For some reason, Su Xi had been incredibly unlucky lately.

She nearly got hit by a car while walking, and even managed to choke on plain boiled water.

That was bad enough already.

Three days ago, during the school sports meet, she had entered the long-distance run. Just as she was about to reach the finish line—about to bask in the glory of winning first place—she somehow tripped over a tiny stone and fell flat on her face in front of the entire school audience on the stands.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

When she got back up, a sharp pain stabbed through her ankle. Drenched in cold sweat, she was half-supported and half-dragged by her classmates to the infirmary, where she found out that her right ankle was fractured.

Bones take a hundred days to heal. Su Xi had no choice but to stay in the hospital.

It was her second year of high school. Although she had two close friends in class, they couldn’t possibly skip their studies to visit her often.

As for her parents, Father Su and Mother Su—no need to even mention them. It was the end of the year, and they were running themselves ragged dealing with factory business. They barely had time to breathe, let alone stay with her, so they left Su Xi to rest in the hospital alone and only came by after work to check on her.

Lying in bed by herself, Su Xi scrolled through all her social media apps, then doodled all over her plaster cast with a black pen until it turned pitch-dark, sighing out of sheer boredom.

She opened the app store, planning to download a couple of games to kill time. As she swiped past, her eyes suddenly caught on an ancient-style game called “Path of the Emperor: The Yandere Prince’s Exclusive Favor for You.”

What the hell—what kind of embarrassing name was that? It looked like the definition of a cheap knock-off game.

But what drew Su Xi’s attention was the game description—

“Want to change your luck? Want to become a koi of fortune? Want to be the luckiest person alive? Then play this game! Experience the prince’s exclusive favor like never before! Special feedback rewards will make you the true koi of good luck!”

[Koi (锦鲤): internet slang in Chinese for a “lucky charm” or “person blessed with good fortune.”]

Su Xi’s eyes instantly lit up.

It wasn’t that she was superstitious—it was just that she really had been unlucky all her life.

Though she had grown up well-off, with good grades and a stable family life, mishaps still seemed to hound her constantly.

From fractures to minor injuries—cutting her hand while spinning a pencil, or tripping every few days—it was enough to make her doubt her very existence.

And now, she was even stuck in a hospital bed.

Unable to resist, Su Xi tapped Download. After all, she had nothing better to do.

The game downloaded quickly; it was small, only a few megabytes. But once it loaded, Su Xi froze in surprise.

How could such a tiny game look this good? Even the eaves of the house—she could count every single tile! It looked almost real. How many background artists had died making this?!

The first game scene showed a snow-covered roof. It was clearly the depths of winter. The eaves even had a hole in them, letting cold wind seep through.

Su Xi shifted the view downward and saw that the house itself was shabby and tiny—barely the size of her palm. Inside was only a wooden bed strewn with straw and a thin blanket, just looking at it made her shiver.

Aside from that, there was just a closed cupboard. She couldn’t tell what was inside.

No tables, no chairs. The wooden door was slightly ajar, creaking under the freezing wind.

Putting on her earphones, Su Xi thought, The sound of the blizzard rattling that door is way too realistic!

She had no idea how to start playing, so she tapped the screen left and right, trying to find some kind of mission button.

Just then, the wooden door creaked open. A small figure in rough, thin clothing trudged in, carrying a bundle of firewood, wet from the snow.

Though it was drawn in simple strokes, she could tell he looked exhausted.

When he set the firewood down and rolled up his sleeves, a thin, pale forearm was exposed—marked by several faint lines that looked like whip scars or something similar.

Su Xi couldn’t see clearly and tried to tap to zoom in—but the game interface immediately popped up a message—

> “To view the prince’s appearance in detail, you need to spend 20 gold coins. Your current balance is 10 gold coins. Please recharge before proceeding.”

Su Xi: “……”

What a scam! The game won’t even let her see the protagonist’s face without paying?!

It’s just a tiny cartoon figure—how heavenly could his looks possibly be?

I’m not looking then!

