Song Gui stopped after walking a few steps, slapped his forehead, and muttered to himself in frustration, “Oh no! I forgot to ask him to bring some bedding and pillows back from the illusion…”
The items in this illusion are fake, but their taste and feel are real. Each of their rooms is empty, and besides the little time they can spend outside and the time they enter the “game” to complete tasks, they have to spend the rest of their time alone in that cold and lonely space. They can only rest on the ground. Thus, people like Song Gui, who are considered “veterans,” would take any opportunity allowed by the rules to add things to their “rooms.”
Even though they are in this space, where they don’t age, get tired, or hungry, they still try to add some human touch to their lives.
After a brief moment of self-reflection, Song Gui sat down at another food stall, ordered some food, and muttered to himself, “Forget it, I’ll remind my future ally tomorrow.”
Meanwhile, Lu Chu returned to his own space.
The transition from the relatively lively street to sudden quiet was significant. Looking at the endless pure white world, Lu Chu could imagine how terrifying it would be to spend a lifetime here.
It would be over twenty hours until he could see Song Gui again and ask him questions. So Lu Chu walked over to the floating screen area to observe the “rules” Song Gui had mentioned.
Speaking of which, he didn’t completely trust Song Gui. After all, they had just met under these uncertain circumstances where anything could happen. Anyone would be cautious.
Although Song Gui might not be completely honest with him, Lu Chu believed he wouldn’t lie about the basics. These fundamental things should be confirmed by the rules themselves. However, both the objective tips from the rules and the subjective advice from an experienced person like Song Gui were valuable. So far, the only thing unclear was Song Gui’s motive.
Surely he wasn’t being so kind and friendly just for fun, right?
On second thought, maybe it was possible… Was he overthinking it? Lu Chu wondered.
In any case, extending a bit of trust while maintaining caution was definitely a good strategy.
With these thoughts, Lu Chu reached the area with the floating screens.
The existence of these “rules” gave Lu Chu an uncomfortable feeling of being watched.
He looked at each screen and found that every screen he touched would show—
“Requirement: XXX
Clue: XXX
Hint: XXX”
This must be the tasks for entering the “game.” Each different “game” was labeled with a different number below the screen, possibly for easier identification. There was also a button in the bottom right corner to choose to enter. On the surface, this seemed to give them some “freedom” and choice. However, everyone knew the reality. Lu Chu also noticed that some rules mentioned the number of people that could enter a particular “game.”
This must be what Song Gui referred to as double or even multiple-person tasks, asking him if he wanted to complete one together.
Having experienced the dangers of each “game,” Lu Chu felt it was better to go solo rather than team up with someone unknown and risk betrayal. This made him even more curious about Song Gui’s intentions. After spending some time browsing all the existing “rules,” Lu Chu noticed that, before starting the last game, there were thirteen floating screens, each representing a rule. After completing the last game, there were still thirteen screens, none of which were the same as before.
This suggested that the number of rules in this space was fixed and replenished as needed.
Lu Chu tried to communicate with the “rules” and was surprised when they answered his questions.
From these inquiries, Lu Chu learned the basic necessities—similar to what Song Gui had told him. Additionally, he found out that the tasks on these thirteen screens were not permanent and would be replaced periodically. If someone hesitated over a particular task, they could remember its number, and the rules would present it again later.
Completed tasks couldn’t be repeated, but tasks completed by others could be entered again.
In other words, the events in the games were repetitive.
Some people repeated disasters, others repeated deaths.
Moreover, Lu Chu learned that when people under the same rule did tasks together, their free activity time would double: two people would get twenty minutes, three people thirty minutes, and so on.
However, the more people there were, the greater the difficulty.
Of course, all participants had to survive for the task to be considered complete.
Lu Chu pondered, realizing that Song Gui must be after this.
Tasks for two people were slightly more challenging than for one, but not excessively so, unlike team tasks. Yet, despite knowing nothing about Lu Chu, Song Gui wanted to team up with him. Was he confident in Lu Chu’s abilities, or just overly confident in himself?
With this knowledge, Lu Chu decided to clear his mind, allowing his brain and nerves, which had been working hard for too long, to rest. He sat down casually, closed his eyes, and found that the empty white space was less comforting than complete darkness.
After resting for a while, Lu Chu started doing sit-ups and jogging to pass the time and increase his chances of survival in each game. He noticed he didn’t feel tired or sleepy at all in this place.
Under these conditions, Lu Chu couldn’t feel the passage of time.
In the blink of an eye, a day passed. His wristband beeped, catching his attention. He looked down to see the time displayed as “54′59″” starting to count down. Apparently, a day had passed, and his free activity time was reduced by five minutes.
At the same time, a door appeared in front of him.
Lu Chu didn’t hesitate and stepped through.
As soon as he stepped out, the dazzling warm light made Lu Chu squint. Once he adjusted, he found himself in a springtime children’s park, with a playground, slides, swings, and a colorful Ferris wheel in the distance. The trees were lush, birds occasionally chirped, and the warm sunlight poured down.
Looking at this scene, Lu Chu was stunned for a moment, struggling to detach himself from the feeling of truly having sight again.
“Hey! Chu Chu!” Song Gui also stepped out from the door, greeted Lu Chu warmly, and after seeing the world outside, couldn’t hide his delight. He raised an eyebrow and said, “Not bad this time, we can have some fun.”
