HTCYH Ch 47

Chapter 47: Obedience Is No Match for Madness

After returning to his room and closing the door, Tu Si began to put on a show of studying and doing homework. Jiang Tukui had warned him that his parents might check the room at any moment, so Tu Si behaved impeccably, quietly working on assignments and doing nothing else. Unfortunately, even with his anticipation, he could not escape the random checks. Jiang Tukui’s mother, much like an NPC in a horror game, would appear behind Tu Si at unpredictable moments to snatch his exercise book and scrutinize if he was working diligently. Because Tu Si grew weary and was dawdling, the progress bar on his homework barely moved, which earned him a slap to the back of his head along with another round of scolding.

Listening to the relentless beeping that signified point deductions, Tu Si could only fetch his mock exam results for Jiang Tukui’s mother to sign. Seeing that his year ranking had improved by two places, she finally ceased her “education,” and the notifications fell silent—but there was no sign of improvement either. She muttered sharp, discouraging words while hurriedly signing her name on the test paper, and only upon reaching the doorway did she add, “Strive to enter the top ten next time. Maybe then your mother won’t have to lose face. Look at your cousin, always winning prizes at competitions—how could you ever compare to him? Go to sleep! If you dare stay up late, I’ll see you dead!”

Tu Si felt as if the light in his eyes was fading—Jiang Tukui’s worries had proven all too true. Life at school had been blissful in comparison. Mechanically, Tu Si went to the bathroom to prepare for a shower and bed. It was only after stripping down and standing under the showerhead that the bathroom door was again flung open. This time, Tu Si truly broke down, shouting, “What do you want?! Can’t I even take a shower?!”

“What’s that attitude! Why are you yelling! Taking a shower so late—are you sick in the head? Bathing at night brings on headaches, don’t you know that? Isn’t it basic sense to take better care of yourself? Next thing I know, you’ll be lazy and skipping study because your head hurts. Get out here, now!” As Jiang Tukui’s mother spoke, she really did attempt to drag him out.

This time, Tu Si was utterly overwhelmed. Gripping the glass door to the shower as a last line of defense, he protested, “I haven’t showered in a week. I can’t do it at school—are you telling me I can’t even shower at home? Please, just let me clean myself. I stink! Can’t you smell it?”

When she realized she couldn’t open the door, Jiang Tukui’s mother unleashed a flurry of shouts and kicks against the glass. The notifications sounded urgently, yet Tu Si didn’t budge; the favorability score ultimately dropped to 23% and stalled there. Seeing his unyielding resolve, Jiang Tukui’s mother had no recourse but to hurl a final insult: “Ha! All grown up now, aren’t you? Fine, shower! If you die of a headache, don’t expect me to care! Best if you just expire in the bathroom!”

Only after she left did Tu Si, still shocked and frazzled, release his grip on the doorknob. He waited until the pounding on the door subsided and silence returned before finally relaxing and starting the shower.

The cool spray fell upon Tu Si’s skin, leaving him somewhat dazed and lost. He could not comprehend Jiang Tukui’s mother’s entire series of actions. Putting aside the matter of love or affection, with Jiang Tukui’s outstanding grades and obedient demeanor—qualities any parent would take pride in—why was she always so abusive, derisive, and suppressive? Was it simply because, within the game, malice had been set to maximum?

After his shower, Tu Si’s mind felt clearer. He returned to the bedroom to set out his plan. With only 23% favorability, after breakfast tomorrow he would likely be packed off to Class 4. But there was a difference between being sent to Class 4 and entering it of his own volition. Tu Si wanted to join Class 4 through his own effort—not just be thrown in.

In reality, there were many places like Class 4, these so-called academies that trapped students with “problems,” subjecting them to torment, electric shocks, sexual abuse, and all manner of cruelty. Like cockroaches, such institutions multiplied inexorably—however many Tu Si could topple, their entire ilk could never be exterminated. But with “divine” intervention within the game, Class 4 became the collective of this species, a place that could be crushed utterly with tools or force. Unfortunately, Tu Si’s strength was now sealed away—he felt as if he’d been cast back to the beginner’s village, forced to spar with monsters and demons by wit alone. Truly, returning to deprivation was far harder than rising from it.

Lying in bed, Tu Si tied a pencil to a strand of hair, hanging it from the doorknob as a makeshift trap against Jiang Tukui’s mother’s surprise checks. If his phone were to fall into her hands, that would be the true hell mode.

