Give him these items. He will give you a Cursed Malo Egg. Note: A cursed Malo only works for 7 days of in-game time, then reverts to a normal Chicken. To keep it permanently, you must feed it one Piston (any type) every 24 hours. This is the developer's ironic punishment for piston trappers.
The method players used to recreate this "entity" (or accidentally summon it) relied on a now-patched mechanic involving Pistons and Chunk Loading. This was often used for duplication glitches, but had the side effect of creating "Ghost Mobs."
A technical retrospective on the "Malo" entity and the piston glitch that shocked Bedrock Edition.
In the world of Minecraft Bedrock Edition, few rumors have spread as quickly as the "Malo." Said to be a shadowy, glitched version of an Illager capable of phasing through walls and corrupting saves, the Malo became a community nightmare. However, the reality behind this legend is rooted in game mechanics—specifically, the manipulation of entity data via Piston Traps.
If you are looking to understand how this worked before the patch, or how players attempted to summon this "corrupted" mob, here is the breakdown.
How to Capture a Malo in Lovely Craft Using a Patched Piston Trap – A Step‑by‑Step Guide
(All information is based on the current version of Lovely Craft (1.20‑ish) and the “Piston‑Trap‑Patch 1.3” that fixes the original glitch where the trap could be bypassed.)
The update notes were blunt: "Piston traps patched — exploit removed." Players sighed across Lovely Craft's blocky forums. For weeks, the piston trap had been the easiest way to snag Malo, the rare wandering merchant who only appeared when the map's mechanics bent just so. Everyone who'd used it swore Malo's wares were worth the fuss: gleaming lanterns that banished nightmares, maps inked in moving stars, and one whispered recipe for a song that healed broken hearts. how to get malo in lovely craft piston trap patched
Rin had never seen Malo in person. She'd watched videos, read long threads, and traced pixel-by-pixel recreations of the piston trap on her tablet. Piston, redstone pulse, timed hopper—repeat until the rare merchant spawned in the exact spot where the trap could nudge him into a holding cell. It felt cheap and brilliant at once. She kept telling herself she wanted to earn Malo fairly. Still, curiosity is a gravity of its own.
The patch dropped on a gray Wednesday. Rin logged in to a string of messages: "They fixed it," "RIP piston farms," "Anyone try the new spawn rules?" She clicked through to the patch notes. The developers had tightened spawn windows, added pathing checks, and made NPCs refuse sudden teleportations. The piston trap was no more.
Rin shut off her screen and walked to the window. Rain stitched the city into soft, reflective stripes. On the ledge outside, a withered paper crane — a keepsake from her father — trembled in the breeze. She thought of the old forums as if they were a living thing: people who had learned to find loopholes and those who had loved the wonder in the original design. The patch felt like closing a door. But maybe, she wondered, a harder door could lead somewhere new.
That night she sat at her keyboard and drew a different plan. If Malo no longer yielded to mechanical coercion, she could lure him instead. The Lovely Craft world was full of rules: hunger, curiosity, curiosity hotspots, rumor bubbles. Malo was a merchant who loved two things — a path unblocked and a crowd humming tales. People said he liked soft music and the scent of sea-salt. Others swore he favored tiles patterned in half-moons. None of that was guaranteed, but nothing in game lore ever was.
Rin set out to build a proper stall. Not a trap, she told herself—an honest, warm place. She dug a shallow courtyard by the map's old lighthouse, laid stones in a pattern of half-moons, and hung lanterns that swayed in the wind. She planted salt-tipped flowers — a cosmetic item with a faint sea-spray effect — and stitched a lullaby into a looping jukebox. Then she posted a tiny, sincere notice on the town board: "Merchant’s Rest: lore, music, and exchange. All travelers welcome."
On the third day someone came: a wanderer in a patchwork cloak who traded a story for a bowl of stew. On the seventh, a pair of children chased a paper kite over the courtyard. They sat on the steps and hummed the lullaby because the melody made their blocky hearts feel softer. Give him these items
The server's rumor engine, a gentle beast that spread whispers in invisible ripples, caught the steam of the place and carried it onward. Players began to drift in—not for an exploit, but for the calm. They left small offerings, little trinkets, and once, a hand-drawn map scribbled with an arrow and the word "maybe."
On a misty morning, as Rin adjusted the lanterns, the air shivered. The jukebox's lullaby skipped once, like a breath held and let go. Malo appeared at the far edge of the courtyard like a weathered thought: small, with a satchel that bumped against his hip and eyes that looked like two tiny moons. He did not sparkle with loot immediately or spawn in a flash; he stepped forward with slow, deliberate curiosity, sniffed the air, and studied the half-moon stones.
"Well," he said in a voice that sounded like coins on a cart, "this is unexpected."
Rin's palms went cold. Players gathered, silent and hopeful. Malo walked among them, inspecting the offerings, humming the lullaby under his breath. He listened to the wanderer's tale, accepted a bowl of stew from a child, and finally set his satchel down.
He traded stories. He traded a single luminous lantern for a tale of a lighthouse that once guided a fleet of lost dreams. He left a scroll that mapped a constellation over a new island and took a tiny embroidered token in return. He laughed softly when a player offered him a piston as a joke and told a story about how puzzles taught him more than cheats ever could.
When he departed, he left behind a small, folded paper crane — one that smelled faintly of sea-salt — and a line on the town board: "I come when the world is tended." The update notes were blunt: "Piston traps patched
The patch that had closed the piston trap's shortcut had done something else: it nudged the community toward invention that felt less like breaking and more like tending. Players who once raced to build instant spawners found new joy in luring, tempting, and greeting; in building spaces that invited NPCs rather than forcing them. Forums filled with new designs: musical lures, patterned plazas, and festivals where townsfolk traded stories in exchange for rare spawns. The piston trap threads did not vanish; they were archived like old tricks, useful for history but not for now.
Rin kept Malo's crane on her windowsill. Sometimes, new merchants arrived at her courtyard, curious about the lullaby or the half-moons. Sometimes no one ever showed, and the lanterns swayed in a comfortable emptiness. Either way, she had learned to make patience part of the architecture.
In patches and updates to come, Lovely Craft would continue to change. Players would test and prod the edges, and the developers would tighten or loosen the rules. But the story of Malo and the piston trap — of a door closed and another opened — stayed on the town board as a reminder: when the easy path is gone, you can grieve it, or you can build a place worth visiting.
Rin chose to build.
Since the "Malo" mob is currently a widespread myth/hoax in the Minecraft Bedrock community (often associated with the Broken Pillagers or just standard Illagers behaving strangely), and the "Piston Trap" usually refers to an old duplication or entity corruption glitch, the phrase "how to get malo... patched" implies you are looking for a guide on how to either reproduce the behavior before it was fixed or understand the mechanics behind the rumor.
Here is a piece explaining the phenomenon, the mechanics of the trap, and why it is considered "patched."