Chapter 1: Completing the Game, Loading Reality?

New Era Calendar, Year 233, March 14.

Lower City.

District Nine, No. 47 Middle School.

The school had been dismissed for quite some time. The classrooms were all empty, save for the old ceiling fans that still whirred faintly, struggling to stay alive.

Dong Kai, the homeroom teacher of Senior Three, Class One, finished tidying up his lesson plans and, as usual before leaving, went to check if the classroom doors and windows were properly closed.

The door was ajar; the lights still on.

In the last row of desks, next to the trash bin, a figure lay over his desk, quietly working on a test paper.

He was slender, with a closely cropped haircut and black-rimmed glasses. The headphones in his ears looked worn and faded.

“Feng Mu.”

Dong Kai’s mind conjured the name of a rather invisible student in his class.

His impression of Feng Mu was vague: decent grades in the liberal arts, mediocre martial arts scores, and an overall unremarkable academic record.

His personality was equally unremarkable—silent, introverted, aloof.

His only virtues were that he had never caused trouble in his three years of high school and that he would occasionally volunteer to help classmates with duties like taking out the trash.

Feng Mu removed his headphones and stood up, his demeanor taciturn as usual, barely uttering, “Teacher Dong.”

Dong Kai nodded and glanced over the test paper Feng Mu was working on, offering a gentle admonition: “Your liberal arts scores are alright. If you can improve your martial arts scores in these last few months, you might still have a chance to meet the admission cutoff for some universities in District Nine.”

As for passing into universities in District Eight or higher, Dong Kai said nothing.

Feng Mu was well aware of his prospects. He knew that rather than stubbornly clinging to improving his liberal arts scores, it made more sense to focus on raising his martial arts weak point within the limited time left.

But,

The problem was, liberal arts tests cost at most paper and ink, while martial arts training burned through money.

At least for someone like him, with poor innate aptitude and average comprehension, martial arts without spending money? Was he supposed to rely solely on hard work?

Bitterly troubled, Feng Mu replied without expression, “Understood, Teacher Dong.”

“All right, it’s getting late. Hurry home,” Dong Kai said, turning off the fan as he spoke.

Feng Mu packed his bag and left quietly.

“Oh, by the way, a few classmates have already submitted their college entrance qualifications. I think your name was on the list too. Make sure your family gets it sorted soon; don’t delay the exams.”

As they passed each other, Dong Kai suddenly recalled this and casually reminded Feng Mu.

Feng Mu, facing away, gave a faint hum and a shadow flickered across his emotionless face. His footsteps grew heavier down the corridor.

It had been three years since he had crossed into this world.

He had gradually come to accept the bizarre and strange aspects of this world, but two things still stuck in his throat like a fly’s droppings, leaving him bitter and unable to swallow.

One was that the college entrance exam required a qualification certificate, which had to be bought with money—meaning even the exam discriminated against the poor here.

The second was…

Stepping out of the school building, Feng Mu looked up. Above him loomed a vast, dark mass extending thousands of meters into the sky, like an inverted coffin covering the entire District Nine.

Below that coffin-like structure grew countless colorful tumors, permanently replacing the sun and moon, shining day after day, night after night over the world beneath.

“But of course, it’s not a coffin covering the sky, but the pinnacle of human technology—the Upper City. From Lower City’s vantage, it’s just the endless backside, the base of Upper City. And those colorful things? They’re definitely not tumors. How could they be?”

“They are the civilization’s beacons illuminating the darkness!”

Feng Mu recalled what he had read in textbooks and curled his lips.

He harbored no ambition to spy on Upper City, nor any curiosity to uncover the truth. What gnawed at him was simply that he hadn’t seen sunlight in three years.

He was close to forgetting what the sun looked like, as if the last time he basked in sunlight had been in a past life.

He seriously suspected that a large part of his poor constitution was due to a lack of photosynthesis and resulting calcium deficiency.

He rode his bicycle back home.

It was an old neighborhood, a tangled mix of rusting tin shacks and crumbling low-rise buildings. From the garbage-strewn street entrance, the maze resembled bloated, twisted earthworms tangled together, the air thick with an indescribable stench.

Even after three years, Feng Mu still could not fully acclimate to the smell here.

He locked his bicycle by the building entrance, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.

Inside was about seventy square meters, cramped and old-fashioned. On the living room table sat processed synthetic meat with seasoning—a rare luxurious meal in this household.

The table was set, but no one was at the table yet; clearly, his father, a patrol officer, had not returned.

His mother, Wang Xiuli, was busy in the kitchen, the occasional sounds of clinking dishes drifting through.

His younger sister sat on the sofa, watching TV loudly.

Feng Mu sat down on the sofa. The siblings hardly spoke—one focused on the TV, the other lost in thought while staring at it.

