After entering the cyber game, he killed the boss and succeeded

Wei Xin was jolted awake by a message in the class group chat.

Her vision still blurry from waking, she reached under her pillow for her phone and squinted to decipher the message on the screen.

"The first beta testers for 'Crimson Earth' have been announced!"

"Really?"

"The official website posted a message [picture] three minutes ago."

"Damn! Who's so lucky?"

"Only 10,000 people in the first beta test? This is a global selection, so the official number of spots is ridiculously small!"

Wei Xin was slow to react for a moment, and once the sleepiness wore off, she remembered that she, seemingly at the urging of a classmate, had applied for the game's beta test. She had simply filled out a questionnaire on the official website and clicked submit. That had been several months earlier.

At that time, the trailer for 'Crimson Earth' had just been released, and the promotional gimmick was "a groundbreaking holographic game, a truly existent second world."

The trailer instantly captured the attention of players worldwide. The game's selling points were its freely explorable open world and diverse career paths. This game combines cyberpunk with otherworldly elements. Players can choose to pursue a technological path, becoming a fully equipped cyborg, or a transcendental path, awakening a variety of extraordinary abilities.

It's grounded in reality yet transcends it, imbued with an unparalleled sense of authenticity, seemingly connected to the real world.

What truly captivated Wei Xin were the last two sentences of the game's introduction.

"Light always breeds darkness, and beneath the façade of a prosperous city lies a rotten, decaying underbelly."

"Compared to money and power, survival and death are the eternal themes of that world."

Since the introduction states this...perhaps "Crimson Earth" has a darker core beyond its cyberpunk aesthetic and otherworldly abilities?

Wei Xin checked the screenshots in the class group chat. The game officials will be sending beta test invitations to players' inboxes. The initial beta test will indeed consist of only 10,000 players, and the official beta test will begin tomorrow. Keep in mind, pre-orders for Crimson Earth had only been open for a day when the number of pre-orders worldwide surpassed 10 million. Now, after months of development, the number has already surpassed 100 million. The chances of selecting 10,000 lucky players from these hundreds of millions to join the closed beta test were incredibly small.

Though she held little hope, Wei Xin still checked her email.

"You have an unread email."

The pop-up notification startled Wei Xin, her heart racing, and she leaped out of bed.

"Congratulations on winning the closed beta test for the game Crimson Earth."

The email subject line was a striking red. Wei Xin's expression was dazed. She repeatedly checked the sender, then compared it with the official email address, confirming it again and again in disbelief.

When she finally confirmed that the email was genuine, the first thought that came to her mind was—I'm rich! I'm rich!

Selling this closed beta test pass would definitely fetch a ton of money!

Poor soul ecstatic!

Wei Xin was a life of misfortune. Her father's investment failed and he absconded with the money. After her mother remarried, she regularly sent 800 yuan a month for living expenses. This was enough for food, but barely enough for study materials and clothes. She even bought this second-hand smartphone with her part-time job at a milk tea shop.

Wei Xin lived alone in the old house her grandparents had left her, studying diligently from dawn to dusk, like a resilient weed, tenaciously surviving to this day.

At the end of this summer, Wei Xin was going to college. She had good grades and had gotten into a good university, but tuition and living expenses were a concern.

If she could sell her beta test pass for "Crimson Earth," she wouldn't have to worry about living expenses for a long time.

But the next sentence in the email dispelled Wei Xin's thoughts. "The Crimson Earth beta test pass cannot be traded or gifted. The beta invitation code is tied to the player's registration information and cannot be changed. This beta test is free and will not be deleted."

Wei Xin's face fell in sorrow, her path to making money ruthlessly cut short.

She didn't really care about the game. Her equipment was so crappy she didn't even have a holographic helmet, so she couldn't play it. She'd just filled out the game questionnaire on a whim, hoping to make a killing if the beta test pass could be traded.

