The fire appeared even earlier than the morning star.
The massive impact did not cause as much destruction as one might have expected.
This was within Zhou Qi’an’s expectations. The staff likely had ways to control the fire, just like how Mr. Si had once extinguished a large-scale blaze with nothing more than a fire extinguisher.
Bai Chanyi was the first to react, her face still unnaturally pale in the firelight. “You…”
Zhou Qi’an accidentally inhaled a few mouthfuls of thick smoke and coughed as he spoke. “The building was made for convenience. A lighter, matches—you can find whatever you need.”
His gaze landed on two buses parked nearby.
They definitely wouldn’t need both vehicles for the return trip. The other one was probably for transporting the remaining monsters.
With both the female ghost and the building’s owner gone, the monsters had lost their restraints. The game wouldn’t just let them run rampant, so they were most likely going to be taken away and repurposed in other instances.
Zhou Qi’an clapped the dust off his hands. “Swept away clean.”
“…Are all the monsters in the building dead?” The college student asked with difficulty.
Zhou Qi’an shook his head. “Hard to say.”
Not long ago, Jin Furen had forcibly extracted a large amount of Sha Qi from the monsters in the building, leaving them in a weakened state. There was no better time to set the fire.
Severe injuries were enough. Monsters replenished their energy by devouring their own kind. The game wasn’t a charity—if it had the means to help them recover, it might as well create a whole new batch of monsters instead.
At the last moment, Mu Tianbai had also forced Red Cloak to use her ability to extract toxins and mix them into the ashes. The instant the explosion ignited, it further weakened the creatures.
Even a mosquito, no matter how small, was still meat. Any bit shaved off was a gain.
Zhou Qi’an summed it up succinctly: “Bargain-bin monster hunting method.”
After saying that, he suddenly turned to Red Cloak and smiled slightly.
Red Cloak frowned, sensing an unprecedented threat.
It wasn’t just Red Cloak. Even players who had no prior conflict with Zhou Qi’an couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of unease.
Zhou Qi’an attempted to spot a trace of frustration on the Minotaur’s face, hoping to use an emotional reaction as a breakthrough to extract information. To his disappointment, aside from the initial cold glance, the Minotaur methodically continued cleaning up the aftermath.
Compared to useless emotions like anger, the Minotaur cared more about data.
Data formed behavioral patterns. By targeting any single point in that pattern and designing an appropriate countermeasure, one could turn the tables. Even the explosion that Zhou Qi’an had orchestrated at the end was just another data point.
As the settlement notification sounded, the morning star appeared in the sky.
[Four-star instance “Jinxiang Twer” has been cleared.]
[Completion reward of 8,881 points has been credited to your inventory.]
[You have earned 12,300 experience points in this game. Would you like to allocate all of them to personal evolution?]
No player would hesitate here. Just like last time, Zhou Qi’an chose to invest everything into evolution.
[Enhancement in progress, please do not close the panel.]
[Enhancement complete.]
Zhou Qi’an focused on the new evolution details from this round:
[Hair (Evolution Complete)]: A lingering curse from the scapegoat ritual. Now features a new color-changing ability, allowing shifts between blue and black.
[Limbs (Intermediate Evolution)]: Strength increased by 5% on the existing foundation.
[Bones (Special Advanced Evolution)]: Bone Poison Inheritor. Da Lang, they once failed to poison you—now you can poison them instead!
[Feet (Advanced Evolution)]: Full evolution of both feet completed.
[Heart (Primary Evolution)]: Still working hard to carry the whole team!
The others skimmed through their panels quickly. Some were so overwhelmed with excitement that they completely ignored the burning building.
“My kidneys finally reached their final evolution!” one person shouted in joy.
Zhou Qi’an showed no obvious excitement on his face, but inside, he felt a surge of emotion.
During the last instance’s settlement, he hadn’t felt much. But now, he truly realized the importance of a powerful heart—it was the key to driving the evolution of other organs.
Only one person remained indifferent to it all.
Their boss impatiently scuffed the ground with the sole of his expensive leather shoe, caring only about when they could leave.
Nearby, the college student had just finished speaking with Bai Chanyi.
He had been curious about what had initially transpired between Zhou Qi’an and the female ghost. As he muttered to himself, Bai Chanyi overheard and casually remarked that the ghost’s death rule was tied to leaving the building.
