Rising to Power by Defeating the Boss in the Cyber Game

Wéi Xīn was awakened by a notification from the class group chat sent by Bān Qún. Still blurry from just waking up, she reached under her pillow and squinted at the screen to identify the information displayed. "The first batch of closed beta players list for 'Crimson Earth' has been announced!" "Is it true?" "Official website posted this three minutes ago. [Image]" "Damn! Who's this lucky?" "Only ten thousand for the first batch of closed beta? It's a global selection, and the number of slots released by the officials is too few!" Wéi Xīn slowly reacted after a while. She recalled vaguely filling out a game closed beta application under the urging of her classmates. Ten months ago, she casually filled out a questionnaire on the official website and clicked submit. Back then, "Crimson Earth" had just released its trailer, promoting itself as "a groundbreaking holographic game, a second world that truly exists." The trailer instantly captured global gamers' attention, with the game's selling points being its open-world exploration and diverse career paths. Moreover, it was a cyberpunk game combined with supernatural elements, where players could choose paths ranging from becoming full-body cybernetic limb-enhanced humans to awakening various strange abilities. It was based on reality yet superior to reality, blending an unmatched sense of realism in the virtual world as if it were connected to the real world. What truly attracted Wéi Xīn, however, were the last two sentences of the game's introduction. "Light always breeds darkness, and beneath the vibrant facade of the city lies decadence and decay." "Compared to wealth and power, survival and death are the eternal themes of that world." Since the introduction put it like this... perhaps "Crimson Earth" added a dark core beyond the cyberpunk style and supernatural abilities? Wéi Xīn clicked on the screenshot in the class group chat to take a look. Indeed, the game's official invitation emails would be sent to players' mailboxes. The first batch of closed beta players was indeed only ten thousand people, and the official date for the closed beta was tomorrow. It's worth noting that when "Crimson Earth" opened reservations just a day ago, global reservations surpassed tens of millions. Now, after a few months of anticipation, the number of reservations had already exceeded a hundred million. To select ten thousand lucky individuals from these hundreds of millions of players to join the closed beta, the chances of being chosen were extremely slim. Although she didn't hold much hope, Wéi Xīn still opened her mailbox to check. "You have an unread email." The prompt that popped up made Wéi Xīn stunned. Her heartbeat quickened, and she bounced off the bed all at once. "Congratulations on qualifying for the closed beta of the game 'Crimson Earth.'" The email subject was prominently in red. Wéi Xīn's expression was dazed. She repeatedly checked the sender, compared it with the official announced email account, and incredulously confirmed it over and over again. When she finally confirmed that the email was indeed sent by the official, the first thought that came to her mind was—Jackpot! I hit the jackpot!! Selling this closed beta qualification could definitely fetch a lot of money! Elated poor soul! Wéi Xīn had been an unlucky person. Her father's investment failure led to embezzlement and escape. After her mother remarried, she received a fixed monthly allowance of 800 yuan. It was enough for meals, but buying study materials and clothes was tight. Even the second-hand smart phone in her hand was purchased with money earned from working at a milk tea shop. Wéi Xīn lived alone in the old house left by her grandparents, studying diligently from dawn to dusk, like a vigorous w**d, stubbornly surviving until now. This summer vacation, Wéi Xīn would be going to university. Her grades were good, and she got into a good university, but tuition and living expenses were worrying. If she could sell the closed beta qualification for "Crimson Earth," she wouldn't have to worry about living expenses for a long time. However, the next sentence in the email dashed Wéi Xīn's hopes. "The closed beta qualification for 'Crimson Earth' cannot be traded or gifted. The closed beta invitation code is tied to the player's registration information and cannot be changed. This closed beta does not incur fees and will not wipe progress." Wéi Xīn's face fell with gloom. Her path to making money was brutally cut off. She didn't actually care about the game because she couldn't even afford a decent holographic headset to play. When she filled out the game survey, it was just for fun, mostly with the mentality of "what if closed beta qualifications could be bought and sold, that would be a big win." Wéi