Translator: Pal.Vi
Chapter 40: Assault Team
“I become the second master of a corpse, allowing me to use their skills from when they were alive. Except for soul skills, every other skill is fully accessible,” Xia Bai explained.
He might look a bit absent-minded, but his brain was always working, filtering out external distractions and focusing solely on areas of his interest. He’d thought about why soul skills couldn’t be fully used.
“I feel that body-based skills can indeed be fully utilized.” Although he hadn’t used the earthworm arm himself, he had a sense that, if he wanted, he could break through the hospital’s rooftop.
“As for soul skills, they may be incomplete, weakened, or unusable. Soul skills should be tied to a person’s soul. Humans have three hun and seven po. After death, the hun returns to the heavens, leaving only the po in the body. But generally, when people speak of the soul, they’re referring to both the hun and po. The game system might operate under this logic—the soul skills encompass both hun and po, but since a corpse only has an incomplete po after death, the soul skills are also incomplete, which is why I can’t fully use them.”
“…”
Erwa was stunned.
Yang Mei was baffled but impressed.
For Hua Haoming, this was the first time seeing someone analyze their own skills this way. Most players, after obtaining a skill, would simply use it gratefully—who had the time to ponder why the game system only allowed partial skills or why they couldn’t extend those skills?
Ling Changye… could feel Xia Bai’s sincerity and determination.
Xia Bai looked at Ling Changye with his large, round, gleaming eyes.
Ling Changye said, “Every member of the assault team has a special arrangement and must be approved by the Director of the Game Management Bureau. It’s not solely up to me. I’ll report your situation, so wait for further notice.”
Xia Bai nodded immediately. “Okay!”
He wanted to ask if they had ever seen his grandfather’s skills. As captain of the assault team, Ling Changye, alongside Yang Mei, the top-ranking player, and Erwa, who had played the game the most times, were likely the people who might have come across his grandfather.
Just as he was about to ask, Guo Yang entered.
Seeing so many idols, Guo Yang was thrilled. Somehow, he found a medical record book and asked them to sign it.
“…”
After Guo Yang entered, others began to come in as well. Xia Bai decided to give up for now; he had already established a connection with them and would have opportunities to ask later.
He noticed Old Ma limping as he left the room and went to catch up with him.
Xia Bai asked, “Old Ma, what are your plans for the future?”
To Old Ma, Xia Bai was the person he felt most grateful to in this world. He held nothing back from Xia Bai and said, “They found me a job and asked if I’d like to take it. Basically, it involves saving people who want to commit suicide.”
He continued, “I’m not sure if I can do it, but I want to try and see how it goes. They said if I decide to keep the job, they’ll help fix my leg.”
“That sounds great,” Xia Bai said. “Congratulations, Old Ma.”
Old Ma’s spirits were still low. His face, marked by years and hardships, bore red-rimmed eyes. But for the first time since He Jiaxiu’s death, he smiled, even if only faintly. “Thank you, Xia Bai. You said my life isn’t worthless. If I can save someone else’s life, I’ll do my best to make it count.”
Old Ma walked off with the staff.
The hospital corridor, familiar with life and death, was filled with both sorrow and joy. In this time of night, despairing cries and frenzied laughter echoed from unknown directions, and dim lights cast shadows on his frail, limping figure, a small glimmer shining on his dry hair.
Outside, the sound of ambulances came in waves, an ominous reminder that their world might soon lose even the pretense of peace, collapsing into chaos.
Watching Old Ma’s determined, limping stride, Xia Bai seemed to glimpse the backs of countless others.
In peaceful times, they were born in obscurity; in a broken world, they sought faint glimmers of light.
Xia Bai pursed his lips and returned to the room he shared with Zhong Zicang. Tomorrow, he too had his work to do.
After Xia Bai went downstairs, Hua Haoming, standing a short distance behind Ling Changye, asked, “Why did you lie to him? You could’ve decided this yourself; the director’s approval is just a formality.”
He couldn’t understand. “You don’t have a partner yet, and Xia Bai would be perfect for you. Once he grows stronger and gains more skills, the two of you together would be unstoppable. He could even join Wang Chuan.”
