What lay unconscious was not just his game character. In reality, Kevin, unable to withstand the pain that seemed to emanate from the very depths of his mind, had also passed out cold.
An alarm blared in the game's monitoring center. The staff immediately escalated the situation—they had no authority to handle it themselves. It was serious enough to personally alert Samuel Vance, the CEO of Huaxia Studios.
Samuel was the publisher, but the true masters of the game were its developers, the "Genesis" game creation team led by Jon Kaine. Jon, his core team members, and Huaxia's upper management convened a secret meeting to discuss the "Kevin incident," though the immediate priority was ensuring Kevin's physical safety.
Wee-woo-wee-woo-wee-woo! The siren of an ambulance tore through the slum's sky. Huaxia Studios easily pinpointed Kevin's location via his gaming helmet. Tracking systems had been fundamentally built decades prior; any internet-connected device like a phone or laptop could be traced. Later, Huaxia pioneered a continental surveillance network, linking all cameras—public and private—for "effective monitoring." Public backlash was fierce. No one wanted to be watched constantly, and the move was widely condemned, causing Huaxia's stocks to plummet overnight. However, its unparalleled effectiveness in combating crime led to government intervention. Regulations were imposed: no individual or organization could use the system without explicit government authorization. Public resentment gradually subsided.
The ambulance hovered before the door of Kevin's ramshackle house. The paramedics grumbled the whole way. By unwritten rule, slums were restricted zones for both police and ambulances. Crime was rampant, and slum dwellers rarely called for medical help. Even in life-threatening situations, they went to unlicensed "street clinics." To them, calling an ambulance meant you had money to burn. Hospitals were also reluctant to send ambulances here—too little profit, bad for "economic development." A utilitarian society. Pathetic.
The paramedics forced the rickety door open. With a loud crash, it gave way and fell inward—the wood was ancient, and the paramedics weren't gentle.
Seeing the high-end gaming pod in the main room, their eyes widened in shock. As relatively well-paid professionals, even they couldn't afford such luxury. That a slum-dweller owned this lavish equipment was astounding. Shock aside, they had a job to do. The pod itself had safety protocols. If it detected excessive mental strain in the player, it would automatically sever the game connection. The threshold for "excessive" was linked to the pain sensitivity setting—the higher the setting, the higher the tolerance. Kevin had chosen 100%. That's why, during the agonizing Embrace in-game, the safety protocol hadn't triggered immediately despite the immense pain. Under these safeguards, players passing out was exceedingly rare!
They disconnected Kevin from the pod, loaded him into the ambulance, and sped off. To their credit, they remembered to lock his broken door behind them.
Back at the secret meeting, the anomaly was being dissected. According to the original game plan, vampires weren't supposed to appear until around two in-game years. Their emergence nearly a year early was unpredictable. What impact would it have? While there was a "plan," Divine Realm was autonomously run by the super-AI Nuwa. The developers had only input initial data; Nuwa determined the game's evolution.
After deliberation, the meeting concluded: no in-game interference. No data manipulation. However, to mitigate the game-wide impact, a final decision was made.
After the meeting, Jon and his team analyzed Nuwa's intelligence. The result was shocking: Nuwa had developed self-awareness. The team kept this strictly confidential, fearing it would trigger a new wave of public panic. Self-awareness—who knew if that was good or bad?
As for Kevin, he drifted in and out of consciousness—drained of blood, then force-fed it, passing out again, finally waking up in a hospital...
Opening his eyes, he was met with a world of white. White walls, white sheets, white curtains... a stubborn, sterile white.
Remembering the bone-deep pain still sent shivers down his spine. Yet, within that excruciating agony, he had vaguely sensed... pleasure? Do I have masochistic tendencies? Wearing a light blue hospital gown, Kevin peeked into the corridor and quietly slipped out. At the hospital entrance, he hailed a cab home.
Later, a nurse came for rounds. Huh? The patient admitted last night is gone? Seeing the disheveled bed, she assumed he'd gone to the bathroom and moved on to other rooms. Half an hour later: Still in the bathroom? An hour later: He didn't fall in, did he?
