Chapter 65: “Are there only so many people in this game?”
After Yang Erci finished speaking, Shen Ti, who was leaning on An Wujiu’s shoulder, sat up and looked at him.
He seemed quite indifferent, showing no signs of panic.
“Well then, let’s make finding this person the third goal,” Shen Ti said to An Wujiu.
An Wujiu lowered his eyes, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Sure,” he replied softly.
Yang Erci appeared stern, but she was quite adept at life. Seeing that none of them seemed eager to eat the meal prepared by Zhong Yirou, she took matters into her own hands and quickly whipped up some vegetable omelets and toast.
“Eat whatever you like.”
“It smells delicious.”
“The omelet I fried is also very fragrant.”
“So the black stuff was fried eggs.”
Everyone sat down at the table, bantering and joking. This empty house hadn’t been so lively in a long time, making Yang Erci feel somewhat surreal. Since she had ventured into the Holy Altar alone, she hadn’t felt the companionship of others for a long time.
After swallowing his toast, An Wujiu said to Wu You, “In the last game, you were shocked. At that time, I didn’t really want you to continue entering the Holy Altar.”
Wu You had actually noticed it long ago: “But that’s not something we can decide.”
Yang Erci stirred her coffee spoon and said, “There are even more people in the Holy Altar than I imagined. Within less than a day of going online, the login IPs already covered the entire globe.”
“Why would so many people come in? It’s such a dangerous place,” Zhong Yirou couldn’t quite understand.
“It’s not just for the money,” Yang Erci said. “Many people who lack nothing and are born with a silver spoon in their mouths have entered, just for the thrill.”
An Wujiu had been curious all along. “What kind of place can operate a game like the Holy Altar? If it were an ordinary virtual reality game, that would be one thing, but this one involves life and death.”
“It’s made by several of the largest multinational technology companies in the world. There’s no bigger organization now, and even governments can’t control them,” Zhong Yirou said, putting down the towel she had wrapped around her wet hair and shaking it out. “Speaking of which, there’s also Sha Wen inside. They provide the most important neural interface technology, and the game pods are also made by them. They have game factories all over the world.”
An Wujiu still found it strange: “But with such a massive project, even if it’s a multinational corporation with enough wealth to rival nations, without profits to extract, why operate these? Are they doing charity?”
It was indeed suspicious.
“Who knows?” Zhong Yirou shrugged. “Maybe there are aspects of it where they can profit, the evils of capitalism.”
“At first, I also found it strange, not just because of the lack of profits.” Yang Erci lightly tapped the inner wall of her coffee cup with her fingers, her eyes narrowing slightly as if lost in memories. “When the beta version of the Holy Altar went online, I was still in Sha Wen. The intensity of the Holy Altar’s publicity at that time made me feel it was excessive. A virtual reality game with such an overwhelming promotion, even within the company, there were testing connections everywhere.”
Shen Ti propped his cheek on his hand, his other hand idly drawing circles on the table. “There were even media outlets specifically reporting on the survival status of the Holy Altar; it’s not simple.”
An Wujiu thought about it and still felt something was off. “I lost my memory and don’t remember what happened back then. However, wasn’t there no mention of a logout method during the initial testing of the Holy Altar? If everyone knew they couldn’t leave once they entered, there shouldn’t have been so many logins, right?”
“That’s a good question,” Zhong Yirou said, leaning back in her chair. “During the initial testing, you could log out freely, and you didn’t need to enter the game pods. Of course, the gaming experience wasn’t as realistic. But when the official version was released, things changed. By the time I entered the first warm-up match, I noticed that the game panel no longer had a logout button.”
Yang Erci nodded. “Real monsters appear in the instances, and many players feel the danger and want to force quit. But the game considers it as rule-breaking behavior. If not death, then they enter the punishment queue.”
“Didn’t the development team of the Holy Altar give an explanation?” An Wujiu asked.
“They did,” Yang Erci said, standing up to pour herself some water. “They said it was a bug that occurred during a game update, asking players to be patient. But later, they claimed that the Holy Altar underwent self-learning and iteration, going beyond their control. In exchange, the Holy Altar’s score pool also had issues, uncontrollably skyrocketing, resulting in rewards for players far exceeding what they used to be.”
An Wujiu understood. “So, under this temptation, some people are still willing to continue playing.”
“Yes.” Yang Erci smiled. “Even if they only have 24 hours to squander, it’s more attractive than remaining impoverished.”
