Sitting in the car, Zhou Qi’an listened to his mother’s nagging:
“Fixing the car again—another big expense. At this rate, when will our family ever finish paying off the mortgage…”
In order to lure Mr. Si out, the Rabbit Bus had slammed into a guardrail and left a dent.
“And another thing, this time I finally found you a potential match, and now that’s gone too.” Mother Zhou’s hair writhed in irritation. Finally, she couldn’t help but complain:
“Are you cursed against rice cookers or something?”
Zhou Qi’an: “…”
Mom, that’s too much.
She kept on grumbling, her matchmaking talk growing more heated the more she spoke. Zhou Qi’an didn’t dare interrupt. At the crucial moment, it was Shen Zhiyi who cut into her high-pitched voice:
“Auntie…”
Before Mother Zhou could narrow her eyes suspiciously, Shen Zhiyi smoothly added:
“We’ve been away for a few days. Some of the local products we brought back won’t keep for long.”
Mother Zhou’s gaze slid to the side, where a red gift box from Shen Zhiyi sat.
After a moment, she seemed to agree with him.
The nagging from the driver’s seat turned into the sound of chewing.
Zhou Qi’an let out a breath of relief. Sitting in the back, he couldn’t see what his mother was eating, but he thought: Shen Zhiyi was reliable after all.
Just then, a notification popped up on his phone:
[Contact me when you’re back.]
It was from Ying Yu.
What a coincidence. Zhou Qi’an called him right away.
Ying Yu sounded busy on the other end. After confirming Zhou Qi’an was free in the afternoon, he hurriedly said:
“Around five, I’ll have a driver pick you up…”
He paused briefly, then added:
“You two.”
Clearly, he had guessed Zhou Qi’an was with Shen Zhiyi.
Zhou Qi’an raised an eyebrow. For once, Ying Yu was actually inviting Shen Zhiyi himself.
He turned his head.
“Ying Yu wants us to come over.”
Shen Zhiyi gave a noncommittal response. He didn’t like interacting much with people from the lab, but if Zhou Qi’an was going, then he would definitely follow.
The afternoon sun was unusually harsh. The haze hanging over the city center was pierced through by its light.
The driver arrived at the agreed time and place.
On the way, he kept glancing at Zhou Qi’an. It had only been a few days since they’d last met, back when he was still gathering information on Provincial Road 417 for him.
From what Mr. Ying had said, Zhou Qi’an had already cleared the instance and returned.
“Monster…”
The driver muttered inwardly. With instance-clearing skills like that, he really was monster-level.
Zangwu Laboratory.
Zhou Qi’an wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but the lab’s interior seemed to have expanded again. Behind transparent partitions, massive instruments kept running. Researchers bustled back and forth, all sporting dark eye circles, disheveled and exhausted—looking about as ragged as players in the game.
Finally, a staff member carrying a box stopped.
But her gaze went past Zhou Qi’an, and instead nodded toward the man behind him.
“The new prototype you requested has arrived.”
Zhou Qi’an turned. Ying Yu was standing right there.
Today he wasn’t in casual clothes but in his work uniform. On the ride over, the driver had mentioned that Ying Yu hadn’t rested in two days. Yet now his eyes were clear, without a trace of redness—like he was born with the physique of a research saint.
Ying Yu accepted the box and invited the two of them into another room to sit.
“I thought you’d be delayed a few more days.”
He never doubted Zhou Qi’an would survive the instance, but he hadn’t expected him back so quickly.
Zhou Qi’an nodded.
“Went smoother than I thought.”
Judging by his look, Ying Yu figured the harvest must’ve been good. Without pressing further, he opened the box and handed each of them an item.
“The materials found in Fengshui Village were very useful.” Ying Yu passed over a bat-shaped ring.
“This is the new 2.0 version. It can detect more useful materials, fixes the bug where it froze your finger on activation, and now has location and voice functions—makes it easier for teams to coordinate.”
“…Though the terminal controls it as well. The lab can determine whether you’re inside the game and your current status.”
Shen Zhiyi hadn’t been interested, but when he heard “location function,” he examined the ring carefully.
The black bat wings were inverted, rigid and eerie, lifelike in detail.
Zhou Qi’an was also studying his ring.
The new version automatically adjusted to finger size, unlike the old stolen one that had been too loose—he could only take it out when needed.
Another plus: the skull design was gone, so he wouldn’t be mistaken for a member of the Black Magic Society anymore.
