Chapter 28: Sea Without Light 28
Kui Xin had indeed become the enemy of all players.
She watched all the posts related to 233 on the forum, most of the attitudes from the posters and commenters were extremely intense, and hardly anyone spoke up for her. Occasionally, some calm analytical comments were drowned out by the fervent reactions.
Post 62: I think there may be more to this situation. When we crossed into the Second World, we had no idea of each other’s identities. Can you recognize who is a player and who is an indigenous person? You cannot. Perhaps Remover 233 never thought of killing his own kind.
Post 63 replied to 62: Then who do you think 233 wants to kill? The indigenous residents of another world? Whether he wants to kill indigenous people or players, his intentions are very sinister.
Post 64 replied to 62: What you said is useless; who cares about the reasons or psychological processes behind Remover 233’s murders? Everyone only cares about the results—he has committed murder. There may be other Removers among the players, and they might imitate him; incidents of players killing players will only become more common in the future!
Post 84: Just the thought that Remover 233 might be lurking while we post these messages gives me chills. What will he think when he sees these posts? Panic, fear… or perhaps a cold laugh?
Post 85: If Remover 233 killed out of some deep-seated reason, then why doesn’t he come out to clarify?
Post 86 replied to 85: 233 isn’t an idiot; who would stand out in such a precarious situation? If he clarifies, will anyone believe him? Can we distinguish whether he is lying or telling the truth?
Immediately after, players furiously replied to 85, calling on Remover 233 to come out and explain.
But Kui Xin understood that she could not explain.
The players were filled with fear, swept up by public opinion; how many were willing to dig deep into the truth, and how many only cared about the outcomes? Players were in the return phase of their first crossing, the most irrational state; everyone was panicking and afraid, needing an outlet for their distress, and the darker side of human nature was given full reign.
If Kui Xin were to explain, what would she do if the players continued to question her? What if they demanded specific details about the killings? She could not prove that she killed unintentionally, while others would always suspect that she did so intentionally.
It would be easy for Kui Xin to inadvertently expose her identity while trying to defend herself. The players had replaced the indigenous residents of the Second World; they held various identities there—some were ordinary people, while others had very complex backgrounds, possibly even holding high positions. If Kui Xin accidentally revealed something she shouldn’t, they could likely trace it back to her.
In truth, Kui Xin felt quite composed; she realized that as long as she did not respond to this matter, the players would not guess Remover 233’s true identity. If they could not guess, then Kui Xin was safe.
The biggest risk she faced was her appearance.
Every player’s appearance had similarities with their first world self.
Players soul travel rather than body travel. For instance, Kui Xin had long hair in the first world but short hair in the Second World. When she returned to the first world, her hair did not shorten, and the injuries from the Scythe Demon did not come along.
Kui Xin tapped her forehead; by feel, her iron skull had not followed her back to the first world, but…
She smoothly performed an impressive flourish with a utility knife in her hand.
All her inherent talents and extraordinary abilities had returned with her.
Currently, she possessed five inherent talents: Performance Persona, Life Fortitude, Hazard Avoidance, Rapid Learning… and the newly acquired Combat Instinct from the Second World.
Combat Instinct was a talent acquired from the embodiment in the Second World, and it had been perfectly integrated into her first world body; she could still wield weapons and recall various combat techniques.
Kui Xin put down her mobile phone and did push-ups on the bed.
To her surprise, she managed to do fifty push-ups in one go—this was a level she could never have reached before. As someone who despised physical education, she usually found it difficult to complete even ten push-ups. Doing fifty was completely unscientific!
At the same time, her level for these fifty push-ups was far different from her physical training test results in the Second World, where she could do over a hundred in one go.
Moreover, she wondered if it was an illusion, but Kui Xin felt her vision had become much clearer.
She was originally mildly nearsighted, and her eyeglass prescription was only one diopter, which she needed occasionally in class. Now when she looked around, that slight blurriness was gone.
In the Second World, she was a sharpshooter with excellent vision.
Kui Xin quickly realized that her body from both worlds was trending towards integration under some unknown force!
The strong physical qualities from the Second World were transferring over to her body in the first world.
Kui Xin rummaged through her drawers for a measuring tape and stood up to measure her height.
During the senior year health check, her height had been 1.7 meters, while in the Second World, she had been 1.75 meters.
Now, after measuring, her height had become 1.71 meters, growing an extra centimeter, which seemed to be a natural growth due to physical development.
Kui Xin checked herself in the mirror in the bathroom, frowning at her reflection.
Players’ appearances in the first and Second Worlds were not necessarily identical; her two faces were probably an 80% match—though not entirely the same.
Long hair and short hair present different impressions. With long hair, there was a gentler aura, and looking at it now, her resemblance to her Second World self seemed to decrease even more, although a closer look revealed she still looked quite similar.
Kui Xin had always kept her hair in a high ponytail. After some thought, she tried letting her hair down and fiddling with her bangs. Not satisfied, she ended up braiding it into a loose, sweet-looking design.
