Zhou Qi’an trembled alone.
Red Cloak’s gaze toward him grew more complicated.
The swirling steam around him was like the mist shrouding his presence—impossible to see through.
But she quickly regained her composure.
Staff members were arrogant and would never lower themselves to curry favor with players. Even in the worst-case scenario, if an employee’s vehicle really ended up in a player’s hands, the two sides would become enemies, not engage in some friendly transaction.
This meant Zhou Qi’an already had a formidable enemy.
Calm returned to Red Cloak’s face, and she suddenly said, “Earlier, you asked why there were two groups of people…”
That one sentence successfully piqued Zhou Qi’an’s interest.
“Take out the skeletal ring you obtained.”
Zhou Qi’an hesitated for a moment but still decided to give it a try. Soon, his expression flickered with undisguised astonishment.
Although the summoning failed, for a few seconds, the ring at least manifested.
“…How is this possible?”
Red Cloak was pleased by his surprise.
Since this involved sensitive information, they switched to discussing it on the forum.
Red Cloak revealed an even more shocking truth:
“Because this ring isn’t a product of the game at all.”
“The game has anchor points in different countries, just separate servers. Since it relates to human evolution, how do you think different regions reacted?”
When selecting players, the game considered multiple factors, including wealth and social status. Its existence was not entirely a secret.
Zhou Qi’an calmly typed:
“Human experimentation, or using evolved individuals to capture and study others like them.”
Red Cloak:
“The earliest servers did go through that stage. Our server wasn’t opened too early, but when the game arrived in this region, radicals, moderates… every kind of monster and heretic appeared. It was during that time that someone proposed an even bolder, more advanced plan.”
She paused, taking a light breath.
Her pale fingertips touched the water, then slowly wrote a few words:
Cangwu Project.
Zhou Qi’an could sense a rare hint of emotion in Red Cloak as she wrote those words.
For someone as cunning and ruthless as her to display obvious fluctuations in emotion, this plan had to be extraordinary.
“‘Cangwu’ is just a codename—it refers to laboratories hidden within the fog passages.”
“These labs serve as research bases for developing items. The ever-shifting fog makes it difficult for the game to track, so they first extract high-density special mist to obscure the game’s perception, allowing them to bypass many restrictions.”
“Impossible.” Zhou Qi’an’s fingers flew across the keyboard, instinctively refuting, “The power of game items and modern science are two completely different systems.”
Monsters, ghosts, and scientific advancements were practically a contradiction.
Red Cloak expressionlessly replied:
“What if the raw materials come from instances? Do you know how many unique minerals exist in instances? What kind of energy their extracted elements hold? Even the plants, soil, and wood inside instances—many of them don’t exist in the outside world.”
She took a deep breath:
“In the Cangwu Labs, all of that can be researched.”
“So the name ‘Cangwu’ doesn’t just mean ‘hidden in the fog’—it also means ‘treasures lie within the mist.’”
Zhou Qi’an murmured, frowning.
He had to admit—the person who conceived this grand plan was a true genius.
After the game’s arrival, selected players focused on developing their own power, while weapons that couldn’t be brought into the game were often overlooked—let alone the idea of using resources from within the game to develop new items.
Red Cloak seemed somewhat apprehensive of the person who came up with the Cangwu Project and didn’t elaborate further:
“Innovation requires continuous research. The Cangwu Labs purchase vast amounts of items, and the Black Magic Society is one of their suppliers—after all, that organization loves meddling with dangerous instances and collecting rare materials.”
“Of course, they also purchase custom-made items from the official game store. But after this, who knows…”
She smirked and added:
“The real world operates under real-world laws. The Black Magic Society was blinded by greed and violated the agreements.”
After that, she continued typing:
“I will soon defect to the authorities, bringing all the intelligence I’ve gathered—including information about the sacred artifact. As the one providing the intel, I believe I can replace the Black Magic Society as the new supplier.”
