“Hurry up, kiddo! I’m already set — just waiting on you!” came an urgent voice through the headset.
“Coming, coming. Just finishing dinner.”
Lu Qiuchen shoveled the last bit of food from his lunchbox, glanced at the time on his computer screen, and mumbled while chewing, “There’s still a few minutes left. I won’t be late.”
“As if I don’t know what you’re like! Being late would be the best case! If I don’t push you now, I won’t see a trace of you all night!” The voice on the other end grew sharper.
“If you dare ghost me again today, you’d better scrub yourself squeaky clean and wait at home for me to gracefully ravish you tonight!”
That was a bit much, but Lu Qiuchen was used to his good friend’s outrageous way of talking.
He could only respond weakly, “There was a reason that time…”
“You can start creating your character half an hour early — get online, now! I’ll be waiting five minutes in the newbie village when the server opens. If you mess up my questing schedule again, your ass is done for tonight!” The call cut off abruptly.
“Sigh, such a hothead.” Staring at the now-ended call, Lu Qiuchen put down his chopsticks and stretched lazily.
Lu Qiuchen, a sophomore at S University, had a build noticeably smaller than most of his peers and a baby face to match — earning him the nickname “Kid” from his dormmates.
He had a serious case of procrastination: even though he understood deadlines, he’d often only finish tasks right before the cutoff.
A few nights ago, some sudden emergency had kept him from showing up to game with his friend Zhang Cheng — an unfortunate but unavoidable no-show.
After tossing his lunchbox into the trash, Lu Qiuchen took off his headset, washed his hands and face in the bathroom, and returned to his bedroom, where a large full-dive gaming pod dominated one side of the room.
Full-dive gaming was a new style of video gaming that had only begun maturing in recent years.
Using game pods to interface with brainwaves, it allowed players to mentally dive into game worlds — offering a level of freedom and immersion unimaginable on traditional platforms.
What was once only a fantasy among gamers had finally become reality.
Over a decade ago, a company called Eternity Technologies made a breakthrough in holographic tech, turning that dream into something real.
Practically overnight, Eternity became one of the most influential corporations on the planet — eventually growing into a multinational conglomerate.
While the technology was initially used for science and military purposes, it slowly found its way into the consumer market.
Eternity, a fantasy-themed full-dive online multiplayer game developed by Eternity World’s game division, was the world’s first true holographic MMO.
The very announcement of the project had sparked massive discussion, and during development it remained a hot topic across social media.
Following two rounds of closed beta, the game was finally launching its third closed test today at 2:00 PM — a one-week-long trial.
Unlike the previous two internal betas, this round had released 3,000 test slots to the public.
And for those mere 3,000 spots, the official website had logged over two hundred million pre-registrations — a testament to the incredible pull of the world’s first full-dive MMO.
Speaking of Eternity, one couldn’t ignore the specialized equipment required to enter the game world: fixed full-dive game pods and portable holographic helmets.
Thanks to continuous iterations from the Eternity Corporation and recent breakthroughs in material science, the price of game pods had dropped from astronomical figures to the current level of one million yuan.
Even so, the cost was still enough to discourage the average person.
At present, since Eternity hadn’t officially launched yet, the game pods and helmets could only run a few professional applications and some built-in single-player games — not nearly enough to justify the purchase for most people.
Game pods could be filled with nutrient and cleansing fluids, monitor the player’s physical condition during gameplay, and — with the player’s consent — allow the system to handle feeding, waste disposal, and hygiene without interrupting the game.
Sessions could last up to 24 hours at a time. In contrast, holographic helmets were much cheaper at just two hundred thousand yuan, but came with more limitations: for health reasons, usage time was capped at six hours per session.
Lu Qiuchen came from a modest background. As an ordinary college student, he certainly couldn’t afford such a pricey machine.
The pod in his room had been a gift from the game company — a bonus for being one of the 3,000 lucky testers selected for the closed beta.
Three days earlier, service personnel from the company had arrived at the address he’d provided and installed the pod in his room.
Naturally, this came with conditions: per his agreement with Eternity World, he had to log at least 48 hours in-game over the course of the one-week test.
This particular unit also differed from retail models — it was permanently bound to his identity upon installation and could not be used by anyone else.
But the requirement wasn’t all that demanding. According to Eternity World’s documentation, a player’s brainwave activity during gameplay closely mimicked natural sleep.
After a 24-hour game session, a mere 2–3 hours of real-world sleep would be enough to recover mentally.
Of course, the company still advised players not to stay in “full online mode” for too long. In simpler terms: playing in the pod was basically equivalent to sleeping.
Lu Qiuchen gazed at the pod, which stood nearly as tall as his torso.
Shaped like a horizontal capsule, it lay at the far side of the room, occupying the spot where his single bed used to be. The light-blue exterior gleamed with a metallic sheen under the lighting.
The top portion differed in material from the body — a silver-gray, oval-shaped hatch was seamlessly fitted into the frame, and its streamlined design further emphasized a futuristic aesthetic.
Even after three days, the sight of this sci-fi marvel still stirred some excitement in his chest.
He pressed the button at the front of the pod. With a soft mechanical whirr, the hatch folded open, revealing the interior space.
Stripping off his clothes and glasses, Lu Qiuchen stepped onto a stool and carefully climbed over the pod’s edge — a bit tall for him, considering his 170 cm height.
Thankfully, he had already experienced this on his first try and had prepared accordingly.
Lying flat inside the pod, Lu Qiuchen adjusted the internal equipment. The mattress-like material cradled his body softly, its composition unknown.
He reached out and pressed the internal button to close the hatch, then looked up at the small display screen above: August 12, 20XX, 13:57.
“Eternity login,” Lu Qiuchen silently repeated the command twice in his mind — the official login method for Eternity.
“Iris scan complete. Identity verified. Adventurer, welcome to the world of Eternity.”
A gentle female voice echoed through his mind.
The next moment, Lu Qiuchen felt his vision slowly fade into darkness.
Tftc!