Chapter Ten: What Is Faith Value?

Li Le’s dark eyes gleamed warily in the blue light as she watched each character emerge on the interface:

[You are a clever child, but you must understand: it was not the system that chose you, but you who chose this world, chose this fate…]

“My chosen fate!?” She gritted her teeth, a mysterious gleam flickering in her eyes.

But the system interface continued to calmly display characters one after another:

[…This is a difficult path, but you must strive to walk it… Survive in times of peril…]

The system’s halo had dimmed somewhat, as if it were about to depart.

How was that any different from saying nothing at all?

Was it really leaving just like that?

Sensing this, Li Le hurriedly spoke up:

“What is this faith value? Can a person really only have one?”

“The fact that I can understand the language here—is that your doing?”

“What is the path I have chosen?”

“Can I go home?”

…

She stared intently at the light screen, her gaze grave to the extreme, her face taut and pale. The ugly doll she clutched in her hands was already somewhat deformed.

Under her gaze, the blue light screen flickered again, and a few lines appeared:

[Our goals are aligned… So I will assist you when necessary… But ‘I’ currently lack a physical form, so such aid will be limited…]

[Due to the restrictions of ‘the rules’… I can only answer some of your questions…]

Li Le clenched her teeth and stared unblinking at the light screen.

More text appeared:

[…The faith system essentially measures your degree of mental dependency… In theory, an average person can provide 1 to 100 points… Of course, the stronger the will and the mightier the individual, the more additional dependency value they can contribute.]

At this, Li Le reflexively asked, “…Zhang Ziran’s mental dependency on me was only 1 at the time?”

Back then, Zhang Ziran’s very survival depended on her—how could the faith value be only one?

That clearly made no sense!

The system flashed twice before her, and then black text appeared:

[…On one hand, it’s because the difference in faith between individuals from two worlds is quite large…]

On one hand?

What about the other?

Li Le’s gaze grew more suspicious as she calmly read the words appearing on the blue screen:

[…On the other hand, system binding also consumed ‘one’ faith point.]

Li Le’s face remained expressionless, but she faintly sensed that the second explanation was probably the real reason…

But she did not press the issue further; not wishing to waste time, she immediately changed the subject, lowering her eyes:

“Then, my last question—if I’m able to understand and even write these words… is there any chance I can return to my original world?”

At this, the blue screen flickered for a noticeably longer time.

But in the end, it gradually stilled, revealing some words:

[…Being able to understand and write the language of this world is an ability you must possess…]

[As for your last question, I cannot answer it. You must seek the answer for yourself—]

These words faded after a moment, and only the deep blue data interface remained.

It was as if everything had returned to normal, as if the so-called system had never existed in this tranquil world.

Soft amber light filtered through the window, casting a faint glow across the bed. Li Le tossed aside the doll, closed her eyes, her lashes trembling as she swiftly processed all she’d learned tonight:

She could not return to that world for now;

She had, unwittingly, been forced to ‘choose’ a path…

Li Le rolled onto her side atop the soft fur, wrapping the blanket tightly around herself, curling into a ball, teeth clenched.

Now, she had to survive!

—She absolutely had to obtain faith value; her life directly depended on it!

At the very least, learning that one person could provide over 100 faith points tonight counted as good news!

If the system’s information was true, then she had a rough idea where to obtain faith value.

Faith value equated to mental dependency?

The dependency of the strong could yield additional faith value?

Then, her future source of faith would mainly come from the ‘dependency’ of the strong and the general dependency of the masses…

At this, Li Le could not help but mutter under her breath:

“…What a pit! A massive pit!”

“…In this world, what is there to mental dependency besides a sense of security?”

“To amass so much mental dependency… What do they want me to do? Become a savior!?”

…

Li Le drew a deep breath, suppressing the doubts in her heart:

No use overthinking. The priority now was to gain faith value!

First—what exactly did the system mean by mental dependency?

Brother Bai treated her like a sister. She was gradually becoming part of his life, becoming family—did that count as mental dependency?

It should.

Similarly, being involved in Lie’s growth, becoming an inseparable part of his life—did that count?

That should count too!

…

So, at least for now, she could rely on gaining faith value from these two to survive! Later, she would look for other ways…

Li Le’s lashes trembled softly, hiding all expression in her eyes, but her tightly furrowed brow relaxed a little.

Just then—

“Dong—dong—dong—”

Three deep, resonant sounds rang from the heart of the tower—neither bell nor cauldron—solemn and ancient, echoing through the air with a time-worn majesty.

Li Le started, opening her eyes to see the faint golden glow at the tower’s center dimming, set at a level that would not disturb normal sleep.

Her mind quickly turned—this must be the ‘night rest’ Brother Bai spoke of; it must mean it was night in this place.

The light was dim and warm, falling perfectly upon her bed, like a lamp adjusted to just the right brightness, and she felt herself relax, the tension in her body easing.

It wasn’t long before she dozed off, clutching the strange-looking doll to her chest.

She slept dreamlessly through the night.

——————

The next day.

Li Le was awakened by the aroma of porridge and vegetables.

She sat up, still groggy from sleep. Glancing around, her mind gradually cleared as she recalled what had happened the day before, and she sighed quietly.

Tossing back the covers and slipping on her shoes, she looked around the empty room—Brother Bai had already left.

But on the wooden table, a bowl of steaming porridge and a small wooden dish of purple ‘radish’ greens had been neatly set out—the delicious scent she’d noticed earlier was coming from this simple meal.

Li Le smiled softly. “Brother Bai’s already gone to work? And he still remembers to make breakfast…”

Whenever she imagined Brother Bai in an apron, busy in the kitchen, she felt a pang of guilt—but also found it oddly endearing.

Taking her place on the wooden stool, Li Le picked up her spoon and began to eat, cheeks puffed out.

Someday, she thought, she ought to cook a meal for Brother Bai herself. Though she’d never set foot in a kitchen, she’d watched the family’s cook at home.

She’d never eaten pork, but at least she’d seen pigs run.