There were still seven hours left before returning to the Holy Altar game pods. Everyone filled their stomachs and rested in Yang Erci’s apartment. Although An Wujiu had slept well that night, he inexplicably felt weary. So he leaned back on the sofa by the French window and rested for half an hour.
It was a short time, but it felt like he had many, many dreams.
This dream was somewhat similar to the previous ones. In the dream, he was still young, standing outside the door, peering through the crack. But this time, instead of seeing his mother, he saw his father.
His father sat at the desk in the room, flipping through a heavy and ancient book.
He didn’t know what his father saw, but he heard him continuously chanting strange phrases with an odd tone, his throat emitting peculiar gurgling sounds as if repeating unknown incantations. He seemed like a scientist locking himself away in a room or a fervent follower of an unspeakable religion.
And when the young An Wujiu in the dream called out to his father from outside the door, the man in the room turned his head. His eyes were filled with blackness, staring directly at him, as if capable of drawing everything into them.
Suddenly, countless tentacles, like wriggling serpent tails, surged out of the open book on the table, slimy and wet, crawling down the table surface and violently attacking An Wujiu.
The An Wujiu outside the door seemed to have all his strength drained, powerless to resist, tightly ensnared by these thick and slippery tentacles, almost suffocating.
Shen Ti leaned on the edge of the table, staring at An Wujiu, who was admiring the view from the sofa. Unexpectedly, An Wujiu fell asleep while gazing. Shen Ti had initially thought of going over to tease him, but he hesitated, fearing he might wake him up. So Shen Ti quietly observed for a while.
Whether it was due to the cold or something else, An Wujiu’s hand kept trembling, which made Shen Ti uneasy.
Finally, he quietly approached and took off his own windbreaker, gently draping it over An Wujiu.
But perhaps he wasn’t careful enough. When he pulled the corner of the jacket, it stirred An Wujiu, and as Shen Ti crouched down, An Wujiu grabbed his arm.
Shen Ti’s heart skipped a beat.
But An Wujiu didn’t wake up; instead, he frowned in his sleep, mumbling as if having a nightmare.
Unable to hear clearly, Shen Ti leaned in closer.
“Help…”
Should he shake him awake?
The dream seemed too painful.
An Wujiu felt like he was being strangled by these tentacles, losing his last breath, unable to think, unable to even call for help.
No one came to save him.
Just as he thought he was about to die, An Wujiu suddenly opened his eyes, jolting awake from the nightmare.
There were no tentacles or serpent tails; only Shen Ti’s face was visible first.
And he still held onto Shen Ti’s arm in his sleep.
“What’s wrong?” Shen Ti brushed his forehead naturally and said, “You’re sweating a lot.”
“It’s nothing…” An Wujiu gasped, calming down before speaking, “I always have strange dreams, dreaming of unnatural phenomena that are very scary.”
He noticed he was covered with Shen Ti’s clothes, which alleviated much of his fear.
“You’re probably just tired, so you had a nightmare.” Shen Ti pulled him up, “Did you have one last night too?”
An Wujiu shook his head and said, “No, I slept well last night.”
It was probably the best sleep he has had in recent times.
“Exactly!” Shen Ti patted his own shoulder, teasingly saying, “My arm is still numb, and nobody’s giving me a massage.”
Wu You had been walking toward them with a glass of water, but upon hearing Shen Ti’s words, he took a sip and spat it back into the glass, then turned and walked away.
The 24 hours of leisure passed quickly. Compared to the battles and struggles in the game, the real world, even in chaos, was precious.
The sunset seemed like spilled blood, dyeing the sky of the city. Once again, they returned to the game factory, preparing to immerse themselves in a new battlefield.
“Oh, right,” Wu You remembered something, “Wujiu-ge, you still haven’t used your reward card from the last warm-up match.”
With his reminder, An Wujiu remembered he had unredeemed rewards. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.”
“Let’s use it once we’re inside.” Wu You bent down and slipped into the gaming pod on his right, waiting for the glass door to close. “Maybe you’ll get some rare items.”
Shen Ti was on An Wujiu’s left. “Get an eject card and eject this little rascal from the Holy Altar.”
“Get yourself ejected!”
“You two are so noisy.” Zhong Yirou rolled her eyes and adjusted her hair, staring at the glass cover gradually closing. “Please, let this time give me a game where I can actually make some money…”
The nutrient tubes automatically emerged from the pod, piercing into their arms and necks.
