Chapter 89

Eighty Rounds

"My back—"

Old Man Song found he couldn't sit up. His lower back was in serious pain.

"He's framing me!" With people watching from every direction, the player couldn't find a clean opening to act. He remembered that the previous player had been eliminated for causing widespread anger among the nurses — he had no intention of ending up the same way. He turned desperately to explain himself to those around him.

"He deliberately reversed the chair and ran over my foot." The player looked around. "Besides — a wheelchair has two wheels. How does something like that just tip over?"

Obviously a setup.

"I thought he was going to come out and do something dramatic. Turns out he got scammed two steps out the door." You Jiu leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded. The ward director happened to be passing by and glanced at him.

You Jiu braced himself for another motivational lecture. But the director said nothing, turned his face away, and left.

He didn't get a lecture today? Was it raining blood somewhere?

"This old man has good taste — so many floors in this hospital, and he picked the wealthiest one." You Jiu raised an eyebrow. "Shame the one who got caught is a cleaner and not anyone rich."

Curly Hair stared at the old man still lying on the floor. "I have a piece of good news and a piece of bad news."

Qi Shi and You Jiu both looked at her. They both knew — when Curly Hair said that, there was always a reason.

"The bad news: this old man is Chao Musheng's grandfather."

She still remembered him on the Wangyue — striding out with a cane, surrounded by bodyguards, carrying himself like someone important. He'd been sharp and vigorous then. Looking at the feeble, bedraggled figure in front of her now, you'd hardly know it was the same person.

You Jiu clicked his tongue. That was indeed bad news.

Chao Musheng's standing on this floor was plain to anyone with eyes. Hurt his grandfather and this player was done.

"The good news: Chao Musheng and him are on extremely bad terms. He doesn't even want to see the man." Curly Hair felt genuine contempt for the Song family. "This old man is not a good person."

He'd indulged his grandson's bullying and abuse, smoothed over the worst of it for years. Ordinary people were probably less than human in the eyes of those two.

Though what she hated most about the Song family — the old man and the grandson both — was the incident years ago when Song Cheng had pushed Chao-ayi while she was pregnant. Small enough to still be a child, and already capable of doing that. What wouldn't he do as an adult?

The young one was vicious, the old one couldn't tell right from wrong. If the grandfather wouldn't teach the grandson how to be human, the law would.

They'd caused too much trouble, more than could be covered up — and only then had they thought to come looking for Xiao Chao to plead their case. She strongly suspected the old man had timed his arrival specifically because he'd heard that Uncle Song was visiting the hospital today.

In one sense, that player outside had managed to do some good despite his intentions.

Curly Hair recognized Old Man Song — and so did some of the patients and family members on the ninth floor. Just last week, word had come that the Song company had changed hands. Nobody had expected to see the patriarch in such a sorry state after only a few days.

The things Song Cheng had done had generated very bad publicity online, which led to multiple regulatory bodies opening investigations into the Song company. The whole organization was on the verge of collapse, and no one was willing to touch the wreckage.

In the end, the buyer nobody had predicted — Kunlun.

What would a company of Kunlun's size and standing want with the Song company's scraps?

Still — considering that the Song family's other grandson, the one never mentioned publicly, was the president's assistant at Kunlun, and that Old Man Song had now come to the hospital to beg that same assistant for help, the picture had more layers than it appeared.

Some people had even started to wonder whether the Song company's investigation had anything to do with Kunlun to begin with.

*

Chao Musheng's father was by nature a gentle man. But when he saw his own father arrive — with his son still ill in a hospital bed — to pressure Sheng-sheng into interceding for that worthless Song Cheng, his expression went cold.

He was not a fool. His father had timed this perfectly — waiting until he came to visit, then appearing. This was manipulation, plain and simple.

His Sheng-sheng had a bright future and a clean character. Why should he soil himself for that creature?

Watching his father fall to the ground, he felt a heaviness settle in him.

Faking a fall in a hospital — was this to force Zhaozhao to come out, or to damage Zhaozhao's reputation?

