Chapter 32#
Day Seven Countdown#
The eighth day of Yu Lanyin’s redemption.
2:34 AM.
The System kissed him.
Holding the slightly parted, cold lips, it gently sucked, kissing away bit by bit the transparent substance that tasted like blood. Yu Lanyin went dazed and soft in the kiss, breathing out heat due to the high fever, allowing the kiss to wrap from his jaw all the way to his neck.
His hands were held by the System, both hooked up to IV drips—one with medicine, the other with nutrient solution.
The System held him steady with one arm, taking a bit of half-melted ice cream into its mouth to feed him.
Tasting the icy-cold sweet cream, Yu Lanyin immediately became happy, eyes curving, reaching out blindly to tug at the System’s sleeve.
The System held that restless hand firmly: “There’s more.”
Yu Lanyin seemed starved and parched, or perhaps as if he were being cooked through by the high heat. His throat rolled slightly as he swallowed desperately, scavenging within the System’s mouth.
But his body was crumbling, his senses rapidly failing. No nerves were feeding back the sensation of swallowing to his brain. He couldn’t feel full, never full.
The little breakfast shop owner felt aggrieved: “Hungry.”
He was hungry.
The System helped him dream of eating a grand feast—a luxury seafood buffet with everything imaginable, eating to his heart’s content.
Yu Lanyin soon became immersed in battling a giant king crab.
His beautiful face gained a trace of illusory color. He relaxed, satisfied and comfortable, leaning weakly against the System’s neck. His dark eyes, which had been tearing up from hunger, turned happy again.
The System kissed his eyelashes. Yu Lanyin laughed and shook his head, playfully dodging here and there.
During one such dodge, Yu Lanyin’s head drooped softly. He grew quiet, showing no further reaction. The System cradled half of his face, stroking it gently, only to find that Yu Lanyin had fallen asleep from exhaustion, or perhaps fainted. Because even the Yu Lanyin in the dream had stopped moving, lying in the ice and snow, his open eyes turning a dull blue-grey.
The System squeezed his fingers. Every part of this body had become very soft, like a beautiful ragdoll stuffed with cotton.
Yu Lanyin had taken on a challenge: “One thousand days of opening the breakfast shop without a single day off and being the first to open.” He won. Doing that really made money.
The little boss had originally wanted to sprint for 1,111 days.
As it turned out, draining the pond to catch the fish was not advisable.
It had to be changed.
The System taught him softly: “It needs to be corrected.”
In the dream, Yu Lanyin lay in a pool of blood frozen into ice, arms spread wide, fingers slightly curled, his blue-grey eyes curving vacantly as he smiled obediently at the System.
The System knelt, covering the shattered throat with a hand, blocking the warm, incessantly gushing blood.
…
Hospital ward.
Lights flickered, piercing through the gaps in the curtains and hitting the wall.
The System withdrew its gaze and looked down to kiss Yu Lanyin.
A few minor things had happened in the hospital.
The place the System had brought Yu Lanyin to was the best private hospital in the area. Choosing a private hospital wasn’t for any deep reason other than the top-tier luxury suites.
Because of Yu Lanyin.
At that time, in the intervals between high-fever comas and unconscious spasms, Yu Lanyin had used his tenacious will to force himself awake. He pulled out a hundred yuan and, with a dying breath, gripped the System’s hand: “Stay… somewhere good…”
The little boss probably meant he didn’t want to go to some underground clinic with flying cockroaches.
But since money was just a number to the System, it brought him to the best. The top floor—the entire floor was theirs, complete with a restaurant, activity room, and gym.
Downstairs was Lin Yanghua, who had broken more than one leg.
There were also several “local big shots” who had just been brought in one after another, heads bleeding and covered in injuries.
Some were even carried directly from their beds, their disgraceful deeds naturally exposed, causing a massive scandal in the city. News reporters were so excited they stayed awake all night.
The System had kept photos.
The photos were intended to coax Yu Lanyin, but the System always felt that Yu Lanyin wasn’t actually that happy about the revenge.
Yu Lanyin had simply established a rule: “I can be happy once this is done,” so he enthusiastically began to be happy.
But it was too late. The Yu family was bankrupt, and the entire family had died unnatural deaths. What could revenge change? Yu Lanyin had learned to turn on the gas stove himself to cook chicken soup wontons. Just that alone would have been worth the family celebrating for three days—Mom, Dad, two older brothers, and Grandpa taking turns to eat heartily and making a robot hold a banner of praise. But.
But.
Yu Lanyin waited every day, pacing back and forth in anxiety.