It had been a while since he’d crossed paths with them. He wondered if that “erased supplier identity” society still even existed.
With that thought, Zhou Qi’an opened the forum, planning to check if Mu Tianbai had replied to his private message. But the interface lagged badly.
Ying Yu, like a walking encyclopedia, explained:
“The Whalers’ Association just posted. That’s why traffic is high.”
Whalers’ Association?
Zhou Qi’an’s expression shifted subtly before he quickly masked it, pretending to be curious:
“I’ve heard of them. Supposedly very mysterious and powerful.”
Ying Yu nodded slightly.
His acknowledgment alone meant their strength wasn’t to be underestimated.
Zhou Qi’an mentally raised his guard, then pressed on:
“How mysterious, how powerful?”
Ying Yu gave him a glance and said blandly:
“Mysterious mainly because…”
Zhou Qi’an held his breath.
“They don’t have many members.”
“?”
Seeing Zhou Qi’an speechless, Ying Yu added flatly:
“Few people, fewer leaks. Naturally, that seems mysterious.”
That was a far cry from the colossal organization Zhou Qi’an had imagined.
“And powerful?” he asked.
“They occasionally post threads. Much of what’s known about hidden aspects of instances comes from their explanations.”
Zhou Qi’an felt a headache brewing.
He hadn’t taken the Whalers’ Association seriously at first. Even if they clashed, he figured he had nothing to lose. But it turned out they had nothing to lose either.
Ying Yu studied him.
“You seem very interested in this association.”
Zhou Qi’an looked up.
“When you heard of them, you kept checking your phone, eager to see their post. Even here in the lab, you’ve never shown that level of curiosity.”
Shen Zhiyi was watching him too, and noticed the flicker in his eyes.
“Do you need me to make them disappear?” he asked.
Zhou Qi’an’s throat caught. Before he could respond, Ying Yu smoothly changed the subject:
“If it’s convenient, let’s form a team for the instance at the end of the month.”
Once they had reached an agreement on teaming up, Ying Yu had the driver take Zhou Qi’an back. His mind was wholly absorbed in research, not people.
On the way back, Zhou Qi’an finally saw the post.
The Whalers’ Association always used a fixed account. This time they added details about initial species evolution—creatures like hermit crabs, lanternfish, and so on.
No one liked seeing their skills dissected openly like this. Normally, such posts would provoke backlash. But each time, the Association included explanations about potential skill development paths.
Many players possessed more than one skill, but the second skill often only became available after evolving a specific organ.
The Association’s posts saved people years of trial and error.
Zhou Qi’an scrolled calmly—until he reached the last line, where his gaze tightened.
The first and last characters of each sentence strung together, forming four words:
“Found you now.”
Even through the screen, he could sense a sinister malice spreading outward.
Zhou Qi’an was almost certain that message was aimed directly at him.
They could’ve stayed hidden in the dark. Instead, they made a show of posting—deliberately making sure he’d see it. That twisted urge to rattle prey… seriously sick in the head.
His attitude toward the provocation: Do whatever you want.
Even if the sky fell, it wouldn’t stop him from going to work in a couple days.
Just before the car drove out of the haze, Shen Zhiyi handed him a small object.
“What’s—”
[Small Health Pill: Used for rapid healing, wound recovery speed increases by 250%.]
Zhou Qi’an once had a Big Health Pill, and when he saw Shen Zhiyi, he was curious where he got this one.
“When Dong Li died, a prop dropped. At the time, neither you nor Auntie paid attention.”
Zhou Qi’an had almost forgotten that. He sighed. “It’s a pity that when Buzzcut and Xia Zhi died, because of the ghost-wall and the fog, we didn’t manage to grab their drops.”
Back then, there was no time to care about such things.
“…As for Yuma’s props, they were probably swallowed into the snake’s stomach.”
Zhou Qi’an didn’t plan to ask his mother for them anyway.
The driver, who was currently at the wheel, heard the death list spilling casually from their mouths, and his brow twitched hard. Clearly, this “God of Killing” had left behind no small number of corpses in the last instance.
…
The warm sunlight in the morning was like a final flare before death—by the afternoon the weather had sharply turned cold.
In the storm, there were almost no residents out on the streets. Mother Zhou, after vanishing for several days, had just returned, only to be immediately called away by Auntie Wang to play mahjong.
