Chapter 25
There was no solid proof, but judging from the forum calling him Visitor No. 000, Jiang Jitang was confident this forum had to be the genuine product—created by Cube World itself, fair and honest.
After clicking in, he became even more certain.
Despite being a small, compact forum, it somehow included players from every region in the world. On the homepage, players could silently observe top experts, join regional sections to chat, and switch the entire language interface at will. The whole experience was smooth and seamless.
He immediately fell in love with this forum.
Unfortunately, as a “visitor,” he could only browse. No posting, no commenting, no adding friends.
He opened several of the most recent and most popular posts on the homepage. They were all about newly-cleared high-tier games—Tier 8 seemed to be the current highest cleared.
Although the detailed strategies were protected as resources, the posts still revealed bits and pieces.
But he quickly realized that these were bait—tossed out by certain organizations to attract talent.
Want to know more? Want a top player to carry you? Come join us.
Jiang Jitang quickly lost interest in these vague posts that refused to reveal real information.
He began looking for posts about closed-instance clear records, which could fully share walkthroughs.
There were plenty of such posts—even multiple clear paths for the same dungeon. Most were from high-rating players with all kinds of flashy moves that would make ordinary players scream with envy.
“Full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers.”
Jiang Jitang read with rapt attention. No wonder these players were idolized. Too bad visitors couldn’t leave comments—otherwise he’d be mashing the “like” button on every single one.
These threads were always hot.
Even though these instances would never reopen, seeing how others cleared them was still helpful. It gave everyone breathing room and reminded them: dungeons can be conquered—they’re not unbeatable.
Soon he finished reading the first few pages of closed-instance walkthroughs. After thinking a moment, he tried searching for “healing items.”
There weren’t many posts, but they quickly clarified Cube World’s situation regarding healers: they were extremely rare.
Low-level healing items weren’t lacking, but they could only treat external injuries and minor mental damage. Against deep poisoning, severe debuffs, amputations, or major organ trauma, their effects were minimal.
Generally, Tier-3 and above games produced high-level healing items—those could even pull someone from near death to full health. But most were one-time-use, very few reusable.
Yet there were a handful—no more than ten worldwide—who had lucked into reusable high-level healing tools.
Those players were immediately absorbed by powerful organizations and would never appear before common players. As a result, most lone wolves eventually had to join groups—they needed healing items to survive.
Then why didn’t anyone try to steal these reusable healing tools?
Because Cube World had a hidden mechanic: Items could be robbed, but only the original owner could bring a reusable item in and out of cubes and actually reuse it.
If a reusable tool was stolen, it would instantly downgrade to a single-use consumable—a huge loss.
Additionally, game-issued healing items only worked on players, not non-players, preventing real-world bigshots from robbing them.
Because of all this, someone who obtained a reusable healing item was essentially holding a world-class treasure. Experts would protect them, and countless people would trade items, intel, and resources for healing services.
Money, power, reputation, and safety—all guaranteed.
After understanding the healer situation, Jiang Jitang searched “external assistance.”
A post immediately popped up:
“Night at the Art Museum — A Powerful External Helper Appears!”
The exaggerated title made his face heat up.
So embarrassing. Others were playing a horror game—he was basically playing hide-and-seek. Nothing “powerful” about it.
According to the poster, thirteen players entered a closed art museum at night. Their identities were security personnel, tasked with protecting the museum’s artwork.
But among the exhibits were hidden terrifying monsters disguised as artworks. They had to find and eliminate the impostors…
That was the intro.
“F*ck, those paintings and sculptures were all twisted. Every single one looked like a disguised monster—I couldn’t tell anything apart! And every hour one undetected monster would wake up and kill someone.”
“Night at the Art Museum” was a Tier-3 game. The poster had spent half a year stuck in Tier-2 and had to level up, choosing this game on purpose. They even bought a strategy from an “old player.”
But even within the same instance, every entry had variations—so even with a walkthrough, they struggled badly.