"Dad." Chao Musheng sensed his father's emotional state. "Don't be angry — I have a way to handle this."

"This was never your burden to carry. Family business of this kind — let your father deal with it." His father opened the door and walked to Old Man Song.

Medical staff came to lift Old Man Song onto a gurney, but Old Man Song refused to go. He gripped the nurse's arm and shouted: "I'm not leaving until I've seen my son and grandson."

Without secretaries, assistants, and bodyguards at his side, stripped of the aura that money lent, Old Man Song was simply a stubborn, unpleasant old man with a habit of favouritism.

His father stood before him. "Dad — you taught us all our lives that no matter what we did outside, we couldn't bring shame on the Song family name. What exactly are you doing right now?"

Hearing his son's words, Old Man Song's face showed a flicker of humiliation. "Lao Er — Song Cheng is your nephew by blood. He lost his parents young. You can't just abandon him."

"He's an adult. The only authority over him now is the law." His father's voice was level. "Dad — your emotions are very unsettled right now. I'm concerned about your health, so I've arranged for several doctors to give you a full check-up."

"What do you mean by that? There's nothing wrong with me."

"Dad — don't be afraid of doctors." His father signed the examination form. "At your age, anything that's uncomfortable needs to be seen to properly. Don't try to spare me the expense. And don't go knocking over hospital nursing aides — their work is not easy."

Good man!

The player was moved almost to tears. Thank goodness this old fool had a reasonable son—

"Chao Musheng!" Old Man Song raised his voice toward room four. "I want—"

"Dad." His father covered Old Man Song's mouth with one hand. "You're unwell — raising your voice like that will strain your throat."

"Mr. Song." The doctor looked at the examination form. "What tests do you need run for your father?"

"From head to toe — every one on the list. He's at an age where I can't rest easy without a complete physical." His father kept his hand firmly over Old Man Song's mouth. "Don't spare the expense."

Since he's come this far, and clearly has energy to spare — best make full use of the hospital's services.

If something turns up, a convalescent home has excellent facilities for a long recovery.

As for that nephew — a few years in prison would give him time to learn a trade. He wouldn't need to worry about finding work once he came out.

His father kept his hand over Old Man Song's mouth until the bodyguard had wheeled the gurney into the elevator. Only then did he remove it.

"Lao Er — what kind of attitude is this?!"

"An unfilial son's attitude." His father wiped his palm and answered with perfect composure. "You called me unfilial when I left the Song family with Yin-yin all those years ago. Why are you still asking?"

"You're going to be the death of me." Old Man Song was fuming. "That woman Chao Yin has done something to you — how else could she have you wrapped around her finger like this."

"Yin-yin is wonderful. I'm just hopelessly in love." His father refused to take any of the bait. "And looking at how loudly you can shout, I don't think you're in danger of dying anytime soon."

"Yin-yin is my heart. Sheng-sheng is my treasure." Warmth crossed his face when he mentioned his wife and son, then he looked back at Old Man Song with complete flatness. "You look down on Yin-yin, you scheme against Sheng-sheng, and now you want my Sheng-sheng to violate his principles for that useless creature. What exactly makes Song Cheng worthy of that?"

Old Man Song was breathing in large gasps.

"Worthless things don't get to burden pearls. Don't come bothering Sheng-sheng again." His father's tone didn't waver. "I'm a small-minded man. I tend to extend my resentment."

Old Man Song went quiet. He knew this son was serious.

Years ago he'd said he would never bring Chao Musheng to the Song family home. In all the years since, Chao Musheng had never once crossed the Song family threshold.

He'd said that since the Song family didn't welcome Chao Yin, he would take her family name. After that, every holiday, he took his wife and child to the Chao family home.

A man who looked gentle and scholarly — but when he turned hard, he was harder than anyone.

Old Man Song was afraid.

He was old now. Most of the assets in his name had been put up against the tax debts in the company. He was afraid of dying alone.

"Mr. Song is so devoted." The bodyguard spoke up. "Running all these tests must cost quite a lot."

Quite a lot. And quite exhausting.

