Ch 12: My Disabled Virtual Lover’s Healing Diary

Snow swirled thickly as Qian Yuan took a step forward.

…The side quest reward was ten credits.

She took another step.

…The side quest also rewarded fifty XP!

A recycler robot trundled past. She managed a third step, then froze, feet glued to the ground.

…If she could just rack up 120 XP, she’d finally be able to go to school with her little ward!

Qian Yuan drooped her head, wringing her hands in regret. How could she have been so rash? She scolded herself, reflecting solemnly.

He was just an NPC. She could have saved him, then shoved him back into a sack and dumped him again.

Convincing herself, she ran back, yanked the sack off the chicken-nest-haired brute, and—yes—his battered, pitiful face brought her a tiny spark of joy. She poked his shoulder, pushed his cheek. No response.

At this rate, he’d freeze to death in the snow, even if the wounds weren’t fatal.

Could she drag him between scenes? Unsure, her gaze drifted to her backpack.

A strange equation formed in her mind.

Backpack = stores trash.
Zhang San stole her ward’s nutrient solution = trash = can go in the backpack.

Qian Yuan: no flaw in the logic.

With grave seriousness, her dumpling avatar analyzed the snowy scene, nodded decisively, and acted.

She tried hefting him up—too heavy. Nearly crushed her. So she tried something else.

She slipped the backpack over his head. To her shock, his bun-sized head vanished inside.

Perfect plan!

Satisfied, she patted the bulging pack and checked its contents.

[Contents:
Half-dead Zhang San — value: 500 credits
Total: 500 credits
(Confirm to Sell)]

Qian Yuan nearly jabbed the sell button in shock. Her left hand smacked her right away just in time.

Hand over chest, she breathed relief. She mustn’t be tempted by gold.

Experience mattered more. And this was a wholesome healing game—she wouldn’t stoop to trafficking characters!

So, with one slot taken by Zhang San, she filled the other nine with junk and teleported home.

She quietly set Zhang San on the floor, careful not to make a sound, then sold the rest.

Her balance: 123 credits.

…Enough for the cotton coat.

She shut the menu, satisfied.

Zhang San’s bruised face was swollen, a long gash streaking his forehead. Clearly his own underlings had beaten him raw, targeting his face especially.

His big round head was tinted purple. Qian Yuan strongly suspected the backpack had no air. Clearly, it wasn’t designed to hold people. Still, the system had accepted her ironclad logic.

The burly man lay sprawled, pitiful. She remembered his cruel words to Cen Han and felt a flicker of satisfaction.

But… how to complete the quest?

She pondered, then fetched the rag she’d used to wipe the stove, wet it, and wiped his face roughly.

Cold water pressed onto wounds made even the unconscious man shudder, muttering faint sounds.

The sounds were faint, yet from the bed came sudden movement—

Qian Yuan turned, startled. Cen Han had sat bolt upright, blank eyes wide in the dark.

The tension faded quickly. Tilting his ear, he sat still, listening carefully.

She rushed to grasp his hand.

Cen Han stiffened.

The familiar warmth softened the barbs rising on his back, eased the feral edge from his brows.

…Why did this ghost always touch him?

Hair veiled the faint blush at his ear. He pursed his lips, turned aside, awkwardly pulling away to reach for his ocular membrane.

Vision returned; the dim room’s furniture came into view. And there—on the floor—

His brow twitched. He flicked on the lamp.

Everything lay bare.

The battered man sprawled clearly before him.

“…”

Cen Han froze, disbelief in his eyes. His face darkened instantly. He glanced at the intact iron door, at the rag in the ghost’s bloody hand. The storm outside seemed to rage inside his eyes.

…What was this?

Why had she brought his tormentor into his home?

What did it mean?

His jaw clenched. Humiliation swelled, bitter as betrayal—even though he knew, logically, there was no bond between him and this ghost.

The fury rose—then arms wrapped him.

The ghost hugged him in a rush, mouth working urgently, then drooped in frustration—then lifted again, gesturing wildly, desperate to explain.

…Afraid of being misunderstood?

Why explain, why care? Just a ghost, nameless and sudden.

But—it had been so long since anyone cared about his feelings.

Cen Han’s chest knotted, fingers digging into his palm.

The ghost stared anxiously. He sat on the bed, gaze falling on the man sprawled on the floor.

The swollen face brought no comfort.

At last, he said quietly, “You want to help him.”

Qian Yuan’s heart skipped. She peeked at his mood meter before nodding. No drop.

She exhaled in relief, nodded again, then shook her head, unsure how to explain.

Her little ward lowered his head, silent. The diary showed 【-1】, 【-1】, dropping by five before he finally rolled into his wheelchair and went into the bathroom.

Qian Yuan followed, watching him retrieve a spray can from beneath the sink.

“…Medical spray,” he said flatly, averting his gaze. He didn’t mention it was bought four years ago.

Qian Yuan’s eyes widened. So convenient!

Expressionless, Cen Han sprayed Zhang San. She checked the diary—her heart calmed.

Earlier, a system alert had warned her he was near blackening. His mood had hit a blood-red -10. But after a few angry bubbles, he’d been easy to coax.

Relieved, she stood by him, both watching Zhang San.

The expired spray still worked. His swelling receded visibly, wounds knitting.

Perhaps even unconscious, Zhang San felt Cen Han’s icy presence. For once, his eyes flickered open.

Still dazed, he sat up slowly—then froze.

…This wasn’t his home.

Blinking, vision refocusing, he saw a pair of feet on footrests. Wheels.

Wheels?!

He gasped, looked up, straight into Cen Han’s cold eyes.

That stare was venomous, more chilling than when he’d cursed him before.

Cripple or not, the air around him was like a predator baring fangs.

Zhang San’s scalp prickled. Instinct made him scoot back—then he remembered: he was the muscle here, and this boy was blind and crippled.

He leapt up, fist raised—then his eyes snagged on the item in Cen Han’s hand.

[Imperial Capital Royal Brand Medical Spray]

“…”

Zhang San froze.

He stared once, twice, three times at the priceless spray.

His gaze locked.

…Could it be—this cripple had saved him?

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