Reality (1): Recovering Memory

Waking up from a coma once again, Tan Xiao sat dazedly in the familiar small living room—more accurately, in the system space constructed by the god game.

By his side was Xiao Bai, the little robot dog from the “AI Crisis” instance. The adorable little robot had been anxiously nudging the unconscious Tan Xiao with its body.

Only after Tan Xiao woke up, seemingly unharmed, did Xiao Bai finally relax and begin curiously wandering around the space.

Tan Xiao looked at the system panel that appeared before him, the flood of friend notifications that almost crashed the backend, and a pile of unread system messages.

But at this moment, his mind wasn’t on the god game. Instead, he was gazing down at a silver necklace and a shiny golden Möbius ring on his hand.

From the genius Dr. Wen, to the outstanding student Wen Yi at Hell High School, to the suddenly appearing CEO Wen, and then to the robot Wen Yi—they all shared the same name and the same soul.

Though their appearances changed slightly with each identity, such as differences in hair and eye color, Tan Xiao knew they were all his one and only lover, Wen Yi.

He gently kissed the ring. During his time in the instances, he had faced numerous crises, and it was only because of his lover’s unwavering protection that he had managed to survive and clear the levels time and time again.

But Tan Xiao didn’t feel ashamed or like he was holding anyone back. Finding such an exceptional lover was his own achievement.

It was his love and loyalty that made him deserving of these rewards. Any other man who might have easily changed his heart would have long perished in the instances.

It was his ability to accurately find Wen Yi every time and his willingness to unconditionally give that had earned him this beautiful love.

Tan Xiao now realized that his lover’s identity changed in every instance, and each time, Wen Yi wasn’t human but a monster NPC in the instance.

But so what? True love transcends time, space, gender, and even species. No matter what form Wen Yi took, Tan Xiao knew that Wen Yi was his destined lover and would always be his lover.

After spending a long time digesting the memories of this period, Tan Xiao finally turned his attention to checking his data panel.

Having earned several S-rank rewards, Tan Xiao’s personal attributes had improved, which explained why he felt increasingly stronger in the later instance.

The shiny titles only brought him a sense of relief, not pride or arrogance.

After all, with the god game descending upon the world, having powerful abilities in dangerous instances was a good thing. It meant a higher chance of survival and the ability to last longer in the game.

Tan Xiao quickly skimmed through the relevant information on the forum. His last memory was of a meteor shower in the real world, and he had no idea what the outside world looked like now.

But as someone who had been admitted to a prestigious university, Tan Xiao had excellent analytical skills. By searching through the earliest posts, observing the changes in official announcements, and reading the highlighted player posts, he soon deduced the state of the outside world.

Meteor showers had occurred in various places, followed by a mysterious fog that engulfed most of the world.

After the fog appeared, food supplies rapidly spoiled, resources drastically diminished, and survivors in the real world quickly established bases. However, a large number of ordinary people still perished.

As the environment worsened, some areas saw people banding together, while others succumbed to their darker instincts, committing acts of violence and trying to carve out new territories.

It was at this time that the god game descended upon the world. Players were selected to enter the game, bringing back survival resources and special powers to the resource-starved real world.

Of course, the god game offered high rewards but also high risks. Once a player became an official participant, they would face life-and-death crises in the instances until the very end.

The more posts Tan Xiao read, the more his expression darkened. Seeing his grim face and the ominous aura around him, Xiao Bai stopped its patrol and ran over to its master, barking twice: “Woof woof!”

Unlike in the “AI Crisis” instance, Xiao Bai, as a specially bound pet, had transformed into a real-looking dog in the system space. It was soft and fluffy, like a large cotton candy, but much smaller in size.

It also no longer spoke human language, only barking like a normal dog. However, as Xiao Bai’s bound master, Tan Xiao couldn’t understand dog language but could directly comprehend the meaning behind Xiao Bai’s barks.

Xiao Bai was concerned about him, and the barks meant: “You look terrible. Are you okay?”

Tan Xiao rubbed the large cotton candy-like dog. It had to be said, the texture felt much better than in the instance. “I’m fine.”

In these crisis-filled instances, Xiao Bai was his greatest and most precious reward.

Due to its absolute loyalty and significant contributions in the instance, even when Tan Xiao was in a state of amnesia, Xiao Bai had become his bound pet.

After all, most special pets weren’t willing to bind with players, often requiring high-value system items, and even then, success wasn’t guaranteed.

