Chapter 23 (Part 1)

Ideals (Debugging)

The students nearby looked up at Zhang San's sudden outburst.

"Sorry, sorry — I couldn't help it." Under a wall of clear, questioning eyes, Zhang San scrambled to explain with a conciliatory smile. "Xiao Chao's handwriting just — genuinely floored me. That's beautiful calligraphy. Are you a master of the brush arts or something?"

"Just passable, really." Chao Musheng grinned. "Only ever won first place in the district primary school Year Six hard-pen calligraphy competition."

"Less chatting." The senior slapped the table. "Write."

"Yes, Senior." Chao Musheng bent obediently to his work, and without missing a beat, gave Zhang San and Zhao Shang a subtle wave — go, find a moment to slip out and watch the show.

"Neither of you are going anywhere." The senior's eye missed nothing. She wasn't letting go of a single available pair of hands. "Go help the props team."

Zhang San accepted this with a cheerful nod. He and Zhao Shang turned the corner into an empty stretch of corridor, and the smile dropped from his face.

He looked down at the certificate in his hands. One thin slip of paper. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"Shang-bro, did you also—" He wanted to ask if Zhao Shang had received the hidden quest too. The sentence started, and then he didn't want to finish it.

As long as he didn't ask, he could pretend he didn't know what Shang-bro had decided.

The sound of students laughing drifted through from the backstage area. Music and song washed back and forth along the corridor from the front of the house.

For the students of this instance, this was a warm and lively night.

Zhao Shang folded the certificate neatly and tucked it into his pocket, face unreadable. "I'm going to help with the props. You coming?"

Zhang San blinked. "Yeah."

Neither of them said another word about the hidden quest. As though it had never appeared.

*

"Xiao Chao — you seem quite fond of those two visiting students." The senior's hand was moving so fast filling in certificates that it left an afterimage, but this did not prevent her from also holding a conversation.

"They've come a long way for this placement. As their assigned host, I'd like to make sure they take home something good from the experience." Chao Musheng was equally efficient — filling in names while keeping up an ongoing stream of casual greetings with students passing through.

"More importantly, they're good people." He said it lightly. "Last time we went to get justice for Little Tangerine — Zhao Shang was on our side without hesitation."

He didn't mention what had happened in the bathroom with Chen Er and Zhou Yi.

Zhang San and Zhao Shang were visiting students recommended from a disadvantaged area. Stepping in when they saw Zhou Yi being hurt — he didn't know how much courage that had taken. Was he really supposed to believe they were the only ones who'd walked past that bathroom and noticed something wrong?

Choosing not to get involved was perfectly human. Choosing to step in was something else.

Zhou Yi was his classmate — and the person who kept his entire dormitory fed. The two of them had stood up for him, which made them something like honorary members of the whole group.

"Fair enough." The senior nodded. "How are they getting along with the coursework?"

Chao Musheng's pen paused briefly.

Zhao Shang was manageable — he could follow along with the fundamentals at least.

Zhang San was a complete mystery to the material. His expression during lectures was more pained than a gorilla attempting advanced mathematics. He did take notes conscientiously, and he always turned in his assignments — it was just that the accuracy hovered at approximately zero.

"Their attitude toward learning is very commendable." Chao Musheng looked back down at his work. "Attitude is the most important thing."

Compared to what the other hosts were dealing with, Zhang San and Zhao Shang were genuinely low-maintenance.

Happiness, after all, is relative.

The group chat had been running at several hundred messages a day, nearly all of them being detailed accounts of personal suffering from the various seniors and their assigned students.

The physics senior had been tagged the most often. Every day, someone in the chat was demanding to know why the physics department had failed to develop a time machine — because if one existed, they would use it to go back to before they had agreed to take on this hosting assignment and simply not.

*

In the front rows of the auditorium, the school leadership and distinguished guests watched the performances on stage. Several guests kept glancing sideways at Mr. Xu, who was seated next to the president, quietly puzzled.

At events like this, the usual arrangement was to stay for a polite interval — cooperate with any press photography, say something complimentary about the school, and then find a graceful reason to leave.

