Ch 16: My Disabled Virtual Lover’s Healing Diary

Outside, the cold wind howled, while inside the warm lamplight poured down, glinting in Cen Han’s dark eyes.

He leaned forward slightly, lifted the box from the bed, and carefully opened it.

Inside lay a neatly folded new winter coat. The fine, heavy fabric caught his gaze, and when his fingertips brushed the beige fur trim of the hood, the softness tickled faintly against his skin.

He hadn’t worn anything like this in a very long time.

Back when he was shuttled endlessly between the hospital and interrogation rooms, he’d longed to return home—only to find the villa doors sealed with glaring stripes of confiscation tape.

His father’s unforgivable crime had stripped them of everything: medals of honor, all property, even clothes. Overnight, he and his mother were left with nothing, not even a change of garments.

“…”

The warm light traced a golden edge around his cold features, his lowered bangs shadowing his eyes so only the tiny teardrop mole beneath his right lash-line could be seen.

He stared down, dazed, as if a feather had brushed his heart, rippling it silently.

Then a sudden glow appeared in the corner of his vision. Cen Han instinctively turned his head—and there it was, the little ghost he had just been thinking about, smiling at him as always.

Noticing the box in his hands, it beamed even wider, crescent-eyed, hopping excitedly toward him. It pointed at the box, tilted its head, asking wordlessly:

—Do you like it?

Do you like this little gift?

His fingers curled unconsciously. That strange, uncontrollable sensation rose again, spreading from his tongue to his chest, seeping into every part of him.

He didn’t know what to do with these sudden emotions.

“…I like it very much.” His voice came out hoarse. “Thank you.”

The ghost looked even happier. It pulled the coat out, patted it smooth, and hung it neatly on the wall hook by the door.

Cen Han pressed his lips together, watching.

The hooks were shaped like little rabbits, with two fluffy ears—clearly not part of the original furnishings. He realized the ghost must have placed them there before, though he had never noticed.

Once the coat was hung, the ghost ran to the box again, digging out a bottle of nutrient solution. It eagerly held it up, insisting he drink his dinner. Cen Han coughed awkwardly, trying to take the bottle himself, but was firmly refused.

His fingers clenched the wheelchair armrest. At last, he shut his eyes, letting the ghost tip the bottle to his lips. His lashes quivered, betraying his discomfort.

…He had lost his family, his friends, and every warmth in the world.

Yet here, in his darkest days, he had unexpectedly gained a small, ever-smiling ghost.

The little dumpling-faced boy drained the bottle completely.

Qian Yuan, satisfied after supervising him, withdrew her hand.

The 70-point happiness goal was once again achieved. Just one more day, and the communication system would unlock.

The next noon, when she went to the junkyard to farm Star Coins, she kept an eye out for scraps like the ones on Cen Han’s desk. But no matter how long she searched, she couldn’t find a single screw.

Where did Cen Han dig up all those treasures?

“When the communication system unlocks, I’ll have to ask him.” Hugging her full backpack, she clicked “Return Home,” muttering, “It’s practically a get-rich-quick scheme!”

Back at the house, she found Cen Han sitting on a low stool outside, wiping down his wheelchair wheels with a rag.

The stool was so short that a normal person’s knees would bend—but Cen Han’s legs dangled strangely, limp and slack, his disability laid bare.

Like a broken doll.

Qian Yuan froze, then saw him glance toward her instinctively. Panic flashed across his face, and he tugged his shirt hem downward in a futile attempt at concealment. Realizing it was useless, he turned his head aside, bangs falling to hide his eyes.

After a stiff pause, he bent down again, scrubbing the wheels.

Qian Yuan pressed her lips together.

…This game had a futuristic setting. Surely, later on, there might be a way to cure his disability.

That thought comforted her a little. She stepped forward, poked his cheek, then pointed at the rag with a puzzled tilt of her head.

“…”

Cen Han hesitated, then, after a furtive glance through his bangs at the ghost’s ever-smiling face—seeing no hint of disgust—he said quietly, “If the wheels are clean, the floor won’t get dirty.”

He knew the place was filthy, but rarely cleaned. Years of despair had left him sunk in apathy. What did tidiness matter to someone crippled and blind? With his cheap optic membranes removed, he couldn’t see anyway.

But now, with this little ghost who looked after him, fed him, and cleaned the house…

His gaze flicked toward it again.

He didn’t want it working too hard.

What he didn’t know was that Qian Yuan, hearing this, nearly fainted in disbelief.

He hadn’t let her buy him food. Now he wouldn’t let her tidy up. And he was cleaning his own wheelchair!

What was going on? Why was this NPC so independent?

…At this rate, would the game turn into some idle “traveling frog” type of hands-off simulator?

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦋་༘࿐

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