The jungle didn't answer.
It just breathed. Steamy, leafy, damp. Birds screamed in the trees like they were mid-divorce.
Lai Ming sighed.
His underwear-turned-loincloth sagged with the weight of tragic ambition.
"…Right. Breakfast."
He wandered toward the lakeside, picking up the stick he'd "sharpened" yesterday. Now that he looked at it in daylight… it wasn't sharp. It was just pointier than average.
Still. He needed protein. And if fate insisted on spawning jungle wildlife, he'd meet it halfway—with a spear and the emotional stability of a dead crab.
He crouched near the shallows. Fish darted under the surface like wet bullets.
"Okay," he whispered. "Just stab. Easy."
He raised the spear.
Waited.
Focused.
Thrust—
SPLASH.
He missed. Hard.
The spear hit a rock, ricocheted, and smacked him square in the forehead.
"F**K—"
He fell back, clutching his face. The sheep bleated somewhere behind him, as if it knew.
Lai Ming sat up slowly. A red mark already forming.
"…Okay. That was warm-up."
He tried again.
And again.
Each attempt more desperate than the last. By the fifth try, he was soaking wet, swearing at frogs, and ready to fistfight the lake.
Then, miraculously—flop.
A fish jumped.
Lai Ming screamed, flailed his stick, and—
THWACK.
Impaled it midair. Pure luck. The fish twitched on the end of the spear, stunned.
He stared at it, panting.
Then grinned like a man who'd just beat God at rock-paper-scissors.
"…Primitive excellence, b*tch."
Back at the fire, he roasted it with care. The meat flaked. The skin crisped.
He ate in silence. One bite. Then another. Grease glistened on his chin.
Warm. Real. Food.
Again.
He leaned back, exhaled, and closed his eyes.
The fire crackled.
His stomach stopped trying to sue him for neglect.
Even the sheep looked slightly less judgmental.
"…Alright," Lai Ming muttered, "what fresh spiritual nonsense do you have for me this time?"
Darkness.
Click.
Stillness wrapped him like a wet blanket—except now, it was familiar.
The grass circle beneath him. The floating black void. One sad leaf drifting by like it paid rent here.
Then—
Ding.
Quest Acquired: Jungle Chicken II – Revenge Edition
Objective: Hunt 1 Jungle Chicken (intentionally this time)
Reward Available Upon Next Sleep
"Redemption arc initiated. Don't f**k it up."
Lai Ming blinked.
"…Wait. That's it?"
He looked around. No progress bar this time. No reward dump. Just the quest, hovering above his head like a sarcastic reminder.
"…Right. Because apparently you don't get points for fishing without giving yourself a concussion."
He sighed.
"Fine. One bird. Full intent. I'll go full jungle psycho."
The screen faded.
Lai Ming floated in silence. Limbs loose. Mind buzzing.
He didn't press "Exit" right away this time.
He just stared into the dark.
"…You know," he muttered to no one, "I didn't even like chicken that much back on Earth."
Ding.
[Exit Dream State?]
Lai Ming rolled his eyes and slapped the prompt like it owed him money.
Click.
Snap.
He woke up with a grunt, forehead still sore from earlier.
The jungle greeted him with birdsong and existential dread.
The sheep chewed grass beside him like it hadn't just watched him scream at water an hour ago.
Lai Ming sat up, wiped his face, and grabbed his stick.
"…Alright. Time to commit poultry-based vengeance."
He didn't wait long.
By late morning, the forest began its usual chaos—birds screaming, leaves rustling, and somewhere in the distance, the unmistakable shriek of poultry arrogance.
Lai Ming crouched low behind a bush, eyes narrowed, stick in hand.
Across the clearing, it strutted.
Patchy feathers. Stupid beady eyes. A waddle that swung like it owned the jungle.
The same type.
The same type.
Maybe even the same damn bird species that humiliated him on Day One.
His grip tightened.
"…Time to pay your chicken sins, you greasy bastard."
The bird scratched at the dirt. Pecked. Wandered toward a mossy patch.
Closer.
Closer.
Lai Ming held his breath. Muscles coiled. Stick raised like a divine spear of retribution.
Then—
A scream.
Not his.
The chicken's.
BAAAWK-KAK-K-KUK!!!
It spun.
Saw him.
Too late.
Lai Ming lunged—and this time, he didn't miss.
THWUMP.
The stick rammed clean through the bird's side, tore out the other end, and embedded into the dirt like a spike trap.
The impact echoed.
Feathers burst into the air like confetti at a murder parade.
The chicken twitched once.
Then went still.
Lai Ming stood over the body, breath heavy, arms trembling—not from exhaustion, but from the raw force that just blasted through bird and jungle floor alike.