But Mr. Xu wasn't leaving. And while he wasn't leaving, none of the others could in good conscience find an excuse to go either.

One act ended. Cameras swept the audience. Smile, applaud, nod appreciatively.

The next act began. More applause. More expressions of warm anticipation.

One guest had read the program through several times already. What exactly was on this list that was keeping Mr. Xu planted so firmly in his seat?

Or was it one of the celebrity performers? Someone he personally admired?

Though even that didn't quite make sense — at Mr. Xu's level, if there was an artist he wanted to hear, he could have them perform privately. There was no particular reason to sit in a crowd of this size for it.

Nine o'clock. Mr. Xu remained. The other guests stayed.

Ten o'clock. Mr. Xu showed no signs of leaving. The guests smiled for the cameras and kept applauding.

The guests were quietly miserable. The school leadership beamed.

That a guest of Mr. Xu's caliber would sit through the full evening of student performances with evident appreciation — what a demonstration of genuine investment in the country's future generation.

*

In the furthest, least-prominent seats in the hall, the players sat craning their necks. Getting near the president, let alone earning his trust, felt completely impossible from this distance. They couldn't even tell if he was heavyset or slight.

"What an incredible setup." The player speaking had been a music conservatory student before the infinite world swallowed her. She looked at the stage with undisguised longing. "If I hadn't been pulled in, maybe I'd have had a chance to stand on a stage like that."

"Hey." The player beside her murmured. "This is an instance. Not a concert. We should be looking for clues."

"Brilliant starlight, infinite joy and growth — please welcome the ensemble performance from the computer science department."

Five students appeared on the large screen — striking-looking, all of them. The player quietly sat back down. "We don't need to rush for a few more minutes. Watching this one won't set us back."

Besides, five NPCs that good-looking couldn't be entirely unrelated to the instance objective, could they?

Everything she did was in service of the mission.

The stage lighting was intense — from up there, the audience was nothing but an indistinct blur.

Chao Musheng walked to the drum kit and bowed toward the house.

The camera operator seemed to have strong feelings about him, pulling in for a close-up that filled the large screen.

From the student section, a wave of shrieking. Chao Musheng heard the audience and appeared genuinely uncertain what had caused it; instinctively, he smiled.

In high definition, an unguarded and slightly bewildered smile tends to be the most affecting kind. The noise from the students spilled forward, and the guests in the front rows found themselves smiling too.

However much money or status a person accumulates, they cannot buy back youth. And people in middle age — whether they've spent their years in commerce or in the circuits of wealth and reputation — are quietly vulnerable to the uncomplicated energy of the young.

The music surged. Mr. Xu raised his head and looked, without moving, at the stage.

Behind him, the student section erupted — cheering, whistling, applause rising in wave after wave, threatening to drown out the five performers.

In the stage light, a young man in a white shirt spun drumsticks through his fingers, laughing through the noise with all the brightness of someone who had nowhere else in the world to be.

The drumbeat was full and alive. The smile was like sunlight hitting water. That kind of vivid, unself-conscious vitality outshone the stage lights entirely.

"This is what youth looks like." A businessman in his fifties murmured to the person beside him. "Back in my day at university, I was considered quite the heartthrob myself."

His companion — a woman of considerable poise — glanced at his stomach, and smiled with perfect courtesy.

Given the current evidence, that claim seemed somewhat optimistic.

"Xiao Chao! Xiao Chao!" Zhang San had squeezed into the crowd and was yelling alongside everyone around him. "Xiao Chao is so cool, AHHH—"

Zhao Shang looked at Zhang San, who had entirely abandoned himself to the performance, and then looked back at the stage.

Vivid. Happy. Good.

Was this really just an instance world constructed by the Main God?

When the performance ended, the cheering went on and on. Students called out for an encore with more enthusiasm than they'd shown for any of the celebrity guests.

The school leadership, noticing the guests all applauding warmly — some even calling it exceptional — sat a little straighter.

Yes. Keep going. More of that.

This was what Jinghua students were made of. Knowledge and talent, in equal measure.

