C61 — Seeing Isn’t Believing

Kou Dong vaguely felt that he had grasped a crucial clue in this fog. He crumpled the written paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

Strangely, he felt as if he heard something, a disjointed phrase—

“Don’t trust the system… call you Dad?”

…

Crazy, right? How could the system suddenly call him Dad? Kou Dong thought that made no logical sense. But with a cautious approach, he opened a dialogue box to ask: “Do you feel any impulse when you see me? Like an impulse to call me Dad?”

The system was taken aback by his question and hesitated before responding with a question mark.

“?”

What did that mean?

Kou Dong tried a different approach, phrasing it more gently: “Or, do you want to be my child?”

System: “…”

The system replied with a long string of ellipses, clearly confused.

Crazy, right? How could it consider Kou Dong as a dad?

Kou Dong: “I think so too.”

This sounded like delusional thinking.

But upon further reflection, Kou Dong felt a bit disappointed.

“Actually, having you as a son wouldn’t be so bad,” he said softly. “I treat my child well…”

The system replied coldly: “It’s not a matter of whether it’s good or not.”

It’s about the fact that we can’t possibly be father and son.

Kou Dong: “…”

Sigh, okay.

His dreams of a second child were dashed. He had to go see his first child, Ye Yanzhi, who was still sleeping on the bed; his eyes were tightly closed and his little face rosy. Just by looking at his brows and eyes, it was clear that he was extremely handsome. Unfortunately, on such a small body, that handsomeness turned into cuteness, like a little toddler with a disproportionate body.

Every time Kou Dong saw him, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of paternal love and wanted to ruffle his hair to show off his fatherly affection. Normally, Ye Yanzhi would have given him a cold stare and silently curse him a thousand times. But since he was asleep this time, Kou Dong could get away with it. When he finally pulled his hand back, he realized he looked more like a per-verted creep than a loving father.

Ye Yanzhi was still sound asleep, showing no signs of waking up. Kou Dong had to find something to do himself; without his child’s help, he refused to draw those cards. An E-grade card wasn’t worth the risk of going in personally. So, he laid on the bed every day, happily sipping tea and eating chips, living a life that was both lazy and wasteful.

But for Kou Dong, it was a rare moment of rest. Since entering the game, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace from the neurotic love of that group of crazy people. He finally had a chance to relax, yet it felt like time had been stretched infinitely. The system took a long time to respond, and his child slept from start to finish. With his mouth idle, Kou Dong rambled on to the system, almost driving it to the brink of breakdown, the dialogue box shaking with tension.

Kou Dong teasingly asked: “If you were human, wouldn’t you want to beat me up?”

The system was silent for a long time before dryly replying: “No.”

Kou Dong was curious: “Are you going to scold me then?”

He thought the system really didn’t seem like the type to scold anyone…

It was so rigid it was infuriating.

The system sent him a long string of ellipses, then sent a picture of a bright red sun.

Kou Dong stared at the sun for a long time, confused: “What does this mean?”

System: “It means nothing.”

 

Kou Dong: “But I feel like something’s off.”

“Oh really?” The system replied coldly, “What’s off?”

Kou Dong: “…”

He had a guess in his heart. Could it be that the system meant if it were a person… it would want to “have him”?

This idea was too chilling; Kou Dong would rather believe that the system wanted to be his son. He heavily flopped onto the bed, thinking about something; after such a long time in the game, had anyone in reality noticed and reported him missing…

In fact, Kou Dong was quite a well-known figure in the gaming streaming community. He had a strange charm that could captivate any NPC, whether good or bad, under his influence. —Of course, the NPCs mentioned here were only from dating games. Later, as the gaming field expanded, even NPCs from horror games began to obsess over him, which wasn’t what Kou Dong wanted to see.

The girls called him “Winter god,” partly because of his flashy moves and unique ability to attract NPCs, and partly because he had a pleasant voice that made people imagine a handsome guy sitting behind the screen instead of someone short and poor. They particularly enjoyed imagining love stories between him and other streamers or corporate executives. According to them, this Winter god was full of the four words: “so much oppression.”

However, the streaming company Kou Dong signed with was quite responsible and never engaged in such nonsense. Whenever they saw similar matchmaking posts, they would quickly respond with a 404 error. Plus, ever since Kou Dong lost his memory, he had stopped going out frequently, so now he was still a pure and innocent flower in the streaming community.

