The fire crackled quietly beside him, smoke rising in soft coils that caught the morning light like lazy spirits heading home.
Lai Ming stood up, bones cracking like cheap fireworks.
"…Alright," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Time to not smell like death."
He stretched once, winced twice, then limped toward the lake—careful steps, still half-expecting a squirrel with a knife to jump out.
The lake shimmered now.
Peaceful. Too peaceful.
As if the night hadn't just tried to murder him with sounds alone.
He approached the water's edge and looked down.
Still.
Clear.
And staring back—was him.
He blinked.
Leaned in closer.
"…Well sh*t."
The reflection looked like someone had sculpted a prince using hunger and dirt.
Black hair. Tangled like a mop that lost a fight.
Cheekbones sharp under hollow cheeks.
Eyes tired, but… something flickered behind them.
A spark.
"This body's seen better centuries," he muttered.
Without hesitation, he stripped.
Underwear came off too—flung it toward a low branch like it insulted his ancestors.
Didn't even flinch.
Didn't care.
"This isn't even top ten most uncomfortable things that've happened this week."
He stepped into the water.
Cold.
Not 'refreshing' cold.
War-crime cold.
He winced, hissed, shivered, cursed.
But he kept walking, slow and close to the edge, because he still didn't know how to swim.
The lake kissed his knees. Then his thighs.
That was enough.
He crouched.
Scrubbed dirt from his arms, his legs, his face.
Rubbed the grime from his scalp, dunked his head once, came up gasping.
The jungle around him chirped and buzzed.
Somewhere, a bird laughed. A frog burped. A breeze whispered secrets.
He stood there dripping, panting, skin numb.
"…Okay," he muttered. "Step one: don't die. Step two: find food. Step three…"
He stared at his reflection again.
"…F**k. I'll figure out step three later."
He walked back out.
Shook like a soaked rat.
Rang out his underwear, slapped it dramatically on the same branch, and stared at the sky.
"Dry faster, a**hole."
Then, naked as the jungle intended, he sat beside the fire once more—smelling less like desperation, more like damp regret.
Still alive.
Still freezing.
Still Lai Ming.
He leaned back on one elbow, steam rising faintly off his skin in the morning light.
Muscles he didn't remember having twitched under the cold. Not big muscles—just... there. Defined. Wiry. Like the body was built for running from tigers, not bench pressing them.
Lai Ming glanced down, sighed.
"…This is weird."
The face in his memory didn't match the one he'd just seen in the lake.
Gone was the bloated moon of corporate despair. This one had sharp cheeks, a narrow jawline, black hair like tangled ink, and—unfortunately—a haunted, sleep-deprived expression that still screamed 'tax season.'
He rubbed his temples.
"Alright. I'm here. I'm not dead. I'm pretty sure I didn't hallucinate a sheep."
The fire crackled in response.
He picked up a stick. Poked at it aimlessly.
"Okay. Game plan."
He counted off on his fingers.
"One—don't die."
Finger one extended.
"Two—don't starve."
Finger two.
"Three…" He paused, eyes narrowing at the jungle's edge.
"Get the f**k outta here."
The fire popped.
He exhaled.
"I don't know where 'here' is. I don't know how I got here. And unless this place has Uber boats, we got a f**king problem."
He pointed vaguely toward the shimmering lake behind him.
"Can't swim. Don't trust rivers. Definitely not trying to get swept into the afterlife twice."
A quiet bleat echoed behind him.
He turned.
There it was.
The sheep.
Standing on a rock like some wooly guardian of the valley. Wind in its fleece. Judging.
Lai Ming squinted.
"…You know something, don't you."
The sheep blinked.
Then walked away again.
Lai Ming stared after it, deadpan. "Yeah, no. That's fine. I'll just sit here with my dignity hanging on a branch and a fire fueled by self-hatred."
The sheep paused.
Turned its head.
Then… nodded. Barely.
Before vanishing behind the trees again.
Lai Ming blinked. "Did that just—?"
He clutched his stick a little tighter.
"…This sheep's either a spirit beast… or the reincarnation of my landlord."
The fire crackled behind him. Warm. Familiar. Mocking.
Sunlight crept lazily across the clearing, spilling gold over his skin, the mud, the firepit… and his still-drying underwear.
He sat. Cross-legged. Naked as day one.
The breeze kissed everything it shouldn't.
He exhaled slowly, solemnly, eyes to the sky.
"Sun's nice.
Balls are dryin'.
And these aren't even my balls."
A moment of silence passed.
"…Existence is f**ked."