Wei Xin pondered over it, feeling sad that even though she had become one of only 10,000 lucky winners worldwide, she was still broke and unlucky. Winning the beta test pass but not being able to experience the game was like having a mountain of gold and silver but not being able to spend it. It was frustrating.

She sighed and scrolled down to read.

The email was short and contained little meaningful content. Wei Xin flipped to the back and was pleasantly surprised to find a sentence: "If players agree to join the game, the game company will provide them with special in-game equipment."

Wei Xin: Great!

Her worries were resolved; she could play the game! Wei Xin's emotions were like a roller coaster.

At the end of the email was a link to a player survey.

Wei Xin curiously clicked on it.

Question 1: If you were given the opportunity to start a new life, would you accept it?

Is there even a question? Wei Xin chose "yes" without hesitation.

A new life meant a fresh start, and her current life was already bad enough; how much worse could it get?

Question 2: Do you believe in gods?

Wei Xin chose "no." She was a staunch atheist.

Question 3: Do you want superpowers?

"Yes"! Her desire for superpowers didn't conflict with her atheism!

"You've completed the questionnaire."

"Game-related files and notes have been sent to your email. Please check them out."

"The anonymous forum for beta testers is now open. Please save the URL and register."

Wei Xin carefully read the new message and followed the prompts to save the URL.

The beta test content of some games is confidential and cannot be shared. Beta testers exist to help developers identify bugs and fix game vulnerabilities. The developers of "Crimson Earth" have provided a beta tester forum, presumably to provide a forum for beta testers to communicate.

With 10,000 people currently qualified for the beta test, the content on the forum is likely very limited. She will be one of the first to join.

Wei Xin didn't register on the beta test forum immediately. Instead, she checked her email for the newly sent game files. These files generally require player signatures and are considered contracts, with legal consequences for breach.

She clicked on the new email and froze after reading the first few lines. "Six points of advice for players of Crimson Earth. You can choose to follow them or break them, but the consequences of any violation will be borne solely by you."

"First, please treat the game world as the real world."

"Second, do not reveal your player identity to anyone."

"Third, do not disclose the game content to anyone."

"Fourth, you only have one life, and death cannot be resurrected."

"Fifth, if you choose to start the game, you will only have two paths: 'Complete the game' or 'Death'."

"Sixth, everything has a price."

That... is all? Isn't it a bit hasty to limit the game's statement to just these few words?

Wei Xin was confused.

It's just a game, and it's boring for the game manufacturer to use such pretentious and exaggerated language in the precautions to set the tone. The so-called "real world" is just a marketing tactic; everyone knows it's fake.

Wei Xin opened the game file; it needed to be signed. She carefully read the document from beginning to end, reading it twice, but couldn't find any confidentiality clauses. Yet, the "Six Tips for Players" at the beginning clearly stated not to disclose game content.

This was bizarre, wasn't it a contradiction? If they didn't want players to leak information, why not include the confidentiality agreement in a legally binding document? Those few tips were completely non-binding.

At the end of the document was a digital signature field, where Wei Xin wrote her name.

As soon as she finished writing, a small page popped up, with bold red text stating: "Are you sure you want to join the game? You have one and only one chance to quit."

One and only one chance to quit?

Wei Xin didn't care, and clicked confirm without even pausing.

The page changed, and a new message appeared.

"Contract Completed."

"Welcome to your new life, Wei Xin."

...Why is this game so mysterious? Wei Xin stared at the screen, puzzled.

She pondered for a moment, then opened the anonymous beta forum and clicked to register. The registration process was incredibly simple; just fill in the beta invitation code and you're done.

Wei Xin randomly typed the number "233" into the nickname field. All her game nicknames were "233." Since she had little talent for naming, and the ones she did manage to come up with were often duplicates, Wei Xin stuck with "233" until she died.

"Once a nickname is confirmed, it cannot be changed."

Wei Xin ignored it and clicked "Confirm" anyway.

A new message popped up.

