Ever since Shang Jingyan arrived in this world, her mind had always felt strangely hollow, and even after the system added stabilizers, it didn’t change much.
But now, that hollow feeling faded—just a little.
Suddenly, the black mist in Shang Jingyan’s eyes was no longer an unknown mass, but a cluster of tiny biscuits.
She played the video with renewed vigor. The black mist receded even faster, and the wounds covering the unicorn were now more visible. For some reason, though, the unicorn itself had started backing away.
“Don’t retreat, I’m healing you.” Shang Jingyan, now a glowing orb, wrapped herself around the unicorn’s neck to stop it from pulling back. “See? The black mist is disappearing. Don’t you feel a lot better?”
The projection had reached the part where blood began seeping from the castle ceiling, and the unicorn’s eyes looked even more terrified.
By the time the previous episode finished playing, the black mist had completely withdrawn from the wound.
“Don’t run. I’m not done eating yet.”
Shang Jingyan made the screen surround the unicorn from all directions, forcing the black mist to finish the middle episode. This time, the mist had nowhere to run, and with a look of utter despair, it was purified and exorcised.
The unicorn lifted its front hooves in mild surprise. Shang Jingyan stared at the wound, thought for a moment, and split off a bit of the power she had just absorbed—
As expected, the wound began healing at remarkable speed. The unicorn neighed twice, its beautiful eyes filled with gratitude, and gently nuzzled Shang Jingyan with its head.
Shang Jingyan: “Well then, goodbye. I’m leaving.”
The mental connection cut off. She felt a dizzy fullness, like someone too stuffed to move, mixed with the weariness of overexertion. She struggled awake, thinking she really ought to go get some sleep.
Across from her, Tian Jiangli also happened to open her eyes.
“Huh!…”
She seemed to still be in a daze, stunned for a moment before realizing she had actually fallen asleep during the treatment.
Tian Jiangli immediately apologized, flustered: “I’m so sorry! I must’ve been too exhausted.”
This was practically neglect of duty—her cheeks flushed red.
Shang Jingyan shook her head. “It’s not your fault.”
Actually, it was mine, cough.
Tian Jiangli regretfully said that her condition today wasn’t suitable for further treatment. Shang Jingyan didn’t mind and nodded casually, hands in her pockets as she stood up. But before leaving, she asked:
“Dr. Tian, while you dozed off, did you feel anything?”
She was rather curious about the effects of her “horror film therapy.”
Tian Jiangli scratched her cheek. Normally, a therapist shouldn’t share such details with a patient, but her experience just now was so bizarre that she couldn’t help but say: “I… I had a nightmare.”
“I dreamed of an incredibly bright light! It hurt my eyes, and in that light were terrifying demons and monsters! I didn’t want to watch, but someone pressed my head and forced me to look.”
Still shaken, she touched her chest and repeated, “It was really scary. Could it be that I’ve just been under too much stress lately?”
Shang Jingyan: “…”
Expression unchanged: “…Ah, that’s certainly a strange dream.”
…
After seeing Shang Jingyan off, Tian Jiangli sat on the sofa and rubbed her temples.
Even mental therapists needed regular supervision to monitor their own mental health. Healing others meant bearing more negative energy themselves.
In her last check, her supervisor had told her she was likely showing early signs of Spiritual Void Syndrome and should take better care of herself.
Yet Tian Jiangli kept working. Conditions in the Exile Galaxy were limited—healers being patients themselves was common.
After “that incident,” she had long been prepared to fall ill…
Was what just happened a sign of worsening? Strangely enough, she didn’t feel tired at all…
Thinking this, Tian Jiangli glanced into her own mental landscape—only to nearly leap up in shock.
What was going on?
Her mental body… had recovered?!
…
【They won’t notice, right?】 X71, who had been watching all along, asked.
【There’s no evidence.】
Today, Shang Jingyan had only undergone a basic wave inspection, not a full measurement.
A person’s mental power readings don’t change easily, and she was afraid that if hers showed a number too much higher than the original host’s, she would be dragged away for research.
Perhaps because the treatment consumed too much, it took Shang Jingyan a full two days to recover afterward.
But the moment she opened her eyes, the system panicked: 【Host, you’re finally awake! There’s been a lot of questioning about you these past two days—you haven’t seen any of it!】
【Questioning?】 Shang Jingyan raised a brow. The system flooded her with screenshots and links. At the top was a post: 【I admit Married to the Eldritch God is a very novel and excellent work…】
【This post didn’t have much traction at first, but after a dozen hours it was pushed to the top. Then a flood of similar comments spread, all demanding that Changqing clarify the contest criteria. Someone’s definitely behind this!】
By now, the original thread had grown five or six pages.