Zhou Qi’an stayed at home alone. After an accident before leaving the instance, only now did he start checking his panel:
[Cerebellum (Primary Evolution State): 5% chance to resist hypnosis and illusions.]
[Thigh (Advanced Evolution State): Half of your torso is already assembled, full of power.]
[Waist (Intermediate Evolution State): Helps you maintain balance better, your stance is very stable, and a good waist lets you do flexible movements.
Heart (Shutdown State): Do sit-ups occasionally to help regulate your body.]
So far, hair, calves, bones, and feet were in fully evolved states.
The first one could only change color—useless for strangling someone, so basically negligible.
Feet granted swimming acceleration, with a chance to web in water; calves allowed safe landings from up to about three stories high; the cerebellum had auto-evolved in the last instance, leaving the waist stuck at intermediate level.
The core drive was mostly complete.
“Next instance, I can try some higher-level options.”
Arms weren’t necessary—sometimes a first-level evolution organ could naturally drag along simpler ones into progress.
“…Kidneys, lungs, or blood vessels.”
Zhou Qi’an leaned toward blood vessels.
Han Li had mentioned before that once she evolved her blood vessels, she’d awaken a complete spirit-communing physique.
Judging by his own strange constitution, it was probably a good idea to evolve blood vessels sooner rather than later.
Currently, his greatest trump card was the pocket watch, which could rewind one minute of time. But the thing was in Shen Zhiyi’s hands. Since the introduction mentioned it was likely a “bound exclusive prop,” Shen Zhiyi not giving it to him directly must have had other reasons.
As for the Prophet Shaman—that scammy nonsense—every use came with the risk of being pitted by it.
“Still not enough.”
Zhou Qi’an frowned. He’d obtained no shortage of high-level props, but almost all of them were consumables.
After some thought, he opened the game mall and sorted by highest points first.
So many pieces of equipment, but after browsing, nothing felt suitable. Too many props required memorizing functions, which could waste precious seconds in battle.
Zhou Qi’an’s attitude toward props was clear—he didn’t like things gathering dust in a backpack. He preferred high-quality, single-use items.
After scanning through several times, his eyes finally locked on a Lucky Prop worth 20,000 points.
It opened for sale at midnight—and it was limited.
“Up to now, all I’ve really been missing is just a little luck… Buy it!”
When his mother returned, she saw her son brimming with heroic grandeur.
Hearing the door open, Zhou Qi’an looked up. “Done playing already?”
“Lost everything.” His mother stormed around irritably.
She had planned to win back the car repair costs, but several rounds went by without drawing a single good hand.
Zhou Qi’an pressed his lips together—he’d almost forgotten his mother had terrible luck all her life.
But thinking of the lucky prop…
Goodbye, mother. From now on, I’ll walk the path of fortune alone.
The God of Speed never fails to snatch what he wants. At midnight, Zhou Qi’an successfully secured the lucky prop. After the holiday ended, the next morning—like a proper corporate wage slave—he went to the office early.
Maybe because he’d barely scraped by the last deadline, the aftereffects of “Cloud Crystal” on the college students hadn’t fully subsided, and they just took sick leave.
With his chat buddy absent, Zhou Qi’an idled at his desk.
A coworker came out after handing in a report: “The vampire’s calling you in.”
They exchanged a glance and both saw misery in each other’s eyes.
“Good luck, brother.”
“…”
With a death-row prisoner’s mindset, Zhou Qi’an went in, expecting his boss to nitpick some planning detail again. Ever since his boss discovered his habit of “slacking cleverly,” he’d been picking at him more and more.
Inside the office, the well-dressed predator was once again wearing his beloved high-end custom suit, seated behind his desk with a capitalist’s cold sneer.
“Recently, business has been slow. I plan to study management practices in other places.”
The vampire was going on a business trip?
Zhou Qi’an’s eyes lit up.
But before his eyes fully brightened, he heard: “You’re coming with me.”
Zhou Qi’an forced a laugh. “I wouldn’t be able to use that knowledge, though.”
Who would he be managing—his boss?
The boss ignored him and continued: “Starting today, night shifts are canceled. The big boss has hired a boxing coach and other instructors. Employees will be put through mental and physical training.”
Zhou Qi’an’s casual demeanor stiffened, a certain possibility surfacing in his mind.
Could this “study trip” actually mean going into the game? Was the boss inviting him to enter a instance together?