At that, the student immediately connected the dots to the group photo Zhou Qi’an had stolen and roughly pieced together the truth.
“Brother Zhou, you’re incredible,” the college student walked over and said. “Not only did you prevent the female ghost’s corpse from being further desecrated, but you also made sure those bastards got what they deserved.”
As he finished, he let out a heavy sigh.
At the very least, for the female ghost, this was the best possible ending.
Zhou Qi’an glanced at him. “Forcing a soul to rest when it shouldn’t can easily result in a team wipe. I’ll give you one last reminder—keep your excessive sympathy in check when you’re inside a instance.”
Since the minotaur was still dealing with the fire scene, the players were instructed to board the bus piloted by a mechanical puppet.
As Zhou Qi’an boarded the bus, he casually found a seat in the front row. Bai Chanyi noticed the urn beside him and reminded him, “You might not be able to take it out.”
Most items from the instance couldn’t be brought into the real world.
Zhou Qi’an nodded. “Just giving it a try.”
The bus retraced its original route. As it passed through the pitch-black tunnel, dim headlights flickered on.
The familiar sound of pounding returned.
Inside the tunnel, swollen corpses thrashed wildly against the bus windows. Their bloated faces pressed so tightly against the glass that they seemed as if they were trying to squeeze through. Most players remained as composed as they had been on the way in, though their tightly clenched fists betrayed their complicated emotions.
Bai Chanyi’s gaze fell on the urns Zhou Qi’an was carrying, and a thought suddenly occurred to her—if she ever died in the game, she hoped someone would find a way to take her ashes out, too.
Rather than becoming just another grotesque spectacle at some instance checkpoint.
Zhou Qi’an leaned back in his seat and dozed off.
Suddenly, a shadow covered the back of his hand.
Ghosts on the way back, too?
Zhou Qi’an jolted awake. When he opened his eyes, he saw a black rose slowly spreading upward from the pile of urns beside him.
A massive question mark formed in his mind.
The shadow edged closer, expectantly.
“So unusual.”
It could write, pass notes, and even wander off to the dance studio on its own… For the first time, Zhou Qi’an took a serious, up-close look at Mu Tianbai’s shadow.
It felt more like a second consciousness.
Mu Tianbai calmly reeled the shadow back in and said, “It’s related to brain evolution.”
Players’ abilities varied wildly, and it was considered a major taboo to pry into others’ secrets. But the moment “brain evolution” was mentioned, everyone’s curiosity spiked.
Like the heart and lungs, the brain was classified as a primary organ, but its evolution process was far more complicated. The game specifically noted that it required consecutive upgrades over multiple instances, which meant a massive amount of experience points.
The investment was enormous, and the effects wouldn’t be visible in the short term, so few players chose to evolve their brains directly.
The standard strategy across major guilds was to evolve the other two primary organs first, allowing them to boost brain evolution to some extent. After another one or two instances, the brain would naturally catch up.
Unfortunately, after catching everyone’s attention, Mu Tianbai didn’t say another word.
“Sister Bai, have you heard of this player before?” someone whispered, pointing at Mu Tianbai.
Bai Chanyi shook her head.
The mystery surrounding the man only deepened.
After a long journey, the bus finally emerged from the tunnel.
Suddenly, the seat beneath Zhou Qi’an lit up with a red signal.
The entire seat heated up, and at the same time, similar lights appeared under his superior and the college student. No need to guess—it was their cue to get off.
Zhou Qi’an remarked, “Mr. Si’s bus was way fancier than this.”
That one still relied on someone shouting.
He stood up and walked to the door without specifically saying goodbye to Mu Tianbai. The shadow’s little black rose trick had already asked him for his forum ID earlier.
Just as he stepped off the bus, Zhou Qi’an received a friend request notification.
“A username starting with three?”
That wasn’t too far off from his own forum ID. Didn’t that mean Mu Tianbai hadn’t been in the game for very long?
A strong sense of doubt surfaced in his mind, but his boss’ impatient urging forced him to set it aside for now.
That day, Gongji was shrouded in thick fog.
As Zhou Qi’an tried to get his bearings, his boss was already striding ahead. Without hesitation, Zhou Qi’an and the college student fell into step behind him like two little quails.