“As for you,” Red Cloak sneered, “you’ll soon attract official scrutiny and become a target for the Black Magic Society’s revenge. Oh, right—I almost forgot. We don’t even know if my boss is dead. If he is, then his most loyal lackeys won’t let you off either.”
Zhou Qi’an suddenly looked up:
“So you’re the biggest winner in all of this.”
Red Cloak didn’t deny it. She calmly typed:
“Some factions in other servers possess evolved individuals with the ‘Overseas Turtle’ system—”
(TN: 海龟体系 ‘Overseas Turtle System’ refers to a group of people trained or educated abroad, often with specialized skills.)
“—which grants them coveted divination abilities. I believe they’ll soon make a move for the sacred artifact as well. I’m starting to realize that, compared to schemes conducted in the shadows, open strategies can be far more effective.”
Pressure can easily crush a person.
“Doesn’t each server have its own anchor point?”
Players from one country could only enter their own region’s instances. Even the forums were divided into separate sections, preventing cross-server communication.
Red Cloak:
“Back then, there was a traitor in the lab. The mastermind behind the Cangwu Project used a specially developed deception item to log into an overseas instance anchor point and carry out a cross-border pursuit.”
She glanced at Zhou Qi’an.
“But don’t get too excited about this piece of history—the data that the traitor stole included that very deception item.”
In other words, they could also cross servers.
“……”
Red Cloak turned and walked away, her swaying chestnut-colored hair adding a false sense of liveliness.
Zhou Qi’an had to admit—her words had indeed made an impact.
The troubles from his own people, the greedy gazes from the outside world… He slowly closed his eyes, then suddenly said, “Wait.”
Red Cloak’s footsteps halted, a smirk curling at her lips.
Finally afraid?
“When you go report and defect, do me a favor and get them to issue me a safety transport certificate—otherwise, carrying a few jars of ashes across the border might be a bit difficult.”
“……”
—
For several days in a row, thick fog refused to disperse over Gongji. Zhou Qi’an seriously suspected that the game had only just launched in this region.
Fortunately, within the city, the fog concentration wasn’t too high and was gradually thinning. Red Cloak hadn’t caused any further trouble, so for now, he could only put off settling this score.
Another two days passed, and flights finally resumed.
As expected, Zhou Qi’an was stopped when returning home. He was led into a small room, and his jars were confiscated.
However, before long, a security officer came in, gave him a long look, and said:
“You can go.”
They even arranged special cargo transport for him.
Zhou Qi’an raised an eyebrow—they didn’t even make things difficult for him.
All in all, this trip went smoother than expected.
—
After stepping off the plane and back onto familiar soil, Zhou Qi’an finally felt a bit more at ease.
“I can finally see the sun again.”
After days of thick fog, his vision felt like it had an automatic gloom filter.
As soon as he turned on his phone, the first thing he did was log into the forum, where he saw an unread message from Han Li.
[As per our agreement, I’ve transferred your share of the intel trade reward. Check your account.]
[I’ve caught some new leads—do you want me to keep fishing?]
Zhou Qi’an replied:
[No need this time.]
The fishing rod was already overflowing with catches.
Han Li only sent over one item—not a single point of in-game currency.
They had used a contract item beforehand to confirm that the item was indeed valuable enough to justify its price.
【Lighthouse: A Guiding Light in the Fog】
Usage Guide:
1. If you accidentally enter an unsealed passage, the Lighthouse can guide you to the correct mission area.
2. Provides excellent coordinates—upon use, there is a 35% chance to negate disorientation effects and a 40% chance to bypass maze-type obstacles.Quality: Four-Star
Note: After each use, the item requires a one-week cooldown.
Zhou Qi’an examined his new acquisition—for now, he could only view the image.
A hexagonal lantern, each side engraved with tiny crescent moons. The top featured a round, luminous pearl set into a shell base. Even from a simple image on the interface, the item seemed to radiate a glow.
