A Happy Home

Over the next few days, "Happy Home" seemed to be trapped in a viscous, suffocating time loop, with each day being a precise replica of the previous day, carrying a maddening regularity.

Every morning begins with "Mom's" overly gentle, almost programmed call. Then comes the unwavering "medicine" routine. The white pills lie in the palm of the hand, emitting a faint, unsettling energy fluctuation. Given Ah Qiang's bloody example, no one dares to be negligent. Old Wang and Xiao Lin swallow their pills expressionlessly, while Xiao Mei, with her eyes closed, swallows them with difficulty, as if swallowing poison, even gulping down several mouthfuls of water.

Breakfast, lunch, dinner… the dining table is like a never-ending stage of terror. The main course is always raw meat, bloody and varied in form. Sometimes it's the limbs of unidentified beasts with fur and claws, sometimes it's tentacles covered in suckers, still trembling slightly, sometimes it's even an organ sitting in a bowl, slowly pulsating. The black sauce writhes like living things, and in the murky, dark red beverage, the floating matter seems to be increasing.

"Eat more, children, so you can get better." "Mother's" urging was like a spell, and her gaze was tangible, especially lingering on Shi Mo.

But Shi Mo remained that outlier.

He sat there, completely out of place amidst the surrounding horror. When the plate of still-bleeding raw liver was pushed in front of him, he even picked up a spoon, scooped up a small piece, and put it in his mouth. He savored it carefully, then swallowed. There was no disgust, no fear on his face, only a kind of... approving calmness.

When "Mom" looks at him, the smile on her face becomes unusually genuine, even carrying a hint of ingratiation. She seems to derive some strange sense of satisfaction from his "eating."

Most of the time, the candidates were confined to their rooms, ostensibly for "rest." The air was stifling, carrying a musty smell and a faint hint of blood.

"Mom" would visit from time to time, sit by the bed, perhaps holding that never-ending, dark-colored scarf, and begin her "casual" time.

"Your father used to be disobedient, always going out to run around at night..." Her voice was soft, but her eyes drifted into the distance, empty and sad. "Later, it got too 'dark' outside, and he... got lost and never found his way home again."

"The child next door, Aunt Zhang's child, used to be so lively, always refusing to lie still, thinking he wasn't sick..." She sighed, her fingers unconsciously tugging at the yarn, "but the 'condition' deteriorated too quickly, a few days ago... sigh, we had to send him to the 'intensive care unit,' where the 'care' is more 'attentive.'"

These seemingly casual words were laced with chilling malice and blatant threats. Like countless tiny ice needles, they relentlessly pierced the taut nerves of Lao Wang, Xiao Lin, and Xiao Mei.

The candidates' states of mind are diverging amidst despair:

Old Wang became even more taciturn, like a stone whose edges had been worn away.

He spent most of his time leaning against the corner of the wall, his sharp eyes observing every subtle movement of "Mom" and any change in the room, trying to find a loophole in the rules or a glimmer of hope. But his spirit was visibly weary, his eyes sunken, like an old wolf trapped in a cage, gradually losing its strength.

Kobayashi, on the other hand, went to the other extreme.

He became increasingly numb, often maintaining the same posture all day long, staring blankly at the ceiling, as if his soul had escaped this slowly decaying body. Only when "Mom" came in would he reflexively shrink back, revealing a look of fear.

Xiao Mei's anxiety grew day by day. She could not bear this kind of mental torture, which felt like being slowly cut by a dull knife. After "Mom" left, she would mutter curses and cry in front of the wall (actually in front of the omnipresent live broadcast camera), or nervously tidy her already messy hair and clothes.

"Damn it! What is this?! Just kill me or torture me!" she growled in suppressed anger, her nails digging deep marks into the sheets. "I can't take these ghost stories every day! I really can't take it anymore!" Her mind was clearly on the verge of collapse.

In A-Qiang's room, almost no sound could be heard. The stench grew stronger and stronger, and even with the door closed, it couldn't be completely blocked out. Occasionally, "Mom" could be seen carrying that strange medicine box in, and when she came out, there seemed to be something extra in the box. No one wanted to know what it was.

And Shi Mo...

He played the role of "quiet and sickly son" perfectly, to an appalling degree.

He could lie motionless in bed for hours on end, staring out the window at the perpetually gray sky, as if covered by a layer of dirty glass. His face was devoid of emotion, unmoved by "Mother's" horrific stories, nor agitated by the endless imprisonment.

When "Mom" recounts those chilling "past events" in a rambling manner, he will occasionally raise his eyes and respond with a faint "hmm" to indicate that he is listening.

Or, when she mentions someone "going to rest forever" or going to the "intensive care unit," she might add in a completely flat tone, "That's good." / "It's quieter there."

His reaction, instead of angering his "mother," made her even more... "gratified"?

The way she looked at Shi Mo was filled with an almost morbid affection and an indescribable sense of identification. It was as if he wasn't a "substitute" she had captured, but a "family member" who truly understood her and belonged to the same world as her. Sometimes, she would stare at his profile, lost in thought, her eyes unfocused, as if she were gazing through him at something deeper, more essential.

In the live stream, viewers anxiously searched for any point of discussion, and Shi Mo was undoubtedly the biggest mystery:

[It's the third day... I feel like I'm suffocating. This kind of mental pressure is terrifying.]

Old Wang is still observing, Xiao Lin has become numb, Xiao Mei is going crazy, and A Qiang... (silence)

[The key point is still Shi Mo! How can he remain so calm?! This is not a psychological state that humans possess!]

The way he responded to his mother's words was frighteningly natural! It was as if he genuinely thought "eternal rest" was a good thing!

[I'm starting to feel something's wrong... Have you guys noticed? He seems completely unaffected by the 'contamination' of this instance?]

[While the other candidates' mental states were clearly deteriorating, he remained the same from beginning to end!]

Does he possess some kind of magical artifact that grants immunity to mental pollution?

[Or... (a terrifying thought arises) he himself... is not an existence that can be 'contaminated' by such a low-level anomaly?]

Amidst this oppressive cycle and growing suspicion from the outside world, only Shi Mo himself knows the truth.

After "Mom" left once again with that unsettling energy fluctuation and distorted "care," Shi Mo said to the system in a listless tone in his mind, "So boring."

This repetitive daily routine, the monotonous intimidation, the low-level eerie energy—none of it could even stir the slightest ripple in his mind.

The system's electronic voice immediately sounded, carrying a hint of obsequiousness and self-righteousness:

[Host, of course! You are one of the sources of the rules, the master of the Abyss Corridor! The power of the rules upon which this 'Happy Home' instance relies is of the same origin as your essence, and can even be said to be an insignificant branch derivative of your power system. Just as the ocean is not afraid of a drop of water, and the sun is not scorched by candlelight, the so-called 'pollution,' 'mental oppression,' and 'eerie atmosphere' here are as natural to you as coming home, even... so barren that you find them boring.]

The system's words revealed the most crucial truth—Shi Mo wasn't "resisting" the pollution; rather, he himself was a higher being than any "anomaly" or "rule" in this world. The strangeness here, in his eyes, was like an unsightly weed in his own backyard, not even worthy of his second glance.

His calmness did not stem from strong willpower, but from an absolute crushing of his level of life and the essence of his existence.

The days slipped toward that unknown end in a bizarre interplay of despair and tranquility, collapse and boredom.

The pent-up atmosphere was like a balloon being inflated, waiting for the moment it would finally burst. And Shi Mo, this "outlier" who was trapped in prison but acted as if he were in his own living room, remained the most unsettling absolute calm in the eye of the storm.