[Hahaha, see? This is why you don’t speak too soon! The story isn’t even over yet—how do you know it’s not romance?]
[This wave of attacks was clearly premeditated. Who did Jingyan offend?]
[We should @Changqing’s official account now. There’s been a lot of slander saying Eldritch God got into the competition through backdoor deals—how will they explain that? [screenshot] [screenshot]]
The doubts crumbled on their own. At first, there were still a few stubborn voices saying,
[This kind of obsessive, pathological thing isn’t romance!]
But they were quickly drowned out by counterarguments and vanished one by one.
[…I apologize. I shouldn’t have followed the crowd before the next episode even came out.]
[So embarrassing, I almost wronged a good work…]
[This twist—I didn’t see it coming at all. I started watching to see it flop, but now I got slapped instead… I’ll say no more. Damn, Jingyan, from now on I’ll call you the best!]
The original poster, realizing they were in the wrong, deleted the post and fled in disgrace.
Smack!
Guan Gaoyang slammed his light-brain in fury, his face burning as if on fire. On the screen was that infuriating post:
[Here’s the “love” you wanted. Take it.]
Originally, his post hadn’t caused much stir, but later it caught fire because his signed company—Aolun—fanned the flames behind the scenes.
His editor thought the idea was great and suggested steering public opinion in that direction next.
At first, Guan Gaoyang had been delighted by the news, but soon it left a bitter taste.
On the one hand, it showed his company supported him. On the other hand… it also showed that Aolun believed Eldritch God might actually threaten his top spot, so they wanted to preemptively suppress it.
He had worked for a year to sign with Aolun. The company was a declining giant—once a major site in the wandering star systems, now falling off due to unfair practices driving Dreamweavers away.
Guan Gaoyang didn’t care. Aolun was throwing resources at him, and he was more than happy. Aolun needed a new “flagship” with a perfect track record, and winning first place in this themed event was step one for both of them.
[Plan A failed, so we’ll switch to Plan B,] said his editor calmly.
[And you’ll be the one to do it.]
Frustration welled up in him. Guan Gaoyang gritted his teeth, picked up his light-brain, and opened Jingyan Suoyouren’s private message inbox, pasting in a prepared Aolun contract invitation.
—Yes, the so-called Plan B was to buy Shang Jingyan out and make her voluntarily withdraw.
Once she signed, they’d both be under the same agent, and they could “discuss” her lying low for now, letting Aolun’s resources continue to promote him, and swap the focus later.
For Aolun, it was a win-win—they’d gain a genius newcomer too.
They didn’t even consider that she might refuse. After all, Aolun still had a big name.
Who knew—minutes later, Guan Gaoyang received a reply:
[Not interested. Kindly decline~]
Guan Gaoyang and his editor: “…”
Such a sarcastic tone! Who says “kindly decline” about themselves??
Suppressing his anger, he followed up:
[Please reconsider, Miss Jingyan. If your ranking later isn’t ideal, we might have to consider someone else.]
Meaning: miss this chance, and it’s gone.
Her reply was arrogantly brief:
[Is that so? I won’t.]
He tried to message again, but the next one came back with a red exclamation mark—blocked.
The two were dumbfounded.
The editor said nothing, but a creeping fear spread in Guan Gaoyang’s heart: if she refused, what if she really overtook him and took first place?
Aolun wanted a “perfect resume” rookie. If his debut ended in failure, he’d be just another replaceable newcomer. Would Aolun… still back him like this?
V059.
[Why did you refuse Aolun?] asked X71 curiously.
It could tell that the IP on the other side belonged to the original poster and current frontrunner, Bairi Gaoxuan, but how did Shang Jingyan know?
[I know Bairi Gaoxuan is Aolun’s. That’s enough.] Shang Jingyan said.
After studying this world’s entertainment structure, she also thought she should sign with a company—just not now, and definitely not Aolun.
Their ambition to manufacture stars was as blatant as the intentions of Sima Zhao; even if they weren’t behind this scheme, being signed alongside Bairi Gaoxuan would only breed endless rivalry.
Since entering the top fifty, her inbox had been busy. One message after another.
Many were trying to sign her, some asked about actors, some asked about the composer, and even a retro architecture firm reached out about Gothic structures.
She ignored most, but added the last two—music and architecture inquiries.
These were knowledge she’d brought from Earth—she never intended to hoard them.
The most frequent question, however, was about the cast. In Eldritch God’s comments, aside from the female lead, the one most discussed was that officer.
[She’s so handsome! It’s not just a filter from the trio of protagonists—she’s really special!]
[Weird. We already found out the female lead is based on some minor star named Wurui, but this officer? Three threads asking, no results. Is she a nobody?]
