Chapter 5: Setting Five

Setting Five: Toy Town (Part 1)

Shan Ziwei reflexively stepped back, but the other moved faster. With nowhere to retreat, Shan Ziwei did what most people do during their first kiss—he closed his eyes.

But the expected contact never came. Instead, a gentle breeze brushed his face. In an instant, it was as if he had been transported outdoors. Bright light pressed against his eyelids, painting the darkness behind them a warm amber. In the distance, he heard cheerful singing, and the air was thick with a sweet scent reminiscent of buttercream cake.

Shan Ziwei slowly, carefully opened his eyes. The world had completely transformed—he seemed to have stepped into a gigantic, colorful gift box. The ceiling was covered in starry, fresh wallpaper, the floor was a mosaic of brightly colored puzzle pieces, and the walls were made of dreamy crystal, reflecting Shan Ziwei’s silhouette in hazy outlines. He was now dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and shorts, with white hair—exactly his game avatar.

Shan Ziwei was stunned—not just because of the embarrassingly intimate moment just now, but because of the floating panels in his field of vision. Two translucent panels had appeared, one on the left and one on the right. The left panel, positioned in the upper-left corner, displayed five bars—one long and four short. The right panel was a rectangular frame. When Shan Ziwei focused his attention on them, both panels solidified and became clear.

What is this?

Shan Ziwei instinctively reached out to touch them, but his hand passed through empty air. The two panels stayed fixed in the corners of his vision, like a game interface embedded right into his eyes.

…A game interface?

Shan Ziwei studied the five bars in the upper-left corner. They did look a lot like the health bars in traditional games. The first bar was blue, labeled “MP.” The other four bars were red, each half the length of the first, and labeled with the four suits: Spade, Heart, Club, Diamond.

Shan Ziwei didn’t quite understand but felt it was probably important. He turned his attention to the other panel on the right. This one was rectangular, divided into two sections: the top labeled “System Settings,” the bottom labeled “Personal Settings.”

…Settings?

Just as Shan Ziwei finished scanning all the panels, the system explanation arrived belatedly—and he was introduced to game rules unlike anything he’d ever encountered.

[You have entered the game world of “Role-Play”—the “Chessboard.” On the Chessboard, the system will periodically give you a setting. Please role-play according to the setting. If you deviate from the setting, you will die.]

“Role-play… according to… the setting?”

Shan Ziwei asked blankly. He saw a line of text appear in the “System Settings” section of the right panel.

[Setting 1: You are afraid of black puzzle pieces. (00:00:05)]

The entire line was grayed out, with only the time in parentheses counting down.

Shan Ziwei stared blankly at the setting and the countdown timer. Five seconds passed quickly, and the moment the time in parentheses hit zero, Setting 1 lit up.

“!!!”

Shan Ziwei was dumbfounded. He saw the red bar labeled “Diamond” in the upper-left corner visibly decreasing. Though he didn’t fully understand what it meant, based on the system’s earlier explanation, this would obviously lead to death.

“What do you mean ‘I am afraid of black puzzle pieces’—what am I supposed to do?!”

The system didn’t respond. Shan Ziwei watched helplessly as the red bar continued to shrink. This game mode completely overturned his previous gaming experience. The system said to role-play according to the settings, but he had no idea what to do. Role-Play’s instructions only covered logging in and logging out; everything else was “please experience the game content firsthand.” So he’d come in naively, and now he found the newbie guide wasn’t friendly at all! Shan Ziwei thought indignantly. He couldn’t even search for information online—it was supposedly blocked. God knew why the Central Computer blocked Role-Play’s game content. To create an air of mystery? Now only individual studios had compiled internal materials, and the fat guy hadn’t sent him the Xiaoye Studio’s materials yet. He was completely in the dark.

Role-play… role-play… Did that mean he had to immerse himself in those settings?

Shan Ziwei stared at the setting on the panel: You are afraid of black puzzle pieces.

Black… puzzle pieces?

Shan Ziwei looked down sharply. The entire floor was made of puzzle pieces in different colors—and he was standing on a black one.

—If I’m afraid of black puzzle pieces, I wouldn’t dare touch them.

Shan Ziwei stepped back, moving off the black puzzle piece. At that moment, the red bar labeled “Diamond” finally stopped shrinking.

“So that’s how it works.”

Shan Ziwei let out a breath of relief and started demanding answers from the system.

“What do the red bars with the suits mean? Why did one of them just shrink? How is death determined?”

In response to his questions, the system quickly provided an answer. An arrow pointed to the upper-left panel, guiding Shan Ziwei to look at the first blue bar: [MP (Mental Power): 100/100. This value decreases when you engage in strenuous activity, use skills, equip items, self-harm, etc. Once it reaches zero, you die. Can be restored through rest.]

Shan Ziwei and his nonexistent buddy were both stunned.

