Ch 2: My Disabled Virtual Lover’s Healing Diary

Qian Yuan’s eyes widened bit by bit.

The bright smiling face of her in-game character could not possibly reflect what she was feeling right now.

A little dumpling figure, just like hers, sat in a wheelchair and came rolling in from the door.

This little dumpling looked different from her avatar—more detailed, less round and puffy, with distinct facial features.

Qian Yuan leaned closer.

Black hair hung smoothly against his cheeks, a little too long, partially covering his pitch-black eyes. Under the outer corner of his right eye was a tiny tear mole.

His eyes slanted upward, his brows were thick and dark, his gaze distant and cold, giving off an unapproachable air. Yet like Qian Yuan’s character, he had no nose, and his mouth was just a thin line. That lack of definition softened the gloom, leaving him looking instead rather tsundere and cute.

—But that wasn’t the point.

Qian Yuan stared in shock as the little figure pushed the wheels with his stubby arms, entered the room, and placed something from his lap onto the desk.

He didn’t seem to see her… Well, of course. The interaction feature wasn’t unlocked yet.

This was a child who couldn’t use his legs.

Was he disabled? Or was it a temporary injury requiring the wheelchair?

The PV hadn’t mentioned this at all…

Qian Yuan silently watched. The boy rolled to the bed, used his short hands to push himself up, and moved onto it.

His legs remained limp, unmoving, as if completely devoid of sensation.

The supposedly cute, healing game had suddenly veered wildly in an unexpected direction.

Qian Yuan stood frozen a moment. She watched him lie down, eyes closed, exhausted. She quietly stepped closer, intending to pull up the blanket for him.

But before her hand touched it, his eyes snapped open. He sat bolt upright, hands patting wildly across the bed.

What was he doing?

Startled, Qian Yuan drew back, puzzled.

His legs didn’t move. After patting the bed, he used his hands to inch himself to the foot, reaching about in all directions. That was where the pile of clothes had been—clothes Qian Yuan had folded and placed neatly in the cabinet.

His fingers brushed only air. His expression changed drastically. Quickly, he dragged himself to the edge, stretched out a hand, groped around until he found the wheelchair, and climbed back onto it.

Qian Yuan’s eyes widened again. A sharp guess pricked her heart.

…No way?

She followed him to the desk. He picked something up, lowered his head, and pressed his palm over his eyes. When he lifted it again, his sight no longer wandered blindly—his gaze locked straight on the bed.

The next instant, he pressed his lips tight, tiny fists clenching on the wheel.

Qian Yuan swallowed.

Her game child seemed not only unable to walk… but also unable to see.

A disabled protagonist wasn’t unheard of. The “tragic but beautiful” archetype was always popular.

But seeing such a soft, chubby little figure in a wheelchair, blind eyes staring blankly—even knowing it was just a game—Qian Yuan’s feelings grew complicated.

His frown deepened. He turned the wheelchair toward the bathroom. With him gone, her eyes fell back on the desk.

There were two new things there: a rectangular case resembling a glasses case, and a small name tag.

She leaned in.

It looked like a student ID tag, listing the academy name and his personal information. Skipping over the student number, her eyes stopped on the name.

【Cen Han】

His name was Cen Han.

His birthday was December 25.

December 25—that was Christmas. It was only early November now, so his birthday was about two months away.

Qian Yuan pulled her gaze away.

In two months, she might not even still be playing this game.

The sound of a cabinet opening came from the bathroom. She crouched down, opening the cabinet where she had put the clothes.

The wheelchair rolled across the floor. The boy came out, his dark eyes—just as she’d hoped—landing on the opened cabinet.

He stared at it, unblinking, fists tightening, face growing paler.

Qian Yuan’s heart jumped.

What was happening? What was wrong with him?

A sudden thought struck her. She quickly opened the diary.

It only began recording after she’d first entered the game, updating every thirty minutes, but each entry was written in real time.