[Maybe it’s a custom face. Judging by how seamless she moves, though, there’s likely a real-life model. Pure AI at that level would cost a fortune—no way Jingyan could afford it, haha.]
[The Eldritch God is gorgeous and cool, but this sister is so dashing too!]
[How dare you covet the Eldritch God! Eldritch Goddess, look at me! Forget that girl—I offer myself first!]
[I choose the human officer…]
Shang Jingyan felt conflicted—because that officer was actually her.
She had slightly adjusted the parameters to match her former appearance—early thirties.
She had no choice; she was broke, funds were tight, and aside from the male and female leads, there was only one supporting role. She might as well do it herself. Her acting was decent—back in her previous life, directors often had to personally demonstrate what they wanted to their actors.
Shang Jingyan set down the light-brain and picked up a password box.
The original host had kept it under her pillow. After that day of resonance with Tian Jiangli’s spirit, a corner of her memory stirred—she recalled the password.
PAN2219.
“PAN” stood for Pan God. The numbers seemed to be a year—four years ago—but she couldn’t remember its significance.
What happened four years ago?
Inside was a contract. Shang Jingyan read it, then fell silent for a full minute.
“…”
The gist was: she owed a massive debt. The creditor had specified repayment in the form of three years’ Dream Source Crystal mining rights, with a repayment deadline of fifty years.
And what were Dream Source Crystals?
No one in the interstellar world didn’t know. Their extract was the only known cure for Spiritual Void Syndrome—and a gram was worth more than gold.
They were incredibly fragile, requiring an entire planet to cultivate. No other life could coexist on such planets, and mining required machines or specially insulated suits.
To grant mining rights, she had to be the planetary owner of a Dream Source Crystal world.
Shang Jingyan: “…”
A catastrophic revelation!
She desperately wanted to know how the original owner incurred such a colossal debt, but the bizarre contract didn’t explain the cause, nor name the creditor—only a planet’s sigil.
So—how does one become a planetary owner?
Aside from inheriting it or “having a mine at home,” there was only one way: become a top-tier, Star-Resident Dreamweaver.
A Star-Resident Dreamweaver would own a Dream Source Crystal planet named after them, symbolizing their eternal shine in the dreams of the Alliance.
There were fewer than five active Star-Resident Dreamweavers in existence today.
Shang Jingyan sighed, opened her notebook, and started sketching ideas.
She had done all she could for Eldritch God—now it was up to fate. The top three all had prize money anyway. Plus, with tips, it was enough to repay Sister Cui.
At this point, she was almost numb to debts—just wrote whatever came to mind.
What should her next work be?
Time flew by. Only a little over a day remained in the event, and Eldritch God had soared to fifth place—only about 30 votes behind second.
[It’ll probably reach second in the end, but first is too hard. What a pity.]
[Gap with first place is over 200 votes. Unless it explodes in popularity again, there’s no hope.]
[I’ve already recommended it to my friends. Honestly, Eldritch God is really effective for early-stage Spiritual Void Syndrome… except for the nightmares.]
[You Jingyan fans are too greedy. A rookie parachuting in and landing second—isn’t that enough?]
[Greedy? Bairi Gaoxuan’s project bought so many trending slots early on, don’t think we don’t know. He doesn’t deserve that position.]
[If first place ends up being a work full of default models, that’s just a joke. Besides, Bairi Gaoxuan’s is real romance.]
[What’s wrong with default models? Is there a rule saying works using base assets can’t win?]
[Newbies use defaults because they’re broke. And how do you know Jingyan didn’t do it on purpose? It actually enhanced the horror! Stop harping on the romance—Eldritch God CP is great too!]
As the event neared its end, the comments section turned into a battlefield. Eldritch God had drawn so much attention that no one cared about the poor soon-to-be-surpassed second place—everyone was watching the drama between Bairi Gaoxuan and Jingyan.
Guan Gaoyang couldn’t sleep, praying desperately for no new surge in Eldritch God’s heat.
His prayers failed. With 24 hours left, Qingse Xue posted a fanart—
She didn’t draw the Eldritch God’s true form, only a silver-white humanoid silhouette embracing the male lead from behind. The male lead had his eyes closed, head tilted back slightly, wearing a white shirt, hands crossed over his chest like a sacrifice.
Around them floated glowing bubbles, jellyfish, silverfish, and other marine creatures, their soft colors reflecting like a fairytale.
But in the dark blue background, a golden eye glimmered faintly, as if watching them—or watching the viewer beyond the frame—evoking a chilling sense of dread.
Even those who hadn’t seen the work could feel the haunting beauty of the piece.
In under three hours, the artwork—tagged #Mutual Pathology#—soared into the top ten of Changqing’s fanart rankings.