The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. Unlike his mother—who probably hadn’t even logged into the Azure Forum once and only cared about when her son would marry—this workaholic boss was obsessed with the company’s future. Once the Water Era arrived, the world’s corporations would collapse.
The following words indeed hinted at this.
According to his predictions, as global changes accelerated, the game would eventually release a few more large waves of slots. Their company’s employees had to seize them.
On the desk lay a book: The Nestling Effect.
The boss stroked the cover. “In times of crisis, people develop a powerful dependence on whoever leads them.”
By exploiting this psychology, once in the new world, the employees would never leave the company—working themselves to the bone in service.
Standing up with his fake good-guy smile, he approached Zhou Qi’an.
“In unfamiliar lands, they’ll understand—only unity is strength.” He smiled. “And only if the company continues to grow can employees’ personal interests be safeguarded.”
He’d lead them himself, ensuring the hatchlings couldn’t live without him.
Zhou Qi’an smiled along the whole time.
…This bastard has lost his mind.
·
Leaving the office, his coworker saw his dark face and grew more sympathetic. “Got chewed out, brother?”
Zhou Qi’an gave him an even more pitying look.
The coworker, scrolling on his phone, said mysteriously: “I think something big is about to happen.”
“Hm?”
“Lots of doomsday posts online are being taken down.”
Doomsday talk flooding everywhere wasn’t scary—what was scary was government censorship. For this level of mass removal, maybe it was real.
Zhou Qi’an said, “Maybe.”
The coworker fell silent, then sighed. “Finally, the day I’ve been waiting for.”
It wasn’t adolescent chuunibyou nonsense—Zhou Qi’an knew he truly meant it.
This was someone rotten to the bone. Back when Zhou Qi’an wanted to fake his death to deceive his boss, the coworker had seriously considered jumping off a building and lending him his ashes.
“Holy shit!” the coworker suddenly exclaimed. “Look! The vampire just posted in the group—he’s offering free training!”
He looked thrilled.
Whatever—better than night shifts. At least it wasn’t actual work.
Zhou Qi’an’s eyes grew complicated as he looked at him, condensing a thousand words into one: Take care.
The boss always kept his word.
When he said training, it happened immediately. When he said study exchange, he meant leaving right away. Using the lunch break, he pulled Zhou Qi’an in to choose a instance together.
“How about this one?”
Like Zhou Qi’an’s choice last time, the boss refused to ride the staff bus.
Sometimes the entrance reflected the instance’s background; with luck, they might land in a “work-related” one.
The boss squinted. “Let’s hope for a workplace instance.”
He’d taken a liking to “Trade Tower – Annex Sightseeing Elevator” as an entrance. Among all options, it was the closest and vaguely related.
Inwardly, Zhou Qi’an cursed his ape ancestors, but after some thought, decided to use the opportunity.
Since they had to enter anyway, why not fish in troubled waters first?
With that thought, Zhou Qi’an smiled. “Then, why don’t you make a recruitment post? I’ll go bump it.”
They couldn’t just stand at the entrance forever without players.
The boss accepted the idea, fingers tapping the screen as a recruitment post quickly appeared.
Within two minutes, Zhou Qi’an also logged in to the forum and pretended to reply: [PM].
Once “Cannon Bro” appeared, the heat followed.
Spectators even marked him for special alerts, and the post was immediately noticed.
The boss’s ID was brand new. The moment most veteran players saw it, their minds automatically flashed: Fresh account, easy target.
Perfect cannon fodder.
No wonder “Map Cannon” was so enthusiastic about teaming up.
Such new IDs were rare now. Facing a clueless newbie posting recruitment, whose profile even said: One instance experience already, won’t drag behind…
So green, so dumb. Cherish it while it lasts.
A flood of PMs poured in. The boss replied to all uniformly: [3pm, meet at instance entrance].
Zhou Qi’an watched quietly from the side.
The Whalers’ Association should see the post too. Whether they’d send someone was uncertain. Given his rapid evolution, no matter what the association was planning, their time was running short.
Zhou Qi’an muttered, “I’m more anxious for them than they are.”
Author’s Note:
Zhou Qi’an: A model worker of seamless instance-hopping.
Whalers’ Association: We’ve found you!
Zhou Qi’an: You only show up in my fifth instance? Wow, impressive.
Light up candles to all those people who think the boss is a newbie and think they can bully him once they enter the instance 😂😂😂