The Tentacle Monster I Brought Home Always Says It Wants to Fix My Bones at Night - Chapter 10

Chapter 10

It really did come back.

Only, the way it returned was even more infuriating than I had imagined.

That tiny filament stayed in my home for three days. After it regrew into a palm-sized little Tentacle Monster, the first thing it did wasn’t to catch up with me, but to use a tentacle to snatch away my coffee.

Immediately after, it typed a line in the notes app on my phone.

“No iced Americanos on an empty stomach.”

I was laughing and crying at the same time, nearly smothering it by hugging it into a throw pillow.

But this time, its state was clearly different from before.

It remembered me, it remembered Xu Yichuan, it remembered Su Jingyao, and it even remembered how to skillfully mute my work group notifications in the early hours of the morning.

However, the moment I asked about itself-asking about Pei Yuming’s past, about the laboratory, or whether it would lose control again-it would fall into a long silence.

Sometimes its entire body would darken, as if it were being repeatedly torn apart by something.

I didn’t dare to push it, so I could only stay by its side, taking things one step at a time.

I rested for a month after resigning.

During that month, for the first time, I lived like a normal person.

Waking up at nine in the morning and going to bed at eleven at night.

I went to the market to buy fresh fish, learned how to make soup, took walks in the park, and even signed up for a stretching class.

Motiao-or more accurately, the shrunken version of Pei Yuming-still crawled into my covers every night.

But this time, it had learned to behave.

It would first ask for permission via the phone.

“Can I massage your neck and shoulders today?”

“Only above the waist.”

“I promise not to slide around.”

Looking at those lines of text, my ears felt hot. I teased it on purpose: “You made that promise before, too.”

It was silent for two seconds before silently typing a sentence.

“Previously, my grasp of human etiquette was insufficient.”

I laughed so hard I pounded the bed.

But after the laughter subsided, I still lay face down, letting it slowly massage my stiff muscles.

When those cool tentacles landed on my back, I was no longer afraid; I only felt a sense of peace.

One night, as I was dazed and about to fall asleep, I suddenly heard a very faint sound.

It wasn’t typing.

It was a man’s low, raspy voice, like someone who hadn’t spoken in a long time struggling to make a sound.

“Shuwan.”

I snapped my eyes open and sat up.

There was nothing by the bed except for Motiao, who was frantically shrinking back into the covers, its surface flushed a deep shade of red.

I froze for a few seconds before the realization hit me.

“Was that you speaking just now?”

It stiffened.

After a long while, a line of text popped up on the phone.

“Vocal cord repair: 2% complete.”

My eyes instantly grew hot with tears.

This meant Pei Yuming was still there.

It wasn’t just a mass of monstrous instincts that had remained.

The person who wrote “It’s not treatment, it’s feeding” in his logs was still coming back to me, bit by bit.