“The game officially ended.”
The thick fog that once surrounded the ten regions that had fallen to the game finally dispersed. Players in the game zone were at last able to return to the game world, while ordinary people could once again enter those previously sealed-off areas.
These places had become boundary zones between the game and reality. Only within these zones could people from Blue Star log into the game and use the abilities they had obtained there.
Outside of the boundary zones, back in the normal regions of Blue Star, players could no longer use their abilities. Even so, the skills brought back from the game had already had a massive impact on the planet.
Even though it had been nearly a month since players left the game, the daily news was still filled with headlines like: “In-game healer cures terminal illness” and “Technology created in-game continues to function outside boundary zones despite being impossible with modern science.”
Explosive changes were shaking the world’s original structure.
Countries without game zones grew anxious. After a series of complicated negotiations among various authorities, it was ultimately decided to request that He Wuning use his administrator privileges to establish additional boundary zones across different regions, based on population and geography.
The exact number was still under discussion, but a decision was expected soon. After all, He Wuning had already taken the lead in Country A by creating several boundary zones, and news of the benefits they brought spread everywhere. It was only a matter of time before others couldn’t hold back any longer.
In a sense, the “Voice of the World” hadn’t lied—the game had indeed brought explosive transformation to this planet. It was just that the side effects wouldn’t appear until a hundred years later.
Overall, it was a sugar-coated bullet with immense danger—and their plan was to strip away the sugar coating while throwing the bullet back.
At H City University, a professor was speaking enthusiastically at the podium: “Students, you should be glad you’re not seniors yet. The fourth-years in our International Finance department are practically in tears—woke up one day and bam, the whole world changed! Right, Xiao He?”
“And speaking of global changes, we have to mention our very own He Wuning…”
He Wuning had been resting his chin on his hand, scrolling on his phone. Hearing this, he immediately looked up, calmly flipped open a book, and covered the phone—his expression completely steady.
A classmate beside him grinned and nudged him. “Hey, he’s talking about you, big shot!”
At a time when the world was speculating about what the true “master of the game,” the rumored He Wuning, was planning—he had already quietly returned to university life.
…Well, not quite “returned.” Back when the game zones had fallen, he hadn’t really been attending classes either. Now, he and a few other unlucky students who had been pulled into the game were making up missed lessons alongside younger classmates.
He Wuning lifted his eyelids lazily. “He said He Wuning. What does that have to do with me, He Ningning?”
He showed the name printed in his book, looking completely justified.
Soft laughter rippled through the room.
In just a few days, he’d already gotten familiar with everyone—or rather, everyone had gotten close to him.
A muffled laugh came from inside his desk. “Pfft, Sweetie, you’re talking nonsense again.”
He Wuning reached down and pinched it in warning. Q-chan let out a small “eep” and obediently fell silent.
The one inside his desk was a plush version of Q-chan, created by the tech department. They had begun gaining partial control over the game system, and since Q-chan had been especially cooperative, they were the first to extract his personality data. He had regained memories from when he was alive and was no longer just a simple system entity.
Still, he seemed to like the name “Q-chan,” so he kept it.
He had expressed a desire to experience life on Blue Star, and the tech department indulged him—creating a relay device that could connect to in-game data even outside the boundary zones, embedding it into a plush toy.
Aside from not being able to move freely like in the game, and needing to be carried by He Wuning, he seemed perfectly satisfied.
Actually… he seemed especially satisfied with being carried. Yi Luo had even expressed envy about that.
The tech department said they’d eventually build him a movable body. If he really wanted to roam around for now, they suggested plugging his device into a robot vacuum so he could go for a ride—and clean the floor while he was at it.
In this peaceful, battle-free daily life, a faint smile appeared in He Wuning’s eyes. He reopened his book and checked his messages.
One was from his mother—the glamorous CEO—sending pitiful emojis asking her still-in-college son to write a speech for her.
Another was from the tech department, claiming they’d discovered a shocking secret and begging him not to force them offline tonight. Attached was a list of players requesting extended login time.
(As a side note: to prevent overdependence on the game, He Wuning had asked Q-chan to implement an anti-addiction system—anyone online for more than three consecutive days would be forcibly logged out.)
The tech department complained endlessly. Zuo Qianming had even threatened to take a taxi to kneel outside his university.
He Wuning ignored his mother and replied coldly to the tech team: “You say that every day.”
They instantly replied: “This time it’s real! Come take a look if you’re free!”