A quarter of an hour later.

Father, Feng Ju, returned. Mother helped him remove his military coat.

Only after Father sat at the table did the siblings join him. Once Father took the first bite, the rest followed suit.

During the meal, the family chatted casually—Father asked questions, the sister answered, Mother smiled quietly, and Feng Mu kept his head down, eating silently.

“Have the results of your constitution test come out?”

“Yes. Last week, the school tested all students newly enrolled who turned fifteen. The results were announced this morning. My constitution score is 87, ranked third among this cohort.”

“Good, good. 87 is excellent. That’s great.”

“Next week, the school will transfer me to the experimental class. Dad, you said if I got into the key class, you’d buy me the latest holographic wristwatch.”

“Dad’s word is his bond. In a few days, we’ll go buy it. But don’t get arrogant. Having a superior constitution means you need to work even harder. Our entire family’s future rests on you, understand?”

“Mm, I understand.”

Receiving the promise, Feng Yu Huai’s face lit up. Usually serious and authoritative, Feng Ju’s expression softened with relief.

“Big brother, don’t just eat. Your sister’s doing so well—you should be happy for her,” Feng Ju suddenly shifted the topic to Feng Mu.

Feng Mu put down his chopsticks and nodded, congratulating his sister.

Feng Ju glanced at his mediocre, dull son, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. “I remember your entrance test constitution score was 49, wasn’t it?”

Feng Mu’s eyes darkened with complex emotions. That day was the moment he crossed over.

He still remembered waking up in the school storeroom, half his body soaked in icy blood, the knife wound on his wrist gruesome, alongside a blood-stained report card.

That was the original owner’s last testament, his secret with the original body.

Feng Mu muttered, “49 points. Inferior constitution.”

Seeing Feng Mu’s muted but calm voice, Feng Ju frowned, “Last week was the first mock exam, right? What was your score?”

Feng Mu answered, “Liberal arts 521, martial arts 236, total 757.”

“Is that enough to pass District Nine’s cutoff?” Feng Ju didn’t even ask his son but turned to his daughter.

Feng Yu Huai shook her head decisively. “Liberal arts and martial arts each 750, total 1500. The lowest passing score historically in District Nine is 650 for liberal arts, 550 for martial arts, or a total above 900. Brother’s scores fall far short, whether by individual subject or total.”

Feng Ju put down his chopsticks, stared at Feng Mu, and said solemnly, “Is what your sister said true?”

Feng Mu didn’t refute: “True. But there are still three months until the exam. I can push harder; my liberal arts score can improve. If I could get a Bone Refining Pill, maybe my martial arts score could rise too…”

The Bone Refining Pill, as the name suggests, enhances constitution quality. It is expensive, effective only the first time taken by each person, and the worse the constitution, the more significant the effect.

In other words, if Feng Mu had the chance to take it, his constitution might skyrocket, possibly increasing 5 to 10 points.

For Feng Yu Huai, at best, it would only raise one or two points.

Feng Ju no longer listened to his son’s impractical fantasies and coldly interrupted, “I could exchange all my merits at the patrol office for one Bone Refining Pill, but…”

Hearing the “but,” Feng Mu’s heart chilled. Feng Yu Huai perked up, her eyes shining brightly.

“To give you the pill—let’s say your constitution rises by ten points, and your martial arts score improves accordingly—it would still remain in the inferior range. It would be a losing bargain for you and for our family. It’s better saved for your sister to help her reach new heights. What do you say?”

Though Feng Mu had little hope, his heart felt as though stabbed by a knife. He took a deep breath, his voice hoarse: “You’re right, Father. After all, my sister is the hope of our whole family.”

Feng Yu Huai beamed and sweetly said to Feng Mu, “Thank you, brother. Don’t worry—I’ll remember your kindness forever.”

Feng Mu silently nodded.

Feng Ju looked on at the harmonious sibling scene, finally satisfied. He spoke earnestly to Feng Mu, “As long as you understand this, when you graduate, I’ll use my connections at the patrol office to find you a job. Work hard then—you can contribute to the family…”

The rest of the conversation was uneventful; the family tacitly avoided the subject of the “college entrance qualification certificate.”

The certificate was neither cheap nor exorbitant—roughly equivalent to five of the latest wristwatches.

But,

Knowing he wouldn’t pass, why waste the money? Better to save it for Feng Yu Huai, whose talents would require more investment in the future.

Feng Ju had his calculations and didn’t feel he wronged his son. This was his fate, given his innate aptitude. Who could he blame?

A family striving to survive in Lower City needed someone to bear the burden, someone to be the hope for the future, and others to sacrifice quietly behind the scenes.

Feng Mu roughly guessed his father’s thoughts. He was powerless to argue and quietly finished his meal before retreating to his room.

