MMPS Ch. 36

Chapter 36: The Ultimate Deadly Mission for Social Anxiety

Yu An genuinely enjoyed gaming, but only in solitude. He preferred locking himself in his room, playing silently through the night. The idea of streaming games in front of a live audience? That was far from appealing.

“Huo Yangui… he’s too weird-looking, probably easy to get banned. Ni Lan can fight, sure, but she doesn’t seem like someone who’s spent much time on a computer.” the boss remarked, flipping through a stack of resumes. “But Yu An? Perfect. His pale, clean-cut appearance, those delicate, youthful features—exactly what young girls like these days. Plus, he’s never revealed his face while working as an intern here, so he’s perfect for rebranding into a new persona.”

“Tch. The mission comes first. Who cares about appealing to young girls?”

“Promotion is a double-edged sword.” the boss said with a casual wave, stamping approval on a document. “That’s how I’ll make my investment pay off. You think creating a game streamer out of thin air doesn’t cost money?” He leaned back, assured. “The interns haven’t even finished their probationary evaluations. Let’s call this their third ‘rescue simulation’ test. Assign them to familiarize themselves with Grey Crow: Toyhouse. Once the tech and mechanical teams finish calibrating the equipment, we’ll finalize the plan. You’re in charge—take the interns along and show them the ropes.”

Zhao Ran said nothing more. The boss’s intentions were clear. Guiding Yu An to sever old ties this morning was just the first step. What he wanted was for Yu An to be a weapon cloaked in shadows, deadly and unseen. But when the hood came off, that same weapon would transform into the company’s cash cow.

The boss wasn’t wrong, either. Zhao Ran had already turned down the idea of Yu An becoming an assassin once. He wouldn’t refuse twice.

“I don’t mind,” Zhao Ran shrugged, “but Yu An applied here because he wanted a quiet, unassuming job where he could work without talking to anyone. You’ve seen how indifferent he is. If he doesn’t like this, he might just quit. And knowing him, he’d actually do it.”

“He won’t quit. He’ll get paid—no one turns their back on money.” The boss poured himself tea with practiced ease, radiating confidence. “And besides, with you here, why would he ever leave?”

“Ah, the naivety of staying too long in an ivory tower.” the boss chuckled, savoring his tea. “Does anyone truly believe the job description they’re promised in an interview?”

As he leaned back and laughed, his tone shifted, almost amused. “That boy is quite striking, though. If we cultivate him right, he could really draw a crowd. Prepare a school uniform for him—play up the high school angle. His face suits it perfectly.”

“A school uniform?” Zhao Ran’s brows furrowed. “That’s pushing it.”

“Come on, you can’t deny it matches his look. Speaking of, among the interns, Ji Nian is a graduate student, right? He’s probably only a year older than Yu An. And yet Yu An still looks so… boyish.”

“I’ll make arrangements as I see fit.” Zhao Ran interjected firmly, cutting off the boss’s fantasies of exploiting their newfound cash cow.

*

Yu An, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of the machinations the boss had meticulously planned for him.

Instead of waiting outside the office for Zhao Ran as instructed, Yu An seized the chance to slip away when the assistant, Xiao An, wasn’t around.

In just ten dull minutes leaning against the office door, Yu An had already memorized every alley and side street around the company using an electronic map. Flashing his ID badge meant he could easily leave under official escort, but Yu An opted for a more discreet route. He found a hidden path, commandeered an unattended bicycle, and pedaled his way home. As per company protocol, field agents could borrow civilian transportation during missions—any loss or damage would be covered by the company.

Years of skipping school had honed Yu An’s knack for evasion. Though he could’ve taken the subway home without raising suspicion, caution dictated otherwise. The last thing he needed was trouble for being seen.

The moment he returned home, Yu An made a beeline for the living room, not even bothering to take off his shoes.

He hadn’t gone through all that effort just for leisure. His goal was singular: to exchange more depleted cores for pages of the diary.

Tipping the heavy TV cabinet over each time was a hassle. The noise and marks it left behind risked exposure. To save time and avoid detection, Yu An had crafted a simple spring-powered launcher using four springs and a curved wooden plate. The curve fit the cores perfectly; all he needed to do was align the core with the cabinet’s coin slot, press the spring, and launch.

With practiced ease, he inserted a spent Tier 2 Blue Core: Goat’s Horn into the slot. The mechanism clicked, and a tightly rolled paper shot out onto the floor.

Unrolling it revealed not a diary entry, but a haphazard sketch: a map.

In the center of the map was a small village, crudely drawn. A winding path led deeper into the settlement, passing a rectangular area marked with plus and square signs, and ending at a lake. Above the lake, a meticulously inked design stood out: the sun, depicted with intricate, overlapping patterns.

Though the sun often symbolizes light and faith, something about this totem felt… wrong.

On the back of the map were two bold characters: Riyu Town. Beneath them, two smaller lines of text read:

“A false light hangs beneath the banner of the God of War.
And the void of faith ends with me.”

“Riyu Town… Why does that name sound so familiar?” Yu An murmured. He vaguely recalled the boss mentioning it in some anecdote about Zhao Ran’s past. Apparently, Zhao Ran was from there.

“I drew this map; have I been to Riyu Town?” Yu An closed his eyes, attempting to dredge up memories from a blurred past but found nothing.

If he had indeed been to Riyu Town, it was likely he had crossed paths with the interviewer, which would explain the care and indulgence shown toward him.

The prospect of uncovering more spurred him on. Yu An retrieved a spent Function Core – Wolf King Command and loaded it into the mechanism.

Another diary page popped out, rolling to a stop by his hand.

——

Weather: Sunny

He usually worked night shifts, coming home to sleep during the day. Despite his busy schedule, he always fulfilled my every whim.