“A four-star item—definitely worth it.”
After some thought, Zhou Qi’an asked Han Li for Red Cloak’s in-game ID and typed out a short message.
—
At that moment, Red Cloak was busy reorganizing the association.
Her recent loss had been devastating, but thinking about how she could win everything back in the future, she was in high spirits—especially now that she was officially in charge.
When she saw Zhou Qi’an’s in-game ID, she immediately recognized it.
She opened the message.
It contained just one sentence:
[In the face of absolute power, all schemes and conspiracies are meaningless.]
Not long ago, she had said those exact words—and had been instantly proven wrong.
Seeing them again now, she felt a mix of absurdity and irony.
It was true—Zhou Qi’an’s strength had been underestimated by everyone. Even his biological mother was likely a formidable player.
But that was the extent of it.
Ten-sided ambush—no matter how many allies he had, there was no way he could break through.
Red Cloak shook her head.
“Just because he has a sacred artifact, he dares to claim absolute power…?”
Either way, she wasn’t getting involved in this mess anymore.
—
Because of the weather, the company team-building event was extended.
As soon as everyone returned, all employees were immediately summoned back to work.
“I sent the ashes to Wan Jing Cemetery.”
The college student came from a wealthy family and bought several burial plots in one go while out on field duty.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t go with him—he only paid for the flower seeds.
The college student said, “I gave the cemetery caretaker an extra tip—he’ll tend to it regularly. The flowers should bloom next year.”
Zhou Qi’an acknowledged with a soft ‘oh’ and focused on his work.
The student had consulted an expert about the seeds—they were Birds of Paradise, light-loving plants.
Before choosing the cemetery plots, Zhou Qi’an had specifically instructed to pick a spot with ample sunlight and ensure someone watered it regularly.
These were flowers symbolizing wind and freedom.
“Jin Zhi would have liked them,” the college student said.
This time, Zhou Qi’an didn’t even respond. He seemed lost in thought, glancing toward the office to make sure his boss wouldn’t suddenly step out. Then, he took a moment to stretch his limbs.
The college student’s eyes were filled with worry. That morning, he had cautiously suggested that Zhou Qi’an find another job. Otherwise, when trouble came knocking, he might be implicated as an accomplice.
As for what kind of trouble—Zhou Qi’an didn’t say.
But if even he admitted there was trouble, then it was bound to be serious.
“Brother Zhou, I wouldn’t have survived this long without you. I’m definitely not running away.”
“Suit yourself.” Zhou Qi’an took a sip of water, checked once more that his boss’s office door was locked, then cleared his throat and picked up his phone.
He shot the college student a look, signaling him to stay quiet, before dialing a number.
After a few seconds, the call connected.
From the other end, a voice spoke—low and drowsy, as if perpetually on the verge of sleep. A tone that could easily be mistaken for intimacy.
“Hello.”
“It’s me,” Zhou Qi’an said.
—
A mansion stood in a corner of the city, strangely out of place.
This was prime real estate, a bustling area teeming with people—yet no one seemed to notice it.
Inside the luxurious home, paintings that belonged in world-class museums hung on pristine white walls. The floor, the corners, every nook and cranny was filled with priceless artifacts.
Any collector who stepped inside would be left in awe.
But on closer inspection, these masterpieces seemed to exist in a blurred dimension of illusion and reality. Like distant mountains on the horizon, no matter how hard one tried to approach, even eight galloping horses might never reach them.
The entire mansion was like a mystical puzzle, each angle reflecting a different layer of dreamlike illusion.
The owner slowly woke up.
He had been asleep for quite some time—several days, at least.
Now, he walked barefoot toward the bathroom.
In the mirror, his sharp, chiseled features softened ever so slightly.
His blood-red irises gradually faded to an ashen gray.
The face of Mu Tianbai, once the epitome of icy arrogance, transformed into a gentler visage.
“Truly… unexpectedly smooth.”