A familiar voice echoed within the gaming pod.
“Database interface connected.”
“Loading survivor data.”
“Loading in progress—”
“Environment configuration successful, variable initialization—”
“Survivors, welcome back.”
Inside the pod, all they could see was pure white, with nothing else in sight.
“Loading warm-up game configuration.”
In the weightless state, the pure white space around suddenly began to flicker, colorful data grids streaming in, stacking up to form gradually realistic images.
Finally, a dazzling white light flashed, and An Wujiu slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the new game environment.
At this moment, he found himself initialized on a circular sofa, surrounding a low table. The space was small but luxuriously decorated. Besides him, there were five other people. When he saw Wu You’s face, An Wujiu felt a moment of relief.
At least he could look after him.
But the next moment, his heart sank.
Scanning around, An Wujiu didn’t see Shen Ti’s figure.
Did they not get matched together this time?
Despite being mentally prepared enough for this, he still harbored a glimmer of hope that upon waking up again, he would see Shen Ti’s face.
Except for Wu You, everyone else was new.
“Welcome, everyone. You are all survivors from the last round of the game, representing courage and wisdom among humanity.”
Such words made An Wujiu feel uncomfortable.
Their courage and wisdom were forced out by this game.
“Next, I will announce the new warm-up game—”
“Wait a moment,” Wu You spoke up. “Are there only these few people for this game?”
The holy voice answered him.
“Of course not.”
“This round of warm-up games differs from the previous ones. You are not the only players in this round.”
An Wujiu realized something.
There was still a chance.
“Due to the large number of players, all survivors participating in this round of the game are randomly divided into nine groups, each with six people, totaling fifty-four participants. You will compete within your groups in the warm-up matches, and the ultimate winners will have the opportunity to vote.”
“Vote?” A red-haired Western man sitting diagonally in front of An Wujiu questioned, “Isn’t it supposed to be a reward?”
“The rewards this time aren’t so straightforward,” the holy voice responded.
“The nine winners will have the opportunity to vote through a majority system, and each of you will have a small advantage, which you will learn about after your victory.”
“Now, let me announce the game for this round of warm-up matches.”
Five dice appeared before them.
An Wujiu frowned.
Were they going to gamble?
“Liar’s Dice.”
Chapter 65: “Are there only so many people in this game?”
After Yang Erci finished speaking, Shen Ti, who was leaning on An Wujiu’s shoulder, sat up and looked at him.
He seemed quite indifferent, showing no signs of panic.
“Well then, let’s make finding this person the third goal,” Shen Ti said to An Wujiu.
An Wujiu lowered his eyes, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Sure,” he replied softly.
Yang Erci appeared stern, but she was quite adept at life. Seeing that none of them seemed eager to eat the meal prepared by Zhong Yirou, she took matters into her own hands and quickly whipped up some vegetable omelets and toast.
“Eat whatever you like.”
“It smells delicious.”
“The omelet I fried is also very fragrant.”
“So the black stuff was fried eggs.”
Everyone sat down at the table, bantering and joking. This empty house hadn’t been so lively in a long time, making Yang Erci feel somewhat surreal. Since she had ventured into the Holy Altar alone, she hadn’t felt the companionship of others for a long time.
After swallowing his toast, An Wujiu said to Wu You, “In the last game, you were shocked. At that time, I didn’t really want you to continue entering the Holy Altar.”
Wu You had actually noticed it long ago: “But that’s not something we can decide.”
Yang Erci stirred her coffee spoon and said, “There are even more people in the Holy Altar than I imagined. Within less than a day of going online, the login IPs already covered the entire globe.”
“Why would so many people come in? It’s such a dangerous place,” Zhong Yirou couldn’t quite understand.
“It’s not just for the money,” Yang Erci said. “Many people who lack nothing and are born with a silver spoon in their mouths have entered, just for the thrill.”
An Wujiu had been curious all along. “What kind of place can operate a game like the Holy Altar? If it were an ordinary virtual reality game, that would be one thing, but this one involves life and death.”
“It’s made by several of the largest multinational technology companies in the world. There’s no bigger organization now, and even governments can’t control them,” Zhong Yirou said, putting down the towel she had wrapped around her wet hair and shaking it out. “Speaking of which, there’s also Sha Wen inside. They provide the most important neural interface technology, and the game pods are also made by them. They have game factories all over the world.”
An Wujiu still found it strange: “But with such a massive project, even if it’s a multinational corporation with enough wealth to rival nations, without profits to extract, why operate these? Are they doing charity?”