He stared at the impaled corpse.
"…Damn."
He yanked the stick free with a wet crunch.
Held it up. Tip still slick.
"Went clean through," he muttered. "Like a poultry kebab on god's barbecue."
He looked at his arms.
They weren't huge. Not ripped.
But they felt solid now. Like they meant business.
He flexed once. Just to feel it.
"…Okay, yeah. Physique ain't just for show."
The jungle was silent.
Even the sheep in the distance paused its chewing.
Lai Ming dragged the kill back to camp like a war prize—head high, stick bloody, and soul slightly more smug than before.
The fire still crackled, low and steady. Smoke curled upward like it was trying to escape the plot.
Elder Munch was already there.
Not lounging near the fire.
Not grazing politely around the camp.
Parked. Right next to the flames. Legs tucked under like a smug little furnace priest.
Lai Ming dragged the chicken corpse past him with a grunt. "You live here now, huh? Just vibing in my suffering zone?"
The sheep blinked. Slow. Cryptic. Maybe high.
"Right. Don't help or anything."
He plopped down beside the fire and got to work. Plucked feathers. Scraped charred gunk off the stick. Jabbed the bird on like he was skewering his problems.
The meat hissed over the flames.
Fat bubbled. Skin crisped. Aroma divine.
Even Elder Munch shuffled half an inch closer, eyes half-lidded like it wasn't obvious.
Lai Ming narrowed his eyes. "Don't even think about it."
The sheep yawned.
He split the chicken down the center with a flat rock—one half for now, one carefully wrapped in leaves for later.
"Emergency stash," he said, tucking it behind his pillow-rock like it was sacred.
He turned back to the fire, grabbed the cooked half, and dug in.
One bite.
Then two.
Grease hit his chin. Bone cracked between his teeth.
He sighed through his nose, eyes half-shut in bliss.
"…F**k, that's good."
Then he glanced at the moss pile where he'd stashed the second half.
It was empty.
Gone.
No meat.
No wrapping.
Just a few greasy smears and three bones arranged like guilt.
He blinked.
Then slowly turned.
Elder Munch sat exactly where he had before—chewing.
Lai Ming's mouth fell open.
"...Did you eat my chicken?"
The sheep didn't blink. Didn't flinch.
Just kept chewing.
He looked down again.
No meat. No mistake.
Everything was gone—including the goddamn bones.
He stared at the sheep. Pointed.
"You ate the f**king bones?!"
The sheep burped.
Loud.
Deep.
Like it came from the soul.
Lai Ming made a noise between a wheeze and a laugh.
Then pointed again. "I had a plan. I was gonna eat that chicken during my next mental breakdown. You took that from me."
The sheep rolled over. Looked away.
Lai Ming threw the end of his drumstick at its side. It bounced off harmlessly.
"Oh yeah? That's how it is? Just rob me? Eat my hopes? Steal my post-trauma dinner like it's some grass-flavored tax?"
The sheep yawned.
Lai Ming paced in a circle.
"Unbelievable. I fought that bird. I speared it. I roasted it to perfection—and you, a wooly goddamn goblin, just helped yourself?"
The sheep stretched like it had no spine and zero remorse.
Lai Ming dropped to his knees beside the fire, clutching his half-eaten portion like a war orphan.
"…I can't believe this. I've been food-jumped by a sentient throw pillow."
He sat there, chewing what was left like it personally offended him.
One greasy bite. Then another.
A slow exhale.
"…You know what? F**k it. I'm full. Emotionally devastated. But full."
He tossed the last bone into the fire and flopped onto his back.
Stars blinked overhead like they were pretending not to watch.
The fire popped once.
The sheep snored louder.
Lai Ming closed his eyes.
"Alright, nap gods. If you've got another PowerPoint void ready, send me in. Let's get this over with."
He waited.
Stillness.
Shifted to his side.
Still nothing.
Rolled again.
Groaned.
Scratched something crawling near his neck.
Then slapped it hard enough to smack his own jaw.
"Son of a—ow—just let me sleep, you f**king dirt forest!"
Something hooted far too close.
He flinched. Then pulled a leaf over his chest like armor.
"This is hell. It's mossy, and loud, and full of animals with boundary issues."
Another breath.
Another.
He forced his eyes shut.
Focused.
Let the heat of the fire soak into his bones.
Let the jungle noises fade.
His breathing slowed.
And finally—
Darkness.
Click.
The black void again.
Familiar now. Less unsettling.
Circle of ghost-grass beneath him. That one dumb floating leaf. The spiritual equivalent of a default screensaver.
He sighed.
"…Home sweet nap-sh*t."
DING.
