.

Darkness is not emptiness, but frozen time.

He felt as if he had stepped across a frozen wasteland, his body covered in invisible frost, or as if he had waded through a swamp of melting snow, each step requiring him to break free from the gloom that clung to his ankles.

The smell of blood was no longer a sensory perception, but rather a thin film stuck to his skin, making his fingertips numb. His senses felt like they were being soaked in murky water, and even the cries of vengeful spirits became blurred, sometimes seeming to be through a thick wall, and sometimes drilling into his ears, accompanied by the scraping sound of fingernails scraping against bone.

He reached for the dagger at his waist, and only when the cold hilt pressed against his palm did he remember that he still held onto the possibility of saneness.

The dagger was drawn, its cold light flashing for only a moment in the darkness before being swallowed up, but enough to cut a shallow gash on his left arm—not deep, but painful enough.

Warm drops of blood seeped out, and Song Guicheng lowered his head and licked them. The taste of rust mixed with the warmth of his mouth was like a thunderbolt striking his chaotic consciousness, and the darkness before his eyes seemed to fade a little.

He didn't stop and continued walking forward, his long white hair hanging down in front of his shoulders, the ends of which were damp and cold from who-knows-where, just like the frosty scent that Wu Zhi used to leave on his shoulders in the dungeon.

He walked for an unknown amount of time, so long that he thought he would be trapped in this endless darkness forever, until finally a glimmer of light appeared ahead.

The light wasn't sudden; it was like water-soaked stardust seeping out from a crack in the darkness, first a point, then a patch, slowly blurring into a hazy halo.

When he reached the edge of the halo, his breath suddenly stopped—

A statue sat in the center of the halo, taller than any building he had ever seen, as if it had grown out of the texture of darkness.

The deity was clad in a black robe, the hem of which cascaded down to the altar. The folds seemed to hold lingering night or a frozen galaxy, each line exuding solemnity. He wore no crown or ornaments, his long black hair cascading down like a waterfall, obscuring his shoulders and neck, revealing only his sharply defined jawline. His eyes were half-closed, his long, thick eyelashes casting faint shadows beneath them. Though a divine figure, he seemed poised to open his eyes at any moment, to take in all things in the world. Yet, his eyes were empty, as if everything was merely dust passing through his gaze, leaving no trace.

It was Wu Zhi.

Song Guicheng's heart clenched suddenly, the pain and burning sensation worse than the wound on his arm.

An urgent call surged from the statue, overwhelming him like a tidal wave. He didn't hear it with his ears, but sensed it with his blood. What surged in his veins was not only his own blood, but also the eternal power belonging to Wu Zhi.

That power awakened completely at that moment, churning within his blood, making his chest feel tight, almost bursting through his skin and lunging at the statue.

Blood dripped down his arm, landing on his white coat, blooming into flamboyant flowers. White was pure, red was fiery, forming a stark contrast with the noble solemnity of the statue, yet strangely blending together.

Just like him and Wu Zhi, one is a mortal who relies on the power of eternity to survive, and the other is a god bound by eternity. They should be like this, carrying each other's traces, coexisting and living together.

But Song Guicheng stood still, without moving.

He could feel the pain in his arm, the restlessness in his blood, and the urge to rush over and touch the statue, but he forcefully suppressed it.

Because he saw that behind the statue, there was a shadow, not a projection of light, but a living, thick shadow, like ink dripping into clear water, slowly spreading, yet always clinging to the outline of the statue, accompanying and complementing the halo of light.

In that shadow lay an aura of nothingness that he knew all too well.

He thought of Song Yujie, of those green eyes, and of how the other person had haunted him relentlessly in the dungeon.

Eternity and nothingness are inherently interdependent and mutually restraining.

Song Guicheng gripped the dagger tightly, blood still flowing from his arm. He looked at the statue of the sorcerer, then at the shadow, his long white hair swaying gently in the halo of light.

Darkness is behind us, light is before us, the idol is in the center, and shadows are on our sides.

Song Guicheng stood at the crossroads, as if he were standing in the gap between eternity and nothingness, holding both the hope of reunion and the danger he had to face.

He didn't rush forward, but quietly looked at the statue, as if waiting for the half-closed eyes to open, waiting for Wu Zhi's indifferent yet gentle gaze to fall on him once more.