Chapter 2 : Reality
In a shabby music classroom, a black-haired, amber-eyed young man sat before a broken piano, forcing himself to play. The sheet music was meant to sound bright and cheerful, yet the piano emitted an eerie, haunting melody.
Tang Mobai’s attention wasn’t on the piece at all. Instead, he strained his ears, listening intently to the sounds coming from outside the classroom.
The entire school building was ancient and long abandoned. The wooden floorboards creaked under unseen footsteps — something was slowly approaching.
As time passed, more and more strange phenomena appeared inside the music room. Wallpaper peeled off to reveal dried, rusty blood stains underneath. The lights flickered erratically. The melody became wild and dissonant.
Suddenly, a dark shadow flashed past the window. A ghostly figure smashed through the glass, black tears streaming down its eyes, mouth opening and closing with an inhuman roar.
Tang Mobai’s fingers trembled uncontrollably. Even though he kept telling himself it wasn’t real — fake, fake, fake — his senses all screamed the same thing: fear. Sight, sound, touch — even the very air told him this was real.
But he endured it. He played the final note, snatched the key that appeared on the piano keys, and, while the ghost was still near the back window, bolted for the classroom door.
He had barely turned the corner when a flashlight beam and a stern voice shouted from behind, “Stop! What class are you from? There’s a ghost here! Don’t wander around!”
Tang Mobai turned his head — and almost lost his soul on the spot. The “security guard” chasing him was grotesquely swollen like a giant, his eyes clouded and bloodshot, the stench of rotten fish clinging to him as he charged.
Damn it! Is that even necessary?!
Tang Mobai’s expression twisted, but he didn’t dare slow down. Clenching his teeth, he racked his memory for the layout of the building, dodging and circling to buy time.
No choice — he had only solved two puzzle areas so far. Every classroom required one or two keys to unlock, and the safe room needed three. He was still one key short.
But judging from how fast the female ghost was closing in earlier, he knew he didn’t have time to solve another clue. If he hesitated, she’d be right in his face. Another failed simulation exam!
Yes — simulation.
At that moment, countless surveillance cameras were capturing Tang Mobai’s every move and broadcasting them to the control center. Psychologists and instructors watched his every detail, assessing his performance.
As the “security guard” closed in and the test neared its end, one coach sighed and filled out the evaluation form:
[Name: Tang Mobai
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Combat Ability: C (has posture, but only posture)
Reasoning: B (occasional flashes of insight, mostly lucky guesses)
Speech: C (needs real-world experience badly)
Other: Pending Evaluation]
Then, the coach scribbled a “D” next to “Physical Ability” and added a note: Recommend university PE curriculum reform…
Other metrics like strength and agility were recorded automatically, but most of Tang Mobai’s scores were average — normal human level. Especially his constitution: a classic “fragile college student.”
Watching the screen, one of the coaches sighed, “Two weeks just isn’t enough. We can’t expect much improvement.”
Based on Tang Mobai’s reports — and the wrist device he had submitted from the Infinite Flow Platform — the experts had pieced together a rough picture of that so-called Infinite Flow World.
First of all, the platform there was known as Lost Paradise. All explorers called themselves “Sinners.” Like in most infinite flow novels, there were lobbies and shops. The Sinners’ missions were to enter various apocalyptic worlds and complete the platform’s assigned tasks — usually exploration and plunder.
So far, their monitoring teams had located over a dozen different “worlds” through live broadcasts — just the tip of the iceberg. Compared to the vastness of countless worlds, they were frogs at the bottom of a well. The “Lost Paradise” platform was a Pandora’s box — and its hand had already reached into reality.
This month, ten people were randomly drawn in. Next month, it might be a hundred. From the fragmented words overheard in live streams, the demons ruling those hellish worlds could wipe out small nations effortlessly. What the platform itself was capable of… was beyond doubt.
They had no choice. Ever since their citizens were forcibly pulled into that hell, the nation — perhaps even the world — was destined to step into the dark forest of the unknown.
Survive, or perish.
“With his current training results, we still can’t guarantee Tang Mobai’s safety in the next scenario.”
The team searching for missing citizens had checked thousands of low-level live rooms and hadn’t found a single familiar face. Bloodshot-eyed, one staff member rubbed his eyes and rasped hoarsely, “Trial success rate is below 5%. Those missing people are probably… gone. Tang Mobai is our only viable contact with that platform.”
Another sighed, glancing at the file on the desk. “If only someone stronger had been chosen… Training a normal person from scratch is too hard.”
“Is that so? I actually think we’re lucky,” a calm voice interrupted.
They turned — it was Wang Yuanzhi. Caught gossiping by a superior, the two froze, panic flashing in their eyes. “Sir, we didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine. I know you didn’t.” Wang Yuanzhi patted their shoulders reassuringly, while the others around them looked sympathetic.