His fingers drummed lightly on his thigh. Then harder. Then stopped.
The jungle stretched out around him like a hungry god with too many teeth.
Still, no sign of danger. Not yet.
Just birdsong. Leaves. That weird distant rustle that probably wasn't death.
His gaze drifted to his underwear—still soggy.
Still clinging to the branch like it had PTSD.
He stood up.
Muscles sore. Legs firm. Skin dirt-smudged and scraped.
One hand on his stick. The other shielding his newfound freedom from the morning wind.
"Alright," he muttered. "Time to kill something."
A pause.
He looked down at himself.
"…This better not awaken anything in me."
Then, barefoot and bare-assed, he marched into the jungle.
Not far—he wasn't suicidal. Just past the first line of trees. Just enough to not see the fire but still smell the smoke.
The stick rested over his shoulder like a spear held by a very confused caveman.
He stepped lightly. Carefully. Slowly.
Twigs cracked underfoot. Birds scattered above.
Nothing leapt out to kill him. Yet.
That alone felt like progress.
He crouched near a bush.
Listened. Waited.
Then—
A rustle. Left side.
He froze.
Turned.
There.
A fat bird. Ugly. Round. With the eyes of a middle manager and the confidence of a drunk bar fighter.
It pecked at the dirt like it owned the forest.
Its feathers were patchy. Its waddle jiggled when it walked.
Then—
BWAAAK-KUK-KU-KUUAAAK.
It sounded like someone stepped on a dying trumpet.
Lai Ming stared.
"…Oh my god.
A jungle chicken."
The bird didn't notice him.
Too busy bullying a smaller bird out of a worm.
He crept forward. Stick raised.
"Alright, you overgrown KFC reject…" he whispered. "Time to pay your jungle taxes."
He lunged.
WHAP!
Missed.
BWAAK—KAAAKK—KHHHH!
The bird screamed like it owed back taxes.
Lai Ming stumbled. Nearly ate a bush.
"F**k—come back here, lunch!"
He gave chase.
Naked. Cursing. Stick waving like a divine punishment.
The chicken panicked.
Ran with the chaotic speed of a toddler hopped up on soda.
BAK-KUK-KU—BOK!!
Lai Ming yelled, "SHUT UP AND DIE!"
He dove—
THUMP.
Silence.
Feathers everywhere.
A single leg twitched in the air.
He rolled over, chest heaving, bird in hand.
Feathers in his mouth. Scratches down his arm.
"…F**k you.
I win."
The bird's head lolled like a broken puppet.
Still ugly.
Now dead.
He returned to the fire a goddamn champion.
Bloody. Scraped. But triumphant.
Underwear still not dry.
"Of course," he muttered.
So, still naked, he sat beside the fire.
Placed the bird down reverently.
"…We eat like kings tonight."
A beat.
"…Sad, naked, feral kings."
And with that, the first hunt was complete.
The jungle trembled.
The fire crackled.
And Lai Ming began plucking feathers like he knew what he was doing.
He didn't.
But f**k it.
He was alive.
He sat cross-legged by the fire, stick beside him, chicken in lap.
Feathers flew.
A breeze picked up just in time to scatter them directly into his face.
"Cool," Lai Ming muttered, spitting out fluff. "Nature's seasoning."
He plucked with the grace of a blindfolded toddler—uneven, aggressive, entirely wrong. But he didn't stop. Oh no. He was on a mission. A mission called Don't Starve to Death While Butt-Ass Naked in a Jungle.
Flap. Rip. More fluff in the air.
The bird, somehow, looked uglier naked than it had with feathers.
"Perfect," he said. "You match me now."
The fire crackled, as if laughing.
He paused for a moment, sweat sliding down his temple. Sun directly overhead. The air thick and hot like a steamed towel someone forgot to wring out. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, which also happened to be smeared in dirt and chicken grease.
"Good enough."
He found a stick. Jabbed the bird onto it with the solemnity of a man crafting sacred cuisine.
Then held it over the flame.
It sizzled. Crackled.
And smelled—dear god, it smelled amazing.
His stomach made a noise like a dying horse. He didn't care. He rotated the stick carefully, watching the skin crisp, bubbles of fat popping into the flame like little fireworks.
A few feathers on the legs caught fire and curled into nothing. He didn't flinch. That was flavor.
The minutes dragged by. The bird darkened. Grease dripped.
And when he finally couldn't take it anymore—when the scent became more torturous than his hunger—he bit in.
He hissed. Burned his tongue. Didn't care.
"Holy sh*t."