Not to mention he didn’t rise to fame based on looks; he hadn’t even met many strangers. In this murky streaming world, he could be said to be pure and beautiful, untouched by the grime around him.

Every time Kou Dong thought about it, he felt sad. The money he painstakingly earned from streaming had been hardly used and ended up in this broken game…

He regretted it every time. Why didn’t he spend money? He should have at least splurged on something—like a swimming pool.

By the seventh day, Kou Dong couldn’t hold out any longer. The game only allowed him a seven-day break, and whether he liked it or not, he had to enter a dungeon.

He opened the team interface and found that both Song Hong and A Xue were offline, their avatars grayed out.

“Alright,” Kou Dong murmured, “I’ll just choose one myself…”

Before he could finish, he saw Song Hong’s avatar flicker—he was online. The young girl’s avatar lit up right after, and both of them had returned to the game just before the seven-day deadline.

Kou Dong felt quite pleased; having two reliable teammates he had worked with before was much better than being assigned to unknown strangers. Moreover, the young girl had a special sensitivity to danger, which was quite trustworthy.

Before he could send a message, Song Hong’s message arrived.

“Are we entering the copy?”

Kou Dong: “Yes. You two haven’t been on the game these past few days?”

Song Hong replied vaguely, “I was checking some information outside.”

He seemed unwilling to elaborate and simply said, “Let’s talk once we’re in.”

The three formed a team and entered the group copy. This copy required six participants and had an achievement point value of 430 points. Its name was “Seeing Isn’t Believing,” and the task was to survive for eight days.

“Seeing Isn’t Believing” was certainly not a comforting phrase.

After receiving the information, Song Hong felt a bit uneasy. He glanced at the person beside him and quietly asked, “So, are we going in?”

In reality, Ah Xue stood right next to him. The young girl had black hair and eyes, looking quite delicate, but her face showed no excess emotion.

She calmly responded: “Let’s go in.”

Song Hong nodded slightly and officially entered the game.

Kou Dong picked up his son, who was still lying on the bed, and carefully placed him in the luggage compartment.

He accepted the task invitation in front of him.

The three of them simultaneously felt an involuntary force pulling them down, and they nearly crashed onto something hard. At the same time, a strong male voice boomed, accompanied by the sound of chalk hitting the board: “What are you doing! — You’re about to be seniors, how can you still be so distracted in class?!”

The familiar voice made all three of them shudder, a genuine feeling of fear rising from within. They instinctively lowered their heads, and the piece of chalk flew over their heads, landing behind them.

Behind Kou Dong sat a male student, taller than average, who was hit directly by the chalk. He let out a yelp, instinctively grabbing the yellow piece of chalk from his desk, looking pained.

A middle-aged man stood at the podium, looking like the typical teacher everyone encounters, wearing a plain striped shirt covered by an old-fashioned round-neck sweater, with a slight protruding belly. On the podium was a black thermos; he lifted it to take a sip, showing no sign of guilt; his expression remained stern as he scolded, “What are you making a fuss about?”

The boy who had been hit by the chalk could only accept his bad luck, unable to express his anger.

Kou Dong looked at the teacher, feeling a strange familiarity. He couldn’t quite remember why it felt familiar, but it was as if he had genuinely been taught by such a vivid teacher before.

Song Hong cleared his throat softly, trying not to move his lips, and whispered, “I can guess his next line: ‘You guys are the worst class I’ve ever taught…'”

Before he could finish, the middle-aged teacher hit the blackboard with a pointer, sounding quite distressed. “You guys!” he declared, “are the worst class I’ve ever taught!”

Kou Dong nearly laughed out loud and quickly inhaled, forcing himself to hold it in. The teacher continued scolding: “You can’t even do this! You think I’m teaching for my sake? To be honest, no matter how bad your grades are, my salary doesn’t change…”

 

This was an old story, one he had heard more than once. The students in the class showed little expression, with only a few lazily responding.

Kou Dong, amidst them, nodded seriously, thinking the teacher had a point.

After finishing the roll call, the teacher finally turned to start the lesson. There was a nicely drawn circle on the blackboard, a skill all math teachers seemed to possess, as they effortlessly drew a perfect circle using their elbow as the center.

He began to teach geometry. Some students took notes, some were daydreaming, while others were so tired they could barely keep their eyes open, their heads nodding like little chicks pecking at grain. — Regardless of how you looked at it, this seemed to be the ordinary routine happening in the classroom.

