Chapter 3: Setting Three

Setting Three: Times change, games update.

At this point, Zhao Qing smiled. A brilliant idea had come to him.

“Little Fatty, take him to do the test.”

“Sure thing!”

The fat guy bounced up with agility that completely belied his size. He rolled over, retrieved a disk, and rolled back just as smoothly.

“Take the test here.” He guided Shan Ziwei to sit on the sofa, then pressed a few keys on the disk. Threads of light gathered on its surface, forming holographic questions. “It’s very simple—just choose the option that fits you.”

Shan Ziwei carefully took the disk, making sure not to have any physical contact with the fat guy. His eyes scanned the questions—and then he was dumbfounded.

[Question 1: I tend to play it safe and generally avoid doing things I’m not sure about.

a) Very true, b) Somewhat true, c) Neutral, d) Somewhat false, e) Very false

Question 2: When something upsets me, I get furious and have to speak my mind before I feel better.

a) Very true, b) Somewhat true, c) Neutral, d) Somewhat false, e) Very false

…]

Shan Ziwei looked up slowly. “…This is a psychological test, isn’t it?”

The fat guy nodded. “That’s right, it’s a psychological test.”

“…” Normally, wouldn’t you test effective actions per minute? Why a p-s-y-c-h-o-l-o-g-i-c-a-l test?

Perhaps the sheer “WTF” in Shan Ziwei’s eyes was too obvious, because the fat guy scratched his head and asked, “You don’t know about this test? That can’t be right. This studio was set up specifically for that game—aren’t you here for it?”

Shan Ziwei realized he really did need to reflect. He still didn’t even know what game the Xiaoye Studio was built around.

“What game… is it?”

“‘Role-Play.'”

“What’s its name?”

“It’s called ‘Role-Play,'” the fat guy said, staring at him. “Wait, you’ve seriously never heard of ‘Role-Play’?”

Shan Ziwei quickly shook his head. He’d just made a blunder—he thought the fat guy meant “role-playing” as a game genre, not that “Role-Play” was the actual name of the game. And it was the massively famous, globally popular online game. According to the latest Federation statistics, six out of every ten people on Earth were players of Role-Play. Its fame and influence were so vast that even Shan Ziwei, who’d been holed up in the welfare home, had heard of it.

The reason Role-Play was so famous was simple: it was developed by the Research Institute.

As the Federation’s highest scientific research base, the Institute held an unshakable position in everyone’s mind. It even commanded 15% of the Central Computer’s computing resources—it could be said that eighty percent of the technology on the market today originated from the Institute. Chairman Sid had once joked that if someone dropped a particle bomb at the Institute, the entire Federation’s technology would be set back a hundred years. Such a cutting-edge research base obviously wouldn’t develop a game purely for entertainment out of boredom. In fact, Role-Play’s primary function wasn’t entertainment—it was training mental power.

Just as the Grand Panorama had envisioned, this was a transitional period from mechanical civilization to spiritual civilization. Humanity placed great importance on the training and use of mental power. The Institute had thus created Role-Play—a bunch of research fanatics naturally had no aesthetic sensibilities, so they simply and bluntly named the game after its genre. Upon its release, Role-Play drew widespread attention from all sectors. Everyone was astonished by the Institute’s grand gesture—those science freaks had actually used 5% of their computing resources to maintain Role-Play’s operation. In other words, Role-Play was entirely monitored and computed by the Central Computer; its only server was the Central Computer itself.

One could say Role-Play was an unprecedented MMORPG.

While at the welfare home, Shan Ziwei had been busy preparing for his general knowledge exam, so he’d only ever heard the name Role-Play and knew nothing about its content. Now that he found out he had to take a psychological test before playing, he felt the game was rather intriguing.

There weren’t many questions—just sixty in total. Shan Ziwei breezed through them. The disk flickered and instantly produced a result: a large spade symbol floated above the disk, with a slightly smaller club nestled beside it, while hearts and diamonds orbited them like tiny stars around the moon. Below all the suits, a line of text read: Choleric-Melancholic.

“Results are out?” Zhao Qing shuffled over in his slippers and glanced at the disk. “Oh, a Spade-Club profile, huh…”

He curled his lips into a smile. “Little Fatty, call in a Gaia node and get him registered. Our team finally has an MT.”

The fat guy hesitated. He leaned close to Zhao Qing and whispered, “Boss, are you sure we want him as MT? He doesn’t seem to have much experience, and he’s not a Diamond profile…”

Zhao Qing cut him off with a slap on the back. “You don’t trust my judgment—are you saying you don’t trust the boss’s either?”

At the mention of Ye Ye, the fat guy shut his mouth and scurried off.

Zhao Qing looked at the clueless Shan Ziwei and was laughing inside. He understood everything the fat guy had said. In Role-Play, Diamond was an essential attribute for an MT. Shan Ziwei was Spade-Club, which meant he wasn’t suited for the tanking path. But that was perfect—a second-rate MT who lost in the tournament would give Li Ye no one to blame. After all, she was the one who brought him in. If it made them turn against each other, even better.

The fat guy soon returned with a jellyfish-like node. Zhao Qing pulled the node’s mechanical tentacle and plugged it into his black ring, rapidly inputting information on the glowing screen that appeared.

Countless light particles spilled from the node, forming terms and conditions before Shan Ziwei. Meanwhile, the floating node extended a glowing tendril and offered it to him as if waiting.

“Read the contract. If it looks good, sign it.”

Shan Ziwei read through the contract once. He paused, then read it again.

“This contract…”

“What? This is already the best deal you’ll get—your salary is even higher than mine.”

“The contract’s fine, it’s just… just…” Too good.