Lu Chu responded politely, “Mr. Song.”
“Hahaha—” Song Gui laughed heartily at the formality, grabbing Lu Chu’s shoulder and saying, “You’re so cute. Just call me Song Gui!”
“Song Gui.”
Song Gui chuckled and dragged Lu Chu towards the children’s slides. “Come on, let’s play for a bit first.”
Standing in front of the slides, Lu Chu declined several times, and Song Gui finally gave up on making him slide. Instead, Song Gui climbed up himself.
It was a children’s slide, designed for kids, so Song Gui’s tall frame looked out of place. He huddled at the top, laughing to himself, then slid down with a “whoosh,” landing at the bottom and beckoning Lu Chu to admire his “heroic” descent.
Lu Chu turned away silently.
At this moment, a twelve-year-old girl appeared from the door. It was the same little girl from before. She was carrying a machete and, seeing Song Gui trying to climb the slide again, rolled her eyes and muttered, “Idiot,” then looked again and rolled her eyes even more, “Moron.”
She then walked straight towards the amusement facilities without looking back.
Surprised by her age, Lu Chu asked Song Gui, “Is she also…?”
The answer was obvious, but Lu Chu couldn’t imagine such a young child being involved in such dangerous affairs.
Song Gui nodded. “Don’t be fooled by her small size and age. Her heart is tough. Never underestimate any ‘veteran.’ By the way, you might not believe this—”
Lu Chu was curious, “What?”
“She arrived—” Song Gui gave Lu Chu a sly smile, “before me.”
This truly shocked Lu Chu, feeling quite eerie.
.
During this time, a few more people came out of the door, but the middle-aged man Lu Chu saw yesterday never appeared.
His fate was clear.
“Oh my, oh my!” Song Gui jumped off the children’s slide and led Lu Chu towards the amusement facilities, exclaiming, “We don’t have much time, Chu Chu, you don’t even look at me…” He then made a pitiful expression, his shoulders slumped. “Forget it, let’s talk business.”
Realizing Song Gui meant the two-person task, Lu Chu followed him onto the Ferris wheel.
As the Ferris wheel started, Song Gui smiled, “Haha, we won’t be discovered talking here.”
“You mean being on the Ferris wheel can avoid the ‘rules’ restrictions?”
“Not really.”
“…”
Song Gui gazed down as the Ferris wheel rose slowly. “It’s just a bit of psychological comfort. In fact, whether in the illusion, our rooms, or each game, we’re under perfect 360-degree surveillance.”
Seeing that Song Gui didn’t want to discuss this further, Lu Chu didn’t press the issue. Instead, he asked, “Is the ‘game’ time synchronized with the time here? If I choose a ‘game’ later, will the daily five minutes still be deducted?”
This question was crucial. If the game and this place’s time were synchronized and the time was still deducted during the game, he might return to find his free activity time in the negative.
Song Gui shook his head, “You don’t need to worry about that. While the game and this place’s time are synchronized, once you start the task, the wristband time won’t change.”
With this reassurance, Lu Chu’s biggest concern was alleviated.
Realizing his life was now fundamentally false and things had reached such a bizarre point, with an uncertain future, Lu Chu could only take things one step at a time and learn from others in the same situation.
Meanwhile, Song Gui, checking both their wristbands’ times, decided to be brief. He adopted a serious tone, “Now that your question is resolved, let me ask you mine. Have you thought about the joint task?”
Lu Chu looked at Song Gui solemnly without speaking.
Song Gui continued, “You must have learned something from the ‘rules,’ right? So you can rest assured. I’m genuinely interested in the increased free time from joint tasks. We’re under the same ‘rules’ supervision, so in joint tasks, we’re definitely allies. The task won’t be considered complete unless we both survive. Based on this, you don’t need to worry about me harming you. Besides—”
Having asked the rules and considered these points, Lu Chu was already inclined to agree. Hearing Song Gui’s “besides,” he couldn’t help but ask, “Besides what?”
Song Gui smiled, his eyes deep and playful, and said slowly, “Besides, I believe in you too.”
Song Gui’s serious expression quickly turned into a wail, “Besides, I really feel like I’ve known you forever, Chu Chu!”
Lu Chu smiled gently and pushed Song Gui’s face away as it got too close.
“About the task you mentioned, I agree.”
No matter what Song Gui’s motives were, given the rule that “both must survive,” he couldn’t do anything to harm Lu Chu.
Song Gui was naturally delighted and immediately told Lu Chu the number of the task he had chosen. They agreed that when Lu Chu’s time was up, Song Gui would enter the door directly, and they would both accept the task simultaneously.
After reaching an agreement, Song Gui excitedly pulled Lu Chu along, saying they should have fun before Lu Chu’s time ran out. Song Gui’s philosophy was that since each illusion was different, he would enjoy every one of them as if it were a free trip.
Lu Chu had never played with these amusement facilities before, but he wasn’t afraid. Instead, he was looking forward to it.
As the free fall ride dropped from the highest point, Lu Chu asked, “If the facilities here malfunction, will we be okay?”
After all, Song Gui had said that they could only die in the “game.”
Song Gui, handsome and always smiling—though one might say a bit silly—waved and laughed, “Of course, we’re ageless and deathless, not to mention—”
Lu Chu asked curiously, “Not to mention what?”
Song Gui blinked innocently, “Not needing to poop.”
Lu Chu: “…”
Kill the Snake