It was indeed suspicious.
“Who knows?” Zhong Yirou shrugged. “Maybe there are aspects of it where they can profit, the evils of capitalism.”
“At first, I also found it strange, not just because of the lack of profits.” Yang Erci lightly tapped the inner wall of her coffee cup with her fingers, her eyes narrowing slightly as if lost in memories. “When the beta version of the Holy Altar went online, I was still in Sha Wen. The intensity of the Holy Altar’s publicity at that time made me feel it was excessive. A virtual reality game with such an overwhelming promotion, even within the company, there were testing connections everywhere.”
Shen Ti propped his cheek on his hand, his other hand idly drawing circles on the table. “There were even media outlets specifically reporting on the survival status of the Holy Altar; it’s not simple.”
An Wujiu thought about it and still felt something was off. “I lost my memory and don’t remember what happened back then. However, wasn’t there no mention of a logout method during the initial testing of the Holy Altar? If everyone knew they couldn’t leave once they entered, there shouldn’t have been so many logins, right?”
“That’s a good question,” Zhong Yirou said, leaning back in her chair. “During the initial testing, you could log out freely, and you didn’t need to enter the game pods. Of course, the gaming experience wasn’t as realistic. But when the official version was released, things changed. By the time I entered the first warm-up match, I noticed that the game panel no longer had a logout button.”
Yang Erci nodded. “Real monsters appear in the instances, and many players feel the danger and want to force quit. But the game considers it as rule-breaking behavior. If not death, then they enter the punishment queue.”
“Didn’t the development team of the Holy Altar give an explanation?” An Wujiu asked.
“They did,” Yang Erci said, standing up to pour herself some water. “They said it was a bug that occurred during a game update, asking players to be patient. But later, they claimed that the Holy Altar underwent self-learning and iteration, going beyond their control. In exchange, the Holy Altar’s score pool also had issues, uncontrollably skyrocketing, resulting in rewards for players far exceeding what they used to be.”
An Wujiu understood. “So, under this temptation, some people are still willing to continue playing.”
“Yes.” Yang Erci smiled. “Even if they only have 24 hours to squander, it’s more attractive than remaining impoverished.”
There were still seven hours left before returning to the Holy Altar game pods. Everyone filled their stomachs and rested in Yang Erci’s apartment. Although An Wujiu had slept well that night, he inexplicably felt weary. So he leaned back on the sofa by the French window and rested for half an hour.
It was a short time, but it felt like he had many, many dreams.
This dream was somewhat similar to the previous ones. In the dream, he was still young, standing outside the door, peering through the crack. But this time, instead of seeing his mother, he saw his father.
His father sat at the desk in the room, flipping through a heavy and ancient book.
He didn’t know what his father saw, but he heard him continuously chanting strange phrases with an odd tone, his throat emitting peculiar gurgling sounds as if repeating unknown incantations. He seemed like a scientist locking himself away in a room or a fervent follower of an unspeakable religion.
And when the young An Wujiu in the dream called out to his father from outside the door, the man in the room turned his head. His eyes were filled with blackness, staring directly at him, as if capable of drawing everything into them.
Suddenly, countless tentacles, like wriggling serpent tails, surged out of the open book on the table, slimy and wet, crawling down the table surface and violently attacking An Wujiu.
The An Wujiu outside the door seemed to have all his strength drained, powerless to resist, tightly ensnared by these thick and slippery tentacles, almost suffocating.
Shen Ti leaned on the edge of the table, staring at An Wujiu, who was admiring the view from the sofa. Unexpectedly, An Wujiu fell asleep while gazing. Shen Ti had initially thought of going over to tease him, but he hesitated, fearing he might wake him up. So Shen Ti quietly observed for a while.
Whether it was due to the cold or something else, An Wujiu’s hand kept trembling, which made Shen Ti uneasy.
Finally, he quietly approached and took off his own windbreaker, gently draping it over An Wujiu.
But perhaps he wasn’t careful enough. When he pulled the corner of the jacket, it stirred An Wujiu, and as Shen Ti crouched down, An Wujiu grabbed his arm.
Shen Ti’s heart skipped a beat.
But An Wujiu didn’t wake up; instead, he frowned in his sleep, mumbling as if having a nightmare.
Unable to hear clearly, Shen Ti leaned in closer.
“Help…”
Should he shake him awake?
The dream seemed too painful.