The last message was from Yi Luo, asking when his class would end—he’d come pick him up.
He Wuning checked the time and replied: “Five minutes.”
“Got it. Be there soon.”
He raised an eyebrow slightly—no complaints from Yi Luo this time. Was he already nearby?
Five minutes later, He Wuning walked out of the school gate with his bag—Q-chan stuffed inside—under everyone’s watchful eyes. At the entrance, a man sat casually on a motorcycle, posing for photos with others. That was clearly the one who said he’d come pick him up.
He Wuning raised a brow, looking at the bike.
Same model as the one in the game—just repainted deep blue, while his had been a rather eye-catching red.
Yi Luo spotted him immediately, swung off the bike, waved goodbye to the people around him, and walked over. “I even wore casual clothes today, but still got recognized,” he said helplessly.
He was dressed casually indeed—if not for his fame, he could easily pass as just another student.
“When did you buy the bike?” He Wuning asked.
“Recently.” Yi Luo grinned, holding his helmet. “Matching, right? Blue and red—classic couple colors!”
He had even deliberately put “blue” before “red.” He Wuning pretended not to notice.
Yi Luo slung an arm over his shoulder. “That old man’s too much—wanted me to modify a tank and wouldn’t let me leave. I saved up so much leave and still couldn’t take it. Finally snuck out. Let’s go have fun!”
“I need to go to the game zone,” He Wuning said. “Tech department has something.”
Yi Luo frowned, clearly annoyed. “Those guys again? Do they think you’re some kind of network admin?”
Q-chan popped his head out of the bag, giggling. “In such a hurry for a date? Too bad—lots of people are after our Sweetie!”
“...Tch.” Yi Luo grabbed him, squishing him flat. “How are you still this talkative when you can’t even move?”
“Let’s just go to the lab first. Date afterward.”
He raised a brow smugly. “We’ll have our date tonight.”
“Are you thinking something inappropriate again?!” Q-chan shouted. “It’s still daytime!”
He Wuning expressionlessly separated them and stuffed Q-chan back into the bag. “You know it’s daytime—then why are you yelling so loud?”
He looked at Yi Luo. “Come on. Let’s find an empty classroom.”
As the administrator with full authority, he could return to the game from anywhere—and even bring Yi Luo along.
But to avoid causing a scene by suddenly disappearing in public, he preferred somewhere quiet.
Like an empty classroom.
But Yi Luo was clearly not on the same wavelength. He looked serious and cleared his throat. “Does your school… have surveillance cameras in the classrooms?”
He Wuning stopped, turned back to look at him, and expressionlessly punched him in the stomach.
“Ugh—!” Yi Luo clutched his abdomen and hurried after him.
They found an empty room. A flash of light flickered behind the drawn curtains, and soon both of them disappeared.
In the Zone A safe area, Zuo Qianming was handling injured test subjects while craning his neck toward the door. “Are they here yet? Are they here yet?”
“Not yet!” The researcher standing guard at the door looked miserable.
“If they don’t come soon, I’m done for!” Zuo Qianming pointed at the countdown timer above his head, eyes brimming with tears. “Only half an hour left!”
“You still have half an hour.” His colleague beside him glanced at him gloomily. “I’ve only got five minutes.”
Another coworker stood up silently after a pause and bid them farewell in a tragic tone: “Comrades, I can’t go on.”
“The rest of the journey… is up to you. My time ends here.”
He extended a trembling hand as if saying goodbye forever. His teammates cooperated, reaching out dramatically: “Nooo—!”
The coworker suddenly spoke quickly: “Actually I kinda miss my wife’s buns, I’ll bring you some when I get back, bye!”
“Damn it!” someone cursed. “Traitor!”
“They’re here, they’re here!” the lookout at the door shouted, jumping back inside. “Boss He is here!”
Zuo Qianming dashed forward and blocked the doorway. “Forget everything else—give me more time first! I’m about to get kicked out!”
“Hurry, hurry, just one more day!”
He Wuning looked at them expressionlessly and tapped lightly. The anti-addiction timers above everyone’s heads all extended slightly.
Zuo Qianming let out a sigh of relief, then checked his timer and immediately became dissatisfied. “Only half an hour? You’re way too stingy…”
He Wuning raised a brow. “Depending on your ‘major discovery,’ I’ll decide whether to kick you offline immediately.”
Zuo Qianming choked. “Boss, that’s ruthless.”
Yi Luo glanced around their lab. “Where’s Li Liangzi?”