Most assault team members have a partner. There are game events across various regions, and many require the assault team’s attention. It’s impossible for every member to be at the same game, and going solo is risky. Thus, they’re usually paired up, forming life-and-death partnerships over time.
As captain, Ling Changye never had a partner.
His skills were unique—he grew stronger against tough opponents but was limited when facing weaker ones.
Erwa was powerful but hardly used his skills, and he rarely employed them even after ten game sessions.
Yang Mei’s skills were practical, but Ling Changye found him too dense and disliked using his abilities.
Over the past two years, he had entered games with other team members or solo, never forming a partnership—likely due to his free-spirited nature and the absence of a suitable partner.
Now, Hua Haoming felt that person might have appeared.
Ling Changye adjusted the collar of his coat and said, “I don’t need a partner, but I’ll seriously consider letting him join the assault team. He’s just gained his skills and hasn’t fully developed. Drawing attention to him this early might not be a good thing.”
After saying this, he turned and, with precision, caught two eavesdroppers.
Behind the door, Erwa held his precious popcorn, looking wilted. Above him, a taller Yang Mei was peeking over his shoulder.
Yang Mei said, “Captain, let Xia Bai join. I feel like he wants to sleep with you.”
“…”
Yang Mei looked serious. “These past few days, I’ve noticed that Xia Bai doesn’t want to sleep with me; he wants to sleep with you. When you were recounting the game to the research institute, I peeked in from the door, and Xia Bai kept glancing at you. He’s after your body.”
Hua Haoming: “…”
He’d once been in a dungeon where Xia Bai’s odd preferences showed, so he had a good sense of Xia Bai’s intentions. Replacing the word “body” with “corpse” made more sense.
As soul skills began influencing their souls, Hua Haoming sincerely advised Yang Mei, “Maybe you should refrain from using the Lover Card in the next game.”
Ling Changye’s long lashes lowered slightly, his expression contemplative.
Wait—could he actually be considering this? Hua Haoming asked, “Captain, what are you thinking?”
Ling Changye replied, “I’m thinking he can’t be my partner—it’s too risky.”
Hua Haoming thought that was reasonable. Having a partner with a constant fixation on one’s corpse could indeed be dangerous. If they encountered another dungeon like the Heping Medical College, Xia Bai might not resist and turn his body into a corpse.
It was 11:35 p.m.
When Xia Bai returned, Zhong Zicang assumed he’d just gone for a walk.
Recently, after finishing their volunteer work, most of them would immediately return to this safe place and avoid going out, but Xia Bai did the opposite, sneaking out whenever he had spare time.
At first, Zhong Zicang tried to reason with him, but after realizing Xia Bai would still sneak out, he gave up.
Seeing Xia Bai return, he casually remarked, “Back already, Junior Xia Bai?”
Xia Bai replied with a simple “Mm,” without mentioning the game. “Senior, I’m going to shower first.”
Zhong Zicang replied, “Go ahead. The bathroom’s all yours; I’m done with it.”
Xia Bai went to the bathroom with his change of clothes. His clothes had been soaked countless times in the game, which was uncomfortable. He felt a bit envious of Ling Changye’s fresh clothes after each game.
Lying on the bed in his fresh, clean pajamas, smelling of detergent and sunshine, Xia Bai first fed his pet, Xue Mu, and then visited the Player Exchange Center.
As usual, the homepage was filled with threads about that day’s newly unlocked game maps.
The game app posted these updates, and the Game Management Bureau didn’t withhold this information from players. Usually, the Exchange Center would quickly gain related posts.
Today, aside from the Hexie Cinema thread, there was another hot topic about Gu Quankun.
Gu Quankun was a player on the rankings, with his best record at 29th place, often hovering between 35th and 50th. Yesterday, he was ranked 42nd, but today he had disappeared.
There are two possibilities when someone’s not on the rankings: either their rank dropped below 50, or they died.
Score fluctuations are usually gradual, so in just a day, his disappearance was unusual, hence a thread discussing Gu Quankun’s fate.
“Gu Quankun disappeared from the leaderboard. Could he be dead?”
OP: As the title says, I once played a game with Gu Quankun. He was experienced, ruthless, and didn’t care about the lives of new players, only using them as tools to clear levels. And now he’s dead?