Quest Complete: Jungle Chicken II – Revenge Edition
Rewards Now Processing…
Remain in Dream State until absorption is complete.
Progress: 1%
"…Yup. Here we go again," Lai Ming muttered, slouching onto the glowing patch of ghost-grass like it owed him rent.
The bar hovered in the void above him, faintly pulsing. 1%.
He stared at it. Blinked once.
"…2%."
"Wow. Lightning speed tonight."
He picked up the floating leaf next to him and smacked it against his face.
By 5%, he was lying face-down, cheek mashed into the grass. "Come on, come on… faster… at this rate, I'll grow a spiritual beard."
12%. Tried to whistle.
13%. Gave up halfway and called it a broken windpipe.
23% – He flipped onto his back. "At least it's faster than last night's emotional hostage situation…"
50% – Sat cross-legged. Tried meditating. Got bored by 52%.
"You know what would be nice? A skip button. Or a spiritual snack bar. Or—oh, I don't know—sleep."
66%. 74%. 74%. Still 74%.
"Did you just pause to mess with me?"
When 90% hit, he was lying with his legs in the air and arms spread like a crime scene outline. "I'm not even mad. I'm just disappointed."
99%.
100%.
DING.
+2 Physique
+1 Free Attribute Point
New Skill Gained: [Savage Precision I] – "Your aim while stabbing poultry has mysteriously improved."
[View Attributes] button available
[Quit] button available
Lai Ming blinked. Then blinked harder.
"Did I just get rewarded… for poultry assassination?"
He stood on the grass patch, arms wide like a prophet of absurdity.
"Oh great. I've become the world's deadliest chicken whisperer. What's next, a technique for traumatizing geese?"
He spotted the two new buttons floating beside him.
"…Stats and eject. Beautiful."
He tapped [View Attributes].
Current Attributes:
Physique: 14
Willpower: 15
Nap Efficiency: 94%
Threat Response While Asleep: Enabled
Sleep Reflex Skill: [Evasive Slumber I]
New Skill: [Savage Precision I]
Dignity: Terminal
Free Attribute Points: 1
"…Physique's going up. Still look like shit, though."
He squinted at Savage Precision I.
"'Mysteriously improved', huh? That's ominous. If I start instinctively targeting poultry pressure points, I'm suing someone."
He hovered a hand over the [Quit] button.
"Well. Back to dirt and disappointment."
Tap.
BLINK.
Smoke. Dirt. Chirping. A faint smell of scorched feathers.
Lai Ming blinked again, this time under a different sky — the real one. The fire was still crackling. The jungle hummed.
He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stretched—
Then paused.
"…Where the fuck's the sheep?"
He looked around. No farting. No wool. No smug chewing sounds.
"Great. Guess Elder Munch wandered off to harass a tree or whatever."
He exhaled and stood up.
"…Feels like it's been… one? Two hours?" He glanced at the sun, squinted at the shadows. "Whatever. Around noon. Good enough."
He rolled his shoulder and felt it — denser muscle, smoother movement. Not sore. Just stronger.
"…Damn. I might actually be able to punch a chicken to death now." He paused. "Not that I will. I'm not trying to box poultry in a jungle."
He patted the spear beside him. "Safety first."
With that, he crept into the trees again. Same hunting grounds. Same stupid birds.
Only this time—he moved better.
He spotted one scratching near a tree root, clueless and plump.
Lai Ming crouched low, breathed slow, then—thrust.
Shunk.
"BWA-KKHH?!—"
thump.
Clean stab. No flailing. No death dance. Just one strangled squawk and a final twitch.
"…Okay. That was cleaner. Way cleaner."
He stared at the chicken on the end of his spear.
"Alright, Savage Precision. You creepy little passive. I see you."
Tug. Wrap. Move on.
He didn't go far. The fire still flickered through the trees behind him — his home base of dirt and shame.
And sure enough, after a short walk, another chicken emerged. Bigger. Pecking a mushroom with the focus of a philosopher.
Lai Ming cracked his neck.
"Alright. Round two."
The fire welcomed him back like an old, judgmental friend.
Lai Ming tossed down both chickens, wiped his hands on a patch of grass, and got to work. Plucked. Gutted. Stabbed through with stripped branches like jungle kebabs.
He turned them slowly over the flames, the skin crackling as fat dripped into the fire below.
Ssssssss.
He inhaled deeply.
"Ah… that's the good trauma-healing smoke."
The first chicken cooked fast. He tore into it like a starved animal — barely chewing, just heat and grease and revenge.
Bone by bone, he demolished it.
Then leaned back, groaning.
"Alright. That should hold me for—"
His stomach growled.
He stared down at it. "…Really?"
Another growl. Louder. Deeper. Like his own Physique stat was demanding tribute.
