The situation was beyond awkward. Fortunately, Mu Sichen had just survived a literal life-and-death struggle in another world; his poker face was now professional grade. Fooling He Fei wouldn’t be a problem.

Maintaining a gaze of absolute, righteous indignation, Mu Sichen tossed the knock-off plushie back onto He Fei’s bed and said flatly, “You’re the one who thrashes in your sleep. You kicked it onto the floor in the middle of the night.”

He Fei caught the plushie and hugged it to his chest, his face a mask of suspicion. “Even if I did, you could have put it on my desk or back on my bed. Why did you bring it into your bed?”

Mu Sichen had indeed put it on He Fei’s bed, but the plushie had grown legs and crawled back. What was he supposed to do?

“I was half-asleep! I thought it was my plushie. Why did you make it look so much like mine? It’s impossible to tell the difference in the dark! Honestly, were you planning to pull a bait-and-switch and steal the original?”

Mu Sichen decided that the best defense was a good offense. He pinned the blame squarely on He Fei.

He Fei’s face turned bright red instantly, and he began to stammer. “You… you… you’re slandering me! Who wanted to switch them? Even if yours is… cuter… I… I didn’t want to swap!”

Mu Sichen: “…”

He had only thrown out the accusation to deflect the embarrassment, but looking at He Fei’s shifty, guilty eyes—had he actually guessed right? Mu Sichen narrowed his eyes in a scrutinizing glare.

“Ha… ha… ha!” He Fei gave three forced, hollow laughs and wiped his face. “I’m not wasting time talking nonsense with you. I have to get to work.”

The awkward chapter was finally closed, sealed by the mutual guilt of both roommates.

Since He Fei was in a rush, Mu Sichen let him use the bathroom first while he stared at the knock-off plushie from across the room. If his senses hadn’t failed him, when he’d thrown the doll back, that one mobile tentacle had given his wrist a lingering, reluctant squeeze. Even now, the doll’s plastic eyes seemed to hold a flicker of accusation, as if rebuking him for discarding it.

Mu Sichen rubbed his temples. His head was starting to throb.

When He Fei finished getting ready, he picked up the doll and leaned in to kiss it. Mu Sichen’s heart leaped into his throat; he was a split second away from screaming, “Drop the doll and get away!”

Unexpectedly, He Fei stopped mid-way. He gazed at the knock-off with a look of profound reverence and whispered, “It looks so holy… how could I be so sacrilegious?”

He Fei then took a cloth and vigorously wiped the spot he had kissed the night before. Pressing three fingers to his forehead, he gave the plushie a deep, formal bow.

Mu Sichen wanted to bash his head against the wall. All his hard work had gone down the drain.

He had spent a small fortune staying at a hotel for three days to keep He Fei away from the influence of the little octopus. He’d fulfilled his pact with Qin Zhou, the original plushie had served its purpose as a ritual focus, and the trouble should have been over. He Fei should have been getting more normal by the day.

Instead, the tentacle pattern used to heal Mu Sichen’s arm had followed him back to reality and manifested its power in the knock-off. Last night, when He Fei kissed it, it was just a cheap doll made of polyester. Mu Sichen wouldn’t have cared if he’d slept with it. But now, the power of the totem had clearly migrated to the duplicate, and He Fei’s instincts were telling him the object was divine.

Mu Sichen didn’t have to worry about He Fei being “disrespectful” to the god-toy anymore, but the poor guy was slipping back into obsession. Worse yet, the original octopus belonged to Mu Sichen—he could take it away whenever he wanted. But the knock-off belonged to He Fei. Mu Sichen had no legal right to touch it.

He could only watch, paralyzed, as He Fei reverently tucked the doll into his backpack and hummed a cheerful tune on his way to work.

To work… If He Fei was already this far gone, what would happen if he brought that thing into an office full of people? What would his coworkers turn into?

Mu Sichen couldn’t sit still. He had to get that doll back.

But He Fei was far too obsessed. If Mu Sichen forcibly stole it and went into hiding, He Fei would call the cops. Then he’d be stuck in a police station while the doll went straight back to its owner. I have to be smart about this, Mu Sichen thought.

The solution was obvious: follow He Fei’s lead. If He Fei made a fake to replace the real one, then Mu Sichen would make a “Fake 2.0” to swap with the “Fake 1.0” currently haunting his roommate.

Fighting fire with fire. Mu Sichen gave himself a mental pat on the back.

