After a brief day of rest, Su Shisan quickly dove back into work. First on the list: getting He Feixian listed in the marketplace to audition as a dungeon NPC.
Sure, she had once been a Builder and probably had experience playing NPC roles, but Su Shisan figured a mindset shift might be necessary. Best to get her more field time.
Acting skills and good looks were both highly valued traits for NPCs.
Low-level Builders often dismissed the importance of beauty—after all, with the right item, you could swap faces like masks and design any appearance you wanted.
But there’s a world of difference between someone who’s always been beautiful and someone who just became beautiful overnight.
In low-tier dungeons, that nuance might go unnoticed. But in high-tier ones, it could mean the difference between passing as an undercover NPC or getting instantly flagged.
Fortunately, He Feixian received multiple offers right away: C- and B-tier dungeons wanted her as an infiltrator, while a D-tier asked her to be a host.
Su Shisan reviewed the schedules, saw no overlap, asked for He Feixian’s input, and accepted them all. More experience, more player interaction—a win-win.
Once He Feixian was off on her assignments, it was Su Shisan’s turn. Her own listing had been up for two days, and she’d gotten a trickle of invites. She accepted an NPC role in a zombie-themed dungeon.
Yes, a zombie dungeon!
As a former horror screenwriter, Su Shisan had seen plenty of zombie flicks. But playing the villain in one?
First time. It might not help her own dungeon-building, but the concept intrigued her.
More importantly, it was an A-tier dungeon.
Even if no one spoke to her the entire time, she could soak up loads of insight just by being there. When she first got the offer, she was stunned.
The leap from D-tier to A-tier is massive. She couldn’t imagine how her sparse resume had landed her such a prestigious gig.
Still, no way she’d say no. Even if it were something she had no interest in, she’d go just to see what an A-tier dungeon looked like. But this one?
This one she actually wanted.
“Here’s the world background and your storyline. Take a look.”
The Builder of the A-tier dungeon, known as Director Liu, was an unassuming man: thick lips, a prominent belly, the air of someone used to giving orders. Instantly, Su Shisan pegged him as a real-world director.
The script he handed her was formatted professionally, confirming her guess. Writers, novelists, directors—those were the kinds of people who often became Builders.
They already had the creative instincts the role demanded.
As a former editor, Su Shisan read scripts like second nature. She quickly got into the flow.
This particular A-tier dungeon would last for fifteen days. A survival-type dungeon: thirty players trapped in a city had to survive for fifteen days or escape. Seemed basic, but the twist?
The zombies weren’t mindless. They were infected with something called the Blood Cross virus.
It was an obscure reference, but Su Shisan had read a manga about it in her previous life. She knew the lore.
The virus was transmitted through blood. Infected individuals gained enhanced strength and speed—and also became euphoric from pain.
But its true horror lay in what it unlocked: the infected retained their intelligence and memories but lost all morality and self-control.
Their deepest malice and darkest desires were unleashed. The name came from the cross-shaped boils that erupted on their faces.
Blood Crosses were zombies on steroids. When humans could use their full intellect and weapons without restraint, the world didn’t spiral into chaos—it plunged.
Gunfire, blades, traps, strategy, even nukes—whatever skills you had in life, you kept after infection. Imagine what would happen if a general, a government official, or a scientist got turned.
The damage would be catastrophic.
To make things worse, this was a European map. And in Europe, owning firearms was legal.
The setting was perfect for a nightmare.
After the lore came the roles. Only two NPC descriptions were included: Director Liu’s own, and Su Shisan’s.
Smart move—limiting info helped prevent accidental leaks if a player ever captured or manipulated her.
Director Liu played a VIP with the authority to launch a missile strike and destroy the city.
But balance dictated limits: he had to remain hidden until the last day and could only use his power after escaping the city.
So he needed capable NPCs outside to be his hands—to stir unrest, spread infection, and even convert players.
Players weren’t as easily infected as NPCs: they needed to be exposed three times, or have the virus enter through an open wound or mouth.
The first two exposures just made them angrier. But if you were paying attention, that was a sign.
Su Shisan’s assigned role?
A noble kindergarten teacher tasked with infecting the children, who would in turn infect their parents.
To make things more interesting, one player would be randomly assigned to her class. Su Shisan had to complete her mission without being found out—or worse, killed early. No infection, no points.
“Can I ask why you picked me?” she asked after finishing the script.
“Sparta recommended you,” Director Liu replied without hesitation.
“Said you have an intuitive edge.”
The kindergarten teacher NPC was critical. The noble children were the catalyst for the city’s fall. Once the upper echelon turned, the common folk never stood a chance.
Director Liu had his own permanent NPCs, of course. Normally, he’d have used one. But they were all combat-heavy or skilled actors.
Later, he realized what he really needed was someone approachable. Someone who wouldn’t scare players off.
But when he tried buying new ones, he was too high-level to find basic NPCs.
The ones he got were all rare-tier with special abilities—and that backfired spectacularly when a player exposed one using a detection item.