2nd Commenter: No way, he was a big shot on the leaderboard. Maybe his rank just dropped?
3rd Commenter: Dropped, my ass. He’s definitely dead. Use your brain—if he had just dropped in rank, then the few players below him would’ve all had to increase their scores at the same time. There was only one game cleared today; did they all go into that game?
4th Commenter: It’s unlikely that all of them went to that game, but Gu Quankun going there and dying inside? Very possible.
5th Commenter: Gu Quankun dying isn’t all that surprising. He wasn’t that special anyway. His rank was all thanks to exploiting others and spamming strategies. Sure, his ‘Earthworm Arm’ was strong, but among the real elites, it’s nothing.
6th Commenter: Clearly, you haven’t fought him. His Earthworm Arm can burrow underground to escape, launch long-range attacks, is powerful, sharp, and can be used for both offense and defense. You call that ‘nothing’? Let me tell you, anyone on the leaderboard isn’t simple.
Xia Bai paused here, surprised to find more information on the uses of the Earthworm Arm.
Burrowing underground.
It made sense for an earthworm to burrow.
When phrased this way, back when Ghost School Beauty chased after Gu Quankun, his first choice could actually have been to dig a hole and hide. Instead, he pulled someone else to block Ghost School Beauty. He himself bore much responsibility for being killed by her.
Xia Bai read for a while longer on everyone’s discussions about the Hexie Cinema. The focus was mostly on Erwa, Ling Changye, and Gu Quankun, with many others planning a movie night there. They hadn’t seen a movie in ages, and now that a safe cinema had appeared, of course they had to go.
Xia Bai logged out to check Hecie Cinema’s ticket sales.
The cinema hadn’t been damaged by the game, and operations would resume as usual the next day. In fact, all shows were fully booked for the next week.
“…”
It seemed people were really desperate for entertainment, though some might also be going out of curiosity, especially with so many players gathering in Quanguang City recently.
Would Sister You Yue consider giving a raise?
After that, Xia Bai went back to his personal page on the game app and opened the Dead List.
Gu Quankun was lying on the first page. Like Sister Xuemue, he could still move around in the Dead List. Xia Bai was tempted to summon him, just to test if his guess was correct — that Gu’s soul was incomplete, missing some or all of his three spirits, while perhaps still retaining one or two corporeal essences.
He reached out to poke Gu Quankun, and Gu immediately clutched his finger.
Xia Bai: “?”
He grabbed a wet tissue to wipe his hand.
As expected, Gu’s spirit was incomplete; he’d turned into a fool.
Nearby, a soft snoring sound arose as Zhong Zicang had fallen asleep.
It was already past midnight. Xia Bai was about to go to sleep too when he suddenly thought of something, picked up his phone again, and searched for a name online: Huang Weiping.
At the start of Deserted Island Survival, the names of the director and producer had appeared. Huang Weiping was the director of Deserted Island Survival.
Xia Bai stared at the webpage for a long time. In reality, there really was an obscure little director named Huang Weiping.
He’d directed two commercials, a short film, and a web movie — all so mediocre that they hadn’t even garnered much criticism.
What made Xia Bai feel a bit chilly was that this director had publicly claimed he would make a movie that would shake up the film industry. Due to his obscurity, few people paid attention to him, and those who did just thought he was bluffing. His bold statements hadn’t attracted any real notice.
Not only had Xia Bai found a medical student named Chu Xuelin in reality, but now he’d also found a fallen director named Huang Weiping. Could all of this be a coincidence?
Xia Bai couldn’t sleep.
After a while, he messaged Hua Haoming, “[Still awake?]”
Hua Haoming: “[Yeah, what’s up?]”
Xia Bai: “[I found a female student named Chu Xuelin who graduated from Heping Medical College, and a director named Huang Weiping with the same name and background as in the Hexie Cinema scenario.]”
After a pause, Hua Haoming replied: “[You discovered this after only two games?]”
Xia Bai: “[What do you mean?]”
Hua Haoming: “[Yes, some stories in the game maps are indeed related to reality. Real events that are hidden, forgotten, or suppressed for various reasons sometimes reappear in the game in exaggerated forms. For example, Chu Xuelin might indeed have died due to medical corruption, though she likely didn’t have a sister like in the game. Her unnoticed death became the inspiration for a game story.]”
