Reality (7): I’m hallucinating.

Tan Xiao’s parents were considered part of the elite class in their originally peaceful society. However, neither of them went into politics or business—one was a university professor and the other a scientific researcher.

The couple had a loving relationship and successful careers, but when it came to raising a child, they hardly had to worry. Following the principle of quality childbirth and child-rearing, they had Tan Xiao at the appropriate age—and he was their only child.

In terms of raising a child, they essentially won the jackpot: from the moment Tan Xiao was born, he was easy to take care of. As a baby, he was well-behaved, had a regular sleep schedule, and possessed strong logical thinking—an angelic, well-mannered child. As he grew older, he became the model child everyone envied.

He consistently ranked at the top of his class and had a cheerful and outgoing personality. Whether in academics or making friends, he never gave his parents any trouble. He was the kind of child that made parenting effortless.

From elementary school to middle school to high school, he always got into the best schools in the district on his own merit. While he may not have brought national fame like a top scholar, he ranked near the top in the two most critical placement exams and was eventually admitted to one of the country’s top universities.

In addition, he had a good appearance, was talented in many skills, and had an independent personality—he wasn’t clingy and had a strong sense of self even from a young age.

In some ways, Tan Xiao’s parents didn’t feel a great sense of accomplishment in raising him. They were used to handling challenges, and raising such an easy child felt almost too simple.

Raising this child didn’t require much effort, nor did it interfere with their pursuit of their own careers.

But they also knew they couldn’t say that out loud—it would sound way too much like bragging, even if it was true. Saying it would only earn them resentment.

Everything changed when the meteor shower appeared. Their only child—the one they proudly claimed never gave them worry—disappeared in a strange city while on a trip.

Some things don’t seem particularly precious until they are lost. In that moment of loss, the couple realized that they actually cared much more about their child than they had thought.

They deeply regretted it—regretted letting him travel alone for his graduation trip, regretted being so at ease just because he had come of age.

He had just graduated, finished the most important exam of his life, and had an incredibly bright future ahead. At only 18 years old, his life had just begun, yet he faced death at its most brilliant moment.

And it wasn’t just young people who died. Disasters struck all over the world. Among the dead were not only Tan Xiao but many others—young and old, pregnant women, newborn babies…

But at that moment, the couple couldn’t spare the energy to sympathize with others. They cared only about their child. It was then they truly understood what it meant when people say, “Human joys and sorrows are not shared.”

When Tan Xiao was born, both parents were 27 years old. They had met in university, attending the same school but studying different doctoral programs.

When Tan Xiao turned 18, they were only 45—still in their prime.

Neither looked old. When out with Tan Xiao, people often mistook them for his older siblings. But after the tragedy, their youthful appearances seemed to age 20 years overnight. The loss of their child in middle age hit them extremely hard.

Then the god game suddenly appeared, and one of them became part of the first group of players. They weren’t in the first batch themselves, so they didn’t understand the situation clearly.

The players kept the truth well hidden. Tan Xiao’s father proactively joined the new official game department and later became part of the second batch to enter a game instance.

He was lucky and successfully cleared his first instance, but he chose to give up his player status.

The massive changes in the world shifted his priorities. His career was important, but so was family. He was no longer young—he had elderly parents and a wife to protect. With his job tied to a research institute, his family was not short on resources.

As for their child—when he saw the top player on the leaderboard named “Tan Xiao,” his heart leapt. That could be his son—after all, his child had always been excellent.

But he sent a message to Tan Xiao, using a hidden code known only to their family, and received no reply. So he concluded: the top player couldn’t possibly be his son.

He gave up being a player, but since he worked in the relevant department, he could still access internal forums and information even without player status.

The top player remained aloof, and the father became even more convinced that the boy wasn’t his son. Then, during the Ocean’s Heart instance, a rumor spread: someone had seen the top player, and the description of his appearance and age closely matched his son.

Though he didn’t know why his child had never reached out, just knowing he was still alive was the best news. But the joy didn’t last—shortly after, the top player disappeared.

Tan Xiao had entered a special instance called “Eight-Tailed Cat.” After completing it, he quickly became a game administrator.

To ensure fairness, the moment he became a game administrator, Tan Xiao gave up his player status. It turned out the choice offered to him by the game wasn’t a single-choice question, but a multiple-choice one.

As he was no longer a player, his completion of the special instance wasn’t publicly announced. He vanished from the main leaderboards, except for a special achievement board—a kind of historical archive where names remained even after death.

The sudden fall of the top player shocked all the players. To many, he was like a guiding light. If even the top player was dead, what hope did the rest of them have?

Countless people fell into despair. Only a few overly optimistic players joked, “Well, everyone dies eventually. Maybe he didn’t fail the instance. Maybe he was just old and died of natural causes?”

Who would believe that?

At that exact time, the damned game released an announcement: an important update was coming, adding more content.

During game maintenance, players were given another day of rest.

But Tan Xiao’s father was so dazed he made mistakes at work.

His supervisor patted him on the shoulder and gave him time off: “Don’t overthink it. Go home and rest. Didn’t you say it yourself? The top player may not be your son. Maybe your son is still alive somewhere in this world.”

The man forced a smile and dragged his heavy steps home in a deep depression.

His wife, after grieving, had returned to work. Although the world no longer needed university professors, she was an exceptional person and still made great contributions to the rebuilding of new cities.

When Tan Xiao’s father opened the door, he saw the lights on. Was his wife already home?

“Woof woof woof.” A small white dog appeared in front of him.

Stunned, he stared at the little white dog and instinctively backed out: was he so out of it today that he walked into the wrong house?

No… he stepped back, looked at the house number, and came back in. It was his home.

Or… had someone broken in? Who would be so bold—bringing a dog, no less?!

“Dad.” Tan Xiao stood up from the sofa and greeted his father. “You’re home.”

Unable to control himself, the father slapped his own face—he was done for. He’d finally gone insane from missing his son so much. Now he was hallucinating!