Chapter 47: Setting Forty-Seven

Setting Forty-Seven: How Old Are You

Shan Ziwei opened his eyes. His pupils contracted sharply as if suddenly plunged into light, then dilated as if about to fall into darkness. Reaching a certain limit, he didn’t even remove the game device—he rolled over and vomited by the nutrition pod.

“Ugh… cough, cough…”

Fortunately, he’d only been on nutrient solution that “day”; there was nothing solid in his stomach. After retching some water, he lay limp by the pod’s edge, barely alive.

This wasn’t his first time being kicked out of the game, but it was the first time he truly felt the pain of being “kicked.” 21st-century keyboard games would just disconnect his client—31st-century full-immersion games disconnected his entire being.

If he had to describe it, it was like being kicked off a cloud at 6,000 meters, accelerating at 9.78 m/s² straight into the ground—the body being a shattered mess.

He lifted his eyelids weakly. Now he understood why the Federation banned players from connecting to Role-Play for more than 12 hours.

Even knowing Role-Play was more than just a game, he hadn’t expected training that intangible “mental power” to put such a strain on the body. In-game he hadn’t felt a thing—but once his consciousness and spirit returned to his body, he found his physical self barely holding together, like a piece of paper about to rip apart, with a heart pounding so hard it might break through.

“…Mm…”

Enduring the aches all over, he felt strangely clear-headed—his body was on the verge of collapse, yet his mind was lucid, racing at unprecedented speed like a train about to fly apart. He could almost “see” his thoughts weaving through his brain like threads, cutting through memories. He thought about Role-Play, about the Chessboard he’d just finished—and broke out in a cold sweat.

One minute ago, he’d been cursing the banana peel mechanism.

One minute later, he realized with horror how absurd that thinking was.

There would be no banana peel mechanism, no causal law correction, no time paradoxes. None of that.

Because this was just a game.

Yes, he was playing an online game called “Role-Play”—not actually traveling through time and space. None of it touched real causality. The result could only come from logical calculation. The game created illusions that led players to believe they were talking to their “past” and “future” selves, hinting and guiding them to repeat the same actions in familiar scenes—creating a logical “Möbius loop.”

He felt dizzy.

Was it really just that? To achieve such perfect effect, shouldn’t there be one more crucial factor?

—The calculator’s familiarity with him.

—

“This block is C-VII, Federal Citizen Registry… this is D-I, Federal Traffic Control… next is E-zone…”

Deep underground near the Moho boundary, two observers walked one after another through a transparent tunnel. John ambled ahead, introducing the waterfall-like data processing streams outside the tunnel, while Ivan followed nervously taking notes—the picture of a good student absorbing his lesson.

After a turn, John spotted the blue data processing stream ahead and paused subtly.

“…This block—the Research Institute.”

Ivan blinked, then grew excited: “This is the Institute’s processing stream?” He stared unblinkingly at the rushing “waterfall,” managing to read a snippet aloud: “…Time… chaotic sequences… de-randomization… fractal dimension ≈ 3.2164… All incomprehensible high-IQ stuff, as expected. I heard the Institute’s current director is about my age—his paper ‘The Way Forward in Evolution: Mental Power’ is simply—”

“Alright, rookie—mind your position.” John cut off Ivan’s reverie, emphasizing meaningfully: “You’re Federal. An observer.”

Ivan fell silent. Since joining the Federation, he’d sensed a subtle attitude among Federal staff toward the Institute—not quite hostile, but certainly unfriendly. It made him uncomfortable, having once admired the Institute.

John abandoned his usual sluggish pace, leading Ivan quickly through the area. They entered a circular magnetic elevator at the tunnel’s end. John entered a few characters on the panel, and the elevator shot upward, passing through layers of light before hovering in an endless silver space.

They stepped out onto a suspended platform, the light from below tinting their faces blue.

“And today, you’ll observe this block—perfect for a rookie: the ‘buffer pool.'”

John tapped the nearly transparent floor, gesturing for Ivan to look down. The blue glow came from the data below. Though John called it a “pool,” it was actually an endless “sea of fields”—blue data shoals stretching to the horizon, glowing faintly.

“The Central Computer sends pending data here first. Once the buffer fills, it reads and processes it. You’ll have plenty of time to observe.”

John yawned, patted Ivan’s shoulder, and ambled back into the magnetic elevator.

“Good luck, rookie. Today’s assignment: fill ten pages in your Observation Log.”