The screen filled again with close-ups of Chao Musheng and his four fellow performers.

And the looks, apparently, as well.

When the performers took their bow and exited, Mr. Xu turned slightly in his seat. "President — tonight's celebration has been genuinely engaging. The students' performances were remarkable. I nearly lost track of the time."

"The students put it all together themselves." The president smiled contentedly. "The young people today are something else."

"Excellence like this doesn't arise without the school's cultivation." Mr. Xu glanced at his watch. "It's getting late, and there are some company matters I need to attend to. Thank you for a wonderful evening."

The president rose at once to see him out. That Mr. Xu had stayed this long was already well beyond expectation.

"The president's leaving." One of the players spotted him stand and began pushing through the crowd, trying to close the distance.

"Students — this is the guest exit corridor. Could you please not come through here." A line of student volunteers in lanyards stepped forward to block them. "The anniversary performance ends in about half an hour. If you're tired, you're welcome to head back to your rooms."

"Sorry, sorry." The vegetable player rose onto his toes, trying to see over the crowd in the direction the president had gone. "We were just curious — no intention of disturbing anyone."

Something was wrong. The person at the front of the departing group was young — notably young. Everyone else deferred to him, no one walking ahead. Given how much this school valued intellectual achievement, a president this young didn't fit.

The vegetable player was still turning this over when the young man at the front stopped and looked back — directly toward them.

He took two involuntary steps back.

Then the young man turned away again, as though the glance had been nothing more than coincidence.

Not looking at us after all.

The vegetable player collected himself and, with considerable nerve, asked the nearest volunteer: "Who are all these people? They have quite a presence."

"These are the distinguished guests invited for the anniversary. You don't know?" The volunteer looked faintly superior. "We're the country's number one university. For an occasion like the bicentennial, figures from every sector come to pay their respects."

"Of course — with a school of this standing, no one would want to pass." The vegetable player offered a few compliments and slipped back into the crowd.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The NPCs in this instance seemed to exist within a complete social web — every word and action perfectly consistent with their role and character.

But it was precisely because everything was so consistent that it felt wrong everywhere.

The instances the Main God built had defined activity zones. Every NPC and player operated under some kind of rule system — rules that could be a player's lifeline, or an NPC's weapon. The most unsettling thing about this exploration instance was that there were no rules, or rather, the players hadn't yet identified what the rules were.

They were like flies dropped in a desert, spinning without direction. No sense of how to clear the instance.

Affinity was nearly impossible to build. Cameras covered every corner. Lao Jin throwing an inkwell from four floors up to hit a cat had been caught — what hope did they have of creeping into the president's office to steal a seal and student registry?

And for that matter — was the student registry actually in the president's office?

This school had a fully operational management system. Sending them to steal a physical registry was barely distinguishable from sending them to their deaths.

No wonder no players volunteered for exploration instances. They were force-assigned at random by the system, and the completion rewards were set astronomically high for a reason. The system wanted them dead.

*

Chao Musheng returned backstage and found one of the makeup students.

"Your group's number was great." She handed him a pack of micellar cotton pads. "Aren't you staying for the closing ceremony?"

"My face is itching." He scratched at his cheek. "I got myself excused — going straight back to the dorm."

It had been a long day. He wanted to lie down and sleep.

"Wipe it off in the dorm then." She passed him a few individually wrapped pads. "Use these first, then rinse with water — you'll feel much better."

"Thanks." Chao Musheng pocketed them and slipped out through the stage door.

"Xiao Chao." Zhang San had been crouching by the door. He leapt up the moment Chao Musheng appeared and fell into step beside him. "Xiao Chao — wait for me!"

"Zhang San?" Chao Musheng raised an eyebrow. "You didn't go watch the show?"

"I did, actually." Zhang San glanced around casually. "I was just so stunned by how cool you looked on stage that I came to find you."

"Mm-hm." Chao Musheng's tone was dry with affectionate disbelief. "What is it — notebook or homework?"

"Xiao Chao, is that the kind of person you think I am?" Zhang San fidgeted. "It's really not about homework this time."