“Oh, the director logged off.” Zuo Qianming scratched his head. “She clocks out exactly on time. But she does days’ worth of our work in one day, so we can’t complain.”
“But ordinary people like us need time!”
He tugged at He Wuning’s sleeve. “Have mercy, extend it a bit more!”
He Wuning sat down mercilessly. The researchers quickly brought over cookies and soda. Yi Luo clicked his tongue. “I’ve never seen these guys treat anyone with this much respect. Even my dad wouldn’t get this kind of service.”
Unmoved, He Wuning said, “Your discovery.”
“Ahem.” Zuo Qianming cleared his throat. Once it came to his field, he immediately became serious. “This time, we’re not joking. We really found something important.”
“So the previous times were lies?” Yi Luo smiled.
Zuo Qianming: “…”
He stiffly changed the subject. “This is all thanks to our director.”
“You know we’ve only been doing preliminary decryption so far, and copying difficult data where possible, so even after the game shuts down in a hundred years, we can continue studying it.”
He Wuning nodded—that was essentially a fallback plan.
“Of course, the game has defenses. Some areas require keys. Most can be opened with administrator privileges—we’ve had your help with that. But some places have barriers even administrators can’t access.”
Zuo Qianming pushed up his glasses. “That’s the core system of the game.”
“We’ve left the copyable data to researchers outside, while we focus on breaking through the parts that can’t be exported…”
Yi Luo raised a brow. “So you’ve made big progress? Don’t tell me—you’ve cracked it all?”
“You’ve got some imagination.” Zuo Qianming gave him a complicated look. “It’s only been a few days. You expect us to fully crack something from a civilization far beyond ours?”
Yi Luo shrugged. “You sounded excited. I thought you found something huge.”
“We did.” Zuo Qianming took a deep breath. “We figured out the purpose of the game—and why the ‘Voice of the World’ selects people with ‘superior physique’ and ‘competitiveness’ as administrator candidates.”
He took a sip of water.
He Wuning frowned slightly, now intrigued. “Are you dragging this out on purpose?”
“As if I’d dare.” Zuo Qianming laughed bitterly. “I’ll keep it simple. This game is basically a selection game created by a higher civilization… out of boredom.”
Yi Luo straightened. “A selection game?”
“You know how projects have core development documents?” Zuo Qianming adjusted his glasses. “Skipping the technical details—just know we obtained something like a ‘developer’s notes’ for this game.”
“It wasn’t written in human language, but thanks to the game’s translation system, we decoded it.”
“In short, the higher civilization that created this game thinks the development of the universe is uneven. The backward civilizations bother them, so they made this game to ‘help’ lower civilizations develop.”
“As proud as I am of Blue Star… we’re considered a lower civilization too.”
Zuo Qianming shrugged.
Yi Luo frowned. “That sounds like poverty alleviation?”
“But somehow,” He Wuning said quietly, “it still feels malicious.”
Yi Luo nodded in agreement.
“Because it is.” Zuo Qianming clicked his tongue in disgust. “They use a noble excuse to cover up their malice. They ‘help’ by forcing lower civilizations into hostile, life-and-death competition through the game.”
“When one game ends, the winning civilization develops rapidly thanks to the technology and data inside the game—while the losing one is wiped out.”
He clapped his hands coldly. “See? One game, two civilizations gone. What a great game.”
“And even with the game’s tech, it’s not enough for a civilization to completely transform and surpass them,” he added seriously. “They give just enough benefit—but never enough to threaten themselves. No matter how you look at it, they’re just entertaining themselves.”
“How disgusting,” Yi Luo muttered. “So this whole thing is only fun for the creators.”
He Wuning frowned. “Then this game must be shut down in a hundred years.”
“I’d rather not wait a hundred years,” Zuo Qianming shrugged. “I might not live that long. I’d prefer to see results while I’m alive.”
“Otherwise I won’t rest in peace.”
Yi Luo laughed. “Setting your own deadline, huh? Admirable. Why not aim to crack the whole thing before retirement?”
“You sound way too amused.” Zuo Qianming looked to He Wuning for help. “How could I sleep after seeing this? Give me more time!”
“One day.” He Wuning glanced at him. “Take a day to calm down, then go sleep properly.”
Cheers erupted in the lab as researchers rushed back to work.
He Wuning shook his head helplessly. Taking a deep breath, he knew their battle was over—but for some people, it had only just begun.
They would protect this blue star, no matter what.
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