Now, the resemblance had decreased a bit more.
In the Second World, Kui Xin, as a city enforcer, dressed maturely and professionally, with a somewhat cold demeanor, exuding the aura of “I am an elite security officer.”
At first glance, there was indeed a significant difference between her appearances in the first and Second Worlds.
This wouldn’t do; Kui Xin considered getting cosmetic surgery.
However, cosmetic surgery was too expensive, and she couldn’t raise money in time, so she could only change her clothing and appearance, striving to differ from her Second World self.
Once she returned to the Second World, perhaps she could work on her appearance there; revamping her look in that high-tech world should be relatively easy. Kui Xin suspected that many players would have similar plans, as the hassle of changing faces was far less than the trouble posed by identity exposure.
Thinking of returning to the Second World, the calmness in Kui Xin’s heart stirred once again.
She felt worried and anxious.
Because she had come back in the middle of a battle. Time does not flow while crossing worlds, but this could greatly impact the battle situation. If she returned to the Second World and lost focus, it could cost her life.
Lan Lan and Jiang Ming were reliable teammates, but Kui Xin could not place her hopes on them; relying on others was less reliable than relying on herself.
Kui Xin glanced at the time: 00:53.
It was early morning again.
She splashed cold water on her face in the bathroom and lay back down on her bed.
This was her first night back, and she knew she could sleep soundly without worrying about tomorrow for the moment.
…Wait! Not worrying about tomorrow? She seemed to have forgotten something important.
Kui Xin pulled out her phone’s memo app and saw the clear reminder: “9 AM at Changlong Plaza, third floor fast-food restaurant for summer job interview.”
Kui Xin: Ah, so… a fulfilling life is about to begin again?
…
At 7:30 AM, Kui Xin was not awakened by her alarm clock, but rather by a phone call from her senior class teacher.
“Xiao Xin, why not come to my house for lunch today?” The teacher’s voice reached her ears.
Kui Xin’s class teacher, Wang Yange, was a strict teacher, but she also had a gentle side. Knowing that Kui Xin had no elders at home, she often invited her for meals and guided her in choosing schools and majors. Teacher Wang’s son was two years older than Kui Xin and was studying at the same university she was applying to; both were majoring in “Artificial Intelligence,” and come September, she would be his junior.
Still groggy, Kui Xin replied, “No thanks, teacher, I have a job interview to go to…”
“Oh dear, I forgot that it’s summer. You should get more sleep.” Teacher Wang noted the evident sleepiness in Kui Xin’s voice.
Teachers have a fixed biological clock, and even during holidays, they wake up around six or seven.
Teacher Wang continued, “I wanted to talk to you about the job. Don’t go to the fast-food restaurant; it’s too tough. A friend of mine has a child entering her senior year who’s a rebellious girl. She’s looking for a tutor who is around the same age, hoping to get her some lessons.”
Kui Xin rubbed her eyes, getting up from bed to ask, “What’s the pay, teacher?”
“Eighty per hour, three hours a day,” Teacher Wang explained, “until the end of August when classes resume.”
Kui Xin was tempted.
Three hours a day would mean over two hundred, and she could still arrange her time freely—it was much more convenient than working in a fast-food place.
Working at a fast-food restaurant required a significant time investment, and Kui Xin wanted some spare time to do her own things, like exercising.
Physical training could not be neglected; she also needed good physical fitness in the first world.
“Okay!” Kui Xin agreed, “Thank you, teacher.”
She knew Teacher Wang was trying to help her by suggesting a less exhausting tutoring job, which was indeed a perfect fit for Kui Xin, and she was quite satisfied.
When the college entrance exams had just finished, Kui Xin had already worked for a while; she had first spent a week handing out flyers at a shopping mall, then worked at a milk tea shop, which ultimately went out of business due to poor location and management, forcing her to look for a third summer job.
Kui Xin got up, washed, and made herself a fried egg for breakfast.
After finishing her meal, she sat at the table in a daze, momentarily unsure of what to do. Having moved away from the tense and stimulating Second World, returning to the first world felt surprisingly unfamiliar.
Kui Xin contemplated pushing the table in her small living room aside to clear some space and began to stretch her legs, twist her body, do push-ups, and sit-ups—basic exercises. Today she had woken up a bit late, but she planned to get up at six every day for long runs by the river behind her neighborhood.
There was a significant improvement space for physical fitness in the first world. The training couldn’t stop and needed to be gradual; in the following days, she could reduce her training load at the Investigation Bureau to one-third, then slowly increase it as she adapted.
Two hours later, after finishing her training, Kui Xin’s legs were shaking, and she was drenched in sweat.
She took a shower to massage her muscles and set out for Teacher Wang’s home at the appointed time.
Before heading out, Kui Xin checked the forum again; the discussions related to Remover 233 remained highly active.
She quickly skipped past those and viewed other threads.