In summary, the contract before Shan Ziwei stated that he would be the studio’s sole core MT, representing Xiaoye Studio in the Role-Play Renewal Tournament in four months. As the core MT, Shan Ziwei would have access to all the studio’s resources without having to take on any other work or tasks—he just needed to level up his character before the tournament.

For a game worker with no reputation or connections, this contract was far too generous. Shan Ziwei felt an inexplicable unease. He was fairly confident in his ability to handle the MT role, so where did that unease come from…

“Oh, you’re already discussing the contract?”

Just then, Ye Ye returned from her call. Shan Ziwei immediately felt like he’d found his savior and pushed the contract over to her. “Take a look.”

“Wow, Fanzi is an MT.” Ye Ye flipped through the contract. “I think it looks great—just change this bit, and this bit, and it’ll be fine.”

And so, with Ye Ye’s revisions, Shan Ziwei’s benefits got even better. Under his awestruck gaze, Ye Ye smiled sweetly.

“You’re a huge help, Fanzi. Zhao Qing has been telling me we absolutely need an MT, and I was really worried.” Ye Ye’s smile faded, and she thanked him with utmost sincerity. “Thank you for coming to help me.”

“…”

Shan Ziwei silently took the node’s data cable and plugged it into his black ring.

He should be the one thanking her. If not for Ye Ye, he never would have found such a good job.

Shan Ziwei swore to himself that he would win the Renewal Tournament no matter what, and fulfill Ye Ye’s wish.

After linking to Shan Ziwei’s quantum terminal, the contract dissolved into light particles that flowed into the node and both parties’ terminals. With that, Shan Ziwei was officially registered as a member of the Xiaoye Studio. Under Gaia’s oversight, he would enjoy the benefits while fulfilling his contractual obligations. The person happiest in the room wasn’t Shan Ziwei, wasn’t Ye Ye—it was Zhao Qing. He could already envision the utter defeat in the tournament.

“Fanzi, welcome to Xiaoye Studio.”

Ye Ye started clapping, and the rest of the studio followed suit. The fat guy clapped the hardest.

“From today on, we’re teammates. You can call me Little Fatty—though I don’t mind if you call me Lord Fatty either.” Before Shan Ziwei could respond, the fat guy launched into introductions like they were old friends. “Right now, including you, our core team has four people: I’m the healer, Boss over there is the controller.” He pointed at the sleeping girl. “That cutie is called Mad Cat—she’s DPS. And there’s, there’s… who else…?”

“Hello. I’m also DPS on this team. Wuying.”

Shan Ziwei’s heart nearly stopped from the sudden appearance of the young man. In truth, he hadn’t appeared suddenly—he’d just been completely unnoticeable until he spoke. It was hard to describe how someone could have so little presence. Shan Ziwei had always known there were three men in the room, but he had zero impression of the third one.

The fat guy was clearly startled too; his voice trembled a little. “R-right, this elusive guy is the fourth core member of our team.”

At that point, Ye Ye checked the time and said to Shan Ziwei, “Fanzi, I have some things to take care of, so I’ll head off now. The car will be here soon to take you home.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be attending a confidential meeting soon, so I might be out of contact for a while. If you have any issues, communicate with each other.” Ye Ye winked at everyone. “No bullying Fanzi, okay?”

Zhao Qing smirked, Wuying nodded silently, and the fat guy replied loudly, “Of course, Boss! I’ve got his back!”

After Ye Ye left, the fat guy immediately rolled over to look after Shan Ziwei as promised.

“Fanzi—can I call you that? Boss said you’re not staying here, so let’s add each other’s contacts. I’ll send you all the Role-Play materials later.” Before Shan Ziwei could say yes, the fat guy suddenly remembered something, slapped his forehead, and rattled on: “Man, my memory’s terrible. Hang on—I’ll grab you a Role-Play game kit.”

The fat guy scurried off and came back holding a box. Shan Ziwei took it carefully. The lid was transparent, clearly showing the contents: a few data cables and… an earphone?

It was a pair of over-ear headphones. The curved ear cups bore the Role-Play logo: a face split in half down the middle—the left side a solid, expressionless face; the right side a phantom silhouette that changed expressions depending on the viewing angle. Shan Ziwei tilted it and found four expressions: joy, anger, sorrow, and fear.

Did Role-Play have particularly high audio requirements? Why the dedicated headphones? Normally, wouldn’t you get a keyboard and mouse?

Seeing Shan Ziwei staring at the box, the fat guy assumed he didn’t know how to use it and enthusiastically explained.

“Don’t let the looks fool you—it’s basically the same as the old gaming helmets. Just put it on, plug in the data cable to your quantum terminal, and you’re good to go!” He pointed at the “sleeping” girl. “Just like Mad Cat—she’s in the game right now!”

…Wait. You’re telling me this is a… gaming… helmet? And she’s… in the game?

Shan Ziwei stared at the box in his hands in horror. A very, very bad thought was rising in his mind.

“Can I… ask a question?”

The fat guy puffed out his chest. “Ask away!”

“Is Role-Play… not a keyboard-based MMORPG?”

The fat guy stared at him like he’d seen a ghost. “All MMOs these days are full-immersion! Keyboard-based MMOs went extinct fifty years ago!”

“…So Role-Play is that kind of full-immersion VR game that simulates all senses?”

“Of course!” The fat guy answered proudly. “Role-Play was developed by the Research Institute! With the Central Computer’s support, it perfectly recreates all the sensory experiences of reality!”

“…”

Shan Ziwei, male, 233 years old, from today onward, must face the bleak reality of being an MT while afflicted with his condition.