In the real world, hollow rhetoric rarely moves people. But this was an alien realm—a place as dangerously volatile to mental pollution as it was susceptible to emotional resonance.

As Mu Sichen spoke, he felt a flicker in the chests of the sanitarium residents: a miniature Totem of the Self, identical to the one fueling his Pillar, had appeared. The patterns were still blurred and indistinct.

[System Note: Once you fulfill your promise, the totems in their hearts will solidify. You will possess a group of independent followers. They will have the ability to discern right from wrong, but they may not necessarily obey your every command.]

That’s exactly how it should be, Mu Sichen thought. A normal person shouldn’t blindly trust someone just because of a grand speech, nor should they follow orders without question.

He patted the small octopus and stuffed the plushie back into his bag. He now carried a double weight of promises—one to Qin Zhou and one to the townspeople—but the pressure had returned to a manageable level.

“Are you coming to the food processing plant?” Mu Sichen asked Chi Lian and Cheng Xubo. “Staying here is safer for now.”

“Safe, sure, but we can’t log out,” Chi Lian replied. “I just got a system notification telling me to assist you in fulfilling your vow. It’s the same as last time: finish the mission to go home; fail, and we’re stuck here forever. What are we waiting for? I’m in.”

Cheng Xubo nodded. “Exactly. We can’t just sit here eating through your supplies and relying on you for everything.”

The tone of both teammates had subtly shifted. Ever since Mu Sichen set the ideological foundation for the Self Totem, they seemed more proactive.

“It was around 1:00 PM ‘Nighttime’ when we left. We’re lucky; seventy-two hours have passed, and Big Eye is still asleep. We’re still in the ‘Night’ cycle with seven hours left before ‘Daybreak.’ We have plenty of time,” Mu Sichen noted.

Cheng Xiaoliang—the volunteer formerly known as Antenna-Eye—spoke up softly. “Dean, the time is wrong.”

“How so?”

“Since you purified the sanitarium, the ‘Night’ has grown longer,” Cheng Xiaoliang explained. “Night now lasts fourteen hours, and ‘Daylight’ has shrunk to ten. From 8:00 PM to 10:00 AM… that is our Night.”

Their window of action had expanded. It seemed that by losing a Pillar, Big Eye’s power had been significantly weakened. Despite the grim path ahead, the light of hope was growing brighter.

“Thank you for the tip, Cheng Xiaoliang,” Mu Sichen said. “And… I’m sorry.”

Cheng Xiaoliang turned red, his antennae twitching. “Well, I do look pretty scary… and I’ve participated in sacrifices before. I even stole a pair of eyes once.”

The other residents involved in the ritual lowered their heads in shame.

“Fine,” Mu Sichen said. “We’ve all made mistakes. The environment, the atmosphere, and the pressure are all to blame. We’ll change together.”

“Dean, do you know where the processing plant is?”

Mu Sichen shook his head. The system hadn’t provided a map.

Cheng Xiaoliang pointed to himself. “I used to work there. The pressure is immense—nothing like the peace of the sanitarium. To escape the plant, I surrendered a pair of my eyes to buy an exit permit. That’s how I got reassigned here.”

Mu Sichen had assumed Cheng Xiaoliang was born without eyes; he hadn’t realized they were a currency for freedom. “Giving up your eyes lets you leave?”

Cheng Xiaoliang’s antennae wavered. “Not exactly… I had to do some very bad things to earn that chance. Please don’t ask anymore, Dean. I’ll draw you the route.”

He produced pen and paper and sketched a map. It was just a series of lines with no landmarks or buildings.

“It’s all thick fog out there. How are we supposed to follow a line with no landmarks?” Chi Lian asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cheng Xiaoliang insisted. “As long as you hold this direction in your mind, you will reach the plant no matter how you walk.”

“The plant must be a Pillar,” Mu Sichen concluded. Only a Pillar possessed such a powerful gravitational pull, drawing the residents toward it like moths to a flame.