His mother glanced at him as he went to his room, opening her mouth several times before ultimately saying nothing.

The meal atmosphere was somewhat heavy, but soon his parents were coaxed into smiles by Feng Yu Huai’s sweet chatter.

Closing the door behind him,

Listening to the family’s laughter outside, Feng Mu sat at his desk, the black computer screen casting his face in shadow.

After a while, he gave a self-mocking cold laugh, tinged with resentment.

Resentment was the last and deepest emotion left from the original owner in this body.

Feng Mu himself bore no hatred; as a transmigrator inhabiting another’s corpse, he was an outsider without love, thus no hatred.

He only felt suppressed and unwilling, like a bird locked in a cage, its frail wings powerless to break the heavy shackles.

Unable to change reality, he vented through gaming.

Feng Mu blankly opened his computer and started a single-player game.

This game was one he had downloaded at the very beginning of his crossing, when overwhelmed by fear and confusion. Unexpectedly, he had played it off and on for three years.

It was a strategy game focused on building factions and managing resources.

The art style was mysterious, the storyline sinister, with vast freedom for exploration and unique gameplay.

The plot was fantasy but subtly interwoven with many shadows of the real world: maps, countries, governments, organizations, environments, historical events—all rendered with a strong sense of realism mirroring reality.

Most importantly, the game’s timeline began thirty years ago—March 14, 203.

The game’s time flowed at a rate ten times faster than real time, meaning today was exactly the day game time and real time overlapped.

As a heavily reality-inspired game, Feng Mu was quite curious to see how the plot would unfold once the times synchronized.

Logging into the game, he glanced at the time displayed: “Year 233, March 14, 22:47.”

The real time was “Year 233, March 14, 22:53.”

Within minutes, game time would catch up with reality.

Sure enough, soon, accompanied by a deep background score, the two times flickered and overlapped.

The music slowly faded, and the screen turned into silent film.

[March 14, 203: You founded the organization—Fate!]

[April 7, 203: You led the organization to slaughter a civilian business guild, seizing vast property and a secret document.]

[June 13, 203: Your organization was exposed to official forces for the first time and was declared wanted across the city.]

[November 11, 203: Under your leadership, the organization raided a secret agency of the District Seven government, obtaining a list and a secret door key. Fate was labeled an extreme evil force and hunted by District Seven.]

[...]

[April 9, 227: Fate suffered a devastating blow; part of the faction went underground.]

[February 15, 228: The organization restructured; Fate became more secretive, terrifying, and massive. The Upper City Council issued an SSS-grade extermination order against Fate.]

[...]

From 203 when the game began, characters appeared, major events reviewed, milestones achieved, and story animations slid across the screen.

Until [March 14, 233…] filled the center of the screen.

The music swelled again into a grand and stirring symphony.

“So, I’ve done so many big things in this game. Too bad it’s just a game. If only reality were like the game…”

As Feng Mu indulged in this whimsical thought,

A familiar yet strange face slowly emerged from the far end of the screen.

Strange because this face was completely different from Feng Mu’s.

Familiar because it was a face crafted from the memories of his previous life, representing his attachment and emotional anchor to that existence, enhancing immersion.

The player’s name—Feng Mu—was his name in the past life, homophonous but written differently.

On the screen, Feng Mu wore a sharp suit, polished leather shoes, his posture elegant yet imposing. A black cane tapped on the marble floor like cold drumbeats echoing fate.

The camera pulled back to reveal a huge round table, with terrifying figures seated around it, all watching him with reverence.

He walked toward the massive floor-to-ceiling window, gazing coldly downward. The city’s outline was as tiny as dust. Purple-black lightning flickered among the clouds, framing him like a god controlling destiny.

“Begin.”

He looked down on everything and slowly uttered the three words.

Thunder rumbled, the firmament seemed torn open, and inky raindrops poured down like a deluge onto the earth.

The screen abruptly froze, covered by a line of red text.

[Everything is both an end and a beginning. When illusion and reality overlap, fate will awaken from slumber. Awaken, player!]

“???”

“What the hell? What does this mean? The screen’s frozen. Could it be the game’s over?”

Feng Mu’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat as he frantically clicked the mouse.

No response.

He slumped back in his chair, feeling hollow. After a long while, he moved the mouse and closed the game.

Ding—

As the game window closed, a line of text suddenly appeared before his eyes, vivid and clear, as if etched onto his retina.

No,

Not just like,

It was really there!

[Player identity confirmed!]

[Feng Mu—Feng Mu (past life)—match binding complete!]

[Current world resources show data errors; correcting and loading… 10%… 50%… 99%…]

[100%, loading complete!]

[Wishing the player a pleasant game!]

…