The father stood facing the stove, feeling somewhat helpless. In the end, the little boy asked his father to pick him up, and then he directed his father to do whatever he wanted.
The cubs have a little common sense, but not much.
So all the vegetables were put into the pot without being washed or chopped, and the little one didn't know how to add the seasonings either, so he picked up everything and smelled it, eventually returning to asking his father:
"Dad, what is this?"
"Dad, can I put this in? I want to eat sweet and sour tomatoes."
Dad chose to give up.
He looked at the plate of stargazing in the pot and chose to take the cub into his own instance.
His instance is among the longest in the horror game category, and its difficulty is S-rank among S-rank instances. The instance has just begun, and the humans haven't even completed a third of the exploration. Moreover, they usually die halfway through; among the NPCs in the instance, very few can even stand before him.
In his memory, since the game dungeons appeared, he had probably only managed to devour a hundred of them. They were almost all the best of humans, the elite of the elite in terms of intelligence, endurance, and strength, but in the end, they all met with despair.
Among humans, the number of S-rank dungeons that can be cleared can be counted on one hand, but people still rush in one after another to carve out a path to survival for their companions.
In short, all humans are still stuck at the beginner level, so Dad is always very free. He doesn't remember how he used to pass the time in the past. He only knows that now he has a fragile and delicate cub that needs to be fed.
The kind that can easily die if you're not careful.
So the father who brought the cub into the instance became even more nervous, and he would never let the cub leave his arms now.
The cub peered through the gap in its father's arm for a long time before it could make out the appearance of the entire dungeon.
This place is surprisingly an antique-style dungeon, a complete and prosperous village.
The cub stared wide-eyed at the simple, honest villagers dressed in coarse linen clothes. Not to mention the tiled houses, the small bridges over flowing water, and all sorts of other unheard-of things the cub had never seen before.
Now the father needs to use a little more strength to hold the cub down and prevent it from moving.
But when the villagers saw the father's figure, they fell silent, then trembled and knelt down in utter terror, their cries filled with anguish:
"Bodhisattva, Bodhisattva, please forgive us! Bodhisattva, we did it for my son, otherwise why would we smash your statue..."
"Bodhisattva, we are guilty, but are you without sin? You are a Bodhisattva, why don't you bless us with good weather and abundant harvests every year? Why did so many people in Xingjia Village fall ill and die suddenly overnight?!"
Listen carefully, and you'll find that in addition to fear, those people also harbored resentment.
Just because the Bodhisattva blessed one person with good health and one family with a bountiful harvest, they asked the Bodhisattva to bless them with freedom from illness and disaster, abundance of gold, exemption from punishment for killing women, and freedom from the crime of cannibalism.
The desires of the human heart can never be satisfied.
Unfortunately, they were no match for the gods, so they could only kneel and question them. But their sinister faces seemed to want to bite a piece of flesh off the Bodhisattva.
The father held the cub tightly in his arms, covering the cub's ears and eyes. His own eyes were closed, and his hands behind his back grew wildly, easily reaping the lives of the kneeling villagers, one after another, as fragile and easy as weeds.
The village, which was just a moment ago a picturesque place, was instantly stained with blood.
But after the father walked a certain distance, the blood and resentment flowed backward, and the villagers returned to their original state. They lived peacefully and contentedly as if they had not seen the Bodhisattva or been massacred, waiting for the day when people would reveal the dirty truth beneath the village.
The dungeon [Xingjia Village] has been opened, and an S-rank game boss has arrived, whose name is [Fallen God - Flesh and Blood Guanyin].
By the time the father brought the cub to the largest and most luxurious temple behind the village, the cub had almost fallen asleep in his arms.
The temple is bustling with worshippers, a testament to the sincerity of those who restored it. Yet, in this instance, no one other than humans from outside has ever set foot here.
The father walked smoothly onto the altar, sat cross-legged, and closed his eyes to rest. It was then that the cub in his arms took the opportunity to emerge.
"Dad? Dad."
My father's clothes were soaked in blood, and his beautiful face looked incredibly eerie.
But the cubs didn't care; they only cared whether their father was injured.
The child stood in his father's arms, tiptoed, and tried to pull out his sleeve to wipe his father's face, while patting his father's face with his little hands to comfort him: "Daddy, don't cry, Daddy, be strong."
The splattered blood resembled the tears of a deity, so the cub thought its father was crying, was sad. Seeing this, the cub became anxious, its soft face drawing closer and closer, until finally pressing against its father's cold cheek:
"Dad, are you still crying?"
The father did not answer, but after being wiped clean by the cub, his face, which was revealed again, regained its original compassionate and gentle appearance.
His arms moved, and several hands reached down to the offering table below, picking up various foods placed on the table and offering them to the cub's mouth.
There's no way around it, the cub is so clingy, it doesn't even want to leave him when it's time to eat.
The cub was unaware of his father's thoughts. He was indeed hungry and opened his mouth to take a bite of the roast chicken, but he had some difficulty tearing off the skin. With great effort, the back of his head hit his father's chest.
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