chapter 129

[Rewarded Spirit Money *10,000. The Boss of this Instance actually… Sigh. He saw the heartbreak coming, but he also knew the progress bar was only a tiny sliver away from finishing.

He was this close to success.

Failing when you’re just a step away from making it is even more brutal than failing outright.

It turns into a memory-blade-every time you think back on it, you end up hating yourself for not pushing just a little harder back then.

If only Paopao could’ve been in that ending where everyone survives together.]

[All the Instance Bosses in the Evil Spirit Game are chosen because their hatred value was too high in their original world.

Some are souls who refuse to go live in the Underworld or move on to Reincarnation.

Others are living beings.

After Paopao dies, will he come to the Underworld?

He’s just a little cat.

If he makes it to the Underworld, he’ll only be able to do the simplest kind of work.

How long would he have to save Spirit Money before he could scrape together enough to illegally cross the River Styx and pay his way to Reincarnation?]

[The Streamer’s Live Stream Room is starting to settle accounts.

This was the first Instance I’ve ever watched, and I earned a lot of Spirit Money.

Honestly, I live pretty frugally in the Underworld myself. Before entering the Streamer’s Live Stream Room, I never imagined I’d see the day my account balance went over five digits.

If I could run into Paopao in the Underworld, I’d be willing to sponsor his River Styx Reincarnation with every last bit of Spirit Money I made this time.]

[Halfway through, I suddenly remembered why this Instance felt familiar!

This Bug Instance isn’t opening for the first time.

I’ve watched a Player ranked in the forties on the Heavenly Ranking die in this Instance before.

His choices each stage were half right and half wrong, totally different from the Streamer, who’s been right all the way through.

Even with only half the answers correct, he still poured in over a million Points, but he just couldn’t clear the final stage no matter what!

I never thought you’d need outside help like this to pass!]

[What’s going on with the Live Stream Rooms of those Players?

Why is it that up to now I’ve only been able to see Sun Hai’s Live Stream Room, and all the others are blocked off?

Why would I want to watch Sun Hai!

His Live Stream Room is the worst!

What is Luo Jia Bai taking apart for the Streamer? Can you show me already?!]

–

Lu Li’s Neck Collar had already been dismantled halfway, the discarded hardened chunks lying on the floor in shattered pieces.

Every fragment looked like a spider.

From the outside it was a smooth curved surface.

But on the inside-on the side pressed against Lu Li’s neck-there were countless long, thin metal filaments.

They drilled into flesh.

They connected directly to nerves.

They magnified pain.

The perception chips Gu Yu Chu destroyed at the very beginning were the true culprit.

They were what controlled those metal “Tentacles,” driving them to keep burrowing into Lu Li’s body.

Too cruel.

Gu Yu Chu didn’t dare imagine how Lu Li had ever put something like this on.

And he didn’t dare imagine how long Lu Li had endured this kind of torment.

The more he dismantled, the more his heart chilled.

He didn’t dare use too much strength.

Even as he worked, he kept watching Lu Li’s expression from the corner of his eye.

“If it hurts, tell me.”

Lu Li didn’t make a sound.

You couldn’t read joy or anger from his face at all.

He only said softly, “It doesn’t really hurt.”

“It feels… lighter.”

Like taking off a shackle that had been cinched around his throat the whole time.

But the skin exposed after the Neck Collar was removed was cold.

So cold it made him uneasy.

He’d already guessed what that patch of skin had become.

Resurrection only worked by restoring.

Restoring what it recognized as the body’s original state.

But the part of human skin the Neck Collar had replaced…

That probably didn’t count within Resurrection’s “recognized” body.

His ability didn’t know it was supposed to exist.

His body believed there was no skin there-and that this was normal-so it didn’t need to be restored.

Lu Li secretly clenched a shard of glass in his hand.

Using the reflection, he looked at the portion that had already been removed.

His lashes lowered, casting a layer of disappointed shadow across his cheek.

Sure enough.

So ugly.

Nothing like the smooth, even skin on other people’s necks.

Luo Jia Bai comforted him. “Let Gu Yu Chu knit you a scarf first.

Then I’ll knit you another.

And Mirella can make one too.

Three scarves-rotate them, never the same style twice.

Let those Players without scarves be jealous!”

Mirella analyzed it rationally and offered a suggestion. “If an Instance environment is too hot and a scarf isn’t suitable, the Shop also has turtlenecks.”

At Lu Li’s wrist, the Wristband silently rotated the position of its Snake Heads.

It turned until it faced the side where it could see Lu Li, then stopped.

The snake’s pupils glowed with a dim, eerie light.

–

The Underworld King’s Palace.

Bosi opened his eyes.

In his pupils lingered the same glow as the light on Lu Li’s Wristband.

Scenes that couldn’t be seen in the Necromancer Game’s Live Stream Room-

with the slightest shift of intent, he could see them.

And he saw Lu Li’s Neck Collar being dismantled again and again, piece by piece.

Bosi rose.

He rotated the magic array and walked down the steps, entering the basement once more.

He passed by jewels and crystals that competed to show off their brilliance without sparing them a glance, then pushed open the door at the very end.

The space behind it was vast.

Dark.

Cold.

Damp.

Stepping into an environment like this made Bosi feel comfortable.

He liked low temperatures.

He disliked heat.

He disliked noise.

He disliked living things that were always pressing up against him.

A thick layer of something covered the ground.

Bosi bent down and picked up one piece.

Underworld Fire ignited at his fingertips, revealing a Scale.

Wherever the Underworld Fire’s afterglow swept, the floor was piled high with stacked black Scale fragments.

This was the place where he kept the shed Scale from his true body.

He had no hibernation season.

He had no molting season.

Yet every year, there was a fixed stretch of days when he had to revert to his true form, shed the Scale that grew over his heart, and wait for a new one to grow in.

The Scale Lu Li had once held in his hand-treasuring it like a jewel and praising it nonstop-

had only been one in a thousand.

And it had been the smallest piece.

If Lu Li saw these bigger, prettier ones, wouldn’t he throw himself into working for him even more wholeheartedly?

Bosi murmured to himself, “This Instance performance was… barely presentable.

I promised him I could give him more…”

More what?

One more Scale?

Or more than one?