But where had He Fei commissioned it? To make a perfect replica, he needed the same shop. There were dozens of DIY gift shops near the university. Mu Sichen searched He Fei’s desk and bed but couldn’t find a business card.

Just as he was about to give up, his hand brushed against He Fei’s glasses case. He Fei was slightly nearsighted—about 1.5 diopters—but he rarely wore them except for exams.

Mu Sichen immediately thought of the gold-rimmed glasses. If a tiny fragment of Qin Zhou’s power on his arm could cause this much chaos, surely the legacy of the Sky Eye had some utility. He pulled out the glasses and put them on.

The world became incredibly sharp, though he didn’t see anything supernatural at first. He stood where the doll had been last night and sighed. “Why is it so hard to find one knock-off octopus?”

The moment he spoke, a sharp, needle-like pain pricked his temple. He went to take the glasses off, but the world suddenly went black.

A vision of the previous night appeared. He saw the glowing doll on He Fei’s bed move a tentacle. It used that single limb to drag itself across the mattress, tumble to the floor, and slowly crawl toward Mu Sichen’s bunk. It was a pathetic, struggling sight—it fell four times before finally reaching its goal. It was a display of sheer, crippled willpower.

Mu Sichen remembered how he’d woken up and tossed it away like trash. He felt a brief pang of guilt, like a cad who had spurned a devoted lover.

He shook the feeling off. “Where did He Fei make the doll?”

Another prick of pain at his temple. Then, he saw a vision of He Fei walking into a shop near the campus gates called “Trendy DIY Handicrafts.”

Found it!

Mu Sichen pocketed the glasses and ran. If he could replace the doll before He Fei took it out of his bag at work, he could stop the corruption from spreading.

He reached the shop just as it opened. Panting, he pulled up a photo of the original octopus. “I need a doll exactly like this. Someone made one yesterday.”

The clerk, a sweet-looking girl, smiled. “I remember! He ordered it three days ago and waited all evening yesterday to pick it up.”

“Does it take three days?” Mu Sichen asked urgently.

“No, we were just waiting on materials,” she explained. “We have everything now. It takes about three or four hours. If you’re in a hurry, we can do an express order for an extra fee.”

“Do it! Express! Take my money!”

When she told him the price, Mu Sichen’s vision went dark again—this time from financial pain. Every cent he’d earned from his gaming gigs yesterday was gone in an instant. This little octopus was a black hole for his wallet.

He remembered Qin Zhou’s dream, telling him to “take back his power.” Mu Sichen desperately wanted to tell the God: Please, have some mercy. Whose power is refusing to leave whom? Just take your strength back and go!

He waited in agony until noon, when “Knock-off 2.0” was finally ready. While there, he bought a small, sturdy box with a lock.

“This box usually comes with star-shaped wish paper,” the clerk said. “It’s popular for girlfriends. They write down wishes, fold them into stars, and the boyfriend unlocks the box to fulfill them. Isn’t that romantic?”

Mu Sichen gave a hollow laugh. “I just want the box. No paper.” He wasn’t about to tell her he was using it to seal a divine artifact.

“It looks a bit plain without the paper,” she insisted, stuffing a pack of colorful origami strips into his bag. “On the house since you did an express order.”

Mu Sichen took it. Maybe I’ll need it for a ritual later, he thought.

With the new doll and the “sealing box” in hand, he found a secluded corner, put on the glasses, and whispered, “Where is the knock-off doll now?”

The prick at his temple came again. The glasses were literally drawing a drop of his blood every time they activated—the “needle” was a tiny spike on the frame.

The vision shifted. He saw He Fei’s office. The doll was sitting on the desk, about 20 centimeters high. He Fei would look at it every few minutes, beam with the kind of smile usually reserved for a promotion from the CEO, and then dive back into his work with manic energy.

The doll remained motionless, seven tentacles acting as a base, while the one mobile limb was tucked neatly under its head like a cat’s paw.

At least it knows how to hide its freakishness, Mu Sichen thought. He could wait until He Fei came home, but he didn’t want to risk the “night being long and full of dreams.” It was better to infiltrate the company and swap them out now.

Author’s Note:

Qin Zhou (cheeking his face): I heard that the more money a man spends on you, the more he loves you. Sichen has spent so much on me today.

Mu Sichen: I’m exhausted. When is this money-sucking monster going to go home?

He Fei: I am the world’s greatest “third-wheel roommate”