The trio packed their gear and left. Mu Sichen considered leaving his snacks behind, but they were a drop in the bucket for a population this size. Scarce resources would only breed inequality and conflict. Instead, he established a simple point system, awarding Cheng Xiaoliang extra points to redeem for future food.

Because the Pillar could currently only be eroded from within, Mu Sichen kept the sanitarium closed to outsiders. No one bothered them in the dark, and Big Eye’s daytime attacks had ceased. They moved through the mist unopposed.

After an hour of walking, the fog thinned, revealing a sprawling industrial park that seemed to stretch into infinity.

“We’re here,” Cheng Xubo said. “Do we just walk in and apply for jobs?”

“Wait.” Mu Sichen stopped them.

He closed his eyes, using his left eye to pierce the mist. At the factory gates, he saw a “Wanted” poster. It featured four faces: the three of them and Yao Wangping.

Shen Jiyue had been a patient strapped to a bed during the fight, so her identity remained hidden. But the players had swapped identities, broken rules, smashed through walls, beaten an Apostle, and stolen a Pillar. Big Eye’s “To Know is to See” ability meant that once it woke, it knew everything that had happened in the sanitarium. Unless the God was an idiot, it wouldn’t just let them walk back into another Pillar.

Mu Sichen described the posters.

“If we can’t get in, what do we do?” Cheng Xubo sighed.

Chi Lian remained calm. “How about a face-lift?”

“A face-lift?”

Chi Lian nodded. “After we logged out, my ability leveled up. Since I helped you seize the Pillar, I’m now Level 5—’Foundation’ rank. I can ‘Cut and Paste’ more than just physical objects. I used to only do paper or wallpaper, but now I can handle more abstract, surface-level things. I think I can swap our faces.”

“Why didn’t you say so back at the sanitarium?” Cheng Xubo groaned. “Where are we going to find faces to cut out here?”

“I didn’t think we’d be wanted posters,” Chi Lian said sheepishly. “But it doesn’t have to be a real face. A photo works too—it’s an abstract representation. Do you have your phone?”

Cheng Xubo threw up his hands. “You think I brought my phone into this nightmare?”

Chi Lian winced. “Should we walk an hour back to the sanitarium?”

“No,” Mu Sichen interrupted. “Nothing in Pupil Town stays hidden from Big Eye forever, and the faces in the sanitarium are likely already on file. We need fresh faces. Let me look.”

He reached into his backpack and, to his shock, pulled out his smartphone. It was his real phone, complete with the game app, though it had no signal.

“Captain, how did you bring a phone in?” Cheng Xubo was floored. “That’s incredible.”

Mu Sichen hadn’t expected the phone, the bag, or the snacks to follow him. Chi Lian and Cheng Xubo had brought nothing but the clothes on their backs. Cheng Xubo had even prepared a crate of fireworks and tools to make improvised explosives—hoping to blind any multi-eyed monsters—but none of it had made the jump.

Only Mu Sichen had brought his “luggage.”

As Chi Lian scrolled through his photos to find suitable faces, Mu Sichen locked eyes with the octopus plushie in his bag. The doll’s eyes were flat and unmoving, devoid of their usual shimmer. It looked… nervous.

He had a suspicion that his ability to bring these items was tied to this doll. When he had grabbed the phone, he’d felt a tentacle tapping away at the screen.

“I don’t appreciate you messing with my phone,” Mu Sichen whispered to the doll, “but thank you for this.”

The doll’s eyes instantly regained their watery, high-definition luster. Mu Sichen zipped the bag. He had to keep this thing away from Yao Wangping; if that fanatic saw what had become of his God’s totem, his mind would likely snap.

Chi Lian found the right photos. She chose a delicate-looking girl for herself and a man with thinning hair for Cheng Xubo. When it was Mu Sichen’s turn, he checked the front-facing camera and nearly dropped the device in horror.

Chi Lian had chosen He Fei’s face.