The elevator plunged downward like a streak of light. Ivan sat on the platform, slowly opening his logbook. Still feeling down, he found himself staring blankly at the buffer pool below.

If the processing streams were waterfalls, the buffer pool was the still lake above them. Here, data was relatively static—because the pool was so vast. Only when it filled did the data “move”: useful data sank as white light into the processing streams; useless data dissipated in place, and the pool began a new cycle.

So Ivan watched the data ebb and flow like tides—out, in, out, in, out, in, in, in… wait?

His eyes nearly popped out. Head pressed comically against the transparent panel, he stared at the suddenly never-ebbing “seawater,” his mind blank.

What—was happening?!

On closer look, the data wasn’t static—new data was simply flooding in too fast. The moment the buffer refreshed one batch, another filled it. As the influx accelerated, the refresh rate quickened until it merged into a solid sheet of white light.

It was like it was going crazy, Ivan thought fearfully. He couldn’t tell if it was him or the Central Computer—what project could generate such immeasurable data?

Then he witnessed a scene he’d never forget: across the vast, sky-like buffer pool, white lights flickered like countless stars. Random, chaotic flashes—yet somehow forming an eerie, beautiful pattern: two tilted, rotationally symmetric galaxies—or a butterfly spreading its wings.

So beautiful—and so terrifying.

…

“Hey—HEY! Ivan Hebrew!”

“Ah! Ah… huh?”

The sudden shout startled him so badly he fell off his chair. Dazed, he looked up to see John standing over him with a teasing grin.

“Sleep well, buddy?”

He jolted to his feet.

“I… I fell asleep?”

He instinctively looked at the buffer pool—calm as a windless sea under a clear sky, the blue data ebbing and flowing normally.

“Snoring so loud you were blowing bubbles.” John clicked his tongue, flipping open Ivan’s logbook. “Turns out you’ve got talent too. I told you to write ten pages, and you hand me a doodle as your assignment.”

Doodle?

Ivan looked at the logbook in John’s hand—and saw a black spiral, shaped like a butterfly wing, staring back at him.

—

[Good morning, viewers! Today is February 10th, Monday. There are 19 days until the Federal Chairman nomination. Welcome to the morning news—today’s main stories include…]

Shan Ziwei downed a glass of warm milk, licking the foam from his lips. Hearing the date, he glanced at the wall calendar—confirming it had been exactly one week since his last game session.

Per Role-Play’s rules, his overtime had earned him a one-week ban. He hadn’t wasted the week—the fat guy had finally sent over the game materials. He spent five days reading through them all. After finishing, his only thought was:

He’d been played.

Role-Play’s official online resources were nearly nonexistent, but players didn’t stop there. They organized offline meetups and activities, sharing experiences—and gradually compiled some patterns and rules. It was like martial arts manuals: ordinary players could get the basic versions; those with connections could get more advanced ones; while the core, deeper secrets—like the Nine Yang Manual or Marrow Cleansing Classic—were all held by the major “sects,” the game studios, and never leaked.

Xiaoye Studio was only a month old. Though not as established as the older studios, they at least had double the information of ordinary players. Reading through it, Shan Ziwei felt his first two weeks of play had been a complete mess—almost too embarrassing to revisit.

The biggest “gotcha” was Role-Play’s “suit” system. Before, he only knew the four suits—Spade, Heart, Club, Diamond—corresponding to four emotions and four player attributes. The system had told him from the start that “your suit determines your attack type; Spade skills get a corresponding bonus,” but he hadn’t grasped how important that was—it could determine a player’s entire growth path.

According to Xiaoye Studio’s and other players’ summaries: Spade skills are mostly offensive, Heart skills are mostly healing, Club skills are mostly control, and Diamond skills are mostly defensive.

In short, as a Spade-attribute player, Shan Ziwei was best suited for DPS—not tanking.

That aligned with his own thinking—yet Zhao Qing had vetoed it. Suspicion arose: as the studio’s manager, Zhao Qing must have known about his attribute mismatch. Even if Ye Ye had signed him on, why put him at the team’s core as an MT?

He tried contacting Ye Ye again—still unreachable. He wasn’t stupid; he knew something was wrong. But until he could reach Ye Ye, as a newcomer, he shouldn’t challenge Zhao Qing’s authority. If he could resolve it with Ye Ye before the tournament, great. If not…

He crumpled the empty milk carton and tossed it in the trash.