Though he had guessed some of this, Xia Bai still felt ripples of unease reading Hua Haoming’s message.
Hua Haoming: “[I looked into the Hexie Cinema scenario you entered. The director may indeed have wanted to make a movie with certain realistic elements, but not as exaggerated as in the game. If that many people had died on an island, how could there be no news about it? The game just drew inspiration from these stories.]”
Xia Bai: “[Is Huang Weiping still alive?]”
Hua Haoming: “[He’s dead. Chu Xuelin is dead too. The game loves to draw inspiration from the dead.]”
If the background stories of the game’s map scenarios are rooted in real, hidden stories, then it’s no wonder players dubbed the game “Seeking Truth.”
Hua Haoming: “[Don’t mention this to anyone. This is one reason why organizations like the Shengyou Guild could grow — apart from their claims about human evolution, they also market it as ‘acting on behalf of heaven.’]”
Xia Bai: “[Understood.]”
Before ending their chat, Hua Haoming sent him a contact card, simply noting, “[The captain’s.]”
Xia Bai considered it, then sent a friend request.
Ten minutes later, it was accepted.
Ling Changye sent a [Hello] emoji of Erwa, and Xia Bai replied with a dazed dog emoji of [Hello]. Neither said more.
Ling Changye’s username was [Don’t Bother Me], and his profile picture was a black coffin that made anyone lose the desire to chat.
While renaming him in his contacts, Xia Bai thought of the way he had been lying on the altar, looking ready to die, then recalled his stitched-up state, and finally, the skills he’d used in the game. He saved him as ‘ ’.
Xia Bai: “[I thought your skill was regeneration or something related to limb reassembly.]”
‘ ’: “[If you put it that way, I guess I do have that. It’s my body skill.]”
Xia Bai was briefly taken aback. There’d never been any rule that a person could only have one skill. A soul skill might be unique, but possessing a soul skill didn’t preclude a person from having body skills or item skills — especially for players who’d completed multiple games and often received rewards.
Perhaps because the darkness of night stirred his curiosity, Xia Bai asked something he’d been wondering about.
Xia Bai: “[What got you pulled into the movie world?]”
As soon as he sent it, he felt a bit regretful. When the Research Institute had asked Ling Changye this before, he’d declined, saying it was personal. It was indeed a private matter, something that was linked to one’s experiences and inner desires, and deeply personal.
‘ ’: “[Probably the same as you.]”
Xia Bai froze, dumbly locking his phone and stuffing it under his pillow.
The “typing” indicator disappeared; Ling Changye placed his phone on the table and went into the bathroom. When he returned, now dressed in a bathrobe, a message dominated his screen.
Dirty Bun: “[Oh.]”
Ling Changye sat on the sofa, twirling his phone between his long, strong fingers, gazing out the window.
Quanguang City, marred and scarred from the game’s attacks, was mostly dark at night, shrouded in blackness, with only sparse, starlike lights from scattered rooms in tall buildings.
The brightest light came from this orthopedic hospital. Somewhere, yet another game had ended, and an ambulance sped toward the hospital, its siren blending with cries of panic and grief below. Amidst the commotion, screams, sobs, and reassurances blurred into emotionless grayscale.
The phone spinning between his fingers stilled.
Ling Changye messaged Dirty Bun: “[If you’re willing to enter a game once a week and frequently travel, I’ll take you tomorrow to update your registration with the Game Management Bureau.]”
At dawn the next morning, Xia Bai showed up at Ling Changye’s VIP hospital room door.
He’d fallen asleep before seeing the message last night, but upon waking and reading it, he sat up immediately. He only brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face before heading over.
As soon as he appeared at the door, it opened.
Ling Changye, appearing freshly awake, stood there in pajamas, his phoenix eyes drowsily lowered. Catching sight of Xia Bai in the morning sun, he said, “Come in.”
Xia Bai obediently stepped inside.
The VIP hospital suite was a private room with a separate sitting area. Xia Bai waited on the sofa while Ling Changye went to wash up and change.
He ended up waiting for an hour.