After setting down the firewood, the little figure immediately dragged his weary body back outside, heading to the yard to chop more wood.

His jet-black hair was still dripping with water, leaving faint traces on the ground as he walked.

In this freezing winter—why did the poor thing look so pitiful?

Su Xi tried poking the little man on the head, thinking that like most games, she should be able to open his profile and give him a name. Who knew another window would pop up—

> “To obtain the prince’s real name, you need to spend 2 gold coins. Your current balance is 10 gold coins. Would you like to spend 2 gold coins to acquire his real name? Of course, you may also rename him. The system recommends several powerful, awe-inspiring options, such as Long Aotian, Ye Liangchen, or Xuan Yuan…”

Su Xi: “……No, no, no, his original name is fine.”

The moment she said it, her gold balance in the upper right corner dropped by 2, and a character profile appeared in the upper left corner.

Su Xi froze for a second: ……

Wait, this game could respond to voice commands? Did it have an AI system, like Siri or something?

She quickly shifted her focus back to the tiny character.

The protagonist’s name was Lu Huan. Below it were two bars—one for Health, and one for Stamina.

Clearly, the little figure’s stamina was nearly depleted, the bar faded to a pale ten percent.

As he continued working nonstop, the stamina bar kept dropping steadily.

At first, Su Xi was nervous, afraid his stamina would hit zero the next second and he’d just keel over. But to her surprise, even with almost no strength left, he stubbornly kept going.

He even climbed up to the roof to repair the hole.

Then he went out again. Su Xi couldn’t unlock any other maps yet, so she didn’t know where he went. But when he returned, the back of his clothes was torn, and there were two blood marks that looked similar to the ones on his arm. His steps were slower, shakier—he looked utterly wretched.

From the game’s description, Su Xi could roughly guess that Lu Huan was a concubine-born son of Prince Ning’s manor—unfavored, humiliated, and oppressed—and her main quest was probably to help him rise and become emperor.

But as for what exactly was happening to him right now—or how she was supposed to play—Su Xi was completely at a loss.

Time inside the game seemed to move faster than in reality. In the blink of an eye, night had already fallen.

Su Xi saw the little figure still toiling away, and since no matter where she tapped nothing else responded, she started to lose interest.

Just then, a nurse called her for lunch. She tossed the phone aside and hobbled off to the hospital cafeteria.

The food there smelled amazing. Su Xi ate two full bowls of rice, went back, and took a nap. When she woke up and saw her phone screen still lit, she suddenly remembered the game.

She’d been planning to delete that trash game out of boredom—but suddenly froze.

Inside the game, it was already deep into the night.

The little figure who had been busy all day now lay motionless on that hard wooden bed. The thin blanket could not keep out the cold wind, and the door rattled under the howling gusts.

He wasn’t moving—?

Su Xi poked him. The little man merely turned over, his skin even paler than it had been during the day, with not a trace of color left in it.

What’s going on?

No way—what kind of trash game is this? The protagonist’s just sleeping for me to watch?

But very soon Su Xi understood why. The health bar in the upper left corner was now only thirty percent red, while the stamina bar that had been ten percent in the morning had completely dropped to one percent—practically nothing.

Su Xi panicked instantly.

The little man was sick? Feverish?

He’d been working himself to exhaustion all day, dripping wet and shivering in the cold—of course he’d collapse!

Su Xi couldn’t help but admit that, for a garbage game, this one’s logic was surprisingly sound. Watching the red health bar shrink little by little, she grew anxious. She hadn’t even started playing yet, and the protagonist was already about to die—this little prince was way too fragile!

She tapped left and right, trying to find some hidden medicine for cold or fever, but after rummaging through every corner of the tiny house, she found nothing—only two threadbare, faded robes in the cupboard.

This prince was just—so poor.

Su Xi fell silent for a moment, then opened the map, trying to search elsewhere. Just like in the morning, the map was still locked. But one area was lit up—it seemed to be an unlocked courtyard.

She tapped it quickly. The scene that appeared was a refined, luxurious courtyard with flowing water, a small bridge, and winding corridors—completely different from the shabby hut where the protagonist lived. The place was bright with candlelight and lanterns, and two servants’ voices drifted over.

