Chapter 73
Chapter 73
The forum buzzed with activity even after two days, with flame wars erupting into full-blown feuds. Naturally, this "bonding" stemmed from pure aggro.
Who’s most prone to turning trivial disputes into bitter rivalries? Petty people, of course.
Before the open beta even launched, dozens of forum users had already scheduled virtual duels, eager to settle scores in "Kill Game Mode"—assuming they reached Level 5 first. Both parties needed to feel invincible for the showdown to happen.
Petty people fear losing face above all else, since their pride’s as fragile as glass. They dread humiliation if they lose, but if they win, they’ll strip opponents bare of dignity. That’s what makes them petty.
If they lose unconvincingly, excuses fly: "You’ve played longer", "Your level’s higher", "Your gear’s better", or the sharpest jabs—"Nofeel" and "No explanation."
Beating a gentleman’s easy. Beating a petty person requires dismantling a Gundam barehanded, plus dozens of witnesses, preferably a video. Only then will they begrudgingly concede—and nurse a lifelong grudge.
Feng Bu Jue spent two days avoiding game drama, living a simple life of broth noodles and finishing his monthly manuscript. Meanwhile, Assass finally grasped that "litter box" meant toilet.
On Tuesday morning, Terrifying Paradise relaunched—this time as open beta.
Feng Bu Jue didn’t log in at launch. His sleep schedule finally normalized, he refused to disrupt it again. After all, sleeping from noon to 4 AM saved a meal.
At 1:30 PM, he filled Assass’s bowl, cleaned the litter box, and finally lounged into his Gaming Pod.
A flurry of system prompts followed, but his Login Space appeared unchanged.
He tapped the touchscreen. The four names on his friend list glowed gray—offline.
"Guess I’m free as always", he muttered, half-ironically.
The interface looked sleeker, Faqs now detailed. Feng Bu Jue’s earlier query—"Why don’t some items show in post-scenario settlements?"—had been addressed.
He opened his satchel (7/10 slots):
Mario’s Pipe Wrench, Eye of Hostility, Western Chef’s Knife, Baseball Bat, M1911A1 Pistol (fully loaded), Echo Armor, Garlic Bag.
The Z-virus antidote was a story item, non-transferable. After injecting it in the Ailebo Building, he’d discarded the rest—both he and Xiao Tan were immune, and the Gms had virus-resistant passive skills.
His flashlight shattered during a zombie swarm at the basketball court, but a spare remained. The Garlic Bag? Useless now. He deleted it.
Winchester Shotgun and ammo went to Xiao Tan. Garlic gone, flashlight retrieved—satchel still at 7 slots.
Turning toward the Fear Rating room, he paused as a system prompt chimed:
[Choose your destination]
Data streams materialized beside the elevator, forming five buttons:
[Storage Room] [Conference Room] [Mall] [Scare Box] [Don’t Press This]
Of course, Feng Bu Jue’s eyes locked on the last.
"‘Don’t Press This’? If you don’t want people to press, don’t make it exist", he muttered, already tapping it.
The button flashed, then… nothing.
Thirty seconds passed.
"This some cold joke?" he sighed.
Awěisuǒ laugh echoed behind him. "Hehehe… Pressed it, huh?"
Spinning, he found a man standing where no one was—a pale, gaunt white man in a black suit, glasses glowing white.
"Bro, how’d you get in here?" Feng Bu Jue frowned.
The man snapped his fingers. The "Don’t Press This" button dissolved. "Just moving through a game space. Easy-peasy", he giggled, voice dripping sleaze.
"You’re… an Npc? Admin?"
"Think what you like", the man grinned. "Call me Wooly. W-O-O-L-Y."
"Wait—what do you want?"
"Just confirming a few things", Wooly smirked. "First—do you believe in Christianity?"
"I prefer science."
"Perfect", Wooly chuckled. "Done."
"Wait—is this a prank? Are they recording?"
"Your memory’s already fed me everything", Wooly shrugged. "I just needed confirmation."
"Where’d you say you’re from again?"
"Where I’m from… is where you’re headed", Wooly hissed, stepping into the elevator mirror. His form twisted, morphing into a shadow demon—a shapeless terror that clawed at Feng Bu Jue’s psyche.
Feng Bu Jue froze. Fear—raw, primal—seared his chest. His soul felt gripped by a heaven-shaking demonic palm, seconds from being ripped away.
When he blinked back, only seconds had passed.
What… what was that? Reality? Hallucination? Had his brain’s shadowy infection spread?
(End of Chapter)
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