Game Introduction
In 1990, feng shui master Wu Liang was hired by a real estate developer to survey the geomantic properties of a new construction site.
Then, out of nowhere, a falling object struck his skull.
When he awoke, he began seeing things no one else could—
The doctors called it traumatic psychosis and prescribed medication and rest.
But as treatment progressed, Wu Liang met another "patient"—Long Xi. She, too, had witnessed inexplicable horrors in her dreams.
The dreams grew more vivid. Reality twisted. Memories surfaced like bubbles in dark water, accompanied by divine whispers and eyes opening in the abyss.
Then, one midnight, static crackled from the hospital radio:
["...zzzt... Severe... contamination confirmed... zzzt... Fangcun Mental Asylum... Seventh-floor ward... Immediate action required..."]
Background
Beyond the heavens lies a forsaken realm known as [Wu Fu]. Once ruled by a supreme deity, it was governed by three divine overseers who maintained the order and cycle of all souls:
The Boundless Heavenly Lord, master of the Five Elements and Seven Souls;
The Enlightened Tathagata, liberator from the Five Aggregates and Three Calamities;
The Suffering Sacred Martyr, wielder of the Seven Sins and Five Punishments.
Yet in one era, the supreme deity fell silent. Divine edicts ceased. Blessings vanished.
As fear spread, extraterrestrial gods crept in like writhing tendrils through the cosmos. Together, they sealed away Wu Fu, dragging it into the endless void. Billions of souls succumbed to madness under their gaze.
The three overseers fought back—but in the end, they failed. The Tathagata and the Martyr perished. Only the Heavenly Lord remained.
Mortally wounded, the Lord shattered its consciousness, scattering fragments across the rifts between worlds, awaiting the turn of fate—
For Wu Fu is not dead. Only sleeping.
Characters
Wu Liang
A half-baked feng shui master who scrapes by swindling clients with smooth talk. His so-called "paranormal encounters" could’ve been debunked on Science Mysteries—until a head injury made the hallucinations real. Now, whispers seep from the depths of the sky, and cold, alien eyes stare down at the ruins of human civilization.
Long Xi
An 18-year-old girl with ichthyosis. Her skin is like shattered porcelain, and so is her fate. Shunned by family and mocked at school, she slipped into depression, mistaking her visions for twisted solace—until the "man" from her dreams stood before her, calling himself her... master.
Lei Ruo Tong
A young policewoman who believes in science, order, and reason. But a series of bizarre cases shattered her worldview. When the investigations hit dead ends, she began to wonder: Is the world broken, or am I just insane? That thing in her dreams—those eyes—why do they keep opening?
Gameplay Experience
Over 200,000 words of original narrative, weaving multiple branching paths and divergent endings into an absurd yet hauntingly real world.
The same scene may unlock new choices and hidden content depending on when you revisit it, altering the course of fate.
Abandon the notion of a "correct path." Your convictions and obsessions shape every decision—each one could rewrite the ending entirely.
Prologue
Monologue:
I am a shepherd, herding twelve sheep across an endless grassland. The sun hangs in the sky, casting golden light that stretches their shadows long. The wind rustles the grass, rippling like waves, and I dare not let my gaze stray from my flock.
Monologue:
Twelve. No more, no less.
Monologue:
This is the rule. Unbreakable. I must count them—every day, every moment.
Monologue:
The dangers here are more than just wolves. They don’t always bare fangs or claws. Sometimes, they slip into the flock wearing soft wool and gentle eyes.
Monologue:
I hear their murmurs. At night, they hum strange tunes, luring my sheep astray. Once, at dawn, I found one that had strayed—no longer a sheep, but something pale, twisted, bloated with grotesque growths.
Monologue:
I made it a sheep again. Because the count must be right.
Monologue:
I must stay awake. Stay vigilant. Twelve sheep. No more, no less.
Monologue:
Then—a sound cuts through the wind. An engine’s roar, ragged and broken, shattering the silence. I turn and see dust rising in the distance. A battered white pickup truck rattles down the dirt road.
Monologue:
No visitors have come here in a long time.
Monologue:
The paint is peeling, rust bleeding through. I can’t see how many are inside, but I can’t let it distract me.
Monologue:
I look down and count again.
Me:
One, two, three... ten...
Distant sound:
THUD—!
Monologue:
A dull crash splits the air behind me—like a beast crunching bone. I whirl around. A mangled mass of flesh tumbles to the ground, dust and blood churning together. My sheep. Crushed under the wheels, its legs still twitching.
Monologue:
My twelve sheep are now eleven.
Monologue:
A man steps out of the truck. His face is blurred, shrouded in haze. His lips move, words spilling out, but I don’t hear them. Don’t want to.
Monologue:
Dusk is coming. The flock must return to the pen. And I—am missing a sheep.
Monologue:
My glare sweeps over the man and his rusted vehicle. Rage boils in my chest, threatening to burn through reason. Then, in the corner of my eye—movement in the back seat. A figure bundled in thick clothes.
Monologue:
A girl, maybe. A faded scarf swallows her face, but between the folds—a glimpse of jet-black hair and pale skin. And beneath the fabric, a flicker of emerald-green tail, twitching like a trapped animal.
Monologue:
She looks up. Our eyes meet.
Monologue:
Hers are deep green, like murky lakes. Her breath is shallow, as if something has eaten away at her life. I don’t know who she is—but she’s hiding, too.
Monologue:
I draw the knife at my waist. The blade glints.
Monologue:
The count must be right.
Monologue:
Twilight falls, swallowing the grassland. The man’s expression twists—he fears the coming dark more than I do. Without another glance, he scrambles back into the truck and floors the gas, tires spitting dirt as the vehicle flees toward the horizon.
Monologue:
...
Monologue:
The sheep file into the pen. The gate creaks shut. From the shadows steps the pen’s master—his face hidden, voice a dry rasp.
Monologue:
Bony fingers extend. Counting.
Master:
One, two, three... twelve.
Monologue:
He smiles—a crooked, satisfied thing.
Monologue:
Not one sheep more. Not one less.
Monologue:
I stand among the flock, heart pounding, veins throbbing beneath my skin. I exhale slowly, adjusting the sheepskin draped over me.
Monologue:
The sheep chew quietly. The wind ruffles their wool. My breath matches theirs.
Monologue:
My body is warm. My blood is calm. My stomach churns with the taste of grass.
Monologue:
Night blankets the land. All is well.
Monologue:
He doesn’t notice. Still smiling.
Monologue:
At last, I relax.
Monologue:
From then on... I am a sheep.