Once, I impulsively wanted to watch the sunrise with him. He immediately refused, blurting out, “No.” When I pressed him for a reason, his answers were vague and evasive.

But today, he was unusually agreeable, as though he’d done something wrong and was trying to appease me, to indulge me.

We didn’t go far—just to a small hill in the park near our neighborhood. To the east of the hill was a cemetery. I had my eye on an especially tall gravestone erected by some wealthy family; I thought it would be a great spot to watch the sunrise. He adamantly refused to let me go near it.

In the dead of night, we snuck up the hill. It was deep winter, and the pre-dawn chill was far colder than I’d anticipated. My teeth chattered uncontrollably. He laughed and asked if I wanted to go back. Truthfully, I did—I wanted to leave immediately. But I was stubborn, and I said no. Secretly, I hoped he’d take charge and carry me home over his shoulder. That way, I’d save face and have an excuse to make a few unreasonable demands later.

But he didn’t. Instead, he opened his coat and wrapped me in his arms, shielding me like a penguin protecting its egg.

At that moment, the distant sky began to pale, the soft yolk-yellow edge of the sun peeking through a corner of the clouds. The sunlight fell on my face, devoid of warmth.

I turned to look at him—his snow-white lashes and eyes. His pupils reflected the rising half-sun. His chest, warm and solid, pressed against me. He was the sunrise.

Yet today, there was something off about his paleness. As the sun rose higher, he seemed to wither. I even saw a hint of fragility in his weary expression. Unable to wait for the sunrise to end, I dragged him home. His head drooped onto my shoulder, his lashes trembling like moth wings.

“If only I could live a little longer.” he murmured to himself. “I’d watch the sunrise with you every day.”

I didn’t understand, so I kissed him for a long time.

He sometimes sank into this kind of pessimism, as if his world were on the verge of collapse, as if death were imminent, and I was his only source of solace. Maybe the stress of his job was overwhelming. To distract him, I kissed him every time he started talking, cutting him off, and then teased him for being a bad kisser. His ears would burn, and later, in the quiet of midnight, he’d secretly practice tying knots in earphone cords with the tip of his tongue.

When we got home, he seemed much better. He shed the dirtied white shirt he’d worn to work, and I immediately pulled out a wine-red one I’d prepared for him.

The red made him look more alive, less fragile, less like he might vanish from my side at any moment.

It was only then that it dawned on me—could he be afraid of the light?

February 23, M018

——

“Afraid of light… a wine-red shirt.” Yu An carefully digested the contents of the diary. This time, he gleaned a great deal of critical information—he was almost certain the “he” in the diary was Zhao Ran.

So, what exactly was this town called Riyu?

The spent core in his hand was useless now. Yu An fished out a few coins Zhao Ran had given him, placed them in the ejection device, and launched them upward.

Clink.

Something was off—the sound wasn’t right. It seemed stuck.

“Hey, come on.” Yu An crouched down and patted the coin slot. He lifted the TV cabinet and gave it a shake. Coins tumbled out, but there was no sign of the diary.

The coin-operated lock likely had a scanning mechanism, requiring the residual radiation from the spent core to trigger it.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

A light tapping sound came from the balcony glass. Yu An raised his head and looked through the window.

A left hand, its fingers curled as if poised to knock, hovered outside the glass. It was severed at the forearm, unattached to any body.

At the same time, Yu An heard a faint tapping from the ceiling. Looking up, he saw a right hand—its wrist adorned with a pair of sunglasses—scrambling across the ceiling. It swiftly climbed to the window, unlocked the latch, and let the left hand inside.

Both hands leapt into the room and hovered in front of Yu An. They crossed, making a posture of arms folded in reprimand, then absurdly pointed a single finger at him as if scolding him in silence—eerily reminiscent of Zhao Ran in one of his lectures.

In his mind, Yu An could almost hear Zhao Ran’s tone: “You little brat, causing trouble all day long. So wild I can’t keep you in check. The second I take my eyes off you, you’re running off again. Hurry up and get back here!”

“Hahaha.” Yu An chuckled aloud, his usually cool expression softening into a rare curve.

The hands seemed momentarily stunned, then softened in their demeanor. They rested on Yu An’s cheeks, gently rubbing them.

*

The doorbell of the villa rang. Zhao Ran was already waiting by the shoe cabinet in the foyer. When the door opened, Yu An was marched back by the two hands, his clothes damp, his hair a chaotic mess sticking out from beneath his hoodie.

Zhao Ran stood by the door with his arms crossed. “So wild. If I didn’t come fetch you, you wouldn’t even come back. What, I can’t control you anymore? Causing trouble all day long.”

Yu An felt the urge to laugh but forced himself to suppress it.

He wasn’t at all afraid Zhao Ran would punish him. A few scolding words or a light smack wouldn’t hurt—it wasn’t like Zhao Ran would ever really lay a hand on him.

Even though Yu An’s face was hidden beneath his jet-black hoodie, Zhao Ran could still sense the bratty arrogance in him, emboldened by Zhao Ran’s indulgence.

Since disciplining him wasn’t effective, Zhao Ran decided to let him face a bit of hardship instead.

Zhao Ran pulled out a mission brief and a stack of stamped contracts, holding them up in front of Yu An.

“Party B possesses exceptional gaming skills and meets the physical requirements… Party A agrees to sign Party B as an official streamer… Party A: Grey Crow Gaming Company. Party B: Zhao Cai. Signed ID: ‘Coal Black^[1]’

“I’ve created a new identity for you. How about it?”

Yu An read through it silently, then turned on his heels and bolted.

The next second, Zhao Ran reached out, grabbed the back of his hoodie, and hauled him back into the house.