Chapter 172 Borrowing Items 2 Brother, let's hug and have a heart-to-heart talk...
You stare at the live stream on the screen.
This was the filming studio the man had set up in his bedroom. The background was a rough tablecloth, and the table was covered with amulets, talisman bags, and small, glittering Buddha statues. The camera was shaking violently, clearly supported by a cheap tripod.
The "father" sat behind the table, forcing an unnatural smile, his voice deliberately raised: "Gentlemen, take a look at this amulet! It's been blessed by a Thai master. It can protect you, bring wealth, and ensure your safety—it does it all!"
The live chat was filled with sparse comments:
--"How much?"
"Really?"
"I know what I'm talking about, this thing is just something you'd find at a street stall."
Such dissenting comments were quickly silenced and removed.
If you look closely, you can tell there are a few shills artificially creating a lively atmosphere. For example, one account frequently posts, "Wow, it works so well! I got a promotion after wearing it last time," while another account says, "Hurry up and place your order, it's so cheap, what are you waiting for!" But just by looking at the profile picture and name, you can tell they are the kind of small accounts that were just registered in bulk, and even the comment format is almost the same.
Your real job involves some contact with marketing, social media, and the like. Although you don't understand it very well, after watching the live stream for a while, you sneered to yourself and roughly understood the real situation behind it all.
This is a typical example of a live-streaming room that's all talk and no action.
The amulets are just a front. The real source of income is not these small, scattered orders, but rather by luring seemingly naive and easily lured people into a "customer group," and then gradually deceiving them into selling so-called "limited edition consecrated" and "master-blessed" products at exorbitant prices.
Especially considering that this live stream room has a dedicated manager, it's clear that the father is just a small fry among many copycat live stream rooms.
There's no point in looking any longer; we might as well take action.
After thinking for a moment, you opened LINNE—one of the most popular chat tools in Thailand—and took a screenshot of the platform where the live stream was taking place. You then sent a message to Meiling: "Do you have an account on this platform?"
Meiling quickly replied, "Yes, but I've never used it. I only downloaded it when I was buying things from Flower Country for my grandma. What do you want to do with it?"
"Lend it to me."
"Huh? Don't you have one yourself?!"
Despite her questions, she still generously handed over her account to you directly.
Her decisiveness made you laugh, but you still sent her a voice message and a short video.
"Thanks, but don't give out accounts like this so easily in the future." You continued to explain, "I need to buy something, but I can't say too much, I'm afraid it will scare you."
The other side typed a bunch of ellipses and sent a funny face sticker.
"Then you can take it and use it, you don't need to return it to me."
You replied with an incredibly cheesy "best friends forever" sticker.
Soon, you logged into Meiling's account and entered the live stream room. On the screen, you saw your father still promoting the amulet: "The master only made three of these amulets. They're on special today during the live stream. Don't miss out!"
You considered it in your mind.
You currently have several thousand coins, all saved up by "you". Although you don't know what she's saving the money for, you do need to spend money as a "ticket" first.
I hope you won't waste this young man's entire savings, and I hope you can really find out what kind of medicine this man is selling.
If you open the product list, it's full of all sorts of amulets: small ones costing a few hundred, large ones costing tens of thousands. The comments section is also flooded with shills' messages: "Received it, it works so well!" "I stopped having nightmares after wearing it."
You picked the cheapest one and placed an order, costing several hundred yuan, but your heart was pounding.
Even though this is a dungeon world, your resources are limited, and this is a realm you've never ventured into before. Keep going, you can do it!
A line of text immediately flashed across the live stream chat: "Thank you for placing the order, Xi****lang!" The father's eyes lit up instantly, and he was as energetic as if he'd been injected with adrenaline: "Thank you, boss! Don't worry, brother, it's guaranteed to be genuine, and you'll be safe!"
But that's not what you want.
A few minutes later, you received a private message from the live stream assistant: "Boss, you placed an order? We have an internal group, joining the group offers even more discounts. The group also occasionally hosts amulets personally blessed by masters. Want to join?"
They arrived as expected.
You only replied with one word: "Go in".
The moment you're added to the group, the notification that pops up on the screen always feels absurd: "You've joined the live stream fan group - XX Live Stream Welfare Group."
Below the group name, the administrator's nickname is a fake account—it's obviously disguised, and the profile picture has been changed to a money-grubbing smiling face.
If you stare at that profile picture, it's not hard to guess that this is your father himself.
You have some understanding of these live-streaming fan groups. There are indeed genuine benefit groups, but in most cases, these groups are roughly divided into two categories: one is where everyone is muted and only the administrator can speak, while most members are actually ordinary customers. This group is like an advertising box that only allows the administrator to post; the other is like this one, where there is no speaking restriction.
"The brand I bought yesterday is already working today!"
"My child's grades have really improved!"