He dimmed the phone’s brightness to the lowest setting and began browsing the store. Suddenly, his gaze was caught by an item called the Golden Tendril Thread. Tu Si’s expression grew solemn as he saw its steep price of 500 points; without hesitation, he purchased it.

Pulling the thread out of his spatial backpack, Tu Si suddenly recalled Wu Chenghui, whom he had encountered in the game “Marriage.” He had seen her wielding tendrils much like his own to control Wei Zhuang and attack him. At the time he hadn’t been certain whether their tendrils were merely similar, but now, as he touched the spool in his hand, Tu Si felt a chill run down his spine. Unraveling the thread of events, he was convinced that there had to be a “god’s” manipulation behind the northern labs as well; the “god” had appeared long ago, and Tu Si himself had been marked as that entity’s prey from the very beginning.

Caressing the golden tendril thread in his hand, Tu Si broke into a twitchy, neurotic laugh. In this moment, he even felt an urge to thank the “god”—there is always a way out. The tendrils that were once taken from him had now returned, restored as a vital weapon for someone rendered powerless.

Tu Si got out of bed, resolved to give Jiang Tukui’s parents a taste of small-scale rebellion. Perhaps Jiang Tukui’s excessive docility had convinced his mother he was a soft persimmon, someone to be beaten and berated at will. Now, Tu Si was determined to show her what could happen when the quietest person went berserk.

With a racket, Tu Si switched on all the lights in the house, rummaged through the medicine cabinet for a roll of gauze and some alcohol, and then raised a loud clamor in the kitchen, sending pots and pans clattering to rouse the entire household. Watching as Jiang Tukui’s mother, furious, stormed into the kitchen, Tu Si grinned and raised a kitchen knife, pointing it at her as he smiled, “My dearest mother—why are you so hateful? At 23% favorability, I must admit I’m disheartened. I don’t want to go to Class 4, so tell me, what should I do?”

At first, she dismissed him with curses, striding forward to wrest the knife from his grasp—only for Tu Si to slash open her arm. She screamed and collapsed onto the floor as the notifications blared: 20%, 15%, 1%, 0%.

Watching Jiang Tukui’s father prepare to call the police, and his mother wailing on the ground, Tu Si picked up a fruit knife and—with a swift flick—sent it flying through the hand holding the phone, pinning the device. Then, he plunged the kitchen knife into his own left thigh, drew it out, and extracted from his pocket that spool of golden tendril thread, cramming it violently into the wound. He grinned and said, “Mom, Dad, you want to send me to Class 4 to die? How about I kill you first? Let’s all go to hell together as a family. You despise the obedient, high-achieving me, so after much reflection, I figured you must prefer me like this. The more obedient I was, the lower my score got—surely this version of me is worth more points, don’t you agree?”

Jiang Tukui’s father, his ear grazed by the thrown knife, knelt clutching his injury and hurled incoherent curses at Tu Si.

In the end, Jiang Tukui’s mother suffered only a cut to her arm, his father a minor wound to the ear. The gravest injury belonged to Tu Si himself, whose thigh gushed blood as the golden tendril thread wriggled madly, spreading and twisting beneath the skin, distorting the flesh as though thousands of snakes were struggling to burst out all at once. Yet Tu Si seemed immune to pain, striding toward the parents like an avenging specter, blade in hand—rendering them too terrified to move.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Someone was knocking, calling out, “This is the teacher in charge of Class 4. We received word that you wish your child to be admitted for corrective education. We’re here to take him to school.”

Tilting his head, Tu Si listened, then turned to eye his parents—who, sensing rescue, seemed to regain hope. He burst into a chilling, guttural laugh. “Zero percent! Oh, my dear father and mother, you really do love me. Well then, let me send you off first, shall I? Do you want to die before I’m dragged to Class 4?”

The notifications beeped again: 0%, 16%, 23%, 36%. As the favorability rose, the knocking faded. Tu Si’s grin widened, but the knife was already pressed to Jiang Tukui’s father’s throat. He tapped the back of the blade against the man’s cheek, saying, “Only 36%—how disappointing, Dad. Other parents’ love for their children is always above 90%. You, as such substandard parents, really ought to be killed.”

Beep, beep—40%, 70%, 89%, 95%.

Tu Si watched as the favorability finally halted at 95%. He laughed, stood up, spun the knife playfully, and said, “Not bad—not bad at all, just barely satisfactory. Next time shoot for 98%. My cousin’s parents adore him at 99%. You may not be their equal, but do your best not to embarrass me. If your favorability dares to dip below 95%, I’ll see you dead!”