Infinite Flow: Becoming a God in a Nightmare Game

The moonlight, like shattered icicles, pierced the flowerbed.

Having just returned from the casino, Chi Miaomiao pressed the back of her hand to her lips, the teeth marks on her pale skin tinged with a rouge color.

"The system announcement is correct; something really has happened in the dungeon."

A light drizzle began to fall at that moment.

Chi Miaomiao staggered as she parted the carefully tended flowerbeds.

In the shadows where a faint fragrance wafted, she saw the cluster of double-petaled lilies fading their snowy white color at a visible speed.

Chi Miaomiao knelt on both knees, her frail body swaying precariously in the mud.

Her trembling fingertips touched the rotting pistil; those double petals that had once bloomed like a young girl's skirt were now curled up into the brownish corpse of a butterfly.

The sweet, cloying scent of decay carried whispers of the past—it was Lin Wanchu holding Lu Xue and saying, "Miaomiao, the task of watering the flowers is now yours," and it was Lu Xue's soft laughter as she tucked dew-kissed flower buds into each other's temples.

"It's raining."

A sigh, smelling of tobacco, came from behind me.

Cheng Cuo leaned against the door frame of the hall, his silver-gray suit exuding the scent of tobacco and whiskey.

A half-smoked cigarette hung from his pale fingertips, the embers flickering in the rain and mist like falling stars.

A muffled rumble of thunder rolled across the distant horizon, and fine rain seeped through his fingers, crushing into tiny silver glints on the curled, withered leaves of the double-petaled lily.

His husky voice, carrying the scent of dampness, drifted over as he reached out to catch raindrops falling from the eaves. "Do you know why I hate rainy days?"

Cheng Cuo tossed away his cigarette butt, a low, hoarse sigh rumbling in his Adam's apple as he muttered to himself.

"Because whenever something bad happens, this damn weather makes me want to cry."

Water droplets from the ends of her hair slid down her neck and into the collar of her shirt, leaving dark marks on her collarbone.

A metallic taste filled her throat, and Chi Miaomiao gripped her palms tightly.

Her vocal cords froze after that.

At that moment, she stared at the crescent-shaped mark on her palm, bleeding, and couldn't help but bite her tongue.

"save……"

The broken, audible sounds startled the crows; for the first time in fifteen years, she heard her own fragmented voice pierce the silence.

Yu Hansheng silently wrapped the cashmere shawl around the thin shoulder blades of the woman in his arms, the minty warmth of her body passing through the shirt.

Chi Miaomiao held the completely withered flower stem, the sticky, humus-like texture seeping into her palm.

Her throat was burning, and every word was like spitting out burning coals: "Save...save them..."

The last syllable faded into the humid air.

Feeling Chi Miaomiao trembling violently in his arms, Yu Hansheng ran his long, slender fingers through her wet hair and pulled her into his embrace.

"breathe."

He rested his chin on the top of the girl's head and gently patted her trembling back.

As the rain intensified, Yu Hansheng couldn't help but look up, wondering if what was falling from the corner of his eye was rain or something else.

In nightmare games, life and death, separation and parting are just the most normal things.

However, when living people die in the instance, there is nothing they can do.

The electronic clock in the room ticked regularly, and the cold air from the central air conditioning swept across the back of Jiang Qi's neck.

The sense of order in the real world clashes with the bloody scenes in the dungeon.

His fingers unconsciously rubbed the corner of the table until a splinter pierced his fingertip, at which point he realized—there was no need to guard against any potential murder traps here.

"Congratulations, player Jiang Qi answered correctly—"

The mechanical sound of the system seemed to still be crackling deep in my eardrums.

Lu Zhi was taking off Jiang Qi's shoes when he suddenly heard the sound of glass shattering.

Looking up, I saw Jiang Qi crush the water glass on the table with his bare hands.

Blood mixed with water meandered into a thin stream on the table, while the person involved stared into the void as if oblivious.