"Business at home is going well!"
Messages poured into the group chat like a waterfall, and the members were chatting enthusiastically.
You glanced at the history—needless to say, most of it was fake accounts and shills putting on an act.
You can almost certainly conclude that everyone in this group except you is a shill, and you or a few other group members are just lambs to the slaughter.
However, this group was not the final step in what the father did.
But seeing this situation, you're a little worried that you don't have enough resources...
Never mind, maybe by throwing gold coins at people here and playing the emotional card, they'll think you're stupid, and then maybe they'll open the door wider for you.
Then I'll play a middle-aged man who's lost his way...
You tentatively sent the first message in the group: "Brothers, I'm just unlucky. If I were lucky, I would have been rich by now. Give me some advice, what should I buy that will work?"
Someone immediately replied to your message: "The boss recommends this one; it's guaranteed to bring you wealth!"
"Quick, don't hesitate, it's limited edition! I bought one last time, and the little guy was quickly squeezed out, and I immediately got a promotion, a raise, and a luxury car!"
The childcare workers were like a program schedule, coming in one wave after another.
That's not enough.
Then you start to act even more convincingly: you send a long message, mimicking the tone of a middle-aged man, interspersed with the trivialities and complaints of life.
"Life is tough. My family doesn't support me, my wife nags me every day, and I still have to spend money on my child's education. I'm not buying these things for my own benefit; I want my family to have a better life. Do you understand?"
You don't know much about these things; after all, you're generally an optimistic, even resilient, person. You'll also have many unhappy moments in your life, encountering real injustices: even in the same situation, you'll always experience more unfairness than another group. Even if you work yourself to the bone—even if you entered this absurd scenario because you were drunk at a business dinner—you'll still end up being replaced by a new male employee.
Who doesn't experience setbacks in life? You understand this pain, but at least you know the problem lies in the system, the environment, the exploitation, and the mindset of those around you. So you choose to work harder to earn security for yourself, or—learn to comfort yourself.
And what about them? This group of angry, repressed, and bitter men shout, "I'm the one who's suffered the most, I'm the one who's been wronged the most," yet they never dare to admit that they are the cowards, the incompetent, and the lazy ones who are unwilling to truly change. A group of empty shells gather together in self-pity, complaining about everything, yet they also deeply respect the things that truly hurt them, turning around and believing that it is their own choices in life that are suppressing them, ultimately becoming a sour, foul-smelling pile of vomit on the roadside, disgusting to all.
But no matter how disgusted you feel now, you have to pretend to vomit acid.
The reactions in the group were as quick as expected—"Brother, you've hit the nail on the head," "Don't be afraid, we're here for you," "Would your brothers lie to you?"
The fake intimacy created by a bunch of "brothers," "buddies," and "bosses" almost makes you want to laugh out loud.
You didn't stop; you continued acting.
Ultimately, your goal is to touch the heart of the administrator, who is your father. So you try to push your complaints to a deeper level: "Sometimes I just want to end it all. That spendthrift woman in the family is always carrying around clothes, receipts, and a pile of debts. I really want to... Ugh, it sounds harsh, but I've really had enough."
You deliberately push language to the edge, wanting to see if these shills will push you further along with the drama, forcing you to take a more realistic approach—and take the opportunity to promote a master or something similar to you.
There was a commotion in the group at first, and the few shills who were initially very friendly quickly switched to saying things like, "Hey bro, don't say such strange things," "Brother, don't be impulsive, buy a brand name to calm your nerves," and "If you have any difficulties, we'll help you find a solution."
If you weren't one of their close friends, you might actually find yourself with an empty wallet.
You make your language even more desperate and hopeless than before, and start pouring out your grievances, portraying yourself as a middle-aged man overwhelmed by life: a wife who is busy with chores but ungrateful, a rebellious and disobedient child, and cold-hearted neighbors. The only thing that can give him peace of mind is the small amulet or other magic that may be "blessed" by a master.
You think about your former fat and ugly male colleague and try to imitate his tone when he's drunk, bragging about how he's the best in the world while complaining that the whole world is bullying him, a good person.
The echoes grew louder and louder, but it still wasn't enough.
You stare at the door, thinking about the somber contents of "your" diary, and then about the man sitting cross-legged in the opposite room who might actually think and even do...
"Sometimes I really want to get rid of my wife and free the whole family." You added a few hesitant emojis after the text, perfectly creating the illusion that you "accidentally revealed the truth."
The group chat fell silent instantly. You held your breath, waiting to see if the shills would go along with it, or push your words to an even more dangerous point. A few seconds passed, and instead of the exaggerated responses you'd heard before, there were several cautious warnings: "Brother, don't joke around, this kind of talk is dangerous," "Calm down, don't do anything stupid."
It seems they are still afraid of crossing the real red line and having their group banned.