But Xiao Bai was different. Xiao Bai loved Tan Xiao the most, so when the system announced Tan Xiao’s completion of the instance and prepared to teleport him out of the system space, Xiao Bai didn’t hesitate. It desperately clung to its master with its paws, activating the pet function early and successfully following Tan Xiao into the system space.

“Woof woof!”

Xiao Bai barked twice again, lying on the ground and wagging its tail happily beside Tan Xiao. Xiao Bai’s thoughts were simple: as long as it could stay by its master’s side, it was happy! Of course, if it could have some strawberry batteries, it would be the happiest dog in the world!

Tan Xiao continued to pet the dog while diligently absorbing information from the forum.

The forum was filled with many player posts, but by searching for keywords, Tan Xiao could filter out the important information.

He still remembered the massive meteor that had struck him. It was because of that peculiar meteor that he often suffered from headaches and frequent memory loss.

Having read many infinite flow game novels, Tan Xiao knew that in most of these stories, players pulled into the infinite flow game were usually already dead or destined to die. They were chosen by the mysterious game to struggle through instances, hoping to earn a chance at survival and truly revive in the real world.

According to what people said, those hit by meteors should have been doomed. After all, even falling objects from high places could kill, let alone meteors falling from the sky. He thought he was in the same situation—dead, then saved by the god game, unsure of how many instances he needed to clear to return.

But after reading about the fog, the monsters emerging from it, and the resource shortages leading to a apocalyptic crisis, Tan Xiao realized the situation wasn’t as he had thought.

It seemed he was the only player who had been “killed” by a meteor. Other selected players were all alive. If they failed in the game, they would die in real life. Players who failed in their first beginner instance or violated certain rules would either die instantly or become brain-dead, turning into idiots or vegetables.

In a modern society with abundant resources and peace, if one didn’t have a reliable family, even being in a vegetative state could lead to abandonment. In an apocalypse, becoming a fool was essentially a death sentence.

But while the game brought danger, it also offered hope for survival and special powers. Thus, a significant number of players chose to stay in the game as official players, frequently adventuring.

According to the players on the forum, once the game ended, they could return to reality and reunite with their families.

For many players, it was precisely for the sake of their families in the real world that they were willing to take such risks.

But Tan Xiao was different. Through several missions, he had never returned.

Perhaps it was because in the earlier instances, he had been in a dazed state, unaware that he had entered the god game, thinking he was merely dreaming.

Tan Xiao stood up and looked around. This small space was filled with many things—appliances, furniture, dolls, items Wen Yi had given him, and memories of their affection  across several instances. But this was a fictional space, not the reality Tan Xiao was familiar with.

The world beyond the door he pushed open in the wall was also an instance world, not the real world he knew as his own.

Had he died, with his consciousness trapped in this game? Or had something gone wrong with the game?

Tan Xiao tried interacting with the system panel before him. Besides personal attribute rewards from three instances, he had also earned a considerable amount of game currency and points.

He rummaged through his home, finding many used and unused items. The black card given to him by CEO Wen Yi seemed to contain a substantial amount of savings.

Even if he returned it to the system mall as an item, the greedy recyclers would offer a buyback price that would astonish all players.

Tan Xiao tested the waters but firmly decided to keep the black card. No matter how high the cost-performance ratio was, he wouldn’t sell anything Wen Yi had given him.

Thinking of Wen Yi, Tan Xiao felt a pang of sadness. His lover always gave him the best and most precious things.

Players said there were intervals between games. As long as a player didn’t want to, they usually wouldn’t be forcibly dragged into an instance.

Tan Xiao wasn’t in a hurry to enter an instance. While absorbing information, he continuously explored the forum’s features, trying to determine his true situation.

Attempting to delete information—success. Deleting a large number of emails—success. Using a name change card to change his name—success. Hiding partial information—success…

Tan Xiao confirmed one thing: he could communicate with other players through the system forum, but he couldn’t leave the game space to search for his family. He was trapped here, unable to regain his freedom.

The young man’s eyes turned slightly red as he suddenly punched the ground.

The noise startled Xiao Bai: “Woof!”

Tan Xiao quickly calmed down: “It’s nothing. I just got a bit impatient.”

Anyone who discovered they were “dead” and might never return home would feel frantic. No matter how calm he usually appeared, Tan Xiao was just a recent high school graduate, a prospective college student.

Fortunately, it seemed there was a turning point.

[The god game is about to undergo a major upgrade. The system will undergo maintenance for three hours in 20 minutes.]