“That worthless wretch—Second Young Master really taught him a lesson today! Isn’t he a sickly ghost? Let him soak longer in that freezing pool—sending him off early to the afterlife would count as an act of mercy!”

“Hey, you’d better watch your mouth. Even if he’s a concubine-born son, the way he fought back against the steward’s whip today—he might rise up one day.”

“Rise up? Him? Pah! I bet he’ll never turn his fate around in this lifetime!”

Long strings of dialogue appeared across the screen. Su Xi’s expression twitched. What the hell—who were these two gossiping servants? So that’s why the protagonist had been drenched all over and nearly caught a chill—they were the ones who caused it!

If her character died now, it would be their fault!

Burning with righteous fury, Su Xi tried to tap on the map to see who they were, but since the area was still locked, she couldn’t. Frustrated, she could only return to the shabby hut.

After hearing how those servants mocked and tormented the protagonist, Su Xi looked again at the little figure lying on the bed—face white as paper, body curled up tightly from the cold, limbs drawn in as he huddled against the wall, seemingly unconscious—and she couldn’t help feeling a pang of pity and guilt.

Logically speaking, she should’ve taken better care of him during the day. There must have been some hidden way to stop him from overworking himself; then he wouldn’t have fallen sick now.

Driven by guilt, Su Xi searched the room again for medicine.

Still, nothing.

She couldn’t help but poke the little figure once more.

Just then, a white speech bubble appeared above his head.

“Water.”

Lu Huan’s pale, parched lips parted slightly. His throat burned like fire from the fever.

He forced his eyes open, pressing the back of his hand against his brow. After a moment, he struggled to sit up—but when he tried to get out of bed, his strength gave out, and he fell heavily to the floor.

Su Xi tried to help him up, but when her finger tapped the little figure’s back, it somehow pushed Lu Huan face-down onto the floor instead.

She: “……”

Su Xi didn’t dare move again, while the game character clearly didn’t realize there was any external force—he only thought his illness and weakness had made him collapse.

He got up slowly and staggered toward the windowsill.

A message popped up on the screen:

> “Would you like to spend 3 gold coins to unlock the location of the stored water?”

Unlock your damn—! Su Xi was furious and swiped the message away. She could find it herself!

Water, water, water! She needed to get him water fast! This had to be a mission. She hurriedly searched around the room. Fortunately, she remembered Lu Huan fetching water during the day. Sure enough, there was a bucket in the corner, while the teapot by the windowsill was completely empty. She tried dragging the water bucket—

Holy crap, it moved!

Delighted, Su Xi felt like she’d finally figured out how to play this game. She carefully dragged the bucket over to the teapot and poured water into it.

The moment the water filled the pot, the system chimed with a notification—

> “Congratulations! You’ve received a reward of 5 gold coins. Since the task was relatively simple, you’ve earned 0 experience points. Please continue your efforts. Assist the protagonist in achieving the Path of the Emperor through five key aspects: skills, social relations, appearance, physical strength, and main storyline. Every 10 experience points can be exchanged for one koi of fortune.”

What reward?

A koi?

Su Xi didn’t think much of it at the time, assuming it was just the game’s nonsense.

Her attention was still on the water problem.

It was cold water, but probably spring water Lu Huan had fetched during the day—it should be drinkable, just icy.

Still, letting a sick little figure drink cold water—it felt unbearably pitiful.

While Su Xi was pondering how to boil water in the game, Lu Huan, on the other side of the screen, was staring blankly in confusion. He picked up the simple teapot and took a few sips. The burning pain in his throat eased slightly, and only then did he slowly set the teapot back down in its place.

What was going on?

Lu Huan gazed at the teapot in puzzlement.

He clearly remembered that after being tormented by Lu Wenxiu earlier, he’d fetched water from the foot of the mountain three li away. Completely drained, he had come back and collapsed to rest for a while—and hadn’t poured any water into the teapot afterward.

So why was there water in it now?