Xia Bai: “…”
He realized for the first time that washing up and getting dressed could take this long. When Ling Changye finally emerged, Xia Bai felt it was worth the wait.
Ling Changye looked refreshed and polished, wearing a clean, loose white shirt and simple black pants, each hair carefully styled to exude effortless yet meticulous care.
He carried two cups of black tea and handed one to Xia Bai. Xia noticed a ring on Ling Changye’s middle finger — a simple, ancient-looking silver band set with a mysterious blue gemstone as deep and clear as seawater.
At the same time, Xia Bai caught a faint, indescribable scent. Growing up in the wild, he was familiar with countless plants, yet this aroma felt like an undiscovered realm where seawater and woods coexisted.
As Xia Bai stared at the ring, Ling Changye opened his phone, and soon Yang Mei and Hua Haoming arrived, having received the message.
Xia Bai hadn’t known where Ling Changye’s hospital room was, so he’d asked Hua Haoming. Naturally, Hua came to witness Xia Bai joining their team, dragging along the clingy Yang Mei.
Together, they were there to witness and welcome Xia Bai to their squad.
Ling Changye asked Xia Bai, “Have you made up your mind?”
Xia Bai nodded earnestly. “I have. I want to enter the game more often—once a week is no problem at all.”
Ling Changye pushed his phone toward him, letting him fill in his information.
In the real world, some confidential web pages can’t be accessed on mobile phones, and even if they can be opened, they can be opened, they can’t be operated properly. Accessing them requires specific office computers at designated locations.
However, after the game arrived, things changed. Every player’s phone now has a game app that surpasses real-world technology and contains crucial information about life and death for players. As a result, the phone has become the safest and highest-authority work tool.
The entry point for the information of members of the Game Control Bureau’s Operations Division Assault Team is right on Ling Changye’s phone.
At this moment, Xia Bai was entering his detailed information in the “Add New Member” section.
While he was entering his information, the three of them were explaining details about the Assault Team and the Game Control Bureau to him.
Ling Changye explained, “The Assault Team belongs to the Operations Division of the Game Control Bureau. Including you, there are now 49 members. Among them, 7 belong to the Wangchuan Unit.”
The Game Control Bureau is an official organization with four divisions, two institutes, and one station. These are the Information Division, Logistics Division, External Relations Division, Operations Division, Research Institute, Education Institute, and the Rescue Station.
The Information Division is responsible for collecting and entering all player information, contacting players, publishing announcements, personnel management, and so on.
The Logistics Division handles a wide range of responsibilities and is the largest division in the bureau, with the most teams and personnel.
The Rescue Station was established to alleviate the pressure on the Logistics Division. It’s not for assisting players within the game but serves society at large as a mobile emergency rescue station. For example, with frequent game events in Quanguang City recently, an emergency request was sent to the Rescue Station, which then stationed itself here.
As its name suggests, the External Relations Division manages communications between the bureau and external departments. For instance, if Old Yang needs to investigate someone at the local police station, he has to go through External Relations. When a large game map descends on a local area, the External Relations Division coordinates with relevant local departments for assistance and support.
The Operations Division focuses on action, primarily on game raids and sweeps, with the Assault Team as its core. Additionally, if any player uses their abilities to harm society, the Operations Division is responsible for resolving it, often engaging with groups like the Sacred Game Guild. In short, the division represents the combat power of the Game Control Bureau.
The Research Institute is naturally focused on research—specifically on the game, its descent, strategies to clear it, and ways to banish it.
The Education Institute sounds gentle, as it’s where player education is managed, but it’s also known for the player prison.
Some of this information was already familiar to Xia Bai, while some details were new to him, mentioned by the others.
For example, he knew about the Assault Team, assuming it only had about a dozen members, especially since Hua Haoming once mentioned “our small team.” He hadn’t expected there to be so many members. It made sense, though—there were so many games to tackle that just a dozen people would never be enough.
He also didn’t know that there was a Wangchuan Unit within the Assault Team, which sounded more like a suicide squad. Ling Changye, Yang Mei, and Hua Haoming were all part of it.
Once Xia Bai finished entering his information, Ling Changye reviewed it and submitted it for him.
Xia Bai officially became the 49th member of the Game Control Bureau’s Operations Division Assault Team.