Such a routine seemed entirely unrelated to the title “Seeing Isn’t Believing” and the task of “surviving for eight days,”; it even felt somewhat out of place.

The three of them felt a small sense of confusion.

Kou Dong didn’t pay close attention to the lesson; instead, he scanned the room and quickly noticed four people sitting on either side of them, looking somewhat flustered and unfamiliar with taking notes; clearly they hadn’t been students for quite some time.

They must be the players who came in with him.

Kou Dong felt more certain and exchanged a glance with Song Hong.

It seemed that this time, all seven of them had entered the same class. So it was very likely that the main storyline would focus on this class.

However, when he turned to look at the four individuals again, he felt a bit uncomfortable. Two of the players were clearly older; even though the system had reset their appearances to that of sixteen or seventeen-year-olds, it only changed about eighty percent, leaving their hair unchanged. One had a receding hairline, while the other was balding, which was hard to ignore.

The classmates seemed used to it, as no one looked at the shiny bald heads. The man with the receding hairline was staring at a high school math book with an expression that suggested he was looking at something incomprehensible.

Just then, the male teacher spread out a test paper and began to ask questions.

“Next, I need two students to come to the board and solve some problems.” His gaze swept around the classroom. “Which students will come up?”

Everyone present lowered their heads, avoiding eye contact with the teacher, who was looking for someone to pick on. Kou Dong quickly lowered his head, not wanting to make eye contact and risk being chosen.

He was a bit skeptical about whether this tactic would work for him, who had a full favorability rating.

After a few seconds, the teacher, unable to find a target, zeroed in on Kou Dong.

“That one… the fourth boy from the left in the third row.”

Kou Dong counted. There were two people in front and three to the left.

“…”

His intuition was never wrong in these moments, and he was indeed the fourth from the left in the third row.

Kou Dong looked at the question, feeling as if he was staring at an ancient text.

He wasn’t sure how his grades were in high school, but he was certain that if he took an exam now with his memory gone, he would definitely fail.

After all, he had lost the memory of learning, and now every character looked like gibberish to him; he couldn’t make sense of a single one.

 

“Hurry up,” the teacher urged again, “you, the fourth boy from the left in the third row, wearing glasses, the new transfer student…”

His desk mate whispered, “Quick, it’s you.”

Kou Dong felt his face and found a pair of thin, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, with light lenses that didn’t indicate severe myopia.

These glasses were quite different from the usual simple look of a student; they seemed a bit flashy.

He quietly asked his desk mate, “Can you do it?”

His desk mate replied, “Of course. It’s not a difficult question…”

Kou Dong suddenly doubted his own intelligence.

Not a difficult question?

Why did it seem to him that this was harder than guessing the previous questions?

So, he casually took off his glasses, handed them to his desk mate on the left, and crouched down from his seat.

His desk mate looked a bit confused, “…?”

The teacher at the podium was equally puzzled, “What are you doing?”

Kou Dong poked his head out from behind the desk and honestly replied, “Passing the buck.”

The teacher: “…”

Kou Dong: “Exactly. He’s now the fourth from the left in the third row, and he’s wearing glasses too. You can just ask him.”

The teacher: “…”

After so many years of teaching, he had never encountered such an unconventional student who dared to pull such a trick in front of him.

Seriously, there were quite a few students trying to pull tricks. Just to take a day off, there were numerous flimsy excuses piled up, and some grandparents even manage to “die” multiple times, requiring frequent trips for funerals. —

But at least they knew to come up with some reason to cover it up.

Unlike Kou Dong! He was being so blatant and loud about it that it was impossible to ignore.

The male teacher’s lips twitch with anger. However, since this wasn’t explicitly stated in the rules as forbidden, he couldn’t find a basis to reprimand Kou Dong and reluctantly suppresses his frustration, allowing Kou Dong’s desk mate to go up instead.

The desk mate was a short boy who seemed to do well academically. Even after Kou Dong’s trick, he remains cheerful, quickly writing a few lines under the problem and arriving at the correct answer.

The male teacher’s expression brightened, and he didn’t trouble anyone else, merely commenting on the solution steps. After finishing this question, the bell for the end of class rang, and as the teacher closed his book and walked to the door, he suddenly turned back and said, “Oh right, your music teacher has something to do, so the next class will be self-study.”

A chorus of groans erupts in the classroom. Some brave students attempted to protest loudly, “Teacher, I saw the music teacher here today; he came to work!”

Wasn’t he fine?