Greasy. Slightly raw near the center. Definitely missing seasoning.
But warm. Real. Food.
He tore off another chunk. Chewed like a man who'd never known dignity and didn't miss it one bit.
The fire hissed.
The leaves rustled.
And Lai Ming, jungle disaster, leaned back on one hand, chicken in the other, sun glinting off his unholy nakedness like a cursed statue.
"…Still not my body," he muttered, glancing downward.
"Still my f**king win."
He took another bite.
Slower this time.
Chewed. Swallowed.
Then blinked.
"…Wait. That's it?"
He looked down at his stomach. Not bloated. Not aching. Just… satisfied.
"Huh."
A glance at the bird. Half gone. Still plenty of greasy jungle meat left.
"This body doesn't need a lot."
He licked a finger. Paused.
"But spiritually?"
A beat.
"Still starving for vengeance. And salt."
He wrapped the remaining meat in a large leaf, stuck it carefully on a flat rock near the fire.
"Alright, leftover chicken. You're plan B. Or dinner. Or maybe an offering to whatever deity keeps throwing me into bushes."
With a groan, he laid back on the dirt, the fire crackling beside him, belly full, limbs heavy.
"…Time to sleep off the trauma."
He yawned. And closed his eyes.
Not just tired.
Ready.
Darkness.
Not the unconscious kind. Not the drifting-off kind. This was… still.
Lai Ming didn't fall into sleep so much as he landed in it—awake, aware, and confused as all hell.
"…The f**k?"
Everything was pitch black. Not suffocating. Just… infinite. A silence that hummed.
And under him—soft resistance. Not dirt. Not rock.
He looked down.
Grass. Glowing faintly beneath him. A small circle of ghostly green in the endless dark.
One lone leaf floated by on a breeze that didn't exist.
Lai Ming blinked. "Did… did someone forget to texture this dream?"
Then—
Ding.
New Quest Acquired: Eat Dinner.
Reward Available Upon Next Sleep.
A translucent screen floated in front of him, glowing faintly. Words etched in clean gold.
Lai Ming squinted. "Okay, what the f—"
The moment he tried to move, something strange happened.
His body appeared. Not in the jungle. Not on dirt. Just—here. In the dark. Glowing faint white. Like it was made of moonlight.
He looked down at his arms. His chest. Same frame. Same muscle. Except now… it shimmered. Ethereal, soft, and ghostly. Like his soul had put on a glowstick suit.
"…This is new."
He waved a hand. It rippled like smoke and light.
And yet—he could feel the world outside. The fire. The breeze. The leaf-covered chicken still sitting on its rock.
It was like his senses hadn't shut off. Just dimmed.
But here? Inside?
He was completely, terrifyingly, lucid.
He turned slowly. There was no ground. No walls. Just endless black, and him—floating in it, softly glowing, like a firefly who'd lost Google Maps.
"…Is this what dreams are like now? 'Cause if so, I want a refund."
No answer. Just silence.
He narrowed his eyes at the floating screen. "Eat dinner, huh?"
A pause.
Then he smirked. "Fine. I'm keeping that meat for tonight anyway."
Another pause.
Then the screen flickered and disappeared.
Lai Ming let out a breath, drifting back into the darkness. Limbs loose. Mind buzzing.
Whatever this space was—dream, soul, or spirit realm—he had a feeling it wasn't just for naps.
But for now?
He just floated. Watching the nothing. Waiting for the world to wake him up.
Ding.
A new box blinked into view, just above his left shoulder.
[Exit Dream State?]
[Press to Wake Up]
Lai Ming blinked at it.
"…Wait, that's it?"
No heavenly choir. No fade-out. No gentle ripple of consciousness returning to reality.
Just a giant, floating 'Quit' button.
He floated closer. Stared at it.
"…This some kind of budget spiritual realm?"
He poked the glowing text.
It pulsed—then clicked—like a button in a mobile game.
Everything dissolved.
His eyes snapped open.
The fire still crackled. The breeze still stirred his leaf blanket. Jungle sounds, sunlight, and a distinct lack of transcendental ambiance.
Lai Ming exhaled slowly.
Then frowned.
"…Why do I feel… well-rested?"
He sat up. Stretched. No ache. No grogginess. No neck cramp.
Just calm.
Too calm.
"…No. Nope. That's not right. That's not a real nap."
He glanced at the fire. Then at the sky. Then down at his own glowing skin—wait, no, not glowing. Just normal again.
He narrowed his eyes.
"This nap scammed me."
