Ji Heng remained silent.
The ghost under the bed spoke in a sinister tone, “Think carefully. You only get one chance.”
Su Er didn’t waste words—he struck immediately, attempting to use his charm stat to siphon the ghost’s yin energy.
The fierce struggle he’d imagined didn’t happen. The next moment, the ghost’s eyeballs rolled back as it frantically begged for mercy, scuttling out the window in a spider-like manner.
Su Er didn’t give chase. Instead, he stood still and pondered.
“So weak.”
In terms of overall ability, Su Er wasn’t strong—frankly, he only dared confront threats head-on because Ji Heng was nearby to back him up. Yet this ghost was unexpectedly feeble.
Ji Heng glanced over.
Su Er got the message. “That ghost has nothing to do with Wanbaolin.”
He murmured to himself, “Makes sense. This world has supernatural powers, but I’ve never heard of anyone awakening a ghost-related ability.”
They exchanged a look, and suddenly Su Er had a realization. “So the ghost might’ve been sent by Mister Pu Liu to test the players?”
“…I never said anything,” Ji Heng replied, his expression unreadable.
“But you gave me a look.”
Su Er grinned. “Just joking.”
Truthfully, he’d been suspicious from the start. There were definitely people trying to overthrow the game, but anyone truly capable of such a goal wouldn’t be dumb enough to ask, “Hey buddy, wanna rebel?” like that.
Soon, Su Er’s smile faded. “You think anyone might actually fall for it?”
Most people who entered the game weren’t idiots. What he could figure out, others should be able to as well.
Ji Heng sat up in bed and gave a firm answer: “Yes.”
Su Er was startled.
“Not all the ghosts they send out will be weak,” Ji Heng added. “Don’t forget Zhao Banjin.”
Su Er’s expression turned serious.
He remembered how Zhao Banjin had a wound on his forehead during their first meeting. Although the guy brushed it off as a minor injury and mocked the ghost’s weakness, anything that could hurt Zhao Banjin wasn’t that simple.
“I don’t get it,” Su Er asked bluntly, “Why not treat everyone equally?”
He didn’t believe the host would suddenly grow a conscience and send a weak ghost just to test him.
Ji Heng replied in a cool tone, “Maybe they didn’t want a valuable subordinate to die in the line of duty.”
Strength and destructiveness didn’t always go hand in hand—and Su Er had already managed to destroy several ghosts on his own.
“No need to overthink. Our mission is just to find out who killed the host.”
He emphasized “find out,” subtly reminding Su Er that brute force wasn’t necessary—gathering sufficient evidence would be enough.
After considering it, Su Er decided to start with Lin Qian.
“How about you write a love letter and I deliver it? That way I can approach her.”
Ji Heng let out a laugh. “And you said you don’t manipulate people’s emotions?”
Su Er shrugged, implying he was just the errand boy.
“I don’t write love letters,” Ji Heng said plainly. “But there’s a better way.”
Su Er made a show of listening attentively.
“She has hundreds of thousands of followers online, just like you. Use that as an excuse—suggest a collaboration.”
Su Er frowned. “She’s the daughter of Wanbaolin’s chairman. No way she needs money.”
Ji Heng smiled. “But you’re backed by the vampire family. She won’t turn you away.”
Su Er arranged to meet Lin Qian in the cafeteria before class the next morning to avoid seeming too abrupt. He brought materials about several new product launches, posing as someone simply looking to collaborate.
Lin Qian was even more beautiful in person, with delicate facial features and long, straight black hair—like a porcelain doll.
“I’ve been in a bunch of minor commercials lately,” Su Er said with a smile, “but I’m looking for one with more reach.”
As the pampered daughter of a wealthy family, Lin Qian had just graduated high school and awakened a supernatural identity. If she wanted to, she could become a favorite among advertisers overnight.
A handsome man and a beautiful woman sitting together always drew attention.
Lin Qian stood up. “Let’s talk outside.”
They moved to the garden, where the scent of flowers attracted plenty of insects.
Lin Qian pulled out a palm-sized puppet from her bag and used it to drive the bugs away.
“We can be friends first. Then we’ll talk business.”
Su Er nodded.
Lin Qian liked to steer the conversation. Su Er didn’t interrupt, which pleased her. “I’ll bring you an invitation this afternoon.”
“An invitation?”
“To my birthday party this weekend,” Lin Qian explained. “I want to use the chance to expand my social circle.”
She was very straightforward, but Su Er sensed that the invitation might just be an excuse.
Taking her words to heart, Su Er spent the whole day quietly attending classes. As expected, Lin Qian returned that afternoon, handing out a thick stack of invitations—not just for Su Er, but for every student in the training program.
Each invitation had a small flower on the front and an embossed pattern inside. In a discreet corner, gilded lettering read: fate.
“Fate…” Su Er’s expression turned grave. Anything involving the word “fate” rarely meant good news.
Closing the invitation, he glanced around the classroom. A few of the other players had strange expressions when they saw it.
Su Er quietly made note of their faces.
“Are we going?” he asked Ji Heng.
“There are still two days until the weekend,” Ji Heng said, his fingers lightly rubbing the English letters at the bottom of the invitation. Suddenly, he turned to Su Er. “Didn’t you say you needed the restroom? Let’s go together.”
The subject shift was so abrupt that Su Er didn’t actually need to go, but he still got up and followed Ji Heng to the restroom.
“Is this place not under game surveillance?” Su Er asked as soon as they stepped inside.