“The biggest problem is mentality. You know there are monsters among the displays, one will wake every hour, and screams will wake more. Controlling your fear—that’s the first hurdle.”
He could easily imagine the helplessness of ordinary people forced into this hell.
Based on the poster’s description, among the thirteen players were four complete newbies, entering their first game. Perhaps Cube World judged them talented and directly tossed them into Tier-3.
But it couldn’t predict human nature. The newbies’ panic, impulse, and breakdowns caused huge trouble. Even players who had played two or three rounds couldn’t stay calm. They missed clues repeatedly and provoked monsters multiple times.
A group of hopeless newbies plus half-trained veterans—one by one they were eliminated. After six hours, only seven survivors remained, most unable to fight.
It looked like a normal full-wipe scenario.
At that moment, a mysterious voice asked them if they wanted external help.
Of course they said yes!
The poster didn’t know how the external helper operated. After shouting “Yes,” the game immediately broadcast new clues:
A monster’s identity.
A front-facing portrait.
The poster was the first to receive it and instantly identified a sculpture stuck to a column. Monster eliminated.
Like that, nine times in a row, they obtained all monster intel.
All hidden monsters were eliminated, and the awakened ones were killed through teamwork. After everything ended, they finally saw the external helper.
“He was a refined Eastern gentleman. Though he wore a mask, I’m sure he was handsome.”
This charming man merely smiled, and a mysterious power dispelled the curses they carried out of the game and healed their wounds. He actually used precious healing tools on them.
“No doubt—he was a mysterious, powerful, generous, and gentle Eastern player!”
The comments below were filled with skepticism—no one had ever seen such a thing. They thought the poster was delusional for fame.
As one of the involved parties, Jiang Jitang was both flushed from the praise and muttering internally about how sly the Wish Fulfillment General Store System was.
The Wish Fulfillment General Store wasn’t asking for nothing—it wanted intense human gratitude, something like faith. And Cube World’s extreme environments naturally generated such feelings.
This move was basically stealing Cube World’s “house.”
Sneaky. Very sneaky.
While Jiang Jitang was happily drowning in forum posts, the headquarters of Southern River Province was also staying up late—on a matter related to him.
“Mysterious guy. Likes collecting old junk. Bought a large quantity of baby formula with no trace afterward. His tool has extremely strong healing effects and can dispel debuffs. Recommendation: recruit. But the decision is yours.”
“Judging from his background, he probably won’t approach us.” Jiang Xingzhou massaged her throbbing temples as she looked at a thick file labeled ‘Jiang Jitang’, covering three generations.
Jiang Jitang’s maternal grandmother—one of the first students eligible for college entrance exams after they were reinstated—was supposed to enter a top university. But her slot was taken by the brigade leader’s niece. She was driven mad.
Jiang Jitang’s mother lost her parents young, survived on charity meals, and grew up alone. During middle school, her village underwent demolition, but the compensation money was taken by the village party secretary. She was brilliant, though—still managed to get into her mother’s university, applied for aid, and completed her education.
But after enrolling, her rural homestead and collective dividends were embezzled by the village chief.
She discovered this when she returned with her child.
Since her household registration wasn’t moved, she still had full rights. Jiang Jitang’s mother tried reporting it, but her letters were intercepted. Soon the village chief and a group of strong men “visited” her, forcing her to flee.
“That brigade leader, party secretary, and village chief are all one family—three generations of inherited power.” Given all that, the fact Jiang Jitang held no resentment against the government was already remarkable.
“What about those village tyrants?”
“They were arrested during a major cleanup years ago. Still serving time.”
Jiang Xingzhou thought for a moment, then pulled out a detailed file on the Dongying Association.
“I’ll send him this.”
“But you said the chance of recruiting him is low?”
“Build goodwill. As long as he stays alive in the game world, we’ll eventually need his help.”