The male teacher didn’t turn back, his response even more dismissive, “He just had something come up. I’ll hand out a test paper in a bit. I just printed it from another high school’s advanced questions. Everyone should solve it quickly and turn it in after self-study.”

The groans in the classroom grew louder.

They were just in their second year, preparing to advance to the third; how could their dreams of comprehensive development be crushed before they even advanced?

Students wailed in despair. With the class ending, some took the opportunity to sneak out their hidden phones from their desks, looking down discreetly.

Kou Dong looked at the desk in front of him. Someone had drawn a grid with a water pen, with circles and marks on it, as if playing Go under the desk.

He touched the surface and soon realized that there was a small word carved under the tabletop.

Kou Dong felt it and could make out a few clear strokes, but he couldn’t guess what it was. He squatted down, curling up under the desk, trying to see better.

After a while, Koudong finally made it out.

It was the character “冬” (Winter).

— Coincidentally, it was his nickname.

He popled his head out, and Song Hong was already standing beside him. The classroom was crowded, so they spoke cautiously, like underground operatives meeting, “What’s that?”

Kou Dong quickly whispered the character. Song Hong thought for a moment but didn’t understand.

“What does that mean? — Is it saying you should have sat there from the beginning?”

He tried to feel around under his own desk but found nothing, “It’s empty.”

Kou Dong remained silent, but he vaguely sensed it wasn’t quite like that. The moment he touched the carved character, it seemed to resonate with him.

Yet, he couldn’t quite clarify this strange feeling.

During the break, students trickled back from the restroom, and a girl at the front picked up a group of cups to go get hot water. The four players sitting on either side exchanged glances and leaned in, whispering, “Are you all together?”

Song Hong nodded.

The girl in the middle pointed to the balding guy.

“We’re together too; we teamed up. — This is Teacher Mo.”

“Hey, I don’t deserve to be called a teacher,” the man with the receding hairline said, pulling out a piece of paper to wipe the sweat from his shiny forehead. “I’m just a few years older than you, and my education doesn’t compare to yours.”

The girl pointed to the other boy with the scar. “This is Scar.”

Scar remained silent, his expression dark and brooding. He looked older than the rest, exuding a deep-seated anger that made it clear he was in a bad mood. Even when introduced, he didn’t react, not even lifting his eyelids.

After returning to the age of seventeen or eighteen, he had only some acne scars on his face, but no notable scars. Perhaps that mark was from an injury he sustained after leaving school.

The girl seemed to lose some enthusiasm due to Scar’s cold demeanor, but she smiled awkwardly and turned slightly to the side. “And this one, this is…”

The last boy nodded at Kou Dong and the others, introducing himself, “This is my girlfriend.”

“Right,” the girl said, she looked a bit shy and was slightly blushing. “He mainly came because of me. You can call me Xiao Ying. — This is Xiao Kai.”

They looked young, and Xiao Kai had his arm casually draped over her shoulder, making them seem like a good match.

Song Hong briefly introduced the three of them, mentioning the number of copies they had experienced while avoiding saying the word “copy” outright. Upon hearing the number, Xiao Kai’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Really?” He looked at Song Hong with admiration. “Bro, I respect you as a warrior!”

This game was no ordinary game; ever since the special section of “The Dead” opened, it had become a matter of life and death. They were just curious and wanted to see what it was like, treating it as a unique outing.

Fortunately, it was better than they had imagined, with no terrifying scenes. Instead, a familiar teacher droned on with his tired old lines, classmates were laughing and joking, and the atmosphere felt warm and ordinary—almost like everyday life.

Song Hong, having seen many thrill-seeking newcomers, felt uneasy but didn’t know how to advise them. He could only gently remind them, “Still, be cautious.”

Xiao Kai rolled his eyes, clearly not taking the advice seriously. “What could possibly happen on this campus?” he said. “The worst is not doing well on a test or getting caught sneaking around with a girlfriend, and then the homeroom teacher calls me to the office…”

Xiao Ying laughed along, and they both giggled together, attracting glances from the rest of the class.

Song Hong: “…”

They really were newcomers.

At that moment, a boy who had been secretly playing on his phone suddenly spoke up, “Have you seen the news? Another one…”

“I did,” a girl from the class swallowed hard. “The descriptions are terrifying… it feels like they’ve been completely drained, all pale and ghostly.”

“Have they caught anyone yet?”

“Not yet,” the boy replied. “Clearly, this isn’t something a normal person could do; they can only investigate.”

