Mu Sichen’s first night back in reality was nothing short of a nightmare. The source of that horror: He Fei.

After Mu Sichen stuffed the octopus plushie under his blanket, He Fei stared at the bed for a long moment before smiling. “Fine, I won’t steal your noodles. I’ll order takeout.”

A short while later, He Fei returned with a lavish spread of four dishes and a soup. He set them on Mu Sichen’s desk and offered warmly, “Come on, eat with me. There’s too much for one person.”

He Fei came from a well-off family and often treated his roommates. Seeing him acting like his usual self, Mu Sichen assumed that as long as the plushie was out of sight, He Fei was back to normal. Being a hungry college student who had only managed a pack of instant noodles, Mu Sichen accepted and reached for a piece of braised pork.

The moment the meat hit his tongue, He Fei’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. He laughed softly. “Brother Mu… can I see that octopus again?”

He Fei usually called him “Little Mu” or “Chen-chen,” or even “Sisi” when he was teasing. He had never called him “Brother Mu.”

Mu Sichen dropped his chopsticks with a clatter, vaulted onto his top bunk, and turned his back. “I’m not hungry anymore. I played games all day and I’m beat. Going to sleep.”

He clutched the octopus plushie to his chest, wrapping himself in his quilt like a cocoon, terrified someone would snatch it away. He heard He Fei stare at his bunk for a long time before huffing. “Fine. If you won’t let me play with it, you won’t. It’s not even that great. I’ll eat all this delicious food myself!”

His tone was perfectly natural—exactly like the old He Fei. Mu Sichen let out a tiny breath of relief. He listened to the sounds of his roommate cleaning up, washing up, and eventually climbing into his own bunk.

“Exhausted from the train ride. Turning in early,” He Fei announced.

It was only 8:00 PM—prime time for night owls—but Mu Sichen was spent. Though time hadn’t passed in reality, the physical and mental toll from the other world was very real. Despite his lingering suspicion, his eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Safe in his familiar bed, Mu Sichen slept soundly until the middle of the night, when he felt a hand fumbling around inside his blanket. He jolted awake, cold sweat drenching his back, and grabbed the wrist.

“He Fei?” In the dark, he could just make out his roommate’s silhouette. This was a top bunk—how the hell had He Fei gotten up here?

Mu Sichen checked his phone: 3:00 AM. He clicked on the flashlight, aiming the beam directly at He Fei’s face. He Fei was in his pajamas, perched on the edge of the bunk, rummaging through Mu Sichen’s covers.

“It’s three in the morning. What are you doing?”

He Fei squinted against the light. “I woke up and got bored. Wanted to borrow the doll to cuddle with.”

“No. Go hug your own pillow,” Mu Sichen said coldly.

“Tch, stingy,” He Fei grumbled. “Your doll looks so springy and divine. Hugging it must feel like bathing in holy light.”

Mu Sichen: “…” Springy and divine should never be used in the same sentence.

“Get down before I push you down,” Mu Sichen warned, placing a hand on He Fei’s chest.

“Fine, fine. I’m going.” He Fei climbed back down obediently.

Mu Sichen rolled over, frowning deeply. This was terrifying. He Fei’s tone, his mannerisms, even the awkwardness of being caught—everything was perfectly “He Fei.” Only his obsession with the octopus was pathologically wrong.

Mu Sichen buried his head under the quilt and squeezed the plushie’s tentacle. “What did you do?” he hissed. He pressed the tentacle to his forehead, but received nothing. The plushie’s eyes were closed; apparently, Qin Zhou was “sleeping.”

He couldn’t leave the dorm in the middle of the night, so he held the doll tight and listened to every creak in the room. He stayed awake for another hour, but by 4:00 AM, his consciousness began to blur.

Creak. He Fei’s bed moved.

Mu Sichen snapped his eyes open. He felt his own bed tremble. He Fei was back.

Mu Sichen lay perfectly still, feigning sleep. He Fei stood on the ladder, his face inches from Mu Sichen’s neck. He blew a soft breath into his ear. “Brother Mu… are you awake? I can’t sleep.”

Mu Sichen ignored him.

“Brother Mu, is the octopus for sale? Name your price.”

Mu Sichen held his breath.

He Fei’s hand reached toward Mu Sichen’s throat. “No… a divine icon like this shouldn’t be bought with money. That’s sacrilege. Mu Sichen… how can I get you to give Him to me?”

Mu Sichen threw back the covers, grabbed He Fei’s hand, and shoved him with all his might. Since He Fei was still on the ladder, he tumbled backward. He landed on his rear with a dull thud, twisting his ankle but thankfully missing his head.

“Ow!” He Fei yelped. “If you won’t give it, fine! Was that really necessary?”

Mu Sichen didn’t answer. He leaped down, grabbed the thin towel-blanket from He Fei’s bed, and ripped it into strips. He moved with the efficiency of a construction worker, binding He Fei’s hands and feet in a complex knot that only tightened the more he struggled.

“What are you doing? My ankle hurts!” He Fei shouted. “Brother Mu! Little Mu! Chen-chen! Sisi! Mu Sichen! You injured me—don’t you owe me medical fees? You don’t have to pay cash, just give me the divine octopus to settle the debt!”

