Chapter 7: The Beginning of a Player

The wooden door creaked, a sharp “squeak” slicing through the quiet.

Su Luo was lost in thought when the door nudged open, revealing a sliver of light.

She glanced up to see Su Mao, her little brother from the orphanage, peering in.

His eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement as he flung the door wide and bounded inside.

“Sis, I heard you awakened your talent skill!” 

His voice brimmed with awe, the kind only a boy too young to understand the weight of such things could muster.

To him, awakening a skill was a golden ticket to endless adventure, a gateway to glory.

Su Luo’s lips curved faintly.

“Yeah, I’m leaving on Friday,” she said, her tone clipped, matter-of-fact.

The spark in Su Mao’s eyes dimmed, his excitement dissolving like mist under the sun.

She studied the boy, his face still soft with youth, and softened her voice.

“When I’m gone, you need to listen to Mama Dean, okay? You’re almost a big kid now. Look after the others, and don’t give her any trouble.”

Su Mao plopped down beside her, his puppy-dog eyes glistening with a mix of devotion and sorrow.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” he mumbled, but then a flicker of hope reignited in his gaze.

“But I bet I’ll awaken a skill too! When I do, I’ll come find you, and we’ll be unstoppable—sister and brother, ruling the world!”

Su Luo couldn’t help but chuckle, ruffling his hair affectionately.

The kid’s dreams were pure, untainted by the harsh truths she’d come to know.

She didn’t have the heart to shatter his fantasy, though she silently prayed he’d never awaken.

Better to stay safe in the ordinary than be thrust into the chaos of her new reality.

***

Friday arrived too soon.

Su Luo stood alone at the airport, having gently refused Mama Dean’s offer to see her off.

The terminal buzzed with life—children’s faces alight with anticipation, their voices a chorus of eager chatter.

They were like Su Mao, dreaming of heroics, oblivious to the cost.

Their parents, however, wore masks of grief, their quiet sobs weaving a mournful undercurrent through the crowd.

Su Luo glanced at the boarding pass in her hand: Gate One.

As if on cue, the loudspeaker crackled to life.

“Passengers for Gate One, please board immediately. Passengers for Gate One, please board immediately.”

She stepped onto the plane, her heart steady but heavy.

Settling into her seat, she froze.

Next to her sat a boy who could’ve stepped out of a painting.

He wore a black hoodie, his pale skin almost luminous against the dark fabric.

A cap shadowed half his face, revealing only a sharp, elegant nose and lips the soft pink of cherry blossoms.

His features were chiseled, striking—his charm stat, she guessed, had to be at least a 15.

Her stare must’ve burned, because he lifted his head, meeting her gaze.

His eyes, deep brown and framed by lashes that seemed to carry both passion and indifference, locked onto hers.

For a moment, Su Luo felt like she was drowning in their depths, caught in a current she hadn’t expected. 

Then he tipped his cap lower, closed his eyes, and shut her out.

Su Luo blinked, snapping out of her daze.

She raised an eyebrow, sliding into her seat with a wry smile.

‘Well, looks like my neighbor’s a cool guy,’ she thought, amused. 

She might be a sucker for a pretty face, but she wasn’t desperate.

If he wanted to play the aloof card, she wasn’t about to chase a conversation.

The flight passed in silence.

***

Twelve hours later, the plane touched down on the Player Continent.

Under the guide’s direction, Su Luo registered her blood and fingerprints, activating her system with a faint chime.

She found a quiet corner of the airport and logged in. 

‘ “Ding-dong! Greetings, User 901237828. Your system is at your service. Please name your system.” ‘

Su Luo wasn’t in the mood for creativity.

“Just call it Tongzi,” she said lazily.

‘ “Very well 🙂 Tongzi is at your service.” ‘ 

Was that a smiley face mocking her?

She smirked, too tired to care.

The twelve-hour flight had drained her, and all she wanted was to collapse into a bed—any bed. 

She’d heard that new players on the Player Continent were given free housing for the first year.

With players scarce and the land vast, it was a practical perk.

At the teleportation point, she arrived at her assigned home—a simple one-bedroom with a living area, all in stark black and white.

It was modest but clean, a far cry from the cramped orphanage quarters.

Su Luo nodded, satisfied.

***

After unpacking her meager belongings, she sank onto the bed and opened the system again, pulling up the “Player’s Guide.”

Her eyes skimmed the text, the weight of her new life settling in.

The Player Continent wasn’t just a destination—it was a crucible, and she was now a part of its unpredictable game.

[The Player’s Guide Unveiled]

Su Luo devoured the “Player’s Guide,” her eyes darting across the system’s glowing interface.

The rules were stark, unyielding, painting a world where every choice carried weight:

– Players must enter at least one assessment dungeon per month, with a cap of three dungeons total.

– One system point equaled ten yuan.

– University assignments mirrored college entrance exam scores—click to view results.

Player-Specific Rules:

– Professions included Warrior, Mage, Tank, Assassin, and Priest, assigned during the initial assessment.

– Completing an assessment dungeon guaranteed a skill and attribute points, with a maximum of five skills per player. Talent skills could be upgraded.