Kou Dong listened and exchanged a glance with Song Hong. With some experience now, he didn’t rush to ask the NPC but instead reached into his desk pocket and began searching carefully.

He quickly pulled out another phone, an old black model, but it could still connect to the internet. Kou Dong opened the browser and went straight to local news, immediately finding the most highly followed article in the news section.

—- The serial murders remain unsolved, and the thirteenth victim has perished!

Accompanying this was a picture, and when viewed on the webpage, it looked almost like a white cicada molt.

Kou Dong found it a bit strange. He clicked to open the picture and zoomed in, only then realizing what was actually on it.

It wasn’t some insect leftover. — The white object in the photo was a person.

After drawing this conclusion, Kou Dong found it hard to believe himself.

He had never seen anyone like this before. From head to toe, every part of them was the same stark white, like a solidified plaster statue. That whiteness had no trace of life in it. The victim’s skin seemed extremely soft, unnaturally full, almost stretching the skin texture into smooth curves, making her appear semi-transparent.

Looking at such a picture for too long would make anyone feel uncomfortable. Kou Dong quickly scrolled through the rest, noticing that all the victims had the exact same manner of death—pale, with not a hint of blood.

No wonder people were so frightened. Such events were hard to believe, and how could anyone not be fearful?

Fear easily bred panic.

He looked back at the news content.

“Today’s morning report: Our reporter followed special police officers to the crime scene on Third Street. The sanitation worker who reported the case claimed that the thirteenth victim was found on the ground as she began her shift, already lifeless. This marks the thirteenth bizarre death in two months. Police are still unable to draw any conclusions on the cause or the behind-the-scenes culprits. Anyone with information is welcome to provide clues, phone: 139*******1…”

Kou Dong handed his phone to Ah Xue. The two leaned in to look at it, and when they lifted their heads, their expressions were somewhat solemn.

This was the first possible plot point related to the mission they had discovered after entering, and it was the only clue that seemed to connect with the “survive for eight days” task.

Song Hong carefully examined it several times before returning the phone to Kou Dong and whispering, “So, there’s definitely some risk involved here.”

Kou Dong nodded. “Naturally.”

He didn’t believe the system would be so kind as to give him a world with no traps to fall into.

Since entering the game, every copy Kou Dong had experienced had been filled with pitfalls. At this rate, it seemed like they could easily turn the game into a story about moles… after all, the ground was covered with traps.

Song Hong: “When school ends, let’s go to Third Street and see if there’s anything else.”

The three of them agreed for now, but Kou Dong noticed the young girl was unusually silent. Her expression was also different from before—she was staring in one direction with a rarely seen dark expression.

Kou Dong followed her gaze and only saw Scarface, who was impatiently resting his arm on the table, his head lowered as if preparing to sleep. Kou Dong quietly asked, “What did you see?”

The girl hadn’t expected him to be so perceptive. Her gaze was caught, and there was no way to retract it or deny it, so she shook her head and whispered, “Nothing.”

Song Hong also looked over, frowning slightly, feeling confused.

The man was prematurely grey and definitely not young. He had a fierce look, clearly not someone Ah Xue would like.

Why was Ah Xue staring at him so seriously?

Song Hong felt a strange discomfort in his chest, like an old father marrying off his daughter.

He coughed softly, intending to say something, but the school bell rang, signaling the start of class. The promised test appeared, and a class monitor who was on duty today sat behind the podium, watching everyone closely to ensure there was no talking.

“If anyone speaks, their name will be written down in the little notebook.”

The three of them were very cautious in their actions, never taking unnecessary risks. Since the NPC had said not to speak, they simply didn’t utter a word. Instead, they quietly exchanged small notes with each other, passing information silently.

This method had become a classic technique in the school. A page torn from an exercise book, filled with densely written words, was secretly used to discuss things.

 

The young couple, however, couldn’t sit still. They had clearly heard the NPC mention the serial murder case, but they didn’t take it seriously. To them, as long as they could survive for eight days, it didn’t matter what murder case was going on—this had nothing to do with them. Given how strict the school’s security was, they were sure the murderer couldn’t get in.

With this in mind, the couple sat together, quietly squeezing each other’s hands, and occasionally, when they squeezed too hard, a small squeal would escape.

When the noise became too loud the first time, the class monitor behind the podium raised their eyes, looked at them, and gave a warning.

Song Hong whispered, “Stop talking.”