He was afraid his eldest brother wouldn’t find the way home, afraid his second brother would have no food to eat when hungry. He made the most flamboyant neon sign on the entire street. He didn’t dare take a single day off.
He waited for a thousand days and didn’t see them. He thought, maybe wait for 1,111 days.
What if? What if Second Brother went to save Eldest Brother, and they heroically escaped, returning home on the 11,111th day, so hungry they had to immediately eat ten fried dough sticks, eight sugar pancakes, and a pot of chicken soup wontons?
Yu Lanyin practiced his skills diligently every day for this.
Then he realized he was dying.
“Don’t overthink it,” Song Baoxiao said to him. “Our company has released a new drug. I brought some for you to try.”
Song Baoxiao comforted him: “I heard the Phase III clinical data is quite good.”
“Don’t always refuse to take your medicine,” Song Baoxiao said. “Your views are too stubborn, Yu Lanyin.”
—The pharmaceutical company Song Baoxiao worked for was a subsidiary of the world-class multinational pharmaceutical giant that had caused the death of Yu Lanyin’s eldest brother.
When the offer was finalized, Yu Lanyin had his first argument with him, face flushed with anger, penalized with three red lights. Song Baoxiao had also thrown things: “Yu Lanyin, that was just an isolated case. Besides, the parent company and the subsidiary have nothing to do with each other! Am I supposed to sacrifice my own life for your family’s affairs? Have you ever truly respected me? Don’t you think you’re being too unreasonable now?!”
The System opened the search bar and began searching for “How to ruin and kill a brain-dead protagonist,” found it contained insulting vocabulary, and deleted “protagonist.”
“How to ruin a world-class pharmaceutical oligopoly.”
“One hundred ways to kill the previous system.”
It found none were particularly difficult and could be started immediately—this wasn’t actually due to the System’s great prowess; the truly capable one was the omnipotent Young Boss Yu.
In the last ending, Yu Lanyin’s death had directly ignited everything, leading to a total collapse of the plot.
The drugs Song Baoxiao gave Yu Lanyin were very problematic.
Falsified data, faked papers, and violations in Phase III testing procedures. Song Baoxiao was unaware, but by the time it happened, he was already embroiled, unable to help himself.
At such a critical juncture, Song Baoxiao being able to take a vacation to accompany Yu Lanyin on a trip was an arrangement directly ordered by the parent company to keep him steadying Yu Lanyin.
On the day Yu Lanyin committed suicide, the late-night emergency meeting Song Baoxiao attended was to discuss the handling plan.
To investigate whether he was involved in Yu Lanyin’s death, his computer was checked. Song Baoxiao was cleared of murder suspicion, but it also directly exposed the scandal of this multinational pharmaceutical company without warning. The highly sensational and eye-catching suicide news quickly propelled everything to a rapid collapse.
As for how much Young Boss Yu knew, how he had planned it, whether it was an accidental outcome or a mischievous use of death to spite this bastard world… no one knew.
No one would ever know.
The body in the ice crevice underwent a first autopsy, a second, and a third, becoming evidence for accusations.
Becoming fragments sealed in cold storage.
Yu Lanyin gave it a “good” rating.
It didn’t hurt, after all.
…
Having finished reading all the newly unlocked plot points, the System found that every step could be completed via data intrusion. So, while Young Boss Yu was melted into a little pancake and sleeping comfortably, some places were already in total chaos.
Even someone as sleepy as Yu Lanyin was woken up by the noise.
This time, the window was pitch black. The curtains were well-behaved, with no stinging sunlight.
The sky was dark, the lights were on, and he wasn’t alone.
Young Boss Yu was dazed with happiness: “Am I dead?”
He hadn’t even sat in first class enjoying baked beans in tomato sauce while pretending to be a great eagle watching the sun shine on the snowy mountains.
“No,” the System looked down, kissing his forehead. “We are in the hospital. You are sick. We are giving you an IV.”
Yu Lanyin saw the IV tube connected to him.
Both his hands were connected to IV tubes, and even the top of his foot was pricked. He looked like an old-fashioned toy—a string-pull puppet that would move if you tugged the wooden sticks.
Yu Lanyin mumbled softly: “I’m not that sick.”
He remembered he was still hopping around yesterday.
“No, you’re not,” the System coaxed him unconditionally, not contradicting him. “Getting the IV together will help you get better faster, so we can go out and play sooner.”
Young Boss Yu was easily coaxed just like that.
He even knew to praise himself for getting so many needles at once without crying out in pain: “So heroic.”
System: “So heroic.”