His boss’ high-end tie was stained with blood, too ruined to be restored even with dry cleaning. Annoyed, he yanked it off, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it aside.
“Littering is—” Zhou Qi’an grabbed the college student before he could finish, smoothly changing the subject. “Earlier, when we suddenly disappeared from the bus, that didn’t cause you any trouble, did it?”
His boss sneered. “You’d better pray that it didn’t.”
Zhou Qi’an fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone, which had mysteriously reappeared. He checked the time—Friday, 4:30 PM.
The thick fog concealed the bloodstains on his clothes. Right now, all he wanted was to return to the hotel and sleep. Without blinking, he said, “Let’s hurry up and go. If we get back early, I can squeeze in some overtime and put together a second draft for the client.”
His boss, pleased with his diligence, started introducing the hotel.
Zhou Qi’an, carrying several urns, stifled a yawn where his boss couldn’t see and absentmindedly echoed, “Right, right, you’re absolutely right…”
The college student: “…”
Was this what high emotional intelligence in the workplace looked like?
·
Meanwhile, Red Cloak and the remaining players—who were mostly in the country—had gotten off the bus a bit later than Zhou Qi’an.
The moment she stepped off, the coldness in her expression was no longer concealed.
Not only had she lost two loyal subordinates, but at the last moment, she had also been coerced into overusing her abilities, taking a severe toll on her body.
Still, the outcome was far from settled. With the backing of her association, she had access to certain items—like those that allowed her to forcibly drag a player into a instance using their game ID.
Red Cloak had no qualms about killing inside instances. Every instance had a difficulty cap, and no matter how hellish it was, she could always use her tools to pull Zhou Qi’an into one.
Out of habit, she logged into the forum first.
Her eyes darkened.
The Black Magic Society had quite a few underhanded methods—somehow, they had already found out their members had died inside the instance.
Just then, a private message popped up in the top right corner: [Come see me.]
Red Cloak’s expression shifted slightly. She first found a place to change into casual clothing, then after a two-hour drive, arrived at a private clubhouse.
The place was surrounded by a serene bamboo forest, with round stone pathways paving the ground. But the club’s owner stood in stark contrast to the tranquil setting.
The man was mixed-race, tall and muscular. His gray-blue eyes were originally large, but against the backdrop of his thick, half-circle beard, they appeared narrow.
He was the president of the Little Red Riding Hood Association—though from his appearance, he looked more like the Big Bad Wolf from the fairy tale.
“You certainly made thorough preparations for this little ‘trip,’” the mixed-race man said. “Is there nothing you’d like to explain?”
Red Cloak knew this man well. If he was asking, it meant he had already found something.
Discussing game content in reality was forbidden.
After a brief pause, she sent him a private message detailing the instance’s events and her reasons for entering.
The man read through it in seconds, his eyes flashing with unconcealed excitement. “Just as I thought…”
His vice president had always preferred working alone, yet this time, she had barely stepped out of one instance before rushing back into another, bringing two members along and even using the association’s special team-formation tool.
And all of this happened right after the appearance of a Sacred Artifact.
He never believed in coincidences.
“Smart move, telling me everything,” he said.
If a Sacred Artifact was involved, no matter how small the chance, he would investigate it to the very end.
Red Cloak muttered, “That newcomer isn’t easy to deal with…”
The mixed-race man interrupted, a greedy and ruthless smile spreading across his face. “If he gave you trouble, then he’s not to be underestimated. But taking down a person doesn’t always require direct confrontation.”
Red Cloak seemed to guess what he was planning and instinctively said, “That would break the rules.”
The path from the Old World to the New World wasn’t bound by laws, but as long as they hadn’t fully crossed over, the rules still applied. If the officials found out, they would face severe consequences.
The man sneered. “Then keep your mouth shut and dig up everything you can on him. Get me the information—fast.”
Red Cloak, without hesitation, replied, “Understood.”
Seeing her immediate compliance, the man’s killing intent finally eased. Wanting to keep a Sacred Artifact for herself was natural, but if she refused to cooperate, he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate her.
It wasn’t until she left the clubhouse and got into a car that Red Cloak closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head.
“He’s getting reckless…”
Their leader was really getting reckless.
After a moment of contemplation, she opened the Azure Blue Forum.