One particular post was calculating the density of players from various countries.
Post 1: “The global population is approximately 7.5 billion, with Hua Country having 1.4 billion people, nearly twenty percent of the total. Just look at how many Chinese posts there are on the forum; it’s evident that there are quite a lot of people from Hua Country here. I estimate there are at least one or two thousand players from our country among the ten thousand total worldwide.”
“An interesting point is that when we entered the game, it was by invitation only. The game officials disguised it as an ordinary game, and we had to fill out forms online to apply for beta testing. Minors and those over sixty weren’t allowed to apply… This allows us to exclude a large portion of people, first eliminating minors, then those from underdeveloped and impoverished areas, especially small countries in Africa and the Middle East, which we can disregard. I guess most players are concentrated in economically developed regions.”
“Removing the population from underdeveloped areas, minors, and the elderly greatly narrows the scope. Friends, out of ten thousand players worldwide, nearly two thousand are from our country—how many from a single city? Perhaps players may never meet in real life; there’s no need to worry too much about Remover showing up, but we also cannot let down our guard completely.”
Compared to last night, the forum was much more subdued, with more serious analytical posts. A few threads were earnestly discussing the possibility of teaming up in the other world, wanting to form a reliable alliance to support each other in the Second World.
Others were analyzing the social structure and class formations within the Second World.
Some even wanted to steal the technology from the Second World to build their own first world.
The poster said: “Just think about it, the technology for mechanical prosthetics could help countless disabled people embrace new lives. Also, that information technology, holographic projection—this could bring immense change to our world.”
Replies included cautionary voices: “Yes, it could bring great change, but it will also lead to war. I never underestimate the greed and evil within human nature; if any nation acquires this technology, they will certainly use it for war. You may have brought back the technology, but do you have the ability to stop the wars?”
In addition, there were a few chaotic and dubious seeking-help posts.
“I’m on a smuggling boat, adrift for a week, and about to go septic. What’s the punishment if I get caught by the coast guard or any such department?”
“How to resolve household registration issues as an illegal immigrant?”
“I’m working as a male escort in a nightclub; will I ever have a chance to turn my life around?”
“Help! How can I earn a million in a month? I need it urgently for college!”
Every one of the help posts had someone responding earnestly to help and offer solutions, making the overall atmosphere of the forum very positive, except for the posts concerning Remover, where conspiracy theories and paranoia ran rampant.
“I need information regarding xenomorphs; the more detailed, the better. Compensation is offered for information, either through bank transfer or physical delivery. If you choose to transfer, you can do so to an anonymous account at a foreign bank; if you prefer mailing physical items, I can send you gold. You can specify the mailing location and method. No intention to probe identity, absolutely trustworthy—message me privately on the forum.”
Under this post, a player asked, “What are xenomorphs?” Many others shared the same confusion; not every player had the chance to learn about the dangerous species that the federal government had gone to great lengths to conceal from the general public.
Seeing the words “compensation” made Kui Xin’s heart stir.
Replying or messaging would expose her nickname but not her number, the problem was that Kui Xin’s nickname was 233, the same as her ID number. However, the acquisition of the number was random; it corresponded to the order of registration on the forum, and Kui Xin was the 233rd registered user, hence her number was 233.
233 had become a popular online term, and many people enjoyed using it as a nickname, which could indeed be attributed to coincidence.
She hesitated for a moment, deciding to observe for a bit longer, waiting to see if anyone with knowledge of the xenomorphs would reply to the post.
This matter should not be rushed; she was short on money, but she also wanted to preserve her life.
Kui Xin turned off her phone and took the subway downstairs.
At the entrance of the staircase, Aunt Zhang, who was playing Mahjong, glanced at Kui Xin and smiled, saying, “Ah, Xiao Kui has dressed up; you look much more ladylike, really beautiful.”
Kui Xin smiled slightly, “Good morning, Aunt Zhang. Did you win today?”
“I lost; just playing for fun.” Aunt Zhang replied cheerily.
The noisy voices and warm sunshine relaxed Kui Xin; this was the ordinary, real world.
Once on the subway, Kui Xin opened her phone to check the class group messages.
“An UP master with a million fans on a certain video website mysteriously deleted their account overnight.” Kui Xin was startled by the discussion topic among her classmates, scrolling up through the chat records with an increasingly strange expression.
The UP master focused on games and was often seen on live streams and videos, boasting a large following; their video quality seemed quite good.
The last post from the UP master before deleting the account was: “Fantastic! I’ve received an invitation letter for the beta test of ‘Crimson Soil.’ Everyone, wait for my evaluation video! I might be the only game streamer in the world to get picked for the beta test, my luck is insane, hahahahaha…”
Kui Xin: Poor kid, what a tragedy.
This was akin to completely severing their retreat; being frequently visible during live streams meant their identity information, name, and appearance had essentially been fully exposed—this truly was a bombshell start, and this unlucky fellow had likely fled overnight.