—
Jiang Jitang surfed the forum until past 1 a.m. and slept late. So he woke late too. By the time he went out to buy breakfast, only the leftovers were available.
Luckily his favorite—sweet milk in little white cartons—was still there. One sip of sweet milk, one bite of brown-sugar bun—that was breakfast settled.
On his way back, he found a long-dead venomous snake at his backyard gate. Judging by the wound, its skull had been crushed by some kind of wild animal.
“Strange, we have no snakes like this around here. Escaped from a zoo? Or a private player’s pet?” He used a twig to pry open the snake’s mouth—the fangs were intact, so not a privately-raised snake.
The bite marks on its body were deep punctures—clearly the canine teeth of a carnivore.
Jiang Jitang suddenly thought of something.
He rushed upstairs to the shelf where his gifts were displayed.
“Was it you?”
He picked up the white-fox porcelain statue. There were no marks on it, only the faint scent of incense. But his intuition was certain.
While he slept, the white fox had killed an intruder with malicious intent—protecting this home, protecting him.
“Thank you.” He gently placed the porcelain fox back.
Unknowingly, he was being protected by those he had once helped.
Ding!
[Task settlement complete. Check results?] The system notification popped up—both tasks from yesterday had been settled.
The first was escorting the gene soldier—two-star difficulty, five-star rating, ten points.
No wishing star, but a “small” gift.
“A… horse?”
He stared, stunned, at the new little foal: pitch-black, excellent bone structure, destined to grow into a majestic beast.
He carefully extended his hand. The foal didn’t reject him, so he stroked its silky forehead.
“They actually gave me a horse?”
He felt like he was dreaming.
He’d never been particularly fond of horses—mostly because he once free-fell off one galloping at full speed. But someone he cared about liked horses, so naturally he’d like this horse too.
The rescued gene soldier survived. Afterwards, his older siblings grabbed their guns and avenged him.
If Jiang Jitang hadn’t accepted the task, the soldier wouldn’t have died—but he would have been severely injured, ambushed again, and left disabled.
In that world, disability meant a bleak future. Perhaps that was why the soldier never forgot his savior.
So when he later encountered a wild herd, he instinctively grabbed this foal—likely descended from the herd’s king.
He raised it, thinking that if he ever met that person again, he’d gift the horse to him.
“So pretty… but my downstairs is way too small…”
He rubbed his chin and pulled out his phone to contact someone with a horse ranch.
“One hundred eighty yuan per day? That expensive?” That was even the friend discount. The regular price must be outrageous.
Ding!
[System can assist with boarding. Top-grade natural pasture. Five points per day.] A bubble popped up.
“Deal.”
After settling the foal’s lodging, he checked the second settled task—the food delivery job. Also two stars, five-star rating, ten points.
The day after he delivered the supplies, Black Hawk Squad was picked up and returned to their base. All members survived, though no one believed their bizarre encounter. Others thought they had hallucinated after eating contaminated food.
In the original timeline without his intervention, two squad members died—An Jie, who went out searching for food and encountered a berserk mutant python, and one who starved beneath the ginkgo tree. The rest faced domestic conflict due to guilt-driven financial support of their teammates’ families.
Now they all returned safely, and all their families would live easier lives.
“I have 235 points now.”
He tapped his balance. Still small. Then he saw the ‘103 million debt’ again and felt his heart pinch.
Forget it. Time to deliver packages.
Only one order left: one-star difficulty, but relatively complex. It required a tent-house that could shelter four people from wind and rain.
He had the house ready, so he could theoretically complete it immediately—but that wouldn’t reflect his diligence and sense of responsibility. As an excellent delivery worker determined to earn five-star reviews, Comrade Jiang had standards.
He lifted the plastic sheet in the backyard, revealing wooden planks, steel bars, and other materials. The bunk beds had already been cleaned. The palm-fiber mats had been sun-dried. It was a little past 9 a.m.—still plenty of time before the deadline.
“Let’s assemble the cabin first, then adjust as needed.”
