Doll Survival Game - Chapter 124

Sister committed suicide.

When the body was found, Qiu Qiu looked at it, her face peaceful as if she were merely asleep.

Qiu’s mother held her and cried bitterly, while the police tried to console her. Qiu’s father stared in disbelief, as if he hadn’t yet processed what had happened.

Qiu Qiu didn’t cry; he just stared at her face.

The police said that on Friday, his sister left school, spent the whole day outside, then checked into a hotel, and in the early hours of Saturday, she slit her wrists and committed suicide.

It was premeditated, at least when she checked in, because she booked the room for two days and explicitly told the front desk not to clean. After returning to the room, the “Do Not Disturb” sign hung on the door the entire time.

Premeditated. Qiu Qiu tilted his head back–the red and blue lights flashed around him, the pitch-black sky seemed so close.

His parents were at the hotel entrance, grabbing the police and yelling, refusing to let them leave, insisting it wasn’t suicide, questioning if it was murder, demanding an investigation into the hotel and the school.

Qiu Qiu watched as the police reluctantly pulled out a densely written ‘suicide note,’ which his parents snatched away.

Then he saw Qiu’s father’s hand begin to tremble as he roared, “Just such a little thing! Just… such a little thing!!!”

Qiu’s mother said nothing; she just kept shaking her head and crying.

Ah.

It’s hopeless.

Qiu Qiu walked over expressionlessly and took the paper. That thin, fragile piece of paper wasn’t a suicide note; it was more like a final diary entry.

Thursday, the debate competition she had prepared for diligently failed due to her mistake. Her teammates didn’t scold her but kept crying beside her, asking why.

She mustered the courage to call her parents, but they didn’t answer, so she simply took a day off, claiming she had family matters to attend to, planning to wander around with her suitcase before returning.

Friday, though it was a bit cold, she wore her new dress, but as soon as she stepped out, a child on a car accidentally smeared cake on it. It was a dress worth several hundred; she went back to change and wash it quickly.

But she accidentally tore it, leaving a long gash.

Embarrassed, she covered her dress and found a public restroom to change, but how unlucky–there was a mother with a little boy who came in, and the child curiously peered at her.

She said something and was scolded by the mother. Many people watched her, and she couldn’t bear all those eyes, so she left with a flushed face.

But she lost her suitcase; she was too anxious and forgot it in the restroom. When she went back, it was gone.

The box only had winter clothes and a few hundred yuan she was going to take home; her phone and keys were in the small bag she carried.

She stood at the door for a while, then walked away–forget it, nothing important was in there.

But before, even if she forgot, no one ever took it… today was just unlucky.

She walked step by step–the food she liked was sold out when she got there, and she decided to get a manicure despite her parents’ disapproval, but the actual result was far from the picture.

It made her hands look ugly and dark.

So, she decided to rest.

At the hotel, she sat on the bed, wanting to watch some funny variety shows, only to remember her computer was in the suitcase, which she had brought to continue writing her thesis.

How could she forget?

Does she have to rewrite the thesis?

Ah… the keys, they were in the box too, because she was afraid of losing them, so she put them in the box…

Should she report it to the police to get it back?

But.

Her eyes were dry, without a single tear, she thought.

–If she doesn’t get it back, she won’t have to go home.

She won’t have to write the thesis either.

Why didn’t she lose her phone? If she had, she wouldn’t have to contact anyone.

“……”

No, losing the keys still means going home; without the computer, she still has to write the thesis.

Even without a phone, she has to contact others.

Ah… it’s terrifying.

Too exhausting.

Is she going to spend the rest of her life like this?

Living every day of her remaining life like today.

……

She filled the entire sheet of paper with meticulous, dense writing, as if searching through the crowded text for the reason why she felt so hopeless.

But in the end, she wrote–

[Nothing thrilling or tragic happened, it’s just that I am too cowardly.]

Luo Yiran looked at this sentence, then at Qiu’s father, who was shouting angrily.

Home isn’t a safe harbor.

It’s more like a hotel, where you have to pay the “room fee” to stay.

Parents love them, but love comes at a cost.

To meet expectations, to accept pressure, to be equal.

Like a dull knife cutting through his head, the excruciating pain spread throughout his body, such intense emotions made Luo Yiran unable to smile anymore.

He just looked almost indifferently at Qiu Qiu’s parents, enduring the pain that made him want to scream and self-destruct.

At this moment, he had to admit he had underestimated this small instance at times.

Because human suffering can indeed easily kill a person.

The pain he felt now was unbearable, something he wanted to escape from, and… it clung tightly to him, no longer feeling separate, as if it were his own feelings.

Pain, helplessness.

It wasn’t just a simple, momentary emotion.

It was the past, it was everything.

Qiu Qiu’s years of education, his growing environment… all the accumulated pressure, helplessness, and pain.

At this moment, it all belonged to Luo Yiran.

Qiu Xia, who shared the same pain, was already dead, and he would eventually… die too.

Luo Yiran looked at Qiu’s father and Qiu’s mother–even as the thought of self-destruction began to take root, he didn’t want to find the key to leave this small instance.

A predetermined, painful life.

Even if there was a sign of escape, it would be twisted back.

But why does an NPC have such real and specific pain?

“……”

Because this emotion is real.

Luo Yiran walked up to Qiu’s father and Qiu’s mother and asked, “Why didn’t you answer sister’s call?”

Qiu’s father paused, his lips moved, “In a meeting…”

He answered and then realized the accusatory tone in Luo Yiran’s voice, becoming even angrier, “How dare you talk to me like that…”

Luo Yiran instinctively wanted to smile, but his lips wouldn’t curve, so he remained expressionless and said, “Don’t you think you have any fault at all? Don’t you wonder why sister would rather die in a hotel than come home to see you one last time?”