Xīn pondered left and right, sadly realizing that even though she had become one of the ten thousand lucky players worldwide, she was still a poor and unlucky soul. Winning the closed beta qualification but unable to experience the game was like having a mountain of gold and silver that she couldn't spend, which was distressing. She sighed and scrolled down the screen to continue reading. The email was very short and contained no substantial content. As Wéi Xīn scrolled further down, she was pleasantly surprised to find a sentence: "If the player agrees to join the game, the game company will provide specially crafted game equipment to the player." Wéi Xīn: Yay! Her worries were resolved. She could play the game! Wéi Xīn's mood fluctuated like a roller coaster. The email ended with a link to a player survey. Curious, Wéi Xīn clicked on the link. Question 1: If you were given a chance to welcome a new beginning, would you accept it? Was this even a question? Wéi Xīn chose the answer representing "definitely" without hesitation. A new beginning meant starting over, and her current life was already quite bad. How much worse could it get? Question 2: Do you believe in deities in the world? Wéi Xīn chose "no." She was a staunch atheist. Question 3: Do you want to obtain superpowers? "Yes!" She wanted superpowers, and being an atheist didn't conflict with that! "You have completed the survey." "Game-related documents and notes have been sent to your email. Please check." "An anonymous forum for closed beta players has been opened for you. Please save the URL and register promptly." Wéi Xīn carefully read the new messages, following the text to first save the URL of the anonymous player forum. Certain content of closed beta games is confidential and not to be leaked. The existence of closed beta players is to help developers catch bugs and fix game vulnerabilities. The developers of "Crimson Earth" provided a closed beta player forum, perhaps to provide a place for closed beta players to communicate. With ten thousand people qualifying for the closed beta, the content in the forum should be quite limited, and she would be one of the first pioneers in the forum. Wéi Xīn did not immediately register on the closed beta forum but instead opened her mailbox to check the newly sent game files. These types of files generally required players to sign and confirm, akin to contracts where breaching them could incur legal responsibilities. She clicked on the new email and froze after reading the first few lines. "Six pieces of advice for 'Crimson Earth' players. You can choose to follow or violate them, but the consequences of violating them will be borne solely by you." "First, treat the game world as if it were the real world." "Second, do not disclose your player identity to anyone." "Third, do not divulge game content to anyone." "Fourth, life only happens once, death cannot be revived." "Fifth, if you choose to start the game, you can only follow two paths: 'game completion' or 'character death.'" "Sixth, everything comes with a price." These... are just these few sentences? Is this game disclaimer too hasty? Wéi Xīn was puzzled. It's just a game, and game developers are writing such atmosphere-creating statements in the notes, which is boring. The so-called "real world" is just a marketing technique for the game, and everyone knows that world is fake. Wéi Xīn clicked on the game file. This file required a signature. She read through it carefully from start to finish, and even after reading it twice, she didn't find any confidentiality clause in the file. However, the "six pieces of advice for players" at the beginning clearly stated not to disclose game content. It's too strange. Isn't this self-contradictory? If they don't want players to leak, why not include a confidentiality agreement in the legally binding document? Those pieces of advice have no binding force at all. At the end of the document was an electronic signature box. Wéi Xīn wrote her name in the signature box. As soon as she finished writing her name, a small page popped up with bold red letters on it—"Do you confirm joining the game? You only have one opportunity to exit." Only one opportunity to exit? Wéi Xīn didn't care much and clicked "confirm" without hesitation. The page changed, and a new prompt appeared. "Contract completed." "Welcome to your new beginning, Wéi Xīn." ... Why is this game so eerie? Wéi Xīn stared at the computer screen in confusion. She pondered for a while, then opened the closed beta anonymous forum and clicked " register." Here is the English translation of the passage you provided: The registration process was unbelievably simple; all it took was entering an invitation code for the closed beta. Wéi Xīn casually typed the number "233" in the nickname field. All her gaming nicknames