Yu Lanyin pursed his lips, his earlobes turning a bit red. He was again attracted by the sound of something hitting the window and looked out: “What’s the noise?”
Except for himself, Yu Lanyin agreed that everyone should sleep on time and not stay up late. Staying up late makes it easy to oversleep, and if you oversleep, there’s not enough time to sit down and eat breakfast.
The breakfast shop owner then wouldn’t make money.
So, people shouldn’t stay up late.
The System admired this economic mindset and drew a small red flower on his oxygen mask, along with a dollar sign representing sudden wealth: “They’re cursing at fake drug dealers. Want to watch the drama?”
Yu Lanyin hated fake drug dealers and immediately perked up: “Mm-hm.”
The System broadcasted it for him in real-time.
The bastard multinational capitalists doing illegal business were in a complete mess, looking very bedraggled. Secrets were being unearthed constantly, and old news that had been suppressed with great difficulty was being brought up again. They were soon besieged on all sides.
Even Song Baoxiao made an appearance. Protagonists are also categorized into different ranks. Some don’t deserve to be the protagonist. Once the plot advantage stops tilting in their favor, once the “protagonist narrative logic” is broken, they immediately show their true colors.
Song Baoxiao was one of those.
The young, promising, and endlessly bright Representative Song was now exceptionally bedraggled—his hair was a mess, his suit was dirty, and he was driven to incoherence by the raging public fury.
Song Baoxiao even kept calling Yu Lanyin.
He wanted to ask Yu Lanyin if those drugs were useful, right? He hadn’t lied, right? Yu Lanyin had clearly accepted them with a smile every time.
He needed Yu Lanyin to give him confidence.
Song Baoxiao had completely forgotten what he had studied. After all, he had long entered an administrative position and left the research field. He had long lost his original intention, not even thinking of looking at papers or reports that could be checked for a few yuan.
In his panic, Song Baoxiao ran to Yu Lanyin’s breakfast shop, knocking on the door, begging Yu Lanyin to open up.
Of course, no one ignored him.
Song Baoxiao suspected Yu Lanyin had collapsed or something had happened. He got a locksmith to force the door open, but the inside was completely empty.
Yu Lanyin was gone.
The locksmith, terrified of encountering a mentally ill thief, called the police. Song Baoxiao was interrogated until his face was flushed, unable to speak: “I, I—”
“You’re really his boyfriend? You’ve been dating for eight years? He’s the one who sponsored you through university back then?”
The police were very skeptical, holding his messy statement: “Now you have a six-figure monthly salary, and he’s bankrupt, seriously ill, has no other relatives, and could collapse or die suddenly at any time. You knew this, but you just wanted to watch him work from dawn till dusk doing this…”
Song Baoxiao was going crazy.
He felt it wasn’t like that, clearly not—he had felt real pain.
He was hurt by Yu Lanyin, wasn’t he? Everyone understood him, sympathized with him, and cursed Yu Lanyin.
But why, when summarized, did it turn out like this?
Could he really be this kind of person?
The police only ensured he hadn’t committed a break-in and robbery. Seeing the text messages and photo evidence Song Baoxiao provided, they had no right to interfere much on moral grounds.
However, the friends who came to the police station to pick him up still spoke for him, filled with righteous indignation: “What do outsiders know! It’s like drinking water—only the person knows if it’s hot or cold, okay? Baoxiao, we’ve seen all the suffering you’ve endured over the years…”
Song Baoxiao’s face was deathly pale. He stared fixedly out the window. Several figures were whispering with deep frowns.
Their lip movements were clear: “Ungrateful wretch.”
“Is he crazy?” Outsiders found it simply inconceivable. “Where did this vampire come from?”
“A living Yama.”
“How does he have the face to say that?”
“Of course you can’t understand. If you could, you’d be a beast too.”
…
Yu Lanyin refused to watch this later part.
His head ached just seeing this guy surnamed Song’s face, let alone a close-up. Yu Lanyin wanted to play with his phone, only to find the missed calls were also flooded by the guy surnamed Song and his friends.
The System used a piece of data to handle it for him: “Want to block them completely?”
Yu Lanyin nodded forcefully with satisfaction, then immediately went back. Blocking wasn’t enough; he wanted to scold people.
Young Boss Yu announced: “I want to scold people.”
The System immediately helped him set up a voice mailbox. This way, when those blocked called, they would be redirected to a voice message and automatically receive Yu Lanyin’s scolding.
Yu Lanyin was very majestic and full of momentum. He took off his oxygen mask and rubbed his hands together while leaning on the System’s shoulder.