The Black Magic Society’s post was still there, with a bounty notice pinned at the top of the trending threads.
The message was simple:
[Seeking paid information on a certain member of our organization. Contact ID: XXXX.]
Attached was a crude stick-figure sketch.
Since the forum prohibited real photos, the Black Magic Society had uploaded a rough drawing instead—but despite its simplicity, it perfectly captured the essence of a baseball cap.
If an ordinary member died, they could remain indifferent.
But important members always reported before entering a instance, and the Black Magic Society possessed an item that monitored a player’s life status. According to its feedback, Baseball Cap had died within two days of entering the instance.
That didn’t make sense.
The moment a major association made a move, discussions erupted across the forums.
[Haven’t seen a bounty post in a while. Looks like even the Black Magic Society isn’t sure if he died due to the game’s rules or if another player killed him.]
[Who knows.]
The post quickly reached 500 comments.
[Guys, this is creepy. The bounty is still up, which means no one has reached out in private.]
[Holy shit. Either every player in that round is dead, or they’re more afraid of pissing someone off than they are tempted by the reward.]
[Now I really want to know who took down that Black Magic Society member.]
[Same! It’s killing me!]
…
Red Cloak removed her hand from the steering wheel, opened the thread’s author’s private messages, and typed a few lines before sending them.
Right now, the only thing that could hold back her leader was the Black Magic Society. If those two factions started fighting in the shadows, she would have more time to maneuver.
·
Dense fog had covered Gongji for days. Zhou Qi’an’s boss had been in a foul mood, worried about flight delays for their return trip.
At the hotel, the employees traveling together kept their distance from their boss—each one secretly hoping for a delay.
Zhou Qi’an outwardly sighed in frustration, but inside, he was thrilled. He deliberately went to a vending machine to buy a drink, planning to enjoy a relaxing soak in the hot spring later.
Few people visited the hot spring on foggy days, and with dinner time approaching, the remaining tourists soon left. Before long, he was the only one there.
Steam rose around him, soaking his half-submerged body. The world was silent, and he relished the rare moment of peace.
Then, his ears twitched.
His eyes snapped open.
His black-framed glasses rested on the edge of the pool, but his sharp vision easily caught a sudden, out-of-place figure.
Across from him, a woman had appeared at some point—tall, with chestnut curls, wearing a long, vintage-style red coat. Her attire clashed completely with the atmosphere of the hot spring.
Red Cloak.
Zhou Qi’an took a deep breath, discreetly scanning his surroundings for anything he could use as a weapon.
He wasn’t surprised that his information had been leaked—it was only a matter of time.
However, his plan hadn’t accounted for an assassination attempt starting immediately in a foreign country. Red Cloak hadn’t gotten off the bus with him after the instance, meaning she was likely still in the country. The distance and the presence of his damn boss had made him let his guard down.
Thinking about it now, a flight only took a few hours.
Zhou Qi’an burned this lesson into his memory.
Red Cloak stepped forward.
Zhou Qi’an smiled, but the tension in his muscles betrayed his battle-ready state.
The game forbade players from killing each other. But how much weight did that rule still hold in the real world?
Red Cloak’s physical enhancements were undoubtedly far superior to his. In a one-on-one fight, he wasn’t confident he could win. His mind rapidly mapped out an escape route while calculating whether his superior would hear him if he shouted for help.
The air was thick with tension.
As Red Cloak drew closer, Zhou Qi’an exploded out of the water, ready to strike first.
A wave of steaming water splashed around him.
The woman didn’t stop walking.
She spoke slowly.
“Two groups will be at your house soon—to take your mother.”
Zhou Qi’an, prepared to fight to the death: “?”
“It’s already too late for you to stop them.” Red Cloak leaned in, her voice soft yet merciless. “Give me the item, and my people will help relocate her in advance.”
The association had moved fast. In less than two days, they had dug up the basics of Zhou Qi’an’s personal life.
Red Cloak recalled the intel: single-parent household, raised alone by his mother.
With that upbringing, the young man before her would never abandon his family.
A heavy silence followed.
Zhou Qi’an’s expression was… strange.
After a long pause, he hesitantly asked, “…You’re kidnapping… my mom?”
—
Author’s Note:
President: “We villains don’t need things like morals.”
Zhou Qi’an: “Words cannot express my shock in that moment.”
