Fairytale Town.
“You really are a brain-dead AI,” Perfume is Non-Toxic muttered, rolling his eyes.
He had just asked the Magic Conch several questions, and the answers it gave were completely made up. Its intelligence level was on par with a basic chatbot.
He stuffed the conch into his pocket. Although he looked down on how unreliable it was, it was still a rare item that could talk. Maybe it would fetch a good price.
“Thank you for the compliment,” the Magic Conch replied.
As Perfume is Non-Toxic turned to leave, his eyes caught a glimpse of his status bar.
A new debuff icon had appeared—one he had never seen before.
The icon was a pink lollipop stuck in a brown lump.
When he touched the icon, a line of small red text popped up.
【Curse: Candification, progress at 17%.】
Perfume is Non-Toxic’s brow twitched. When did he get hit by this?!
He looked down at his hand. The skin color was still a normal flesh tone, but the tactile sensation of his fingers had changed.
He squeezed the pad of his finger. The resistance he felt when pressing down was wrong; it was soft and sticky, like melting toffee.
He raised his hand to his nose and sniffed. There was a faint scent of bread.
Perfume is Non-Toxic felt a surge of annoyance, but he wasn't panicked. He was a player, after all. At worst, he’d just lose a life.
In a certain building deep within Fairytale Town, a circular window was set into a wall made of frosting. The glass was transparent sugar, offering a view of the outside world.
A figure stood by the window. Her red cloak draped down to her ankles, and her hood obscured most of her face, leaving only a pale chin visible.
She held a lollipop, twirling it between her fingers. Through the glass window, she watched Perfume is Non-Toxic.
“The Fourth Calamity? How interesting~”
...
Blue Star.
New cases were being brought in one after another. Their symptoms were identical to Zhou Ping’s. They were all players of 《Deep Red Continent》 who, upon emerging from their gaming pods, began raving and making sensational claims.
“The NPCs in the game are real people! They have their own memories and emotions. They aren't just puppets controlled by code!”
“The Moon has consciousness! It’s been watching Blue Star, watching everyone, ever since the Nightmare Sickness appeared!”
“The Evil God is descending! He has already left his mark on this world. Soon, he will spread from the Deep Red Continent to Blue Star!”
The symptoms of these patients were highly similar. After leaving the gaming pods, they were in a state of high excitement, speaking incoherently with eyes shining with fervor. They repeatedly chanted phrases like “Praise the Moon,” their voices fluctuating in volume, occasionally erupting into hysterical laughter.
But after a while, they would spontaneously return to normal. Their eyes would clear, and their logic would become as sharp as any healthy person’s.
They could clearly describe their experiences in the game and answer all questions. Their blood indicators were normal, their EEG was normal, and even their neurotransmitter levels were within standard ranges.
“There is nothing wrong with their bodies. The problem lies with the content inside their brains,” the researchers unanimously concluded after a series of meetings.
Because they couldn't determine the cause or rule out the possibility of a relapse, the research group decided to place this batch of patients under isolation and observation.
Instead of sending them to a psychiatric hospital, these special patients were concentrated in a unique location.
On the top floor of a skyscraper, an aerial pavilion had been built beneath the clouds. From the outside, it looked like a glass bowl overturned on the roof. The arched dome rose from the edges toward the center, its surface as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the color of the sky.
Above the dome were the clouds. Beneath it was a sanatorium filled with lush greenery and flowers. The environment was pleasant, comparable to a high-end resort, looking nothing like an isolation ward.
The only feature that hinted at its prison-like nature was that inverted circular glass dome. It sealed off the entire top floor, leaving no exit.
The only opening in the dome was an airlock, controlled from the outside and impossible to open from within.
The patients could move freely within the pavilion, but they couldn't leave, nor could they jump off the building. The glass dome blocked all paths to the edge.
Including Zhou Ping, there were currently eight people confined here.
Since being brought in, Zhou Ping had been the calmest among them. He often sat on a bench in the aerial pavilion, staring up at the real sky beyond the glass dome.
“Making a scene is pointless. They won't believe me; they'll only think I'm getting worse.”
“I must pretend to be normal. I need to masquerade as someone who has regained their rationality. Only then will they lower their guard and let me back into the game.”
“Then, I will go back in, collect more sacrifices, pray to the Evil God, and finish what I started.”
Zhou Ping stood up and walked among the other patients, engaging them in conversation.
Every person here held the same conviction deep in their hearts.
They firmly believed the Evil God was real and that what they saw in the game was no hallucination. They possessed wills of iron that would not be shaken by outside skepticism, but they had all learned that they couldn't show it.
Zhou Ping organized a meeting. In a gazebo within the pavilion, several people sat around a stone table, pretending to chat.
He lowered his voice. “We can't stay locked up like this forever. We need to make them think we’ve recovered. From today on, everyone needs to tone it down. Stop mentioning the Moon or the Evil God. Act like normal people.”
Someone asked, “How long do we have to fake it before we can get back into the game?”
Zhou Ping replied, “Until they take the initiative to let us out. Until then, be patient. Otherwise, we might never get out.”
...
The patients began to show good behavior.
They ate and slept on schedule, stopped being noisy, and even helped the orderlies water the flowers.
Psychiatrists evaluated them frequently. Their scores grew higher and higher. Every single evaluation report read: “Stable state, balanced emotions, no abnormal behavior.”
But Zhou Ping knew this wasn't enough. They needed to make the higher-ups believe they were completely normal.
Zhou Ping walked to the communication system in the corner of the pavilion and pressed the button to call the Section Chief.
The screen lit up, and the Section Chief’s familiar face appeared.
“Section Chief, it’s too dull in here. We can't do anything. Could you give us some form of entertainment?” Zhou Ping’s tone was very respectful.
The Section Chief countered, “What kind of entertainment?”
Zhou Ping had prepared his answer long ago. “I know the research group’s concerns, so I won't make any outrageous requests. Just anything to entertain us. We’re just bored and want to pass the time.”
The Section Chief remained silent on the other end for a few seconds. Zhou Ping was a smart man; he wouldn't ask for entertainment for no reason. What was he really after?
The Section Chief looked at the other patients watering flowers behind Zhou Ping, then at Zhou Ping’s calm face.
“Virtual reality games are absolutely out of the question. I hope you can understand that. It’s for your own good,” the Section Chief said, his tone not particularly harsh.
Zhou Ping nodded, his expression sincere. “I understand. We aren't asking for that. Just some stand-alone games will do—nothing that connects to the internet.”
The Section Chief seemed to be communicating with someone beside him. Faint whispers came from off-camera. After about ten seconds, he spoke.
“Wait for notification.”
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