Qiu Qiu was a well-behaved child. Even if he’d been mischievous as a boy, he grew up obedient, with good grades, listened well, loved sports, always smiling with a sweet mouth–everyone envied them for having such a child.

So when he showed such an expression, Qiu’s mother and Qiu’s father were caught off guard.

“Mom.”

Qiu’s mother shuddered. She looked at her well-behaved child and listened to him say, “The diaries you encouraged us to write… are they interesting to read?”

“The chat logs between me, my sister, and our friends and classmates–are they amusing to you?”

“Spying on sister falling in love, then step by step pressing her down and forcing her to break up–did you enjoy that?”

“……”

Perhaps the accusatory tone was too sharp, or perhaps the shame of having their faults laid bare by their child in front of others was too much to bear, but Qiu’s father blurted out, “She had no self-respect! In such a critical senior year, she went and tangled with some guy about to graduate and doing nothing with his life…”

“Tangled?” Luo Yiran’s eyes widened as he interrupted. He finally smiled, a faint but not at all warm smile, his gaze icy as he looked at Qiu’s father and Qiu’s mother, voicing what was in his heart: “You’re beyond saving.”

Everyone said you must be strong, and he understood that some things were just utterly ordinary–when you’re defeated by them, even you feel useless.

But those who carry burdens for too long don’t notice the straw piling up over time; they only collapse when they can’t bear it anymore, and those around them lament, “He was brought down by just a single straw? How useless.”

And Qiu’s father and mother were the ones piling on the straw.

Back in her senior year, his sister was merely suffocated by her parents’ relentless pressure over fluctuating grades, so she clung to someone who could help her relax–not because that person caused her grades to slip…

Ah, but parents never listen. They are the authority; only what they believe is real.

Luo Yiran looked at the two who stared in shock after hearing “beyond saving.” He knew things had come to this not just because of them, but in this moment, he could only feel hatred toward them.

Other than you, who else can I hate?

The source of my pain must have a name, mustn’t it?

Right in front of them, Luo Yiran dialed a number. Qiu’s mother stared blankly at his expression. Three seconds later, she remembered a message from that classmate named Lin Chi, and all other thoughts were pressed down. She snapped harshly, “What are you doing!”

Qiu Qiu became a well-behaved child only after seeing what his sister went through. He studied how not to disappoint them, how to satisfy them, and because of that, he understood even better how to make them suffer.

The call went through. Luo Yiran smiled at Qiu’s father and mother, and with vengeful calm he said, “Didn’t you say you wanted me married at twenty-four, with the first child at twenty-six… You even picked out names for your grandchildren, right? Sorry, but I’m gay.”

“I only like men. For my whole life… all my life, I’ll never have children.”

During that terrifying time when he realized his own orientation, he had no one to confide in, knowing exactly what would inevitably happen if he ever spoke out.

They had never allowed anything they disliked to happen. If it did, it was a mistake, something to be corrected by any means.

Qiu’s mother screamed and lunged to snatch his phone. Her daughter was dead; now her son told her he was gay. She felt like she was trapped in a nightmare.

Luo Yiran’s phone was slapped to the floor. Looking at his parents’ furious faces, he felt no joy of revenge, only utter desolation. He knew why.

Because even now, he still wanted to be loved properly by his parents.

He really was so useless.

So pathetic. He wanted to run.

His sister must have felt like this at the end, right?

Luo Yiran turned, wanting to run, to get away from here, from this world… Death would not be vanishing, but truly living…

He stopped.

Through mottled vision, a tall figure stood straight ahead.

Not far away, amid the onlookers, the magician with a gentle expression held a phone to his ear, smiling as he looked at Luo Yiran.

Luo Yiran stared at his mouth, watching him say: “Young master, let’s go home.”

Luo Yiran’s shattered expression suddenly turned cold. He pried off Qiu’s mother’s arms, which clung tightly to him after he stopped, and then showed that gentle yet indifferent smile that belonged to Luo Yiran: “Ma’am, please let go of me.”

A sense of unfamiliarity swept over, and Qiu’s mother immediately let go.

Luo Yiran didn’t forget to nod slightly to the police nearby, then walked toward the magician.

He walked like a stranger who had wandered into this place, with no one able to grasp him, as if he would never stay for anyone.

But as he passed through the onlookers, the seemingly unstoppable young man calmly reached out both hands to the man in the white shirt: “I’m tired.”

The magician very calmly picked him up, then turned and left.

Luo Yiran wrapped his arms around the magician’s neck, rested his head on the magician’s shoulder, and looked back at Qiu’s mother, who was shouting and seemed on the verge of collapse.

“Was I too much?”

“That was a decision you made together with Qiu Qiu,” the magician said gently. “And a young master would never ask that question.”

“Because Qiu Qiu’s emotions are still affecting me.” Luo Yiran’s expression was cold, but his hands trembled, the chaotic emotions still surging, desperate to swallow him whole.

Luo Yiran looked at the magician’s face, then reached out a trembling hand to place it under the magician’s eyes: “You lost. You didn’t make me happy.”

“We never made a bet, so how could there be winning or losing?” The magician smiled, then explained, “After all, you’re about to take the college entrance exam. I thought if I explained everything then, the gentle Ji Ming would seem too heartless… And knowing that outcome so clearly, isn’t it beautiful in its own way?”

It’s just that this little instance was a bit too tactless, choosing such a moment for things to change.

But Luo Yiran’s face darkened, and he said inexplicably, “I’m not Qiu Qiu.”

The magician paused, then turned his head, his slightly arched peach blossom eyes filled with flecks of light: “I know. After all, it was because of you, young master, that I came to this world and exist here.”

“How could I not tell you apart.”