were "233" because she wasn't very good at coming up with names, and it was easy to end up with duplicates, so Wéi Xīn stuck with "233" until the end. "Once confirmed, the nickname cannot be changed." Wéi Xīn didn't think much of it and clicked "Confirm" as usual. A new message popped up. "You have become the 233rd registered player on the forum." Wéi Xīn: "......Ah?" What a coincidence. Could 233 be her lucky number? After a brief loading period, Wéi Xīn saw the forum page. The forum's background had a cold, metallic sheen, and the layout was exceptionally simple, with only posting, replying, and private messaging functions. However, there was a conspicuous blood-red Arabic numeral "10000" in the top right corner. Beside "10000," a small line of text read: "Surviving players." For some reason, when Wéi Xīn saw the words "surviving players," her heart skipped a beat, and she felt a palpitation. There were dozens of posts marked with "new" on the forum. The forum had just opened, and players had just registered, so the posts were all freshly made. Wéi Xīn refreshed the page, and another ten or so posts popped up, with titles in English, Japanese, Russian, and Chinese. Players from all over the world had gathered on this small forum. Wéi Xīn could clumsily translate the general meaning of English titles, but she couldn't translate any other languages. She roughly scanned through the existing Chinese posts and found titles like "Let's start our adventure," "Any players from the Magic City? Let's meet up," "My name must be in the top hundred"... These were low-content posts. She hesitated for a moment, clicked on "New Post," and typed in the title: "Does anyone else find 'Six Tips for Players' a bit strange?" After finishing the title, Wéi Xīn's mouse hovered over the "Post" button for a long time without moving. She recalled the line, "Please treat the game world as the real world," and the subsequent "You only live once; death is irreversible" advice. Then she looked at the b****y number "10000" at the top of the forum and felt like something had struck her deep in her mind. Suddenly, she felt a shiver of unease, yet she didn't know where this eerie feeling came from. This feeling came out of the blue, almost absurd. Wéi Xīn rubbed her forehead. How could the plot from a fantasy novel, where "entering a holographic game is actually crossing into the real world," happen in reality? Despite trying to reassure herself, Wéi Xīn deleted the post content on impulse and decided to lurk and observe instead. She kept refreshing the forum, reading through each Chinese post one by one. A few minutes later, a new post caught her attention. "The game company hasn't mentioned anything about how to mail game equipment. Has anyone received a holographic helmet or installation package?" In the next instant after reading this post, Wéi Xīn's door was knocked. She instinctively stood up, walked to the door, and looked through the peephole, but saw no one. She waited for a few minutes, slowly opened the door, and noticed a small black box lying quietly on the ground. The box had the words "Crimson Soil" written on it. Wéi Xīn opened the box and found a silver metal card inside, intricately designed with a mechanical hand formed by interlacing lines. "Is this... a commemorative game card?" Wéi Xīn flipped the card over and then shivered. She remembered that she had never filled out any address information on the game's official website, so how did this card get delivered? Wéi Xīn's heart tightened, and she went downstairs in her slippers. She lived in an old community where facilities were outdated, but there were surveillance cameras nearby. A few elderly people were playing mahjong at the doorway, and the neighbors all knew each other. Wéi Xīn asked, "Auntie Zhang! Did the delivery guy come just now?" "No, Xiao Li usually delivers in the afternoon around three o'clock, right?" Auntie Zhang pushed the mahjong tiles forward with a smile, "Oh, I won!" "Did anyone come upstairs just now?" Wéi Xīn asked again. "No, nobody did." Auntie Zhang continued to focus on her mahjong game without turning her head. Even though it was a hot July day, Wéi Xīn felt a cold chill down her back. No one came upstairs, so who knocked on her door? She never filled out any address information, so why was the game card from "Crimson Soil" accurately delivered to her doorstep? She had just signed the game agreement, and the card was delivered within five minutes... Wéi Xīn looked down at the silver metal card in her hand and turned it over. The back of the card was engraved with a few words. —"Depriver·Wéi Xīn. Number: 233." 233 was the gaming nickname she had just entered, and also her forum registration sequence. Wéi Xīn's scalp tingled for a moment. The situation seemed to be rushing towards a bizarre direction.