Mu Sichen had reached his limit. He dragged his roommate out the door and dumped him in the hallway. He locked the door and barricaded it with every desk and chair in the room.

He Fei began thumping his head against the door. “Brother Mu, you’re so heartless! Locking me out in just my pajama pants? It’s so cold out here!”

Cold, my ass. It was summer. The hallway was a literal oven. He Fei could lie there naked all night and not catch a chill. Plus, it was nearly dawn; he’d be fine until the dorm opened.

“Mu Sichen, open the door!” He Fei wailed. Luckily, the floor was empty for the holidays, so no one else was disturbed.

Mu Sichen sat on his bed, clutching the plushie. “What did you do to him?”

The octopus blinked sleepily. Seeing Mu Sichen holding its head, it wrapped its tiny tentacles around his arm and went right back to sleep. Mu Sichen briefly considered pouring boiling water over it to see if that would wake the “God” up.

With He Fei thumping outside, sleep was impossible. Mu Sichen packed a suitcase with essentials. He was moving out. Two more nights with He Fei, and he’d probably be strangled in his sleep.

When 6:00 AM rolled around, Mu Sichen stuffed the plushie into his suitcase, shoved the furniture aside, and marched out. He Fei, who had fallen asleep against the door, woke up instantly. “The doll!”

Mu Sichen didn’t look back. He stepped over his roommate and sprinted for the stairs.

“The doll… no, Mu Sichen! Where are you going?” He Fei tried to give chase, but being bound and having a twisted ankle, he ended up worming across the floor like a caterpillar. Mu Sichen caught a glimpse of this in his peripheral vision—a truly cursed sight—and doubled his pace.

He biked to a budget hotel far from campus and checked into the cheapest room available. Only after the door was bolted did he breathe.

He hadn’t expected Qin Zhou’s avatar to be a walking cognitohazard. He Fei was clearly sick, and Mu Sichen had no idea how to fix him. He yanked the plushie out of the suitcase and shook it. “Wake up!”

Until now, he had been respectful, even guilty. But a night of terror had evaporated his patience. The octopus blinked its watery eyes, looking annoyed—it apparently had “morning breath” in a metaphorical sense.

“Don’t you get angry with me,” Mu Sichen threatened, holding it over the sink. “Fix He Fei, or you’re going in the toilet.”

The octopus immediately wrapped its tentacles around his arm, looking at him with its big, wet eyes. It was… actually quite cute. Mu Sichen felt his anger drain away. It was a terrifying realization—even he was being subtly influenced.

He pressed his forehead to a tentacle. “Explain. Now.”

“You should know,” the majestic voice echoed, “that mortals cannot gaze upon the Divine.”

“Even as a plushie? Even as a totem in another world?”

“It was your responsibility to bring me here. When I return and my power is consolidated, the influence on him will fade.”

“Fine. Next time, I am fulfilling our deal if it kills me,” Mu Sichen promised. He couldn’t keep this “Plague God” in the real world. If he lost the doll, it would become an urban legend.

For the next three days, Mu Sichen and the doll were inseparable. He even took it into the bathroom while he showered, terrified of losing it. Aside from the passive mental pollution, the octopus was surprisingly well-behaved. It slept at night and seemed to enjoy the warm water of the shower, inching toward the spray until Mu Sichen was forced to scrub it.

It even tried to eat. One day, Mu Sichen ordered Malatang and went to wash his hands. When he came back, the octopus had dunked its tentacles into the spicy soup. Its entire body had turned a vibrant, spicy pink.

When he tried to pull it out, the octopus refused to let go, its suckers clamped onto the plastic container. In the struggle, the soup flipped.

Mu Sichen: “…”

His finances were a wreck. He’d saved just enough for next semester’s tuition, and the hotel was eating his living expenses. Now, he was losing food to a god. He ordered another portion, specifically asking for extra broth, and poured some into a bowl for the guest.

The octopus drank the broth through its tentacles, turning pink and blowing a single, spicy red bubble from its mouth.

Mu Sichen stared at it. In three days, he’d learned a few things: it needed sleep, it was grumpy when woken, it couldn’t eat solids, and it blew bubbles based on what it drank. Spicy soup made red bubbles. Noodle soup made salty bubbles. It once snuck a sip of his Cola and produced a stream of sweet, brown bubbles.

“Are you really an Evil God?” Mu Sichen asked, pinching its face.

The doll didn’t answer. It just blew a spicy bubble at him. Mu Sichen wondered if dipping it in soapy water would produce rainbow bubbles. It was almost like having a silent, high-maintenance pet.

Then, his phone buzzed. It was a message from He Fei.

[Mu Sichen, where did you take the Divine Saint? Give Him to me! I’ve searched every hotel near campus. Where are you? I won’t fight you for Him, just let me see Him one more time, please!]

Mu Sichen: “…” Right. Still an Evil God. Definitely can’t afford to keep this.

Author’s Note:

Qin Zhou (face turned spicy pink): For these three days, we have been together constantly.

Mu Sichen: Finally, the three days are almost up. Time to send the “Plague God” packing.