"Then what's going on?" Chao Musheng looked at him. "Short on living expenses?"

"It's just — it's just—" Zhang San spotted Zhao Shang making his way toward them and rushed to get the words out. "Xiao Chao, what are your plans this weekend? You're not going out with Zhao Shang and leaving me behind, are you?"

"I'm going home for the weekend. I'm not taking Zhao Shang out. Or you." Chao Musheng added this last part with emphasis.

"As long as you're not taking him alone, I'm fine." Zhang San saw Zhao Shang's pace quicken perceptibly and thrust the water bottle in his hand toward Chao Musheng. "Just remember — don't go anywhere alone with Zhao Shang. If he goes, I go."

Chao Musheng took the bottle and unscrewed the cap. "Alright, alright. Both of you together. Promise."

"Wait." Zhao Shang arrived at their side, slightly out of breath, and reached over to take the bottle from Chao Musheng's hand. "Xiao Chao — I'm a bit thirsty. Mind if I have that first?"

"Go ahead." Chao Musheng watched Zhao Shang drain the entire bottle without pausing. He must actually have been thirsty.

There was something odd between these two. Had they argued?

"You two—"

"Xiao Chao, you've had a long day." Zhao Shang put his hand on Zhang San's shoulder. "Go and rest. I'll make sure Zhang San keeps up with his studying this weekend. Don't worry."

"Good — I'll head back then." Chao Musheng looked between them. Zhang San wasn't shrugging off Zhao Shang's hand, which suggested it wasn't a real fight. He decided not to push it. "You two get some rest too."

"Bye, Xiao Chao." Zhang San waved. "Don't forget what I said — please don't forget!"

"I won't forget." Chao Musheng turned back to look at Zhang San, who was still waving from a considerable distance away, and raised his hand back helplessly before jogging off.

Quarreling like two kindergarteners. As long as he stayed out of it, they'd have made up by Monday.

*

The anniversary performance was nearly over. The paths were quiet, the shared bikes long since taken. The itching on his face was getting worse — he was beginning to suspect he'd had a reaction to something in the stage makeup.

"Chao Musheng!"

A black car pulled up beside him. The unhurried, deliberate way it stopped reminded him of the middle-aged man from a few days ago.

Secretary Liu leaned out of the driver's window. "What a coincidence — we meet again."

"Secretary Liu." Chao Musheng lowered his hand from his face. "Good evening."

No matter how much it itched, he was not going to scratch in front of people. University students had their dignity to consider.

The rear window descended. Mr. Xu's face appeared — paler than usual, perhaps. "Chao Musheng."

"Mr. Xu." Chao Musheng offered a polite smile.

Mr. Xu opened the door and stepped out of the car. "Which dormitory building do you live in? We'll drop you off."

"Please don't trouble yourself." Chao Musheng kept his smile steady. "My building isn't far from here — I can walk."

Taking high-status people at their word when they made polite offers was not his habit.

Mr. Xu's gaze traveled across his face. He turned back to the car, bent slightly, and came back with a small tube. "Your cheeks are a little red and swollen — looks like an allergic reaction. Try this."

"Thank you, Mr. Xu." Chao Musheng accepted it with both hands. "I was just worrying about where to find medicine at this hour — this is a great help."

"Not at all." Mr. Xu's gaze dropped briefly. "Get home soon."

"Goodbye, Mr. Xu."

"Goodbye."

Chao Musheng walked a few steps, looked back. Mr. Xu was still standing at the car door. He stopped, gave a polite wave, then turned and headed off at a quick pace.

"Mr. Xu," Secretary Liu said, once his employer had settled back into the car, sounding mildly annoyed with himself. "I believe Xiao Chao pointed out his dormitory building this afternoon — I think it's actually a fair distance from here." A pause. "And I forgot to give him a business card."

"It doesn't matter." Mr. Xu removed his glasses and closed his eyes. "We shouldn't make him uncomfortable."

"Mr. Xu — are you feeling unwell?" Secretary Liu's voice shifted to concern. "Should I take you to a hospital?"