【November 3rd, 11:30 AM】
【Cen Han didn’t pay attention in class.】
【Cen Han finished his homework at the academy.】
【Cen Han was bullied by classmates.】
【Cen Han went home for his lunch break.】

【November 3rd, 12:00 PM】
【Cen Han arrived home.】
【Cen Han lay down on the bed.】
【Cen Han felt something was wrong, got up to look for his clothes.】
【Cen Han discovered changes in his room. He was shocked.】
【Cen Han couldn’t believe what happened and fell into deep depression.】

Qian Yuan skimmed quickly, pausing on “was bullied by classmates.”

She tried to piece it together.

So, he saw what she had done and became depressed.

…

………

Was that reasonable??

Qian Yuan felt her worldview crack.

Fact: This was a raising sim.
Fact: The system’s first quest was to improve the child’s living comfort.

So she, the dutiful player following system prompts, had diligently cleaned his filthy room.

And the result was—the child became depressed.

Why!!

She was baffled.

What were the developers even thinking?

The boy wheeled around, seeming too restless even for a nap. He quietly closed the open cabinet, removed the thing from his eyes, and sat staring blankly at the desk.

Qian Yuan noticed—it looked like contact lenses.

But if it was just bad vision, he wouldn’t have been groping blindly.

Her head spun with questions. She opened the game menu again and tapped “Check-in.”

【Your online time hasn’t reached one hour yet. Check-in is currently unavailable~】

Qian Yuan: “…”

This was ridiculous.

The boy sat dazed at the desk. Staring at his dark little head, Qian Yuan suddenly had a thought.

Maybe the game secretly had an affection system. And since her affection with him was still too low, she couldn’t complete the task.

If so, to raise affection…

She walked up and tried poking his cheek.

But his skin didn’t feel soft like she expected.

And he had no reaction.

Did even poking require unlocking the interaction feature?

Cleaning made him sad, but without raising comfort, she couldn’t finish the quest.

She was stuck on the beginner mission. Frustrated, she bit her lip. Finally, she grabbed the rag again and wiped dust off the stove.

A noise slipped out.

The boy whipped his head around.

His eyes were dark, empty, the lenses gone. Yet he stared straight at her.

Qian Yuan froze.

The little figure began to tremble.

“…No way.”

Qian Yuan was bewildered, dropping the rag in a panic and opening the diary.

【Cen Han is extremely afraid.】
【Cen Han trembles with fear.】

…Afraid?!

Qian Yuan was stunned.

Wait—wait!

She thought she understood.

He discovered changes in his room. Fell into depression. Then terror.

“Fear” was the key.

If she were at home, suddenly realizing her clothes had been moved, then hearing strange noises in the room…

It made perfect sense. The little chibi’s soft fist striking his palm even seemed to affirm her deduction.

This raising sim wasn’t like any other. With this logic, his emotions actually made sense.

But she still needed to finish the quest. And without interaction unlocked, how could she make him accept the presence of this unknown little dumpling?

Qian Yuan sighed, sitting against the wall, cheeks in her palms, staring at the diary.

【Cen Han told himself, “None of this is real.”】
【Cen Han gradually calmed down.】
…
【Cen Han began reading.】

She turned, surprised to see him pull a book onto the desk, fingertips brushing the pages.

…He was surprisingly adaptable?

From the diary entries, he seemed to have fixed school hours. Now he was home on lunch break. Once he returned to class, she could use the chance to finish the quest.

And once interaction was unlocked, she could finally raise him properly.

With her plan made, she glanced at the time and prepared to log off, waiting until he went back to school.

But just as her finger reached the “Exit Game” button, the heavy iron door rattled with urgent pounding—bang, bang, bang.

The boy’s head jerked up. His fingers clenched the page until the thin paper crumpled.

A coarse, hoarse voice barked from outside, thick with impatience:

“Cripple, open the door!”

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