Now that the Heart of the Nightmare had been removed, his presence had significantly diminished.
He had managed to seal part of his memories and power, splitting the rest into two halves—one stored within his shadow.
This way, he had successfully bypassed the game’s detection and obtained a player account.
Maybe next time, he could try keeping his memories intact.
He was still relishing the experience of shifting identities—that feeling was truly exhilarating.
“Qi’an, you’re growing stronger.”
Killing people and slaying ghosts without hesitation—and at the end, he even set off a spectacular firework display.
The man fell into thought, contemplating what kind of persona he should craft next.
For a brief moment, hundreds of shadowy figures flickered into existence within the room.
Then, his phone suddenly rang.
There was only one person who had this number.
He picked up.
On the other end, Zhou Qi’an’s voice sounded exhausted and lost.
“Hey, it’s me. I’ve run into something. I might not be able to make it to night school.”
“What—”
Zhou Qi’an cut him off immediately, as if trapped in an unprecedented struggle, speaking as if to himself:
“It’s nothing, really. Probably just work stress. I keep having nightmares—being hunted by countless monsters, my dignity trampled beneath their feet.”
A flicker of surprise crossed the man’s eyes.
He was about to say something when—
“Don’t ask.”
“……”
Zhou Qi’an hurriedly hung up.
The man stood in place, sinking into a long silence.
—
Office.
Zhou Qi’an leaned back in his chair, his expression indifferent, but his tone was unmistakably helpless and lost.
The college student, who had witnessed the entire call, stared at him, dumbfounded.
He had just opened his mouth to speak when—
Having finished his act, Zhou Qi’an took a sip of tea, picked up an apple, and started munching away carefreely.
“Don’t ask.”
“……”
For a long moment, the college student held back.
But in the end, he couldn’t resist and cautiously asked, “Brother Zhou, who were you calling just now?”
Zhou Qi’an clicked his tongue, but in the end, he told him.
“My night school teacher.”
That man had pointed out long ago that his mother had turned into a monster.
Among the three most abnormal people around Zhou Qi’an, if he had to rank them by danger, the night school teacher undoubtedly topped the list—far above his boss and his mother.
Between the latter two, it was hard to say who was more dangerous.
His boss had a stronger sense of oppression, but Zhou Qi’an couldn’t determine his mother’s true strength.
The lingering traces of maternal love in her made her seem less threatening.
Either way, both of them could track him down—and if they could, then so could his night school teacher.
That man’s obsession seemed to be forcing him to attend class.
More importantly…
Zhou Qi’an had long sensed that the man harbored a twisted, sickly obsession with him.
So sickly that he probably believed that even if Zhou Qi’an died, he should die by his hands.
Under the college student’s eager gaze, Zhou Qi’an hinted that his night school teacher was also a player—and that his words just now might provoke him into chasing him into the instance.
The college student was intrigued. “What if he doesn’t go?”
Zhou Qi’an was about to dismiss the idea outright.
With that man’s personality, there was no way he’d hear something so cryptic and not investigate.
But just as he opened his mouth, he suddenly swallowed his words.
There were always exceptions.
If he really didn’t go…
Zhou Qi’an’s eyes narrowed slightly.
That would be a huge problem.
The overripe apple in his hand was already half-eaten.
Then, his tone shifted, and he let out a mocking chuckle.
“If I can’t win, of course I’m calling for backup.”
To others, the [Lighthouse] item was probably only useful for escaping maze-like traps.
But for Zhou Qi’an, its true value lay in its coordinates—perfect for summoning reinforcements.
With the pressure he was under, how could he not call for backup?
If one wasn’t enough, he’d call a second. If two weren’t enough, then a third.
If he was going to suffer, everyone else could suffer too.
—
Author’s Note:
Zhou Qi’an: “Boohoo, I’m so miserable. In the game, I keep getting chased and trampled.”
On the other end of the phone: “……”