“You’re right, he’s still green. But…” Wang Yuanzhi picked up another document.
[In ‘Lost Paradise,’ participants gain powers born from their “id.” These abilities are almost impossible to replicate.]
[“Troublemakers” are those who defy rules and order — they are naturally gifted at exploiting loopholes.]
“Like a black goat among sheep,” Wang Yuanzhi said. “He may not be the strongest, nor the smartest — but he’s the one daring enough to climb over the fence.”
*
On screen, Tang Mobai vanished around a corner. The “security guard” NPC instinctively gave chase — until sand suddenly blew into his eyes.
Tang Mobai turned back, kicked hard at the guard’s knee, but the guard braced himself like a mountain and counterpunched. Tang Mobai raised his arm to block — pain shot through him, forcing him to grit his teeth and leap backward. Stepping on the low railing behind him, he looked down at the dark night three floors below. The acacia trees looked like green umbrellas beneath him.
Smiling, he jumped.
The guard blinked in disbelief, rushing to the railing — only to see Tang Mobai safely land on the second-floor corridor. “That kid’s got guts,” he muttered.
Since Tang Mobai had already failed to collect the third key within the time limit, the “security guard” didn’t chase further. No need to risk injury for a failed test.
The coaches outside were thinking the same thing. One of the combat instructors hesitated, then changed Tang Mobai’s score from C to C+.
“He learns fast,” the coach said. “He just lacks killer instinct. Always trying to evade instead of fight back. But if he lets go a little, I bet he’d surprise us.”
“Peace times aren’t like before.”
“Still think we should let him bleed a little.”
“Maybe next phase, we should—”
“Wait,” Wang Yuanzhi suddenly interrupted. “He hasn’t given up yet… Huh? Where is he going?”
The team looked back at the monitors. Tang Mobai was still running — not aimlessly, but with clear intent. He descended to the first floor, moving quickly through the hallways.
One instructor slowly raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me…”
“What?” asked Wang Yuanzhi. “Did you leave another way to clear the stage?”
“No,” the instructor said quickly. “There’s only one path. But… You know all those locked rooms and illusions? They’re powered by the electrical system. And if he—”
Wang Yuanzhi’s eyes widened. He turned to the screen.
Sure enough, Tang Mobai stopped before a large door labeled “Electrical Room.”
Technically, the keys he had could open any room except the final safe room — but apparently, he had other ideas.
He pulled out a piece of wire.
They had taught him basic lockpicking in those two weeks. Somehow, he’d picked it up instantly — though his strength barely improved, he mastered these tricks frighteningly fast.
He pressed his ear to the door, twisted the wire a few times, and click — the door swung open.
Without hesitation, under everyone’s stunned gaze, Tang Mobai reached out and pulled the main switch.
The entire building went dark.
Wang Yuanzhi and the instructors were speechless.
“Damn brat,” Wang Yuanzhi muttered, half laughing, half exasperated. “And he says he’s not a troublemaker?”
Technically, he hadn’t broken any rules. Three keys were needed to open the safe room; one or two could open random classrooms. With two keys, Tang Mobai was allowed to open everything except the safe room.
No one expected him to take this approach — after all, this was just training.
But to Tang Mobai, this was his last simulation.
So why not have some fun with it?
Grinning, he slipped out of the power room and dashed upstairs toward the third floor, alert but elated.
Two weeks of non-stop simulations — and not once had he cleared a stage perfectly.
At least this time, he wanted to win.
That strange, exhilarating spark of competitiveness burned bright in his chest.
But he had only just climbed to the third floor when his face froze. The pale shape of the female ghost silently blocked the stairwell. Tang Mobai didn’t even turn his head—he saw five security guards blocking the stairs he had been climbing.
No problem, he could just climb over the railing and go down to the lower stairs… uh.
When did this happen? The lower stairwell was already packed with ghostly figures. The worst part: he could clearly see several of them still wearing uniforms—some had even just slipped on wigs and came straight out!
“Wait—this is over the line!”
That was the last thing Tang Mobai had time to shout before he was swallowed by the swarm arranged by the coaching team. Big, burly men—man after man—piled on top of him.
By the time they finally pulled Tang Mobai out, he didn’t even have the strength to raise a white flag. It took him a long while to recover. When he came to, Wang Yuanzhi was smiling at him.
“Congratulations, Tang Mobai. The two weeks of training are complete.”
Tang Mobai blinked back to reality and glared pitifully. “Those last numbers of ghosts—weren’t they more than what the scene NPCs should have been?”
Wang Yuanzhi didn’t answer. The man who spoke was the instructor responsible for the scenario setup; he snorted and said, almost apologetically, “You triggered an unknown branch in the script. Some irregular mobs showing up is reasonable.”