The drama had gone too far. So you changed your tune, apologized, and switched back to being the "poor customer," continuing to plead for a product that would "bring peace to the whole family, good fortune to the children, and wealth to yourself." The group admin's shills then sprang into action, actively recommending "limited edition" and "master-issued" products.
You went back into the shop, ordered a few small items, and placed another order.
You have fully demonstrated your greed, stupidity, and gambler's mentality of trying to make a big profit with a small amount of money—such a person is more likely to spend money than a rich person, even if they don't have any.
Will they take the bait?
I won't keep you waiting any longer; someone in the group will soon send you a private message.
When you open it, you see it's the group owner/administrator's alternate account.
Like any middle-aged man with little education, the other party immediately sent a series of voice messages. The voice sounded exactly like his father's in the live stream—but when he checked the stream again, he had already ended it; he must have thought he'd caught a big fish.
The message started with a friendly greeting: "Brother, I saw you placed an order, thanks for your support. By the way, would you like to join the real master's group? We have a master calling out names tonight, and only those who pass the verification can be selected. But I see you are very sincere and your desire is very strong, so I'll make an exception and let you join the group."
"Really? Thank you, bro!! (smiles) What kind of information should I send?"
"Brother, don't rush to send it. Let me discuss it with my master first. This way, we can ensure information security. After all, you trust me so much, I can't betray you, can I? Once you send these materials, the master can see the destiny and help you truly change your luck."
After a while, the other party asked you to send a photo of yourself holding your ID card.
An ID photo? Are you kidding me? You immediately retort, asking if the other person can prove that the "master" is truly effective.
A few hoarse, strange laughs came from the father's end, seemingly smug, yet carrying a hint of unspeakable lewdness.
The "typing" message scrolled through his chat box several times before finally sending a voice message: "This is the real master's skill, brother. Let me tell you, my wife is like this. She'll die soon. I've borrowed her life and her luck. Once she dies, I'll be rich, hahaha."
Without any attempt to hide or conceal it, this man felt no shame whatsoever for using his methods to kill someone who, even if only as a free babysitter, would have been quite satisfactory to him. He was filled only with smugness.
It is precisely because of his smugness that you are able to uncover the truth of the matter.
The image of your mother, excessively thin and hunched over, flashes before your eyes, her eyes always darting with fear. Her silence, her submissiveness, her resigned attitude—as if she had long anticipated her death—all pierce your heart like needles.
This is not your real mother. She has no relation to you whatsoever. Even the "you" in this world feels almost no sympathy for her, only resentment towards her for her lack of ambition.
But you feel heartbroken and disgusted.
You were forced to accept this blatant and primal malice that was right before your eyes.
You almost vomited, but you held it in, suppressing the nausea, and continued typing: "Isn't the death of your wife enough?"
After a moment of silence, a reply came through that made you want to rush out and snatch the phone to see what kind of "master" was in his contacts: "Dude, stop testing me like this. If you don't want to send your ID, fine, just send me a picture of your wife or daughter—how old is your daughter?"
The lewd and chilling aura seemed to emanate from the phone screen. You gripped the phone tightly, the veins on the back of your hand throbbing.
Anger, nausea, and the humiliation inflicted upon you, even if it has nothing to do with you, all surge to your forehead, burning your vision.
Just then, you heard it.
"Splash—splash—"
A faint, yet extremely jarring sound rang out in the room, which was neither too late nor too quiet.
It's like someone walking barefoot slowly across a puddle. But you know the floor is dry. You hold your breath, your heart pounding and your ears pounding.
You remember that sound; it was the same footsteps that accompanied the first time you saw the dark figure at the foot of the bed.
But the lights are still on, the room is brightly lit, and there are no shadows in the corners. Yet the sound is unmistakable, circling around your bed.
You dared not hesitate any longer. Your gaze swept across the room, and you grabbed the gold nail polish, still containing gold glitter, that you had left over from the day. You opened the cap and haphazardly smeared it on your forehead, neck, palms, and the backs of your feet. Gold was a sacred color—that was the only thing you could gamble on.
As for why these are the places... you don't know, you just feel that they seem to be the safest.
Then, you slowly slide your body off the edge of the bed and crouch down. The phone screen lights up, and a cold white beam of light shines onto the floor.
You saw it.
Thin lines of blood, one after another, snaked their way out of the darkness. They scraped against the floor, making a soft, swishing sound. The blood lines intertwined, stretching in the same direction. And their end—was under the bed.
Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt as if your heart was about to pound in your throat. But you still bent over, as if pushed by some invisible hand, and slowly lowered your head to the bottom of the bed.
The light shone in.
There was nothing there. Utterly empty.
It was a false alarm.
You just exhaled, and the hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood on end. The next second—a damp, cool breath gently blew behind your ear.
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Author's Note: This chapter made me laugh.
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