"…Fuck. I need the second one too."
He turned to grab it—
Crunch.
The sound of a twig. A soft puff of wool.
He froze.
Turned slowly.
Elder Munch stood five feet away, eyes locked on the second chicken.
Lai Ming's hand hovered mid-air.
"Don't you fucking dare."
The sheep stared.
Then trotted forward casually, like it paid rent here.
"No. No. No—"
CHOMP.
The sheep took the whole skewer. Leaf and all. Unhinged jaw like a demon sent to humiliate him.
Lai Ming lunged. "Give it back—!"
CHOMP. CHOMP. CHOMP.
It was gone.
Gone.
The sheep let out a long, warbling burp, then turned slightly and farted directly onto the fire, sending up a gust of ash.
Lai Ming just stood there, staring into the flames, mouth slightly open.
"I…"
Twitch.
"…I just cooked for two fucking hours…"
His eye twitched again.
"…And now I'm still hungry… because of a goat with no sense of personal boundaries…"
The sheep laid down beside the fire like nothing happened. Licked its hooves. Looked smug.
Lai Ming sat slowly. Stared at the empty skewer like it had betrayed him personally.
Then flopped onto his back and whispered to the sky:
"…This world's broken. I'm broken. The food's gone. And I'm living with a criminal sheep."
The fire crackled.
The sheep snored.
And Lai Ming screamed into his hands.
Muffled, raw, broken. Somewhere between rage and resignation. He didn't even know anymore.
The sheep farted again. A punctuation mark.
He sat up, dead-eyed. Looked at the fire. Looked at the crumbs of what used to be lunch.
"…I hate this. I hate everything. And everyone. And myself."
He stood. Walked five steps. Turned. Walked five steps back.
Then looked at the ground like it had personally insulted him.
"...I know what I need."
He flopped down on the grass.
"A nap. Yeah. Just... reset the brain. Let the void slap me in the face and tell me to hunt chickens again or whatever."
He closed his eyes.
The sheep snored.
The fire popped.
And the world dissolved into black.
Click.
Back in the void.
Glowing grass. That one dumb floating leaf still doing absolutely nothing. Still somehow smug about it.
Lai Ming opened his eyes slowly. Didn't even speak at first.
Then:
"…Nap gods, if this turns into Jungle Chicken III: Final Peckening, I swear to all spiritual heavens I will snap."
DING.
New Quest Acquired:
— Hunt and kill one (1) Battle Boar
Reward Available Upon Next Sleep.
Lai Ming stared at the message.
Then squinted.
Then sat up violently. "Excuse me?"
He swiped the window open again, just to be sure.
Battle Boar.
Still there. Still horrifying.
"…What the fuck?!"
He stood up on the glowing grass patch and began pacing in tight, furious spirit-circles.
"A chicken is a snack. A boar is a goddamn wall of angry bacon! Why now?!"
He stopped. Huffed. Rubbed his face.
"Okay… okay. Think."
He glanced down at his hands.
Stronger now. Steady. Callused.
And he remembered it — that first sprint through the jungle. The way his body had moved. The way his foot cleared the vine before his brain even processed it.
No wheezing. No stumbling. No bloated gut dragging behind him like a sandbag of shame.
He flexed a little. Arms lean, tight. Muscles that worked.
"…God. I forgot how good it feels."
The fire. The chase. The kill.
That chicken didn't even suffer. One punch. Instant KO.
For a moment, he just stared at his hand.
"I've never one-shotted anything in my fucking life," he muttered. "Not even my taxes."
He looked out into the void. The dream realm pulsed faintly, silent. Watching.
"I could stay soft. Stay safe. Hunt chickens, grill meat, nap forever."
A long pause.
Then:
"…But I'd just rot again. Like before."
He exhaled. Deep. Bitter. Hungry.
"I'm not going back."
Another glance at the quest.
Battle Boar.
"…And if I kill that thing—really take it down with my own hands?"
He grinned.
"I won't just be surviving. I'll be ascending."
His hand tightened into a fist.
"Physique boost. Skills. Whatever's waiting after this? It's gotta be massive."
He cracked his neck. Then his knuckles.
Paced again, faster now.
"Alright. Ambush it. Stay low. Go for the throat. No screaming like last time. Just pure caveman precision."
A beat.
"And if I fuck up… I die horribly. Cool."
He looked down at the grass underfoot, glowing like it was holding its breath.
"No more outer jungle chicken buffet. That boar's not gonna stroll up to the fire and ask to be seasoned."
He nodded to himself. Once.
"…Guess I'm going in."
[Quit Dream State]
The button appeared beside him, patient and silent.
Lai Ming glanced at it.
Then tapped.
BLINK.