Holy crap, this is basically a combination of health points, magic points, and stamina points from traditional games! Sure, this game is all about mental power, but do they have to be this brutally straightforward with the triple combination? You can’t even take a step without worrying! Using a skill is practically selling your own blood—you lose 60 to deal 40, and if the monster so much as breathes on you, you can head straight back to the respawn point—wait, does this game even have respawn points?!

Suddenly, Shan Ziwei felt something was off. He read the explanation three more times before he finally pinpointed the inconsistency.

“There’s no rule about losing MP from taking damage?” Shan Ziwei asked in confusion. “Strenuous activity, using skills, equipping items, self-harm… all the MP-draining actions are initiated by the player. Any sane player wouldn’t deliberately run out of MP, let alone harm themselves. So doesn’t that mean you can’t die?”

Shan Ziwei was right—a “sane” player wouldn’t burn through their MP. But “insane” players were another story.

Under Shan Ziwei’s gaze, the system arrow moved down to the four red bars labeled with suits: [SP (Spirit Points): 100%. When you violate a system setting or experience extreme emotions, the corresponding suit’s SP decreases. Spade corresponds to “Anger,” Heart to “Joy,” Club to “Sorrow,” Diamond to “Fear.” When any suit’s SP reaches zero, you will experience “Spirit Collapse.”]

So that’s why his bar had shrunk just now. Diamond corresponded to “Fear,” and he’d been standing on a black puzzle piece, violating the “afraid of black puzzle pieces” setting, which reduced his Diamond SP.

Shan Ziwei finally had a handle on things. He read the system explanation again and felt uneasy about a certain phrase: “What happens during Spirit Collapse?”

[You will enter an uncontrollable berserk state and consume MP until death.]

…That sounds brutal. Shan Ziwei pressed his forehead. Why did he feel a sense of tragedy—at least you get to go out with a bang, which is kind of cool in its own way?

At this point, Shan Ziwei was still too naive. Only when he actually witnessed Spirit Collapse would he understand just how utterly shameless it could be.

“In short, system settings impose restrictions on players. We have to act according to the settings.” Shan Ziwei summarized. “If we violate a setting, our SP decreases. Once it hits zero, we enter Spirit Collapse, go crazy, and burn through our MP until we kill ourselves.”

This is… so interesting!

Shan Ziwei got excited. He loved online games. Back in his days of never leaving the house, this particular sufferer had made a living writing code and playing games. Coding was purely for survival, but online games were more of a personal passion.

As if aware that Shan Ziwei had grasped the game rules, the newbie tutorial came to an end. The panels before him faded back to translucency. He blinked and noticed a new setting had appeared below Setting 1 in the “System Settings” section.

[Setting 2: You have entered Toy Town. (03:00:00)]

Unlike Setting 1, which was a character-affecting trait, Setting 2 had a clear objective—essentially, he had to reach Toy Town within three hours. Shan Ziwei looked around. Though he had plenty of time, he had no idea where Toy Town even was.

A flash of brown caught his eye. Not far away, he spotted a bulletin board. He walked over, making sure not to step on any black puzzle pieces—which now looked like landmines to him.

Shan Ziwei stood before the sign, which simply read: [← Toy Town ahead]

…So friendly. Truly worthy of a newbie tutorial.

Beneath the sign was a treasure chest. Shan Ziwei opened it to find only a stack of playing cards at the bottom.

That’s right—playing cards. Square, rectangular—they looked exactly like something you’d use to play Poker. Shan Ziwei picked up the top card. Its back bore the Role-Play double-faced logo, and the front showed…

[You have obtained a Setting Card.]

At that moment, the right panel automatically solidified, and the “Personal Settings” section beneath “System Settings” unlocked, revealing ten empty slots.

[On the Chessboard, in addition to the settings given by the system, you can also use Setting Cards to add your own personal settings.]

Shan Ziwei looked back at the card in his hand—or rather, the Setting Card.

[2 Reconnaissance
Type: Assassination Skill
Effect: View the basic information of one target within range 3.
Description: I know your height; I know your weight; I know your underwear color… ah, I didn’t say anything.]

…Does the programmer know you’re writing descriptions this flamboyant?

Shan Ziwei stared at the description with a “== ” look. He slumped his shoulders and picked up all the Setting Cards from the chest.

[2 Mirror Image
Type: Summoning Skill
Effect: Summon a mirror image with half the basic stats of the caster. Duration: 5 minutes.
Description: I’ll make another me do my homework, so I can watch TV. I thought silently, watching myself watch TV.]

[2 Heavy Strike
Type: Melee Skill
Effect: Deal a critical hit to one target within range 1.
Description: Duan~ duang~ duang~]

[2 Longsword
Type: One-handed Weapon
Effect: Attack +2
Description: An ordinary sword. Mass-produced.]

[2 Shirt (Red)
Type: Upper-body Equipment
Effect: Defense +1
Description: An ordinary shirt. Mass-produced.]