The last time he’d seen that face, He Fei was looming over him in the middle of the night, driven mad by the plushie. The psychological shadow was real.

“Can we pick literally anyone else?”

Chi Lian looked guilty. “It costs 500 energy points per face. I’m Level 5, but my cap is only 1200, and I just borrowed 300 from you.”

Mu Sichen checked his stats. He had 4700 points left. Given that converting a high-level follower cost over 3000, he couldn’t afford to be frivolous.

“Fine. We’ll use it,” he muttered. At least He Fei was handsome, and he’d have to face the real one eventually. Might as well get used to the reflection.

Disguised as total strangers, they approached the factory. Like the sanitarium, there was a registration desk. They couldn’t use their real names or their previous aliases. Chi Lian became “Liu Yiyi,” Cheng Xubo became “Wang Wu-liu,” and Mu Sichen chose “Chun Xiaoyan”—a phonetic jab at “Stupid Little Eye.”

Unlike the sanitarium, the clerk here was a full Follower, a rank above a Volunteer. He handed them badges. These weren’t name tags; they were color-coded cards featuring dozens of vibrant, shifting hues.

“Is it a problem if we lose these?” Cheng Xubo asked.

The Follower’s eyes flickered with a strange hunger as he looked at their badges. He shook his head. “No. If you lose it, just come to the office for a replacement.”

“Can we leave before ‘Daylight’?” Chi Lian asked.

“Of course. We have a standard shift system here. It used to be 9-to-7, but the Great Existence hasn’t been feeling well lately, so ‘Daylight’ is shorter. Your shift now ends at 9:00 PM.”

Cheng Xubo muttered under his breath. “Damn, this is worse than my job back home. We do 996; this place does 997 and calls it a benefit. Disgusting.”

Mu Sichen patted his shoulder. Cheng Xubo’s thinning hair was a testament to his life as a corporate drone.

“What’s our job?” Mu Sichen asked before heading in.

The clerk beamed at them. “You’re High-Level employees. You’ll be in the Energy Zone—the easiest post in the Bright Pupil Processing Plant. Just start the machines, then you can eat, drink, and play all day. You can even take food home to your families.”

The clerk licked his lips. Mu Sichen noticed his gaze was fixed on their badges, as if the plastic cards themselves were delicacies.

“How many levels of employees are there?”

“High-Level works in the Energy Zone, Mid-Level in Assembly, and Low-Level in the Breeding Grounds,” the clerk explained patiently.

“And how is rank determined?”

The clerk finally grew impatient. “I’m just a gatekeeper. Ask the floor manager. Take your pass and go to that building. Scan in, scan out.”

Realizing they wouldn’t get more, Mu Sichen led the way.

Chi Lian rubbed her badge. “That guy’s eyes were so weird. He looked like he wanted to eat this card. Can I swap mine?”

“Don’t,” Mu Sichen said, frowning. “I have a feeling these badges aren’t just for identification. Swapping them won’t change what they are.”

The interior of the factory was massive, but the most striking thing was the air. The fog was thin here. Looking up, Mu Sichen could almost see the faint suggestion of sunlight behind the haze.

“This place feels… too normal for Big Eye’s territory,” Cheng Xubo said. “It looks like a regular industrial park.”

“In this world, the more ‘normal’ it looks, the more dangerous it is,” Mu Sichen warned. “Observe first, delay whenever possible. If you’re forced to act, stall for as long as you can.”

As he spoke, a vacant-eyed worker pushed a cart of packaged bread past them. Mu Sichen glanced at the worker’s badge. It was a dull combination of only three colors—black, blue, and green—starkly different from the kaleidoscopic badges pinned to their own chests.

Author’s Note:

Qin Zhou: I swear I wasn’t trying to peek at his phone. I just feel like he looks at that screen more than he looks at me. Am I not cuter than a phone? I’m hiding it!

Mu Sichen (firmly): No, you are not cuter than my phone.