An Wujiu felt like he was being strangled by these tentacles, losing his last breath, unable to think, unable to even call for help.
No one came to save him.
Just as he thought he was about to die, An Wujiu suddenly opened his eyes, jolting awake from the nightmare.
There were no tentacles or serpent tails; only Shen Ti’s face was visible first.
And he still held onto Shen Ti’s arm in his sleep.
“What’s wrong?” Shen Ti brushed his forehead naturally and said, “You’re sweating a lot.”
“It’s nothing…” An Wujiu gasped, calming down before speaking, “I always have strange dreams, dreaming of unnatural phenomena that are very scary.”
He noticed he was covered with Shen Ti’s clothes, which alleviated much of his fear.
“You’re probably just tired, so you had a nightmare.” Shen Ti pulled him up, “Did you have one last night too?”
An Wujiu shook his head and said, “No, I slept well last night.”
It was probably the best sleep he has had in recent times.
“Exactly!” Shen Ti patted his own shoulder, teasingly saying, “My arm is still numb, and nobody’s giving me a massage.”
Wu You had been walking toward them with a glass of water, but upon hearing Shen Ti’s words, he took a sip and spat it back into the glass, then turned and walked away.
The 24 hours of leisure passed quickly. Compared to the battles and struggles in the game, the real world, even in chaos, was precious.
The sunset seemed like spilled blood, dyeing the sky of the city. Once again, they returned to the game factory, preparing to immerse themselves in a new battlefield.
“Oh, right,” Wu You remembered something, “Wujiu-ge, you still haven’t used your reward card from the last warm-up match.”
With his reminder, An Wujiu remembered he had unredeemed rewards. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.”
“Let’s use it once we’re inside.” Wu You bent down and slipped into the gaming pod on his right, waiting for the glass door to close. “Maybe you’ll get some rare items.”
Shen Ti was on An Wujiu’s left. “Get an eject card and eject this little rascal from the Holy Altar.”
“Get yourself ejected!”
“You two are so noisy.” Zhong Yirou rolled her eyes and adjusted her hair, staring at the glass cover gradually closing. “Please, let this time give me a game where I can actually make some money…”
The nutrient tubes automatically emerged from the pod, piercing into their arms and necks.
A familiar voice echoed within the gaming pod.
“Database interface connected.”
“Loading survivor data.”
“Loading in progress—”
“Environment configuration successful, variable initialization—”
“Survivors, welcome back.”
Inside the pod, all they could see was pure white, with nothing else in sight.
“Loading warm-up game configuration.”
In the weightless state, the pure white space around suddenly began to flicker, colorful data grids streaming in, stacking up to form gradually realistic images.
Finally, a dazzling white light flashed, and An Wujiu slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the new game environment.
At this moment, he found himself initialized on a circular sofa, surrounding a low table. The space was small but luxuriously decorated. Besides him, there were five other people. When he saw Wu You’s face, An Wujiu felt a moment of relief.
At least he could look after him.
But the next moment, his heart sank.
Scanning around, An Wujiu didn’t see Shen Ti’s figure.
Did they not get matched together this time?
Despite being mentally prepared enough for this, he still harbored a glimmer of hope that upon waking up again, he would see Shen Ti’s face.
Except for Wu You, everyone else was new.
“Welcome, everyone. You are all survivors from the last round of the game, representing courage and wisdom among humanity.”
Such words made An Wujiu feel uncomfortable.
Their courage and wisdom were forced out by this game.
“Next, I will announce the new warm-up game—”
“Wait a moment,” Wu You spoke up. “Are there only these few people for this game?”
The holy voice answered him.
“Of course not.”
“This round of warm-up games differs from the previous ones. You are not the only players in this round.”
An Wujiu realized something.
There was still a chance.
“Due to the large number of players, all survivors participating in this round of the game are randomly divided into nine groups, each with six people, totaling fifty-four participants. You will compete within your groups in the warm-up matches, and the ultimate winners will have the opportunity to vote.”
“Vote?” A red-haired Western man sitting diagonally in front of An Wujiu questioned, “Isn’t it supposed to be a reward?”
“The rewards this time aren’t so straightforward,” the holy voice responded.
“The nine winners will have the opportunity to vote through a majority system, and each of you will have a small advantage, which you will learn about after your victory.”
“Now, let me announce the game for this round of warm-up matches.”
Five dice appeared before them.
An Wujiu frowned.
Were they going to gamble?
“Liar’s Dice.”