But it didn’t do much. The couple, accustomed to being outside, were now in the throes of a passionate romance, and couldn’t bear to be apart. Soon, the girl’s laughter rang out—clear and sweet, with no attempt to hide it.

The class monitor furrowed his brows, and this time, he didn’t show them any mercy. He directly wrote their names on the blackboard.

The names he wrote weren’t their real names but the nicknames they had introduced themselves with.

Once their names were on the blackboard, the couple finally understood and stopped talking. They glared at the board for a while. After a moment, the boy secretly passed a note to Song Hong and carefully asked, “What happens if our names are written up there?”

Song Hong couldn’t answer this question for sure. Although he had experienced many scenarios, each had a different plot and cause of death. The storylines and worldviews of each scenario were independent and complete on their own. He couldn’t guarantee anything, so he replied cautiously, “It isn’t always bad. You could think of it in a positive light.”

But after you experienced a few more scenarios, you’d realize that there was nothing good in this game…

The things triggered by this would definitely not be positive.

Song Hong thought to himself, feeling somewhat angry. It wasn’t that he hadn’t warned them—he had clearly done so. But these two didn’t listen and continued to act carelessly. Now they were only anxious after getting into trouble—was there something wrong with them?

He didn’t say it out loud, but he really had that thought in his mind. Looking at Xiao Kai now, it was as if he were looking at a living, breathing madman.

After the morning class ended, the students returned to their dormitories in groups.

Unlike middle school, high school dormitories were mostly unified, with only a few students who lived at home. Kou Dong walked back to the dormitory building with his friends. When they reached the bottom, he had to separate from Ah Xue. The girls had their own building, so she said goodbye to the two and walked toward the hallway of the girls’ dorm.

“Hey, wait, wait!” Xiao Ying caught up from behind, smiling. “Xiao Xue, let’s go up together? I heard them say we’re transfer students, so we might be able to stay in a two-person room.”

Ah Xue glanced at her from head to toe.

The look was somewhat abrupt and impolite. However, because Ah Xue was fair and delicate, her gaze didn’t seem inappropriate but rather just calm and indifferent.

After she looked at her, Ah Xue promptly and decisively shook her head.

“—No.”

Xiao Ying was stunned, staring at her in disbelief, her speech faltering.

“But… but we’re both transfer students, we’ll need to take care of each other…”

Ah Xue coldly responded, “I don’t believe in that.”

After saying that, she didn’t look at Xiao Ying again and went straight upstairs. Xiao Ying’s expression changed several times, and in the end, she stomped her foot, looking somewhat at a loss.

Soon, the whistle signaling the start of the afternoon nap rang, and the yard became empty, with no one in sight.

Xiao Ying felt a sense of unease and realized she couldn’t linger there for too long. She decided to go upstairs as well.

At worst, she would just sleep in a single bed, it wasn’t a big deal.

Though she tried to comfort herself like this, when it came time to choose a dorm, she ended up picking a room next to Ah Xue’s, still holding onto a little hope. In case something happened to her, at least Ah Xue could come to her rescue.

What she didn’t know was that, when something really happened, no one would be able to save her.

Kou Dong and Song Hong entered the boys’ dorm. They slept in upper and lower bunks, with Kou Dong on the upper bed.

At this point, the school had quieted down, and there were no other sounds. Kou Dong stayed silent for a while, then quietly asked, “Before we came in, were you about to tell me something?”

He still remembered the words that had been on the tip of Song Hong’s tongue. It seemed like Song Hong had wanted to convey something but hadn’t been able to. “What did you find?”

Song Hong propped himself up and whispered, “We’ve been looking for a long time, going through the forum.”

Kou Dong: “…?”

Song Hong: “We…”

They eventually found a post that Ah Xue had accidentally come across. The post detailed how someone firmly believed that the special module in ‘The Dead’ had been activated because of a young man.

It was written:

“You guys haven’t seen how the game treats him. He’s written into all the pre-existing storylines, always the most central and unique person in the game. He’s the treasure of the whole game, a precious item that the NPCs handle with extreme care.”

But this treasure had been lost.

Song Hong tried to say these words without directly mentioning the key points. But as the words came to the tip of his tongue, he suddenly shivered, and his mind went completely blank, unable to remember what he had been about to say.

Kou Dong was still waiting. “What?”

“…”

Song Hong remained silent for a long time before finally shaking his head.

“No,” he said quietly. “…Nothing.”

 

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