"A son spending money for his father's health — what does that amount to?" His father resumed his usual mild manner. "As long as my father understands my good intentions, that's enough."

Whether Old Man Song understood was unclear. But he was pushed from one department to the next, turned over by doctor after doctor, and had to sit through each of them praising his son's filial devotion — and didn't dare contradict a word of it.

He was afraid Lao Er would take the results, say one hospital's data wasn't reliable enough, and send him to do it all again at three more.

That unfilial son was capable of exactly that.

His father moved so swiftly that before the ninth floor patients had time to settle in for the entertainment, the entertainment was already over.

*

"Mr. Chao." The doctor came in with several test results. "Your full blood count can't be done until tomorrow. Hospital policy is that discharge can't be processed until all repeat results are in — would you like to complete the discharge tomorrow?"

"Of course — thank you, doctor." Chao Musheng nodded politely. "Can I go home for the night and come back tomorrow?"

The doctor smiled. "Strictly speaking, that's not within regulations."

But if he insisted on leaving, they couldn't physically restrain him.

"Understood. Thank you."

After the doctor left, Chao Musheng noticed Xu Chenzhu was putting the things he'd just packed away back onto the table. "Mr. Xu?"

"We'll stay one more night. Leave after the blood count results come in tomorrow." Xu Chenzhu poured a glass of water and handed it to him. "Drink more water."

"Mr. Xu — tonight we could actually—"

"I understand what the doctor meant." He looked at him steadily. "But I don't want any risk of something going wrong."

Chao Musheng opened his mouth and found he had nothing to say.

"One more day." Xu Chenzhu reached out and lightly touched the ends of Chao Musheng's hair. "Once you're discharged, I'll give you two days off. When the break ends, you'll go to the 时光 charity fashion event with the bodyguard and assistant I've arranged for you."

The touch was only at the very tips of his hair. But Chao Musheng felt a faint warmth.

"All right." He drank some water.

It was a little hot. Hot enough that even his ears felt warm.

*

[Ding! Two hours remain until instance close. Players must make their choice — life, or death?]

[A glorious death — is it not the final resolution of a tormented soul?]

[Death releases all suffering and opens the gate to the temporal passage. Players are encouraged to clear the instance and claim the substantial reward.]

Four players sat in the cleaning staff break room. The silence was complete enough to hear each other breathe.

The player in the far corner had now seen every attempt at assassination and ambush end in failure. He had gone quiet in a way that was deeply unhealthy.

[Ding! Sixty minutes remain until instance close. Players must make their choice — life, or death?]

[Ding! A friendly reminder from the system: 4 is a number with mysterious properties.]

4. Death.

The homophone.

Understanding struck him. No wonder the medical staff in this instance treated Chao Musheng with such deference — he was the final boss. Only by killing him could the temporal passage be opened.

He dies — the players survive.

"What do you think you're doing?" Curly Hair rose and stood in front of the door. The talisman in her hand ignited.

"Don't you want to clear the instance?" The player couldn't understand. The system had made the clearing conditions this obvious — why hadn't they moved?

"Nobody touches anyone in room four." Curly Hair looked at all three of them with cold eyes. "Anyone who walks through that door — I promise you, you'll be walking through the gates of hell."

"Curly Hair, I'm sitting right here, I haven't moved." You Jiu smiled slightly. "I follow Curly Hair — whatever you say."

Whether following Wang Xiaojuan would keep him alive, he couldn't be certain. But if he laid a hand on Chao Musheng, he was dead for certain.

Qi Shi said nothing. But he had no intention of leaving his chair either.

He pulled off his cleaning gloves, settled against the wall with his eyes closed, and rested.

"You're all insane!" The player bit down hard on his lower lip until it was bleeding. "Have you all completely lost your minds?!"

The clearing condition is right in front of them and they can't be bothered to move — what kind of high-ranked players are these?

Time passed. The player chewed his lip bloody and fell into an agitated silence.

He wanted to clear. He wanted to go home. His wife and daughter were waiting for him.

Whoever got in his way deserved to die.

He stared at Curly Hair with bloodshot eyes, reached for his tool, made as if to attack — and vanished from the break room.