"You have become the 233rd player to register on the forum."

Wei Xin: "...Huh?"

What a coincidence! Is 233 her lucky number?

After a brief loading moment, Wei Xin saw the forum page.

The background color of the forum had a cold metallic sheen. The page was unusually simple, with minimal functionality, consisting of posting, replying, and private messaging.

But in the upper right corner, a striking blood-red Arabic numeral "10000" was visible. Next to the number "10,000" was a line of small text—"Number of Survivors."

For some reason, Wei Xin's heart skipped a beat when she saw the words "Number of Survivors."

Dozens of forum posts with the word "new" floating around them—the forum had just opened, players had just registered, and all the posts were new. Wei Xin refreshed her screen, and a dozen more posts popped up. Titles were in English, Japanese, Russian, and Chinese. Ten thousand players from all over the world had gathered in this small forum.

Wei Xin could stutter out the general meaning of the English titles, but she was completely lost for the other languages.

She glanced briefly at the existing Chinese posts and found that the titles were all "Coming to explore the new land," "Any Magic City players? Meet up," "My name must be in the top 100 posts"—the kind of meaningless spam. She hesitated for a moment, then clicked Start, typing in the title: "Does anyone find 'Six Tips for Players' a bit strange?"

After writing the title, Wei Xin's mouse hovered over the post button for a long time.

She recalled the phrase, "Please treat the game world as the real world," and the subsequent advice, "You only have one life, and death cannot be resurrected." Then she looked at the bloody number "10,000" at the top of the forum, and felt something hit her deep within.

She suddenly felt a chill, but she couldn't figure out where this dread came from.

The feeling was sudden, almost absurd.

Wei Xin rubbed her forehead.

How could the fantasy novel trope of "entering a holographic game is actually crossing into the real world" actually happen in real life?

Despite this self-consolation, Wei Xin somehow deleted the post and decided to remain submerged to observe the situation.

She kept refreshing the forum, reading the Chinese posts one by one.

A few minutes later, a new post caught her attention. "The game manufacturer hasn't explained how to ship game equipment. Has any player received a holographic helmet or installation package?"

The moment she saw this post, there was a knock on Wei Xin's door.

She instinctively stood up and walked to the door to check the peephole, but saw no one.

She waited a few minutes, then slowly opened the door and noticed a small, dark box lying quietly on the floor. On it was the inscription: "Crimson Earth."

Wei Xin opened the box and found a silver metal card inside. The pattern on the card was intricate yet delicate, with intertwined lines forming a mechanical hand.

"Is this... a commemorative game card?" Wei Xin flipped through the card and shuddered.

She remembered that she had never entered her address on the game's official website. So how did this card get to her?

She felt a pang of anxiety and went downstairs in her slippers.

She lived in an old residential complex with aging facilities, but there were surveillance cameras nearby. A few elderly men and women were sitting at the entrance to the building, playing mahjong. The neighbors all knew each other. Wei Xin asked, "Auntie Zhang! Did the delivery guy come just now?"

"No, doesn't Comrade Li usually come around 3 p.m.?" Auntie Zhang pushed a row of mahjong tiles forward, beaming. "Oh, I won!"

"Did anyone come upstairs just now?" Wei Xin pressed.

"No," Auntie Zhang said, busy playing mahjong, not even turning back.

Hearing this, Wei Xin felt a chill run down her spine, even on a scorching July day.

If no one had come upstairs, who had knocked on her door? She hadn't filled out any address information, so how had the game cards for "Crimson Earth" been delivered to her door?

She had just signed the game agreement, and the cards were delivered, no more than five minutes later...

Wei Xin looked down at the silver metal card in her hand and turned it over.

There were a few words engraved on the back. "Depriver Wei Xin. Number: 233."

233 was the game nickname she had just entered, and also her forum registration order.

Wei Xin's scalp tingled instantly.

Things seemed to be heading in a strange direction.