Since You Like Little Black Rooms So Much, In You Go

[Sha--]

Su Qingci gasped for breath, her eyes almost glued shut.

The plot and atmosphere are exactly the same as those popular dark fantasy novels he wrote!

The only difference is that the protagonists in his stories are genuinely naive, the kind who fall into traps and still count the money for others.

And their own host...

Well, I won't comment.

But... hehe, this is so exciting!

Su Qingci covered her nose, and couldn't help but add silently to herself:

Actually, he did have a tiny bit of a desire to see... the dark room.

It's really just a tiny bit.

Ideally, the host should be locked up, along with chains, barriers, or restrictions.

That's absolutely brilliant.

Why don't you come and try it out for me now?

A voice suddenly rang in her heart, and Su Qingci immediately shivered.

He instinctively turned his head and looked at the ground beside him.

The indicator light on the "God-Level Shielding Device" was off; it hadn't been activated at all.

Ah!

So, the host heard everything just now?!

Including "the dark room"? Including "chains"? Including all those unspeakable fantasies?!

[Yes. Also, that's not allowed to be opened.]

Su Qingci's hand trembled, and she quickly pulled back the switch she was about to press.

He chuckled twice, trying to act innocent.

But her Xiaojiu had already been heard perfectly clearly.

Wuma Xiu didn't say anything more.

The bond between him and Su Qingci was too deep; if he couldn't hear each other's thoughts at all times, he would have locked her up long ago.

It's not for any other reason than for upper-level insurance.

After all, for him, there was no one in the Universe he could absolutely trust except himself.

[Host, I was wrong! The whip is ready, please whip me!]

Su Qingci a mournful face, pulled out a small leather whip.

The whip was exquisitely crafted, its shaft soft and yielding; a lash would leave only a faint red mark, causing barely any pain. It was the very whip that God of Wine had carefully selected when he discovered Dionysus secretly writing.

Etc.

Oh no, he almost forgot that the host could hear him now!

[Have you finished writing what I asked you to write last time?]

Su Qingci hurriedly, like a chick pecking at rice.

[It's been finished a long time ago! I've already posted it on the Star Network, and the readers' response has been fantastic!]

Speaking of this, he straightened his back a bit more, his tone full of barely concealed pride.

Putting everything else aside, this is incredibly easy.

[Hmm, not bad.]

Su Qingci barely breathed a sigh of relief when she heard her host continue speaking.

[Since that's the case, now let you experience the little dark room you've been waiting for.]

"Ah?"

Before Su Qingci could react, everything suddenly went black.

The next second, he was thrown into the tiny, dark room he had been longing for.

"Knock knock knock"

Wuma Xiu snapped out of his daze, and the temple doors opened silently.

In the eyes of the god of God of Poverty and the God of Misfortune, a suspicious quilt slowly squeezed in from outside the door.

That thing was extremely strange.

It twisted and turned, like a chubby, soft creature, slowly crawling towards the bedside.

Finally, after moving closer, a tiny hand emerged from under the blanket.

At the same time, a soft voice came from inside:

"Brother Sea God, I can't sleep tonight, can I sleep with you?"

The Stream God peeked his head out from under the covers.

As usual, he had now transformed into a child, his hair drooping limply over his forehead, his eyes round and wet.

He reached out with both hands and tried to climb onto the bed.

But when he looked up, he was suddenly met with two pairs of eyes staring straight at him.

Ah--

Stream God's face paled, and she scurried back into the blankets, turning to run away as fast as lightning. However, before she could roll far, Wuma Xiu, who was sitting in a chair, picked her up, blanket and all.

"Little Stream, I'm here."

The Stream God lifted his face from under the covers and called out:

"Brother Sea God..."

The next second, the blanket suddenly grew larger, enveloping Wuma Xiu as well.

Inside the blanket.

The Stream God tugged at Wuma Xiu, her little hands clutching his collar, and whispered, "Brother Sea God, do you need another pillow tonight? I can shrink even smaller, so I won't crowd you at all."

Judging solely from his expression, Wuma Xiu would have genuinely thought the other person wanted to discuss something of great importance with him.

"Little Stream can do whatever she wants."

Wuma Xiu chuckled, his fingers already expertly landing on the top of his head.

This movement has been done so many times that it has almost become muscle memory.

Stream God comfortably squinted her eyes, buried her face in his chest, and mumbled:

"Okay, I understand."

Wuma Xiu lifted the covers, picked up Stream God, and introduced the two sides to each other.

The God of Poverty naturally has to maintain a certain air about him when dealing with external deities.

After all, he was a proud and arrogant Gods.

People often question, "How can the God of Poverty be arrogant? Shouldn't the God of Poverty be dressed in rags, like a beggar?"

To this, the God of Poverty could only roll his eyes at the other party.

Although he is the God of Poverty, he is not poor himself, but rather all the living beings around him.

This one point alone makes all the difference.

The God of Misfortune knows this all too well.

Because he was so poor that he didn't even have a temple of misfortune left.

The God of Poverty originally had a God of Poverty to him.

Unfortunately, he spent most of his life with the God of Misfortune.

One day, misfortune struck suddenly, and the God of Poverty was the first to be hit, perishing on the spot.

From then on, the two gods were truly penniless, without even a single floor tile left to stand on. Fortunately, they were taken in by Wuma Xiu and now live in a decent palace again.

They cherished this hard-won friend, and they loved the Sea God Palace. Even more, they loved the god who smiled, opened the door, and said to them, "This is your home."

The Stream God of God of Poverty originally intended to give the stream god a hard time by showing him his power. He frowned, adopted a very serious posture, and prepared to intimidate the other party with his eyes first.

But to everyone's surprise, the blanket was wrapped tightly from head to toe, not even a single hair was visible.

He held back for a long time, but didn't even receive a glance from the other party.

God of Poverty:...

He withdrew his imposing manner, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

It turns out there are such cowardly beings among the Gods.

I don't know whether to call it embarrassing or... kind of cute.

He snorted and turned his face away.

When it was time to sleep, Wuma Xiu lay flat on the bed.

On the left, lies the God of Poverty.

On the right is the God of Misfortune.

The two gods, one on his left and one on his right, occupied the positions on either side of him.

As for the Stream God?

He shrank to the size of a fist, nestled softly against Wuma Xiu's chest.

A small ball, rising and falling with Wuma Xiu's breathing.

However, he was already wrapped up tightly in the blanket.

--Sigh, with myself in the background, I wonder if the other Old Self are having trouble sleeping alone.

In his view, those Old Self were all oddballs; they could have lived better lives, but instead they lived like ascetics.