—He’d get strong enough that Zhao Qing’s schemes couldn’t touch him.

Breakfast done, he lay in the long-unused nutrition pod. Armed with the studio’s materials, he felt a new confidence toward Role-Play—and even looked forward to the next session.

[Quantum terminal connected. Beginning data retrieval.]

The system’s sweet voice filtered through his ears.

[Welcome to “Role-Play.”]

The moment he logged in, he braced himself—ready for his Toy Box’s inevitable reprimand. But the expected bite never came. He looked around in confusion and spotted Little Gaia on a bookshelf—a new addition to the personal space. The silver-haired, black-robed doll sat in the middle of the shelf, holding a large, thick hardcover book, the mask on its head laughing with delight.

That book… looked familiar?

He walked over, his gaze fixed on the open pages—elegant script filling the yellowed paper:

[… “Now, the groom may kiss the bride,” the princess said, bending to kiss the witch.

The witch could no longer hold back his desire. He embraced the princess and kissed her red lips fiercely. Their tongues intertwined, their breaths mingled…]

Snap.

That was the sound of a string breaking in his mind.

Snap.

Little Gaia blinked its black-sclera, white-iris eyes. The wind from the slamming book blew back its silver bangs. It looked up at Shan Ziwei, shame and fury blazing in his expression. Its small face was expressionless—very proper, very serious.

But the mask’s expression could only be described as “wanting more.”

Sensing its owner’s emotional peak, Little Gaia raised its hands to cover its head—as if to hide the betraying mask—but it didn’t help much. So it decisively spread its arms, flopped forward, and expertly hugged Shan Ziwei’s calf—becoming an innocent leg ornament.

“…”

Shan Ziwei silently shifted his gaze from his Toy Box’s cowlick to the hardcover book in its hands. He inhaled, exhaled—then, with the resolve of someone about to leap off a cliff, opened it.

[The witch living in the fairy tale kingdom finally became queen on this day.

While preparing herself, a maid stumbled in and saw the witch’s true form. To prevent exposure, the witch used brambles to put the entire castle to sleep…]

So it was the storybook from Story Mode. But unlike before, it no longer had only a beginning and an end—the middle was filled in with his actions in the fairy tale kingdom.

[…The witch finally realized that he was the only one the princess needed. He rushed back to Princess Rose, kissed her, and lifted the curse—becoming hers.

Due to the witch’s actions, the beautiful princess found her true love and her home.]

—Indeed, from start to finish—the necrophilia, the vampirism, the kisses—were all described in full, supplemented with psychological and emotional embellishment. How utterly mortifying.

Why did the game have to wound players’ tender hearts like this? Wasn’t it enough to let it pass? He held the book with trembling hands. Look at this—the twisted “love-hate” premise, the melodramatic “epiphany and true love” plot—what third-rate hack had written this perverse lesbian farce?! And the worst part—every single actor was male!!!

He flung the book away in fury—but it flew back to its shelf on its own. He stared at the empty space on the shelf, stomach-churning at the thought that every Story Mode Chessboard would generate a book here. Another reason not to play Story Mode.

But he noticed an upside: from the complete story, he’d apparently cleared the Chessboard. His exit had been so abrupt he’d never been sure. Now it seemed he’d made it.

Now came the exciting part—rewards.

He lifted Little Gaia off his leg. “Settlement report.”

Little Gaia obediently spat out a parchment scroll—Story Mode’s report looked no different from Adventure Mode’s. Unrolling it, no blue light spilled out—not enough experience for a level-up.

[Settlement Report
Chessboard: Topsy-Turvy Fairy Tales
Clear Rating: A
Experience Gained: 379/380
Chessboard Clear Rewards: Setting Card ×3]

Topsy-Turvy Fairy Tales—the meaning of “topsy-turvy” was obvious. The name alone made him remember the shameful past. One point short of leveling was maddening, but the rewards were good.

[2 Pointed Hat
Type: Head Equipment
Effect: Magic +2
Description: Pointed hat, black cloak, broom—the romance of being a witch.]

[2 Black Cat
Type: Summoning Skill
Effect: Summon a black cat for 10 minutes.
Description: Stupid Earthlings—since you’re so sincere, I’ll graciously make you my litter-box keeper, meow~]

[3 Magic Broom
Type: Two-handed Weapon
Effect: Magic +1, Attack +1, provides limited flight capability.
Description: I want to fly—higher—fly—higher—ow!]