While X71 fretted, Shang Jingyan remained calm. She had seen this coming.
There were less than three days left until the event ended. And just as she predicted, with only the first two parts released, her ranking had reached 48th place.
That was enough to make plenty of people jealous. And she, a backgroundless newcomer, made for an easy target.
【Don’t worry.】 She smiled. 【They’re in too much of a rush. They haven’t even seen my full outline, yet they claim I don’t meet the standards?】
She stopped checking the web and, as if nothing had happened, went on to work on the final part.
A day later, at midnight, the final episode of Eldritch God was released on schedule.
Changqing Branch Office.
Ever since watching Eldritch God, the No. 3 administrator had been keeping an eye on it.
She had also seen the wave of criticism. Fans of the series were anxious, but none knew how to respond.
The posts did have a point. So far, the main couple seemed emotionally distant, with no clear path toward romance. The so-called “post-romance” felt more like “no romance.”
Frustrated, the admin went through the first two parts over and over, even setting a special follow alert. When Jingyan Suoyouren finally posted the finale, she perked up at once.
“Not planning to address the public opinion?…” She couldn’t help feeling uneasy, but still rushed straight to Qingsexue’s livestream.
—She had to watch it in the livestream because she didn’t dare watch alone. Of course, this time she remembered to use an alt account.
The chat was quiet and tense, with Qingsexue tightening moderation. No one brought up the controversy.
The story picked up where it left off: with the heroine missing, the hero was taken away by the police for questioning.
The investigation had a clear purpose—they interrogated him repeatedly about the heroine, forcing him to face reality: his girlfriend was no longer alive.
“This kind of entity, when first descending upon a plane, can only parasitize a dead corpse. And the time she escaped and disappeared was exactly when your girlfriend ‘woke up’ in the hospital.”
The officer’s voice was cold. “Your girlfriend died at the scene of the car crash. In fact, you two had already broken up before the accident. Don’t you remember? You were right there in the hospital when the instruments showed her vitals flatline.”
The hero’s pupils shrank as the screen flashed back to that moment—
The machines beeped; he cried by the bedside. But through teary eyes, he saw the corpse on the bed open her eyes in confusion.
He even saw the compound eyes in her sockets as she awakened, the black tentacles squirming beneath her skin!
And what did he do?
He… he froze. After the monster adapted to the body and fully took human form, he inexplicably held the heroine’s hand and murmured: “Thank goodness… you’re alive.”
Then he told everyone his girlfriend had recovered.
—In truth, before this, the heroine had already wanted to break up with him. All those sweet flashbacks were wishful edits of memory. She had stopped loving him long ago.
She was driving that day to bring him to the place of their first date and say goodbye, but then something so bizarre happened.
The hospital had already seen the medical records. Her recovery rate was unnatural. Her family objected—even her parents didn’t dare recognize her—but the hero was determined: he proposed, lived with her, and cut ties with his family.
Memory replayed, the hero clutched his head and screamed.
And this was only twenty minutes into the episode—the admin was already dumbfounded, and the chat exploded.
【Holy crap, what a twist! So he always knew his girlfriend was dead, but deliberately suppressed it?】
【Man, the male lead is ruthless! He’s been lying to himself for so long?! What kind of psychotic love story is this? This is terrifying. They’re a perfect match!】
【God! No wonder the family photo at the start had everyone else torn out, no wonder they had zero contact with family during the honeymoon, no wonder their wedding had no attendees, no wonder it was always “just the two of them”… I thought it was a budget cut! Turns out it was all foreshadowing?!】
【Maybe it was a budget cut, but the fact they tied it into the plot is brilliant…】
【I’m sorry—I thought only the heroine was scary, but now the hero is even scarier!】
【…Come to think of it, from the heroine’s perspective this is the story: I arrived in a new world and was locked up for research. I barely escaped and took over a corpse. I opened my eyes, and there was a man rejoicing at my awakening, severing ties with everyone for me. He loves me so much. I’m touched, I’ll love him too. He looks at me weird sometimes, but… I guess I won’t kill him.】
Just then, the admin’s phone buzzed. Yan Master had just posted her account’s very first update—
Jingyan Suoyouren v: 【Here’s the “love” you asked for.】
Three minutes later, the top comment read:
【Damn. Eldritch God really is a love story of mutual obsession. I’m convinced.】