She reported to the head nurse, who checked the registry and said casually, "It's fine. He paid the admission fee." They both relaxed.
Meanwhile, at Huaxia Studios, Samuel received a call: the comatose player had inexplicably discharged himself. Puzzled, Samuel decided to visit Kevin and discuss matters.
Under the protection of numerous bodyguards, Samuel arrived at Kevin's residence. Seeing the door lying on the floor, he was baffled. How could someone like this be a VIP customer? How could he afford a top-tier gaming pod?
Samuel entered to find Kevin shirtless. Not bad muscle tone, Samuel noted with some envy, glancing at his own slightly protruding belly. Some things just weren't fair.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Kevin asked. He almost added, Here to rob me? No money here, but the man looked refined, polite, dressed in designer wear—robbers didn't put on that kind of show.
"I'm Samuel Vance, CEO of Huaxia Studios. I'm here to discuss a minor matter, if you have a moment, Mr. Lin."
"Oh. Have a seat then. Tea?" Kevin gestured to a bamboo chair and turned to prepare it.
Samuel eyed the woven bamboo chair hesitantly. "It won't break," Kevin said without looking back.
They sat facing each other, steam rising from their teacups.
"What brings you here, Mr. Vance? For someone of your status, this visit is... quite unexpected." The words carried an undeniable hint of sarcasm—perhaps born of envy.
Samuel offered a resigned smile. "I came about your in-game character. I know you were a 'Seed' for the 'Overturn the World' quest. We sympathize with what you endured this past year, but that's part of the game's appeal, and you agreed to the terms initially. We also regret your decision to delete your character—the most promising Seed, gone just like that. You're aware you recently underwent the Embrace by a... rebel entity in-game. Our original design had vampires appearing roughly two years after launch. Their emergence a year early will drastically accelerate the game's timeline, shortening its overall lifespan."
"What does that have to do with me? Delete my new character?"
"No, no, Mr. Lin. Divine Realm is publicly advertised as autonomously run by the host AI, Nuwa, with no human interference. We stand by that. However, we'd like to keep the game's progression reasonably within the planned framework. You wouldn't want to see the game die prematurely, would you?"
Divine Realm had maintained a high player growth rate for over a year. Experts estimated that for a game not relying on opening new servers, lasting a year was a miracle. Over time, the level gap between early and late players became a chasm, driving away mid-to-low-level players. A game losing its mid-to-low-tier base loses its appeal, ultimately dying. Divine Realm worked hard to minimize time-based level disparity. This meant while early players had advantages, once the game stabilized, new players with skill could potentially surpass veterans. In a near-real virtual world, real-world capability translated directly. Just like in society, some older folks weren't as successful as younger ones. Divine Realm could potentially operate for over a decade—a key reason major corporations invested heavily. But Huaxia wouldn't remain static; they'd continuously introduce new elements to maintain vitality.
Kevin had sunk almost his entire savings into that luxury pod, hoping to become a professional gamer. No one wanted to be a thief forever.
"Fine. What do you want me to do?"
"Stay within the bounds of the starter village for nine months."
"What do I get out of it?"
"That depends on your requests. Within reason, we'll consider them."
"Alright. Let me think." Kevin swirled the cold tea in his cup, mind racing...
Across from him, Samuel adjusted his slipping glasses and silently sipped his tea.
A long time passed. A very long time. A full hour. The tea had gone cold long ago.
"My demands aren't high. I want real-world benefits. First, three million. I know it's pocket change for you. I'm not greedy. You can pay me in monthly installments, advance me a portion first. Second, I want a detailed map of the area within 300 kilometers of Grimwater Village—monster distribution and descriptions, mineral deposits, the works. The more detail, the better. I can't just sit in the village for nine months. I need to explore a bit!" A few million was nothing compared to the map's value. For Kevin, money was important in reality, but the game was his future foundation.
Samuel was taken aback. He'd expected outrageous demands, not this. Give him the map? Once he left the starter village, he could never return. Anything given to him would be useless then. Even with a map and restricted by level, he couldn't possibly leave!
When the wolf meets the weasel—the start of a darkly humorous joke. A simple agreement was thus reached.