There was no lingering sleepiness. No gentle fog of dreams. Just refreshed. Like his soul had been hard-reset by a cosmic IT department.
He rubbed his face, muttering,
"Yeah, I feel rested. But where's the dignity? The drool? The moment where you wake up thinking it's 2099 and you've missed your college finals?"
He scoffed.
"Trash nap. Would not recommend."
Then he looked down at his legs. Still bare. Still sun-drying.
"…Still naked"
He sighed and leaned back against a rock, arms folded.
"Well. Guess we're doing this the weird way now."
A pause.
"…Better not get a dream pop-up next time I blink too hard."
The jungle said nothing.
But the fire crackled like it agreed.
Lai Ming exhaled. Long. Bitter.
"…Great. Stranded. And now naps don't even feel like naps anymore. Love that for me."
He looked down at his body. No glow. No system screen. Just dirt, sweat, and regret.
The breeze nudged the fire. Leaves rustled overhead. Somewhere, a bird made a noise like it was getting mugged.
Lai Ming sighed.
"…Now what? I've eaten. I've spiritually suffered. Am I supposed to do f*cking yoga until nightfall?"
A soft crunch behind him.
He turned his head.
There it was again. That damn sheep. Shambling out of the brush like a sleep paralysis demon in wool.
"Seriously?" Lai Ming said. "You again?"
The sheep blinked.
It stepped forward.
He tensed, halfway between flinching and throwing a rock.
The sheep stopped, then casually dropped a sprig of fresh grass beside the fire. Just like it had the first day.
Lai Ming stared at it.
The sheep stared back.
A beat.
"…You're doing the food thing again," he muttered.
"Thanks. But also—why?"
The sheep didn't respond. Just stared. Unblinking.
"…Right. Of course. You're not gonna explain anything. You're just gonna keep showing up like a weird, grass-delivering postman from whatever jungle dimension this is."
The sheep walked over to a patch of moss and flopped down like it paid rent here.
"F*ck it. Elder Munch."
Lai Ming watched it chew.
No response.
"…Yeah, I'm giving you names now. Helps me cope."
He stood, stretched, and wandered off to gather leaves.
Might as well try making a bed before night.
It took him ten minutes to realize jungle leaves didn't give a damn about comfort. Or dignity.
He stacked them. Flattened them. Tried laying down.
Crunch. Snap. Itchy.
"…Why is this worse than the dirt?"
He stood. Slapped at his back. Something crunched near his spine.
"Cool. Jungle acupuncture. F*ck you too, forest."
Defeated, he returned to the fire and plopped down beside Elder Munch, who had somehow turned away like it was pretending not to know him.
Lai Ming picked up a stick and began sharpening the end with a rock.
"I swear, if I don't make something cool before sundown, I'm going to lose it."
Scrape. Scrape.
After a few minutes of focused carving, he held it up.
It was slightly pointier.
He smirked. "Look at that. Primitive engineering."
Then immediately stabbed himself in the thigh.
"F*CK—okay, yeah, I deserve that."
He dropped the stick like it betrayed him. Which, to be fair, it did.
"Awesome. I'm bleeding. And still naked. Why is this my life now?"
The sheep sneezed behind him.
Lai Ming didn't even turn around. Just muttered, "I hope your grass tastes like dirt, you fluffy bastard."
The sheep sneezed again. Louder.
He glared. "Don't sass me."
The fire popped. The sun dipped. Shadows stretched across the jungle floor.
Lai Ming stared into the orange sky, then at the leaf-wrapped meat by the fire.
"…Dinner time."
Lai Ming dragged himself over to the fire like a war survivor returning to civilization—which, technically, he was.
He unwrapped the leaf, revealing his glorious, glistening jungle kill. Slightly soggy from being leaf-marinated all day, but still golden in places, still real, still his.
He held it up like it was sacred scripture.
Then immediately tore into it like a starving trash panda.
Grease dribbled down his chin. Bones crunched. He ate like someone who no longer cared what utensils were. He moaned. Just a little.
"Oh my god. Still good. Still salty. Wait—no, that's dirt."
He didn't care.
He licked it off anyway.
By the time he was done, the only thing left was a sad bone and the haunting sense that someone, somewhere, had definitely watched that happen.
He glanced around.
No system.
"…Guess that's not creepy at all."
He burped quietly and flopped onto his back.
The fire crackled beside him, cozy and low. The sheep was curled into a wooly rock ten feet away, snoring softly like a dying accordion.
The stars were starting to poke through the canopy.
Lai Ming stared up at them.
"…Right. Sleep now. Eat reward later. That's the f*cked-up cycle we're in."
