Sylvie, the Slave Girl (Lily Futa) - Chapter 42 (pt. 1)

On the seventh day, Sylvie continued to suffer from a high fever.

Her health value dropped to 49 (Critical, in high fever…).

Her health worsened daily; sweat repeatedly soaked her body.

Wei Qing used a towel to wipe her down.

She barely slept these past two days.

She tried every method—IV drips, injections, fever-reducing patches, suppositories, and pills—but nothing worked.

The girl’s high fever persisted.

The person on the bed rarely woke anymore.

She spent more time unconscious, as if sleeping for both of them.

Her cheeks flushed red, and her eyelashes stayed tightly shut.

Everything seemed to head toward the worst outcome.

Wei Qing stared at Sylvie’s closed eyes for a long time.

She frowned, her expression filled with anxiety and unease.

Her mind felt chaotic.

She uncontrollably recalled many things.

**

On the eighth day, a new notification finally appeared on the panel that evening.

[ Affection over 90 rewards one dose of fever-reducing medicine ]

[ Not a game, no save reloads ]

The second line answered the question she repeatedly asked these past two days.

She felt relief, like finding a solution, but then faced the next problem.

Affection.

Why? Why did it stay stuck at 89?

She pinched the face of the unconscious girl.

Sylvie’s lips puckered slightly, pink and tender.

Her face burned red.

Wei Qing looked for a while, then gently touched her lips with her hand.

They felt scalding.

She pressed her lips together and pinched Sylvie’s lower lip again.

She reflected on some things.

During this reflection, she noticed how much her mindset had changed over these two months.

At first, she didn’t care much about life or death in this game-like world.

She only felt curiosity about the real-life version of a game character she once invested time and effort into.

But after spending time together, it became more than that.

She could touch her.

She felt soft, breathed, and had her own thoughts.

A real person.

A living person.

Initially, she approached with a somewhat casual attitude, knowing all the character’s settings from a god-like perspective.

But day by day, she found joy in it.

This place no longer felt boring.

Every moment, she touched a vivid, three-dimensional living person.

The feeling was strange.

The thin, silent slave she first met became a lively, beautiful, obedient, and captivating girl after they grew closer.

She was strikingly straightforward.

Her stats slowly climbed from zero.

Her scarred body visibly improved.

She gained some weight, and her complexion got better.

Wei Qing saw and felt these changes, all because of her.

The data reflected it too.

This was completely different from tapping a phone screen.

It brought a strange sense of accomplishment.

Game scenes became real—real people, real places.

Everything about being with her carried this psychological buildup, making Wei Qing care more, sinking into it unconsciously.

Two months wasn’t long.

Truly, it wasn’t.

But… Wei Qing grabbed her hair in frustration.

She didn’t want her to die.

She couldn’t die.

Don’t die.

She would genuinely feel sad.

These past two days, she even wanted to cry.

She might actually like her a little.

She liked this so-called game “character.”

…

“Wake up,” Wei Qing says, pinching her face, poking.

She pokes intently, without empathy, with urgency.

After some time, the girl finally stirs, barely awake.

Her eyelids tremble slightly, opening a sliver, unfocused.

Her gaze looks wet, her face abnormally red.

She stares at Wei Qing dazedly.

Wei Qing stares back, her voice pausing.

She doesn’t know what to say for a moment.

“Can you… like me a little more?” she asks.

… Unreasonable.

The girl’s eyelids feel heavy.

They open briefly before closing again.

Wei Qing wonders if she was even conscious or heard her.

She climbs onto the bed, kneeling between the girl’s legs.

She bends Sylvie’s legs and starts removing her pants.

That day, their affection hit 90 during s3x, though it wasn’t stable for some reason.

She doesn’t want to be this perverse, doing something to someone with such a persistent high fever and unclear consciousness.

“Let me tell you a story,” she says, leaning down, touching the girl’s burning thigh, organizing her words.

Her elbows rest on either side of the girl’s body. The woman kisses her lips.

“This story is called… Sleeping Beauty,” she says.