"A teleport tool!" Curly Hair's heart sank. She spun and ran out.

The moment the player came within range of room four, an invisible force threw him back. What struck him as strange was that the crash was loud enough to wake the floor — yet not a single nurse came to check.

Every bone in his body felt shattered. He dragged himself forward inch by inch toward room four. He wasn't giving up.

He had come too far and spent too much to stop now.

When the Main God had forced him into the infinite space, his daughter had been three years old. She'd held his hand and made him promise he'd be the first parent to pick her up from kindergarten.

He'd promised. He didn't want to be a father who broke his word.

"The night calls for quiet. The patients need their rest."

Room four's door opened.

A pair of shoes appeared before him — polished, untouched by any trace of dust.

He strained to look up and found a man looking down at him with cold detachment. Gold light moved through the man's eyes, and the look he gave the player was the look of someone watching a foolish ant.

Terror engulfed him. He should run. He should beg.

But he wanted to go home. Every moment of every day he wanted to go home.

The man's foot lifted lightly.

"Mr. Xu." Curly Hair stood under the pale corridor light, shaking from head to foot. "This cleaner was being difficult. I'll take him away."

Xu Chenzhu looked at her with cold eyes. No emotion in them whatsoever.

Curly Hair could barely keep herself upright. She looked into his eyes and found nothing in them that belonged to a human being.

A crushing pain descended on her — she pressed her hand against the wall, cold sweat soaking through her back. She could smell death.

"Mr. Xu."

Chao Musheng appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He walked to Xu Chenzhu, saw someone lying on the floor, and came more awake. "What happened to him?"

The boundless terror and killing intent dissolved. The player looked up again — the gold light had left the man's eyes. Silver-framed glasses sat on his nose.

"He may have tripped." Xu Chenzhu tilted his head slightly. "Did I wake you?"

"No — I thought I heard a small girl crying." Chao Musheng shook his head. He spotted Curly Hair standing a short distance away and called over. "Xiao Juan, could you get a male colleague to help him up? He looks like he hurt his knee."

The moment the words left his mouth, the player felt every shattered sensation vanish from his body. Only a faint ache remained in his left knee.

This was—

The player looked up in horror at the young man standing there, his face drained of color.

What kind of existence had the system pointed him at?

"Xiao Chao." Curly Hair wiped the cold sweat from her palm, head down as she approached, unable to bring herself to look at Xu Chenzhu. "I'm sorry — we disturbed your rest."

"I was dreaming. What does that have to do with you cleaning staff?" Chao Musheng laughed slightly. "I heard a very small girl in my dream, crying for her father. I woke up and found someone lying outside the door."

The male player's lips trembled. Only when Qi Shi and You Jiu came and took hold of his arms did he manage, in a hoarse voice: "Thank you, Mr. Chao."

*

Back in the break room, You Jiu looked at Curly Hair's pale, unsteady face. "What exactly just happened?"

"Nothing." She picked up the cup from the table and drank several large swallows. "There's thirty minutes left before the instance closes. I do have a way to get you all out of the instance."

The player, who had sunk into despair, looked at her with sudden burning intensity. "Whatever tools you want — they're yours. Just let me leave this instance alive."

"I don't want your tools. But I need you to promise — all of you — that you will never reveal the secret that I can take you out of an instance." Curly Hair reached into her space and produced a photograph. "I need you to swear on this."

Qi Shi and You Jiu looked at the photograph.

"...Isn't that Chao Musheng and Mr. Xu from room four?"

Swearing on a photograph — what was the meaning of that?

"Fine." You Jiu was the first to swear. "I will never reveal any of Wang Xiaojuan's secrets. If I break this oath—"

He looked at the two figures in the photograph.

"If I break this oath, may I die on the spot."

For someone who valued their life as much as he did, there wasn't a stronger oath than that.

Qi Shi hesitated. "Just this photograph? I have an oath-binding tool — I'd be willing to trade it to you."

"Oath tools are the Main God's property." Curly Hair propped the photograph upright. "I trust my Xiao Chao more."