He turned over. Fluffed a pile of leaves like a pillow.
Closed his eyes.
Tried to drift off.
Didn't.
He shifted.
Tried again.
Still nothing.
"...Why is it so hard to fall asleep right after a full-body chicken coma?"
He lay still. One eye open. Then both. Then rolled over violently and punched a leaf.
"JUST LET ME SLEEP, YOU STUPID SKY."
Something howled in the distance.
Lai Ming froze.
"…I was joking. Please don't smite me."
He shut his eyes again. Took a breath. Another.
A mosquito buzzed near his ear.
He slapped it, missed, and smacked his own face.
"...Cool."
Another breath.
Stillness.
Finally, eventually, mercifully—
Darkness.
No fade. No transition.
Just click—and he was back.
That same empty black void. The little circle of glowing grass beneath him. One sad leaf tumbling across like it was on a budget anime intro.
Except this time, as he opened his eyes—
Ding.
Dream State: Active
Remain in Dream State to absorb rewards.
Progress: %9
Do not wake up early. Seriously. Just chill.
Lai Ming stared at it, floating above his head like the world's shadiest software update.
"…Okay. That's not ominous at all."
He tried moving. His limbs felt… molasses-y. Floaty. Like he was made of ghost pudding.
He turned slowly in midair, watching the little grass patch rotate under him like a cosmic lazy Susan.
"Alright. Stay asleep. Absorb the good sh*t. Got it."
He watched the bar.
11%.
He blinked.
12%.
He blinked slower.
13%.
"…This is gonna be f*cking awful."
He flipped upside down. Spun slowly. Considered screaming just to spice things up.
Instead, he muttered to himself.
"Why does enlightenment come with a f*cking progress bar? Am I downloading abs?"
18%.
The screen pulsed again.
Do not wake up.
Please.
"Don't tempt me."
21%.
Lai Ming groaned and stared into the void like it owed him rent.
Then, finally—
100%.
The screen pinged like it had just finished microwaving his soul.
Everything glowed.
Rewards Absorbed:
+5 Physique
"You may now survive more than one punch. Maybe."
New Skill: [Evasive Slumber I]
"While unconscious, your body may instinctively dodge attacks. Side effects include flailing, kicking, and smacking nearby allies."
New Menu Unlocked: [Attributes]
Lai Ming's soul-body twitched.
The system chimed again.
View Attributes? [Y/N]
He squinted.
"…Sure. Let's see how broken I am now."
[Soul Attributes – View Mode]
Physique: 12Willpower: 15Nap Efficiency: 94%Threat Response While Asleep: EnabledSleep Reflex Skill: [Evasive Slumber I]Dignity: Terminal
Lai Ming stared.
Then whispered, "…I'm evolving into a very tired monster."
The grass pulsed beneath him like it agreed.
A new screen blinked into existence:
[Exit Dream State?]
You may wake up now.
He rolled his eyes and reached for the glowing button.
It pulsed under his finger like it knew what it was doing.
Click.
Snap.
He woke up with a full-body jolt, arm twitching mid-air like he'd just been slapped by reality.
The fire was embers now, quietly smoking beside a small pile of bones.
Morning light filtered through the trees—golden, warm, annoyingly cheerful.
Birds screamed in the distance. The jungle was alive again.
Which unfortunately meant he still was too.
Lai Ming groaned and sat up.
Then paused.
Then blinked down at himself.
"…Why do I feel like I could suplex a bear?"
His limbs felt heavier—but in a solid way. Like someone installed bricks under his skin.
His arms looked a little less like noodles.
He stood. Stretched. His spine cracked in seventeen places and somehow made him feel amazing.
He turned toward the rock where he'd left his underwear.
Still damp.
Still tragic.
He picked it up with two fingers like it was contaminated.
"You know what? I don't even care anymore."
He tied it around his waist like a limp loincloth and faced the rising sun.
Wind blew gently across his new-and-improved jungle disaster body.
The sheep stared at him from six feet away. Chewing. Judging.
Lai Ming nodded at it solemnly.
"Yeah. That's right. I'm back. Stronger. Still mostly naked."
He cracked his neck.
Paused.
Then narrowed his eyes at the sheep.
"…You saw nothing."
A long beat.
The sheep blinked once.
Then farted.
Lai Ming gave a slow, approving nod.
"Good talk."
He looked out toward the jungle.
Birds still screamed. Trees still loomed. His stomach rumbled faintly, despite all that meat.
"Day two," he muttered. "Let's see what fresh trauma you've got in store."