“Sorry.”
Meng Ge lowered her head, about to apologize.
At that moment, Lu Zhaohui came out from the inner room and embraced Meng Ge with heartache, saying, “Meng Ge, it’s not your fault.”
Tears burst from Meng Ge’s eyes like a broken dam. She buried her head in Lu Zhaohui’s chest and sobbed uncontrollably.
Seeing this, Li Ran called to his wife, son, and Zhao Yingzhi to leave, giving the two some space alone.
As for that absurd marriage, Meng Ge’s family likely wouldn’t bring it up again anytime soon—unless they were really prepared to put up all the money listed in that wedding expense sheet.
That list wasn’t something Li Ran made up on a whim—he based it on actual dowry checklists from many places in the real world. Asking for 399,999 yuan at the start was indeed a bit high, but if the other side showed genuine sincerity, there was definitely room to negotiate. That’s what matchmaking is all about—negotiation.
However, Meng Ge’s family acted like bandits. Not only did they refuse to discuss it, they even tried to force it through. With that kind of attitude, there was no way to talk about the dowry anymore. Going by that checklist, Li Ran estimated that Meng Ge’s family would have to shell out at least 550,000 yuan to organize this wedding—and that’s not even counting a house or a car.
If this happened in the real world, the internet warriors would roast them alive.
But really, the main goal was to save Lu Zhaohui.
If Lu Zhaohui had actually gone with them, he wouldn’t have survived the night.
Especially when it came to the wedding-night prank rituals.
Even in real life, there’s no shortage of vulgar pranks that leave people utterly humiliated.
Let alone in this eerie world—wedding-night rituals at midnight?
Just imagine it: in the wedding room, a dense crowd of not humans, but terrifying monsters.
In that scenario, if Lu Zhaohui slipped up at any point, he would die a horrible death—and even if Meng Ge wanted to protect him, she couldn’t.
“Everything’s settled. I’m heading off now.”
Downstairs, Zhao Yingzhi said goodbye to Li Ran.
“Alright,” Li Ran replied.
Zhao Yingzhi had been called in by Lu Zhaohui to help, fearing there wouldn’t be enough people to keep things under control.
Watching Zhao Yingzhi’s figure receding into the distance, Li Ran couldn’t help but click his tongue. “So today it’s actually Zhao Yingzhi’s soul in control of that body?”
There were two souls within Zhao Yingzhi. Yesterday at the Dark Palace entrance, that hadn’t been the real Zhao Yingzhi, but today, it clearly was her again.
Yet those two souls still coexisted within her.
“She must’ve made some kind of deal with the other soul,” Li Ran muttered, narrowing his eyes, then decided not to dwell on Zhao Yingzhi’s situation any longer.
What was happening with her was indeed bizarre, but since she hadn’t come to him for help, it meant she could handle the two-soul issue on her own—or perhaps she had some other plan.
At that moment, Li Ziyang pulled out the red envelopes he’d stuffed in his pockets and eagerly asked, “Daddy, can I keep these red envelopes?”
“Sure, you can use them to buy toys,” Li Ran said with a smile.
“Yay! I can buy toys!” the boy cheered.
Seeing her son’s radiant smile, Su Bingyao’s face lit up with a beautiful grin as well. “Your uncle sure spoils you're dad.”
Maybe she’d been brainwashed by internet slang—Li Ran misunderstood that sentence for a second.
The door-blocking red envelopes usually didn’t have much money—most just had five or six yuan. Though they looked like a lot, it only added up to a few hundred yuan total.
Since 10 points could be exchanged for 1,000 yuan, Li Ran really didn’t care about the money in those envelopes.
As for the 20,000 yuan, Li Ran was holding onto it for now—he’d give it back at the rendezvous point tomorrow. It was originally part of the bride price deposit. If he exchanged it for points, it’d be worth around 200 points.
Watching the joyful faces of his wife and son, Li Ran sighed. If only this were the real world...
“These next few nights probably won’t be so peaceful.”
The dungeon lasted fifteen days. After that, they’d leave it. And the closer they got to the end, the harder survival would become. Even with his cheat-like ability giving him warnings, Li Ran was already finding it hard to survive—other players must be facing a hell-level difficulty.
What worried him now was the possibility that little baby might start causing trouble at night. If that brat really succeeded and woke him in the middle of the night—how was he supposed to deal with that?
The thought made Li Ran frown deeply.
“Is there really no hope at all past midnight?”
…
…
Lan Doctor’s Clinic.
“You’re awake?”
As Song Linjia opened her eyes, she saw the same nurse who’d received her earlier, along with Doctor Lan, who wore a surgical gown and face mask, standing at her bedside.
“How are you feeling?” the nurse asked.
Song Linjia sat up—her mind felt clear.
The nurse brought over a mirror and held it in front of her.
Seeing her familiar face once again in the mirror, Song Linjia was so moved that tears welled up in her eyes. “Thank you… thank you, doctor.”
She wanted to shout, to wave her arms and celebrate the moment.
But very quickly, she realized something felt off about her body. She looked at her left arm—it was normal.
Then she turned her head to look at her right arm—and her pupils contracted in horror. Her whole being nearly collapsed.
“What… what is this? What happened to my hand?!” she cried out, on the verge of a breakdown.
“You wanted it cheap and fast—this is what you get,” Doctor Lan replied seriously.
“Everyone’s got a longer arm and a shorter arm, you know,” the nurse added, trying to comfort her.
Song Linjia looked at her right arm—it was as small as a three-year-old child’s, grossly disproportionate to the left. Not only was it unbalanced, it looked bizarre and disturbing.
“Are you serious, Doctor?” Song Linjia said, utterly despairing. “This is what you meant by returning me to normal?”
“Hey, cheap stuff—it’s just for emergencies,” Doctor Lan replied helplessly.
Song Linjia shut her eyes and flopped back stiffly. “Then I don’t want to live anymore.”
The nurse said awkwardly, “Doctor Lan, she did pay in full and agreed to our terms—we promised to make her look like her old self. If this is how she ends up, then we’re the ones not keeping our promise.”
“In that case, let me try again,” Doctor Lan said.
“Mm-hmm.”
Three hours later.
“You’re really lucky! A couple of patients came in two hours ago and had their arms amputated. I found one that suits you perfectly,” Doctor Lan said excitedly, as if showing off a work of art he’d just completed.
“Give it a try,” the nurse said, helping Song Linjia sit up.
This time, both of her arms were normal and symmetrical. The coordination was great, and the feedback in the limbs felt natural and responsive.
“I’m whole again! I’m finally whole again!”
“This is amazing!”
Overjoyed, Song Linjia bounced off the hospital bed—but the moment her feet hit the ground, her lower body gave out and she crashed to the floor.
Perplexed, she looked down at her legs—and with one glance, her mind went blank, like a bolt of lightning had just struck her.
Her long, fair legs were gone—replaced by two short, stubby arms!
“No choice. Everyone today came in for arm amputations,” Doctor Lan said with a helpless shake of his head.
The nurse added with a strained smile, “Cheap stuff—you just gotta make do.”
Song Linjia rolled her eyes and fainted.
“I don’t want to live anymore!”
(End of Chapter)