Tang Mobai blinked, and for a moment he thought he saw black flame flicker behind the instructor. He wisely shut his mouth. When you’ve pissed off the hosts, quiet is a troublemaker’s best quality.
“All right, save the perfect clear for next time. Congratulations on finishing the training.” Wang Yuanzhi said. At that moment, the ghosts who had been crawling out from behind the curtains also began to climb out—several middle-aged people emerged as well.
The female ghosts tossed their hair back, wiped their faces with warm towels, and revealed normally attractive faces underneath. Tang Mobai recognized the famous directors and special-effects makeup artists he had only seen on TV; they all stepped forward smiling and applauded.
A national first-tier actor, a veteran horror-film director, multiple award-winning special effects makeup masters, lighting technicians and psychologists—these professionals together formed the two-week coaching team.
Realizing that this hellish training (for real) was finally over, Tang Mobai felt tears prick his eyes. He eagerly went forward to shake hands with each teacher, then knelt slightly and warmly shook hands with the “corpse-smelling” physical instructor who had been especially harsh on him.
The people present: …
Calmly wiping the gore off, Tang Mobai looked at Wang Yuanzhi expectantly. “So—can I rest tonight?”
“Of course. Tonight you should rest well so you can recover.” Wang Yuanzhi began to reflect that maybe the two weeks of training had been a bit overboard, and that Tang Mobai was starting to grow in some strange directions.
Hooray!
A rare night without thinking about tomorrow’s training, without bracing for when the next ghost might pop up—Tang Mobai went to bed full of anticipation and stared at the ceiling. He stared and stared. He couldn’t sleep.
At six the next morning, Tang Mobai washed up, went outside and found a line of people waiting at the door: members of the coaching team, the psychologist who had been working on his mental issues, and Wang Yuanzhi, the base supervisor.
Tang Mobai blinked. “Wow—so many people. You all look so serious, it feels like I’m about to go somewhere and never come back.”
“Mobai,” Wang Yuanzhi said softly, “you looked exhausted yesterday, so we’re skipping a long debrief. But before you leave, there is one more thing I need to tell you.”
Tang Mobai hesitated. “Go ahead.”
“From the information you provided, each dungeon is essentially a different world. That means everyone pulled into the Infinite Platform—strong or weak—basically starts from the same baseline once they enter a dungeon. Environmental resources and reputation don’t help much. Personal hard stats—strength, intelligence, charisma—will be decisive. And those take time to accumulate. I’m sorry, but even now we cannot fully guarantee your safety.”
Tang Mobai was stunned for a moment, then forced a smile. “I know that. It’s not your fault. I’m just weak; the state has already given me a lot of help.”
Wang Yuanzhi didn’t reply to that. He continued, “The two things you submitted—the supernatural world item, we still can’t unlock its secrets. Mass production is impossible for the time being. But that damaged watch—although most of its exchange functions are locked, it did leave behind a livestream account.”
Over the past two weeks, Tang Mobai had taken code courses and had some guesses, but Wang Yuanzhi had never stated this directly—and Tang Mobai hadn’t asked. Only now did he realize the significance. He couldn’t believe it. “So I can contact you from that world?” he asked in disbelief.
“It should be possible, with restrictions. We tested it: the account is at the lowest level. It can only send up to ten messages a day and cannot enter higher-level live rooms,” Wang Yuanzhi said, watching Tang Mobai’s excited expression with a smile. “But indeed, this will be our strongest card. While you explore, we can help you through the livestream.”
How was this different from having a pocket grandpa? Oh—except for ten messages a day. Still—super cost-effective. It was basically having an external brain attached.
Tang Mobai’s eyes lit up; his previous gloom and despair vanished. He felt his emotions inflate like a balloon.
“Don’t worry—you’re not alone.”
“We will remember you. Everyone will watch and face the hardships with you. We’ll be here—waiting for you to come back.” Wang Yuanzhi reached out his hand.
Tang Mobai instinctively took it, his fingers trembling slightly. The middle-aged man’s warm, dry hand gripped his tightly; the temperature transmitted across. Tang Mobai lowered his eyes and a smile tugged at his lips. “Does this count as the state helping me cheat?”
“Count it, of course it does,” Wang Yuanzhi grinned. “Congratulations, Comrade Tang—you are now state-sanctioned property.”
They exchanged smiles. Although troublemakers were a headache, once he was part of them, all that remained was joy.
“See you.”
“See you—we’ll meet again for sure.”
When the strange pulling sensation arrived, Tang Mobai took a deep breath and dispelled the unease and panic. What was there to fear? Two weeks of training were enough to change him. His ascent would begin in the next dungeon.
[Detected: broadcaster ID 99998 has logged in. Current points: 0. Trial failed. Processing result: erasure.]
Is it starting?
…It’s already over!