When Lu Zhi grabbed his wrist to treat the wound, he noticed a subtle tremor lurking beneath his skin.

The digital clock on the table showed that they had been gone for a week.

But Jiang Qi's retina still retained the slow-motion image of Lin Wanchu's suicide for love: the flying pink hair was gradually disappearing, and the last thing to vanish was the corner of her lips that always had a carefree smile—that smile turned into a relieved arc at the final moment.

"Brother, do we need psychological intervention?"

When Lu Zhi handed over the tranquilizer, Jiang Qi had already regained his calm tone: "A 99% casualty rate in an S-rank dungeon, this result is normal."

Lu Zhi didn't say anything.

He knelt down and pulled Jiang Qi into his chest with his arms.

As Jiang Qi's loose hair brushed against the back of his neck, a warm tear suddenly fell into his collar—it turned out that even someone as upright as a cedar tree could have silent tears welling up in his eyes.

On the fourth day, the light of dusk pierced through the gaps in the curtains, cutting thin strips of gold leaf at Jiang Qi's feet.

The air conditioning, maintaining a constant temperature of 26 degrees Celsius, swept across his bony shoulder blades, and dust accumulated into frost on his stiff eyelashes.

Lu Zhi curled up outside the door, his back pressed against the door panel, the seafood porridge in the thermos being heated into a murky paste for the seventh time.

The rhythm of his knuckles tapping on the doorframe gradually changed from rapid to long and drawn-out, and finally turned into a muffled chuckle as he pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead: "Brother, do you remember the first time we met?"

The last sound faded into the draft of the corridor, followed by the rustling of clothes coming from inside the door, and then the dull thud of something heavy falling to the ground.

Lu Zhi suddenly sat up and saw through the crack in the door that his brother was mechanically closing the curtain gap by half an inch.

His pale wrist bore lingering bruises—the marks left three days ago when Jiang Qi knocked over a vase during his struggle as he forced his way in.

As the moonlight climbed onto the windowsill, Jiang Qi finally realized that he was imitating someone's little gestures.

He unconsciously unscrewed and tightened the cap of the mineral water bottle.

"Brother, you're so cute when you imitate me."

In his memory, Lu Zhi wrapped his arms around him from behind, his warm lips brushing against the back of his neck, "Every time I hear this voice, I want to kiss you."

Meanwhile, the real Lu Zhi was outside the door, gently coaxing him: "Brother, at least let me see the wound on your hand, okay?"

Jiang Qi tucked his bleeding right fingertips into the folds of the pillow, where he had repeatedly picked at the scabs of old scars.

He looked down at the gauze that had bled from being picked at by his left hand, and suddenly stuffed the entire roll of bandage between his teeth.

The moment the smell of rust filled the air, he heard the crisp sound of porcelain shattering outside the door, mixed with suppressed gasps—it was the thermos in Lu Zhi's hand that had fallen to the floor.

Lu Zhi ignored his brother's words about him having some peace and quiet and pushed the door open to enter.

The sound of the door opening startled Jiang Qi, who rolled over and knocked over a lamp.

His eyes welled up with tears, and he stepped straight over the shattered glass to grab Lu Zhi's collar: "Why, why wasn't it me who died?"

This was the first sentence he had uttered in seven days, tinged with the bloody stench of a torn throat.

Lu Zhi's pupils contracted to pinpoints in the darkness. Suddenly, he forcefully pressed him down amidst the mess on the floor, his canine teeth biting into his trembling Adam's apple: "And what about me? How many times do you want me to be a widow?"

The illusion of tasting rust on his tongue caused Jiang Qi's teeth to unconsciously grind against his wrist bones until fresh blood flowed over the old wounds—even the sensation of pain had begun to betray this body.

Silence spread silently.

After a long while, Lu Zhi gently picked up Jiang Qi and said, almost choking with emotion.

"Brother, shall we go take a shower first?"

"You're so clean, you can't be so颓废 (颓废 is a difficult word to translate directly, but it implies a state of listlessness, apathy, or decadence)."