– Monthly assessment dungeons were mandatory, while game dungeons were optional, up to three per month.

– Death in a game dungeon cost 20 points; failure, 30 points.

– Death in an assessment dungeon or in reality was final—no revival.

– A thousand points could be exchanged for one year of life. At 18, a redeemed year preserved the body’s vitality as if time stood still.

– Players could retire from the game at 60.

– The system granted access to the player forum.

Heart pounding, Su Luo clicked to check her exam results.

Relief washed over her—she’d secured a spot at Q University, the best in this strange new world.

A weight lifted from her chest.

Dungeons might offer a chance to earn points, but the math was brutal.

Even if she cleared four dungeons a month, each yielding 25 points, a year’s haul of 1200 points wouldn’t come close to the 20,000 needed to buy twenty years of life for a safe retirement at 60.

For most players, survival still hinged on education and skill, just like the old world.

With Q University as her safety net, Su Luo’s real-world future felt secure.

Her talent skill gave her an edge in dungeons, enough to break even if she played it safe.

‘Stay cautious, survive, and I’ll make it to 60,’ she vowed, a spark of optimism flickering in her chest.

Yet, sitting on the edge of her bed in this unfamiliar room, doubt crept in.

The black-and-white walls felt cold, alien.

Her adaptability had always been her strength, but the Player Continent was a labyrinth of unknowns.

No familiar faces, no comforting routines—only endless dangers and trials that rhymed with uncertainty.

What would her future hold?

Exhausted, Su Luo flopped onto the bed, letting her mind go blank.

Tomorrow’s initial dungeon loomed, and she needed every ounce of strength to face it.

***

At 8 a.m., the system pinged with a notification: ‘ “Enter the dungeon by 9 a.m. Failure to comply will result in forced entry within one minute.” ‘

Su Luo’s stomach twisted.

If she’d overslept, she could’ve been yanked into a dungeon mid-dream—a death sentence wrapped in carelessness.

By 9, she steadied her nerves and clicked “Enter Dungeon.”

A faint hum filled her ears, words like “clear… memory…” drifting through the haze, tethering her to the moment she’d first arrived.

The memory faded, and reality snapped back.

Su Luo stood before her task panel, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

She and her partner, Ji Hei, had played it smart, avoiding trouble while other teams crumbled.

Their restraint earned them a gift from two veteran players: an elite monster each.

The veterans, with knowing grins, said they didn’t peg Su Luo and Ji Hei as low-tier players.

If their paths wouldn’t cross again, why not leave them with a parting favor?

As a Priest, Su Luo decided to pour her attribute points into Spirit, boosting both her healing and attack power, with a touch of Speed for good measure.

“Add to Spirit,” she commanded.

‘ “Point allocation successful. Displaying attribute panel:” ‘

– Health: 25 (+6)

– Strength: 7

– Speed: 12

– Spirit: 14 (+1)

– Endurance: 10

– Charm: 12

– Points: 20

Recalling the veterans’ advice, Su Luo opened the player forum.

The initial “Complete Your Assessment” post was gone.

“Beep.”

Her account auto-registered.

Her eyes landed on the pinned post: “Things Every Player Must Know.”

The title was absurdly casual, almost mocking, and it cost three points to access.

If not for the veterans’ nudge, she might’ve skipped it.

Grudgingly, she paid and clicked.

‘Things Every Player Must Know:’

‘Dungeon Rules:’

– Game dungeons fell into categories: Supernatural, Survival, and Others.

– Death in a game dungeon deducted 20 points; failure, 30 points.

– Monthly assessment dungeons were mandatory, with failure meaning death.

– Completing an assessment dungeon granted one attribute point.

– Killing an assessment dungeon’s boss earned another attribute point.

– Assessment dungeons offered a choice of one new skill (from three options) or a skill upgrade.

– Completing hidden tasks or killing a boss in a game dungeon also yielded an attribute point.

‘Player Rules:’

– Professions: Warrior, Mage, Tank, Assassin, Priest.

– Profession distribution: Mages and Warriors outnumbered Tanks, followed by Assassins, then Priests.

– Tanks started with +5 Health and could add points to Health, unlike other professions.

– Charm could be raised to a maximum of 20.

– Initial assessment ratings—Fail, Pass, Good, Excellent—determined the damage of the first skill, which couldn’t be upgraded.

– Ranks progressed from Normal to Elite to Master.

– Weapon tiers: Common (5 points), Spiritual (50 points), Treasure (500 points), with points indicating their max sale value at each rank.

– 1000 points equaled one year of life.

– Players could team up (same rank), two per team, with rankings based on their average score.

– After six months, players stopped earning attribute points.

– The first month was a newbie protection period, with penalties halved.

– During the first month, frequent dungeon partners were matched based on potential compatibility—a perk that vanished later.

– Good luck.

Su Luo exhaled, the weight of the information settling over her.

Three points well spent—this was a goldmine of insight.

The rules were intricate, unforgiving.

The Player Continent didn’t coddle its players, and she was only beginning to grasp how steep her climb would be.