Turns out, in A-tier dungeons, special abilities made you a target.
So he bought a D-tier NPC last month—but they lacked chemistry. And his first attempt at this dungeon flopped. He was rushing to relaunch, and a reliable Builder would be better than a new NPC.
Sparta told him about Su Shisan. He looked her up.
What he found shocked him. Sparta said she was an E-tier rookie. Now she was D-tier with only two dungeons on her profile.
With Sparta’s timeline, he knew one of them had to be a fast-track rank-up. From E to D in one dungeon?
That alone earned his respect.
Maybe she was lucky. Maybe she was a genius. He was willing to find out.
“So,” Director Liu asked, “how do you plan to infect the kids without getting caught?”
“How about a performance?” Su Shisan smiled.
“Masked, of course.”
Backstage, she wore a golden bird mask, just like the kids lined up in front of her.
She had already kissed every single child in class. Their weak immune systems made the infection quick. The last one to turn nearly got disemboweled by the others.
Now they stood gleefully, gold masks hiding cross-shaped rashes, tiny hands clutching forks and eyes shining with innocent malice.
Su Shisan observed calmly. The kids were twisted, sure. But so was she.
She didn’t feel guilty. But she knew it was wrong. Infecting children?
Morally repugnant. A hundred death sentences wouldn’t be enough.
But that’s the trait Builders need: the capacity for evil. Normal people couldn’t do this.
The kids were still kids in form and thought. But they were tools.
And Su Shisan?
Efficient, as always.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Ready!” the children chirped.
Their turn came.
The host called out:
“Let’s welcome the Sunflower Class and their performance—‘Kiss Kiss Love!’”
Among the audience, the player known as “Just Polite” was fidgeting. This was day one, and he had deduced that this was a stockpile-based survival dungeon.
No storage items allowed. That meant: hoard or die.
But he had a problem. No money.
He was playing a kindergarten teacher. His in-game mother was the principal, and he couldn’t skip the New Year’s event today without angering her. If he left, she’d cut him off.
And robbing someone on day one?
Risky. If the dungeon delayed its crisis event, he could end up in jail. And A-tier prisons weren’t easy to break out of.
So he waited.
The kids danced on stage, masks beaming, laughter infectious. The audience smiled and clapped.
As the show ended, each child ran to their parents and gave them a kiss.
“Mua!”
It was adorable. Even Just Polite relaxed a bit.
Until it was his turn. A child kissed him.
He chuckled, tension easing. Then turned, checked his phone, and headed to the principal’s office.
He never noticed the eyes watching him.
Target acquired.
Su Shisan followed, pausing to grab a pitcher of water.
“Principal, the water dispenser is still broken, right? I brought this for you,” she said sweetly.
She walked in, saw Just Polite there too, and smiled.
“Oh, Mr. Lin! You must be thirsty too. Here.”
She poured water for both.
“Nice job with the show today,” the principal said.
“But why are you still wearing your mask?”
“The kids wouldn’t let me take it off. Said it ruins the magic,” Su Shisan replied innocently.
Just Polite accepted the water, suspicious levels dropping. He chugged the glass.
Su Shisan left quietly, texting Director Liu:
“Mission complete. Player infected.”
She deleted the message immediately.
Director Liu replied fast.
“Infected as in full conversion? Or first contact?”
“Full conversion.”
Behind her, the office door opened. Just Polite and the principal stepped out, faces marked by red crosses, eyes gleaming with madness.
She didn’t panic. Blood Cross zombies wouldn’t waste energy on each other. Not yet.
They were allies—for now.
“Enjoy yourselves,” she said, making a mock bow.
They grinned and walked off, eyes never leaving her.
Su Shisan glanced at her phone again.
Director Liu hadn’t expected her to finish so fast. He messaged:
“Act on your own for now. Don’t get killed.”
He didn’t want her to infect more—her combat skills were too weak. Better to conserve her energy for when he really needed her.
Su Shisan agreed. She had tried to build up her strength before, but it never stuck. She lacked the willpower for physical training.
Ten minutes on the treadmill wiped her out. The expensive treadmill she bought with 30 points was already gathering dust.
“Understood. Let me know if anything comes up,” she replied.
She touched her mask, still on her face, and calmly walked out of the kindergarten.
Behind her, laughter and screams echoed. The party had begun.
Driving home, Su Shisan surveyed the city. On the surface, nothing had changed.
But here and there, people walked the streets with red crosses blooming on their cheeks, eyes manic with barely contained cruelty.
Most pedestrians looked away politely. That reflex would cost them dearly.
Suddenly, one Blood Cross snapped.
A red-haired man pulled out a kitchen knife and slashed a passerby.
Once. Twice. Throat. Chest. Belly. Then he turned the body over and carved a cross into the victim’s face.
Blood sprayed. Screams rang out. The man laughed hysterically as he hacked away.
People froze. Some screamed. Some filmed. Some called the cops.
But few ran.
They stood at a distance, watching.
The blood spattered across them.
Su Shisan shook her head and drove on.
There would be more Blood Crosses soon.