But he got stuck when he opened his mouth.
The System looked down and asked: “Never learned how?”
Yu Lanyin opened his mouth again.
At this moment, he involuntarily showed that expression of someone who had been raised too well and didn’t even know how to be angry. His cat-like eyes were wide open, thinking that was enough to be fierce.
Yu Lanyin dazed like this for a while, then slowly shook his head, momentarily entranced.
“Our family…” he spoke very softly. He hadn’t said those words for a long time, not daring to, for fear of waking a man-eating nightmare. “Our family doesn’t scold people.”
In their family, they chatted, told stories, had heart-to-heart talks, and had small group discussions.
Eldest Brother had an exceptionally good mind, earning his PhD in his early twenties. He was just quiet, not liking to speak, only willing to watch his two younger brothers play eagle-and-chicks, smiling while playing the mother hen.
Second Brother had a fiery temper, riding on the chubby boy who bullied his brother in kindergarten and punching him with his fists. He was educated by Mom with gentle taps on his palms and secretly given a thumbs-up by Dad for doing a good job.
Mom and Dad wouldn’t argue either. Grandpa was better at it; Grandpa protected the whole family.
Before Grandpa passed away, he was already too sick to speak. He insisted on being discharged and lying in a dim clinic bed to wait for death. His withered, thin hand was hooked to an IV, laboriously stroking Yu Lanyin’s back, slowly and tremblingly writing “I’m sorry” on his back.
Yu Lanyin had searched for Grandpa for three days, so tired he couldn’t stand steadily, almost beaten to death by debt collectors, yet still clutching the last bit of money, wanting to take Grandpa to a big hospital.
Grandpa wouldn’t go, forcing him to swear and make him use the money to pay off the debts.
Grandpa knew Yu Lanyin couldn’t be without him, but they couldn’t owe money. Grandpa wrote “I’m sorry” on his back.
His old, clouded eyes stared fixedly at him.
Full of worry.
Full of “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry.
Yu Lanyin was startled awake by a kiss. He shivered slightly. The kiss on his eyelashes was warm and ticklish. He tilted his face up in response, also blowing gently on the System’s eyelashes.
The System looked down at Yu Lanyin.
Yu Lanyin looked at his own shadow.
“Kiss me a bit longer,” Yu Lanyin said softly. He threw away the phone. “I don’t want to scold anyone anymore.”
Sometimes he felt that Yu Lanyin had died long ago—died on the day he met Song Baoxiao. The so-called “Yu Lanyin” currently alive was just a fake, a shameless imposter who had caused the death of his entire family and was living a cowardly life.
But he still wanted to listen to his family’s words. Mom said scolding people wasn’t good.
He didn’t want to scold anyone anymore.
The System wanted to scold, secretly whisking away the phone with data.
Yu Lanyin looked up, kissing the System haphazardly, bit by bit. He didn’t even seem to want to eat ice cream anymore. The System fed him some data, only to find it wasn’t accepted.
Yet Yu Lanyin still curved his eyes and smiled at the System when he met its gaze.
Yu Lanyin exclaimed: “It’s so delicious.”
The System stroked his neck, gathering him into its arms. Yu Lanyin leaned quietly. The System could taste that blood-like transparent substance all over his body.
“I should be more optimistic,” Yu Lanyin reflected. “I shouldn’t be like this, happy one moment and unhappy the next. It’s tiring for others, not good.”
The System shook its head: “No.”
The System said: “It’s wonderful.”
The System: “I’ve fallen in love.”
The triple affirmation directly stunned the breakfast shop owner. Yu Lanyin’s eyes widened. He looked up at the System for a long time, then was amused, his ears red with embarrassment: “Oh my, oh my.”
“Then why aren’t you kissing me yet?” Yu Lanyin tugged at him. “Kiss me. I want to eat spicy oil dumplings and dandan noodles.”
The System made this segment of data for him. Yu Lanyin was restless, moving around after kissing for a bit, nibbling and biting gently. The System had to pause to remind the breakfast shop owner that those were lips, not actual dumpling skins.
Yu Lanyin was overjoyed, laughing so hard he almost fainted.
The System gently touched his ear. The small red mole on Yu Lanyin’s earlobe was fading, becoming very faint.
Yu Lanyin’s eyes also seemed less dark.
Although they were still bright and beautiful when curved, Yu Lanyin was like a slowly fading piece of drawing paper, ready to break at a touch.
The System covered Yu Lanyin’s throat.
From there, it saw the data it had fed in flowing right back out. Yu Lanyin could no longer dream.