…

Shan Ziwei’s hands started trembling as he held the Setting Cards. Were these descriptions written by two different people? Could the one who wrote the skill descriptions please lend some of their wild imagination to the one who wrote the equipment descriptions? That “Mirror Image” description was terrifying if you thought about it too hard!

There were seven Setting Cards in total, easily fitting into the ten slots. Shan Ziwei used all of them. The seven cards dissolved into blue light particles that invaded his settings panel. Soon, a row of text appeared in the Personal Settings section:

[Setting 1: You can close one eye to reconnoiter another’s information.]

[Setting 2: You can use a mirror to create a mirror image.]

[Setting 3: You can swing a weapon for a heavy strike.]

[Setting 4: You can use a longsword for normal attacks.]

[Setting 5: You are wearing a red shirt.]

[Setting 6: You are wearing a black vest.]

[Setting 7: You are wearing black jeans.]

Shan Ziwei tugged at the red shirt that had materialized on him. So Setting Cards were essentially the game’s equipment and skill system. After merging HP, MP, and stamina into Mental Power, they’d also merged equipment and skills into Setting Cards—just how thrifty was this game’s designer? (:3」∠) The ten slots meant if you wanted more skills, you had to have fewer equipment pieces, and if you wanted more equipment, you had to have fewer skills.

Shan Ziwei could already envision the agonizing trade-offs he’d face with piles of Setting Cards. Gripping the longsword, he imagined the game development team standing before him and swung.

“Clang!”

The split bulletin board fell to the ground. Shan Ziwei looked at the longsword in his hand—when he used it, his hand moved as if guided by instinct, correcting itself without him having to think about the mechanics. It seemed that in the game, players would instinctively slash with a sword and shoot with a bow, since most players were ordinary people, not professional swordsmen or archers.

“Not bad.”

After testing normal attacks, Shan Ziwei started experimenting with skills. Every skill in Role-Play required a preparatory motion before use. For example, when using Reconnaissance, he would automatically close one eye and keep it closed until he stopped using the skill. Shan Ziwei figured these preparatory motions were essentially physical incantations—equivalent to the casting bars in traditional MMOs. If the motion wasn’t completed, the skill wouldn’t activate.

Shan Ziwei quickly latched onto one insight: maybe he could interrupt an enemy’s skill by interfering with their preparatory motion.

He’d test that out in actual combat later. Shan Ziwei continued studying his skills.

“Reconnaissance” was a sustained skill. As long as Shan Ziwei didn’t manually interrupt it, the skill would keep running, consuming MP by the second. Notably, once a Setting Card—like the [2 Vest (Black)]—was materialized, only Reconnaissance could reveal its information.

[Black Vest
Attribute: 2
Type: Upper-body Equipment
Effect: Each pocket can hold up to 1 unit × 5 of objects.
Description: Don’t think I won’t recognize you just because you’re wearing a vest.]

“Heavy Strike” was similar to normal attacks—both involved swinging the weapon—but with flashier special effects. Shan Ziwei watched his MP drain and couldn’t help thinking about that “duang~ duang~ duang~” description—so all his MP was going into the special effects, was it…

Shan Ziwei silently complained and turned to the last skill—Mirror Image.

Compared to the previous two, Mirror Image was a bit special. Not only did it have a preparatory motion, but it also had a restriction that resembled a “usage condition.”

[Setting 2: You can use a mirror to create a mirror image. (Talent bonus: summon duration +1)]

Use a mirror? Shan Ziwei scanned his surroundings and found three small mirrors at the bottom of the chest where the Setting Cards had been stacked. He picked one up and activated Mirror Image.

His hand was guided to draw an obscure symbol on the mirror’s surface, then flipped it and smashed it on the ground.

“Shatter—”

The broken shards rapidly coalesced the moment they burst apart, forming a white-haired young man in a black vest and red shirt—standing before Shan Ziwei like the other side of a mirror. A summon panel appeared in the lower-left corner of his vision, showing the mirror image’s MP and SP, along with its remaining duration.

“They’re exactly the same.” Shan Ziwei studied his mirror image. “I wonder about the stats…”

The mirror image’s MP, attack power, and defense were all half of his own. It had no skills and would almost never refuse any command—run when told, jump when told. Obedient as could be.

Shan Ziwei looked at that face so identical to his own and took a deep breath.

“Time to settle this once and for all.” He commanded the image: “Hold out your hand.”

The white-haired mirror image immediately stretched out its hand like a loyal, oversized dog.

“This game is supposed to be all-ages, so there’s no way they’d shamelessly include… that… right?”

Role-Play was a full-immersion VR game that projected the player’s brainwaves into the system. The player essentially used their mental power to animate a character within the model provided by the system. If the system didn’t have a template for a certain function—say, bodily functions—then although the player might feel the urge (indicating their real body needed to go to the bathroom), their game character would never actually perform such actions.

“Gotta trust the dev team’s integrity…”

Shan Ziwei muttered to psych himself up and placed his hand on the mirror image’s.

“Grip my hand.”