"Obsession, greed, wrath, delusion, life, death—all are illusions. Life is short, a fleeting dream." Bai Liyi's tone was light, yet his voice carried a somber, poetic cadence.
Gao Yang committed the words to memory.
"Well, that's enough." Bai Liyi stood, stretching. "Time to clock out. See you around."
"See you."
Watching Bai Liyi walk away, Gao Yang couldn't shake the impression that the man resembled a poet far more than a surgeon. Still, he'd gleaned useful intel. He now felt certain beasts fell into six categories: Obsession, Greed, Wrath, Delusion, Life, and Death.
Officer Huang had mentioned Wrath beasts had three subtypes: Slayers, Devourers, and Heralds.
Li Weiwei was likely a Devourer—she hadn't killed him outright but toyed with him, as if savoring a meal.
Auntie He was clearly a Slayer: bloodthirsty, attacking on sight.
As for Heralds, Gao Yang hadn't encountered one yet. Hopefully, he never would.
Obsession beasts, or Lost Ones, also seemed to have three variants.
Old Man Liu, the spicy skewer vendor, represented the most harmless type—probably the majority in this world. They were relatively easy to identify.
The second type were the near-perfect mimics—indistinguishable from humans without special talents like Bai Liyi's [Red Eye] or the "mental patient's" [Olfaction]. Huang's wife and Gao Yang's own family likely fell into this category—unless they were unawakened humans. As long as no one "tested" them, they remained Schrödinger's cat, simultaneously human and beast.
The third type was Wang Zikai—too bizarre to analyze, defying classification.
As for Old Man Zhang, who'd suddenly mutated hours earlier, he should've been a harmless first-type Lost One. His violent transformation suggested outside interference—possibly that white cat's doing.
Was the cat a beast too? Could it belong to Obsession, Delusion, Life, or Death?
Assuming each beast category had three subtypes, this world contained at least 18 distinct kinds of monsters.
Gao Yang suppressed a shudder. Once awakened, there's no going back. I must join the organization fast—find allies, learn the rules. Otherwise, I'm just a blind player stumbling in the dark, surviving by sheer luck.
By noon, Gao Yang's mother and sister arrived to relieve him at the hospital.
He went home to shower and rest, bouncing back after just four hours of sleep. Since awakening, his stamina had noticeably improved—likely from his boosted stats.
Crunching numbers, he estimated: 24 luck points per safe day. Survive a month, that's 720 points—enough to max out a stat.
But he'd already committed to the luck route. Not one to abandon sunk costs, he decided to split future points—half for unlocking talents, half boosting luck, with leftovers allocated as needed.
That evening, despite his mother excusing him, Gao Yang headed to school for self-study to sync up with Qing Ling. Cautious to a fault, she avoided phones (too traceable), preferring face-to-face updates.
After first period, as Gao Yang moved to find her, Wan Sisi intercepted him. "Gao Yang, I heard about your dad... Is he okay?"
"Car accident," he confirmed.
"Oh no! How bad is it?" Her concern seemed genuine.
"Stable, but..." He feigned gloom. "The doctor says he might be wheelchair-bound."
"Don't lose hope! My uncle had a crash two years ago—doctors said he'd be paralyzed, but he was walking within a year!" She brightened. "He uses a cane now, but gets around fine!"
"Thanks." Gao Yang smiled, then froze. What if her uncle recovered because he's a beast? Does that mean if Dad's a beast, he could heal too?
The thought horrified him. How could I wish that on him?
Distracted, he noticed Wan Sisi lingering awkwardly.
"Something else?" he asked.
"Um..." She blushed. "I wanted to ask if you're free this weekend. My birthday party... but never mind, you should be with your dad."
"Ah—"
"He'll go." Qing Ling materialized beside them, making Gao Yang jump.
Wan Sisi blinked. "Oh! You're... coming too?"
"Yes." Qing Ling's tone brooked no argument. "Problem?"
"N-no! Of course not!" Wan Sisi forced a smile, though she'd intentionally excluded Qing Ling—not out of dislike, but knowing her "misandry" would clash with the male attendees.
Gao Yang shot Qing Ling a questioning look. She ignored it.
"Saturday, 2:30 PM, Happy Sing KTV." Wan Sisi fled before her poker face cracked.
Qing Ling took the vacated seat. "Heard about your father."
"Why the party?" Gao Yang countered.
"You've been cozy with Sisi lately. She's getting bolder too." Qing Ling lowered her voice. "I need to observe—is she onto you?"
"You're overthinking—"
"Like with Li Weiwei?"
Gao Yang had no rebuttal.
The next two days followed a rhythm: hospital night shifts, morning naps, evening classes to touch base with Qing Ling and feign interest in Wan Sisi's English tutoring.
After 48 hours in ICU, Gao Yang's father moved to a recovery ward. On the third morning, he briefly woke—unable to speak, just blinking before drifting off again.
Yet this small progress lifted the family's gloom. His mother finally relaxed enough to reapply makeup; Xinxin rediscovered her knack for teasing Gao Yang.
Come Sunday morning, Gao Yang checked his system: 85 luck points.
He spent 60 attempting another talent unlock—predictably failing—and banked the rest.
Doing the math, he grimaced. If every third unlock succeeds, the next talent costs 180 points total. Then the cost doubles to 120 per attempt—360 for the fourth talent. The numbers balloon exponentially.
Safe grinding won't cut it. This world won't wait.
High risk, high reward—if only there were battles dangerous enough to farm points but not lethal... He made a mental note to exploit any loopholes after joining the organization.
2 PM. After a quick freshen-up, Gao Yang headed to Happy Sing KTV. Traffic made him the last arrival.
Following a staffer, he approached Wan Sisi's private room—only to be assaulted by a warbling male voice:
"I pretend not to see the role you force on me, pushing your lover to improvise..."
Gao Yang winced. Buddy, you're the one forcing listeners to act—pretending this screeching is music.
Entering, he spotted the culprit: "Young Master Xuan," perched on a barstool by the karaoke screen, crooning into the mic with performative passion.
Niu Xuan—no aristocrat but certainly wealthy—was the son of a local supermarket chain owner. Flashy, sociable, and decent-looking, he thrived on being the center of attention. Unlike Wang Zikai's blunt brutishness, Niu Xuan wielded subtler social blades—charming parents, teachers, and peers alike while quietly ostracizing those who crossed him.
Gao Yang had always flown under his radar—neither friend nor foe.
The moment Gao Yang stepped in, Niu Xuan's caterwauling ceased.
"Yo! If it isn't Gao Yang!" he boomed through the speakers, oozing fake warmth. "Finally gracing us with your presence!"
Gao Yang's bladder clenched.