"All right." Qi Shi didn't understand it, but he chose to respect it.

The player was the last to swear. The look he gave the photograph was more serious than any of them — and still dense with a fear that hadn't yet dissolved.

"I will never reveal any of Wang Xiaojuan's secrets. If I break this oath — may I be separated from my wife and daughter for the rest of my life."

[Ding! System has detected an unknown energy in this instance. Instance magnetic field unstable. Instance imminent collapse.]

[Instance closure countdown: ten, nine…]

*

Standing in the player hall again, Old He's legs went out from under him. He sank straight to the floor.

Wang Xiaojuan looked at him. After a long moment she sighed. "Come on."

She remembered, a long time ago, entering an apartment complex instance with Old He. Every day of that instance, Old He had spent time with a three-year-old NPC girl downstairs, playing shuttlecock with her.

The girl was a background character rendered in faint green — no story significance, no function. Aside from Old He, barely a player glanced at her. On the final night of the instance, the plot called for a fire. Every resident in that building would die in the flames.

Old He had run into the fire and pulled her out. Then watched her dissolve into nothing when the instance ended.

She hadn't been able to stop herself from asking: knowing the girl was only an NPC, knowing that even if he saved her she'd still burn in the next run of the instance — what was the point?

"I have a three-year-old daughter at home. She likes shuttlecock too."

She'd never forgotten the look in his eyes when he said it.

If he died, he would never see his daughter again.

Old He sat on the floor a long time before he slowly climbed to his feet. He walked to the player lounge, lay down on the narrow bed, and opened the player forum.

[The hospital exploration instance just ended in a full-group failure. New exploration instance just posted — any top-ranked players signing up this time?]

[Reward bumped from fifty times to a hundred. Kind of tempted.]

[Hundred percent failure rate and you still want to try?]

[Asking politely — what should someone watch out for if they enter an exploration instance?]

[Watch out for dying.]

[I heard a rumor lately.]

[Please, someone upstairs, say more.]

[If you enter any of the newly released exploration instances and encounter a strange man with no notable identifiers — stay away from him. If you can't stay away, then whatever you do, don't get on his bad side.]

[That's obviously made up. Exploration instances are different every time — how would you run into the same NPC in multiple instances?]

[Forget about exploration instances — they've got nothing to do with regular players anyway. Has anyone checked the player hall? The Main God just forcibly shut down eighty mid-to-high-level instances all at once!]

*

Chao Musheng felt he had a peculiar connection with that ugly virus-ball. Somehow, he'd run into it in his dreams again.

Possibly because he'd beaten it so thoroughly last time, it looked dim and diminished — and the moment it sensed him, it turned and tried to flee.

"Not so fast!" Chao Musheng grabbed it by a tendril. "What were you doing outside my window?"

The virus-ball swelled with indignation, inflating into a massive purple-grey sphere. The tendrils became sticky, reaching appendages, each one covered densely in eyes of various sizes — eyes ringed with serrated edges, gnawing at his windowframe.

Visual and psychological assault simultaneously.

Chao Musheng grabbed the baseball bat below the window, vaulted onto the great purple-grey ball, and swung.

Every hit knocked loose a small trinket. They went eighty rounds before Chao Musheng woke up still wanting more.

He sat up in bed feeling completely refreshed. The energy ran through his whole body — back no longer sore, legs no longer stiff, even his hair felt livelier than usual. Just extraordinarily hungry.

"Zhaozhao." Xu Chenzhu came out of the kitchen, a tray carrying a steaming breakfast. "You're awake?"

Chao Musheng inhaled. "Good morning, Mr. Xu. That congee smells wonderful."

"Let's eat." Xu Chenzhu set the breakfast in front of him. "There's more in the pot — say when."

"Thank you, Mr. Xu."

Xu Chenzhu's mouth curved. "No need."

"Xiao Juan was on the overnight shift — I ordered her some breakfast, but I'm not sure if she's finished yet."

Xu Chenzhu: "She resigned."

"What?"

Next time he saw Curly Hair, would she have changed jobs again?