Ji Heng appreciated the sharp question. Zhao Sanliang had once accused him of being too harsh and impatient in answering others. In truth, Ji Heng didn’t mind answering questions—as long as they weren’t dumb.
“Restrooms and showers are special zones. As long as there are no ghosts inside, they’re typically not monitored by the game.”
Su Er was surprised Ji Heng even knew that.
Ji Heng replied, “I’ve done some experiments in previous instances.”
Then he got straight to the point. “Players run experiments to test the game’s limits. The game, in turn, does experiments too.”
Su Er mulled over that statement, frowning slightly.
Ji Heng’s next words were completely unexpected. “Tell me everything about yourself, as much as you can—leave out anything directly tied to survival.”
Noticing the seriousness in Ji Heng’s expression, Su Er fell silent for a long time. After some hesitation, he finally shared everything about Zhu Yun and the stun gun.
He could have left the stun gun out, but he chose to be honest.
“Precognition, huh.” Ji Heng sighed, as if dealing with something troublesome.
Su Er said, “I wouldn’t have made it this far without Zhu Yun’s help.”
The stun gun had been invaluable when he was still weak.
Ji Heng gave him a long, searching look. “Be mentally prepared. The game may have deliberately allowed a precog to act freely.”
Su Er’s fingers slowly curled into a fist. Though he’d already suspected this, he still asked to confirm: “Why?”
“To test whether precognition could harm the game.” Ji Heng said. “And then decide whether to erase you.”
His brow furrowed and didn’t relax afterward. Su Er’s presence was a variable. For some reason, the game had realized it too late. Just as a precog appeared in a certain instance, it used the opportunity for an experiment—to see what precogs were truly capable of.
Su Er remained calm. “If it wanted to kill me, it could’ve done so already.”
Ji Heng chuckled. “It’s not human. It doesn’t act on emotion.”
“Artificial intelligence?” Su Er ventured a metaphor.
“Pretty accurate.”
Su Er pressed his lips together. “So the game can’t just kill players without cause. It needs to make certain judgments first.”
Only once the criteria were met would it execute a player without hesitation.
Ji Heng nodded and laid out the next two priorities: “First, find the real killer quickly. Prove that precogs pose limited threat to the game.”
A precog who can be countered by an ordinary player is far less dangerous.
“And the second?”
“Stick to your ‘original intention’—keep flattering the game and showing loyalty,” Ji Heng said dryly. “Whenever you get the chance to suck up, do it.”
As they exited the restroom, Ji Heng walked ahead. When he turned to speak to Su Er, he “accidentally” bumped into someone.
But Su Er noticed the move was deliberate—Ji Heng had hit the person’s brachial nerve. The guy’s hand went numb, and his invitation slipped to the floor.
Ji Heng bent down and handed it back. “Sorry.”
“No worries.” The player rubbed his shoulder, took the invitation, and walked off.
Only after confirming the footsteps had faded did Ji Heng speak. “Our invitations are cursed. His isn’t.”
Su Er recognized that player—he was one of the few he’d secretly noted earlier. “Looks like he’s already chosen a side.”
“This instance doesn’t prohibit player-on-player violence. Be careful around them.”
Su Er nodded.
As they left the building, Su Er noticed something odd about his shadow. Without reacting, he looked away and continued walking calmly.
He stopped by the small convenience store, then returned to the dorm with a new notebook and pen.
Despite the heat, he didn’t bother turning on the air conditioner. Instead, he started writing in the journal.
Ji Heng returned from the cafeteria with food and casually glanced over—only to see a string of outrageous praise:
“The game is the sun, and I am Kuafu. Even if I have but one breath left, I will chase its light!”
There was more. Ji Heng couldn’t take it. “Eat first.”
Su Er opened the chopsticks, subtly glancing at his shadow in the golden light of dusk.
Ji Heng raised his foot without hesitation to stomp it—but the shadow slid up the wall, then stood upright on its own.
The silhouette solidified into the form of the Gravekeeper’s Servant.
Su Er clicked his tongue. “Tailgating someone so closely—isn’t that a bit much?”
Gravekeeper’s Servant didn’t answer directly. Instead, he glanced at the diary, then scoffed, “So fake.”
Su Er didn’t care. “Maybe the game will be moved and give me a reward right outside the door.”
This time, Gravekeeper’s Servant didn’t retort immediately. Instead, he pulled a mirror from his chest.
Su Er focused on it—inside, it was showing live footage of what was happening at the Transit Station.
The Gravekeeper’s Servant looked smug. “This is my treasure.”
Ji Heng shook his head slightly. Flaunting wealth in front of Su Er was unwise.
Sure enough, Su Er’s eyes lit up with interest. But before he could start scheming how to get a benefit from it, the mirror’s contents drew his full attention.
A massive waterfall-like screen stretched dozens of meters—it was a magnificent sight.
Su Er was familiar with it. It was the Water Curtain that displayed player performances during their first entry.
Now, many players were gathered around it. Gravekeeper’s Servant zoomed in, and Su Er finally saw what was being shown on the screen:
“I trust the game. I am loyal to the game…” The speaker clutched his chest, eyes shining with pious fervor. “I will protect it with my fragile hands!”
Su Er was stunned for a long time. Wasn’t that his own loyal-dog speech from last night?
“The game was moved,” the Gravekeeper’s Servant said lazily, “so it chose you as its Global Ambassador. From now on, that clip will play on repeat on the Water Curtain.”
----------
No comments:
Post a Comment