Little Gaia floated a speech bubble, tilting its head as Shan Ziwei slapped his forehead. The white-haired youth slumped, palm to forehead, blocking out the mental image of a little man screeching an earworm. The descriptions were as insane as ever. Probably because the last Chessboard involved playing a witch, all three cards were witch-related.

Reading the studio’s materials, he could now see more “insights” in Setting Cards: first, suit and number—suit indicated offensive, defensive, healing, or control tendencies; number indicated the card’s level—higher meant more powerful. Of the three, the [3 Magic Broom] was the best.

Suit and number could be learned through play—he’d vaguely guessed that before. But the studio’s materials went further, with the most valuable insight being “synergy effects.”

In Role-Play, highly related Setting Cards used together would merge into one. For example, using “[10 Golden Helmet],” “[10 Golden Top],” “[10 Golden Bottom],” “[10 Golden Gauntlets],” and “[10 Golden Greaves]” wouldn’t show five separate settings—just one: “You wear a golden armor set, blessed by the Golden God, immune to all ranged attacks.”

In other words, five cards occupied one slot and activated a set bonus. Which cards could synergize depended on the player’s imagination; sometimes the descriptions hinted at it. For instance, if he got a “Black Cloak” card, along with his “Pointed Hat” and “Magic Broom,” they might combine into a witch set.

…Not that he was thrilled about it. Witch? Whoever wanted it could have it!

He handed the parchment back to Little Gaia. As always, it was double-sided. This time, remembering past tragedies, he resisted flipping it over. Little Gaia watched the parchment like a returned love letter—then opened its mouth and swallowed it whole.

He patted its head and took inventory: “Chess box, golden arrows ×2, white book, Relationship Setting Cards ×2, Setting Cards ×3, standard SP potions ×12, MP recovery ×3, miscellaneous chess pieces… hey, more space.”

He remembered feeding Little Gaia some chess pieces before entering the Topsy-Turvy Chessboard—it must have leveled up.

“Fifteen item slots.” He asked Little Gaia: “Any other upgrades?”

It nodded, hopped down, and pulled the huge shop out of its mouth—thump—landing before him.

Not the first time, but still shocked by the anti-physics display. He carried Little Gaia inside. The shop finally had more than just potions—he even saw a Setting Card. Rushing over excitedly, he read it—and had cold water poured on him.

[A Possessiveness
Type: Passive Relationship
Effect: When someone close to you is harmed by him, restore 10% Diamond SP.
Description: I am yours. Only yours.]

Shan Ziwei wanted to turn and walk out—but he had to buy it. In Role-Play, Relationship Setting Cards were the only way to restore Spirit Points. According to the materials, Toy Boxes couldn’t generate them—they were special, only purchasable or findable in-game. The guide recommended buying any Relationship Setting Card that appeared in the shop, since they were rare consumables.

The upgraded shop also added consumables like bullets, arrows, and batteries. He bought some batteries—now he could use the Tracking Marker Gun and Multi-Function Panel from the Slaughter Hospital.

Ready, he checked the little wolf doll from Sha Polang. She’d sent many messages over the week, decreasing in frequency—the latest was a day ago, as if she thought he’d quit. He quickly replied with his situation. Seeing she wasn’t online, he decided to play a round solo.

He walked toward the only open window—the one at 4 o’clock—muttering: “Not Story Mode, not Story Mode…”

This time, the universe answered his prayers.

[This Chessboard is in Adventure Mode. Enter?]

Without hesitation: “Yes!”

Soft light bloomed from the window, filtering through his eyes. It was so warm that when it faded, he couldn’t help shivering.

Cold and damp.

That was the first impression. The grey sky looked ready to rain; everything seemed drained of color, oppressed—almost dying.

He felt lightheaded—not just from the weather, but from the crowd. In previous Chessboards, he’d seen at most three players at the start. Now there were at least five in front of him—all girls.

He instinctively stepped back—almost bumping into someone behind him.

“!”

His excellent dodging instincts kicked in. He pivoted 360 degrees on his left foot, narrowly avoiding the person, and started to apologize: “Sor—”

His voice caught in his throat.

In his contracting pupils, a figure so familiar it stole his breath appeared. Black hair, black eyes, black clothes—the handsome youth stood against the gloomy backdrop like the darkest stroke in an ink painting, immediately commanding everyone’s attention.

Shan Ziwei stared at Host—the game hadn’t even started, and he already wanted to log out.

—Why does it always have to be you!!!