The System asked Yu Lanyin in a low voice: “Want to ride a helicopter?”
Breakfast shop owner: !!?
The Yu family had only touched the edges of the emerging wealthy class; they had never truly entered that circle, far from being able to use helicopters for travel.
The young master Yu was a bit embarrassed, his face turning red: “Isn’t… isn’t that not eco-friendly?”
The System: “…I’ll pay the carbon tax.”
After paying the environmental tax, the System pulled the needles for Yu Lanyin and picked him up. Only one of Yu Lanyin’s hands still had sensation. The System held his other hand, gently folding it over his chest and belly, and covered him with a thick coat.
Yu Lanyin was supported by the bend of his legs, swaying comfortably, praising himself: “Being 1.9 meters is really great.”
The System smiled: “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Yu Lanyin accepted it readily, touching the custom-made body with great gusto. The System looked merely tall and straight in clothes, but putting a hand in was another story.
The System could now calmly accept being touched. Holding Young Master Yu, it walked onto the rooftop helipad. The wind was strong, blowing fiercely. Downstairs was still a chaotic, noisy brawl.
The System added a mosaic over the annoying person.
Yu Lanyin looked at such a large lump of mosaic: “…”
“He discovered he’s a beast, argued with his friends, and was kicked out of the car. The company’s upper management found out you were hospitalized here and told him to come beg you,” the System summarized briefly. “He wants to come upstairs but can’t. I bribed the guards.”
Yu Lanyin did his best to come up with a wicked idea: “Splash a face full of smelly soy milk on him.”
The System complied.
The mosaic became a mosaic covered in smelly soy milk. The System carried Yu Lanyin onto the helicopter and buckled the seatbelt.
Cool.
Truly cool—there was a flight vest and a headset.
There was also an oxygen tank and goggles.
The System was responsible for flying the helicopter. They flew directly to the airport for the “Sunlight on Golden Mountain” route—that altitude of traversing the clouds was very cold.
To appreciate it, it was still better to sit comfortably in a commercial flight’s first class.
Yu Lanyin boastfully looked down, going up into the sky in a cool helicopter. He was very excited, constantly discussing with the System. He didn’t realize what he was saying—it was all about chips, program design, and flight control, things the family talked about most.
He was the one who studied the least in the family. He couldn’t help it; he was always sick and missing classes. Besides, there were already two genius brothers.
“I’m responsible for playing,” Yu Lanyin said proudly. “When I was little, the doctor said I’d be completely paralyzed by twenty-five. I wasn’t even afraid.”
Yu Lanyin said: “I’ll have an exoskeleton with rocket boosters, and a super cool transforming wheelchair.”
The System asked: “Can you race the wheelchair?”
Yu Lanyin was convinced: “Definitely.”
The System agreed: “Indeed, super cool.”
Yu Lanyin pursed his lips and smiled. His ears were tinged red by the lights. He turned his face to look out the window. Sitting like that, he forgot to maintain his smile.
The System called his name softly: “Yu Lanyin.”
With the hand that could still move, Yu Lanyin gently hooked the hem of the System’s clothes, bit by bit, tugging slowly. He closed his eyes, not looking at the glowing sea of “blue tears” flashing below.
He was trying his best to live, even though living meant only pain, even though he had been torn apart.
“Yu Lanyin,” the System said, “If you want, we can crash here.”
Yu Lanyin shivered and slowly woke up.
He turned his head to look at the System.
The System wasn’t joking. If the mission failed, at most it would be demoted to an ordinary system. This world had been ruined to such an extent; it would surely have to be rewound and started over.
Which meant rebirth.
The System wanted to take the reborn Yu Lanyin and snatch the “protagonist” position.
These thoughts couldn’t be spoken, or they would be discovered. Yu Lanyin, sitting beside him, curved his eyes. His blue-grey eyes were more beautiful than the “blue tears.”
“You.” Yu Lanyin smiled and asked softly, “Have you ever tried dying?”
The System shook its head.
Yu Lanyin said: “Then don’t try it.”
With his mobile hand, Yu Lanyin gently stroked the System’s hair. He clearly died in his own dreams every night, yet he wouldn’t let the System try. Being drowned and being burned were both unpleasant, and being falling to death wasn’t much better.
“I’m being redeemed by you.” Yu Lanyin’s voice was very gentle, very light, with a bit of soft mumble. “Don’t let me influence you. The world is good. The things I encountered were bad. Clear the errors… ah.”
He interrupted his words to look out the window. Bright light without temperature pierced through the clouds.
Yu Lanyin said: “The sun is out.”