Reality (8): Not a player

Tan Xiao glanced at his biological father, then at Wen Yi beside him, exchanging looks with the other as if to say, “My dad usually isn’t like this, really.”

Tan Xiao called out again, “Dad.”

Then he introduced, “This is my partner, Wen Yi.”

“Xiao Bai,” Tan Xiao said, “go close the door.”

Xiao Bai barked twice, then circled behind his master to close the door. The atmosphere in the cramped room immediately became subtly tense.

Of course, the place Old Tan was living in now was no longer the luxurious large flat from before. Since the dawn of the new era, the base had taken in many people. Resources were limited, and with the need for patrols around the base for safety, all internal housing was tall and densely packed. Tan Xiao’s parents now lived in a small unit with only about sixty square meters of usable space.

That was already considered spacious—after all, it was just the two of them. Tan Xiao’s grandparents on both sides had their own places. Some families with financial difficulties had a dozen or more people squeezed into sixty square meters, with barely enough room to stretch out when sleeping.

Tan Xiao pulled Wen Yi to sit on the couch, then turned and went to the kitchen to pour a glass of water for his father, whose face was red and swollen. “Work must be tough—have some water.”

The latter touched his sore face. He had slapped himself quite hard earlier; the swelling was very real, and touching it still burned. It hurt, and it felt incredibly real. The hallucination hadn’t faded. His son had really come back—and had even thoughtfully poured him a glass of water.

“Wait, I have to call your mom first!”

The middle-aged man said this with a seemingly calm expression, but his slightly trembling hands had already betrayed his inner excitement. After all, this sort of thing was hard to believe. One couldn’t help but question whether they were hallucinating too vividly.

He knew he wasn’t dreaming, but if a hallucination was too realistic, anything was possible. The call quickly connected, and a gentle female voice came from the other end: “What is it, honey?”

“It’s something very important. Come home first, I’ll explain when you get here.”

The call ended, and about ten minutes later, the front door opened. A woman’s handbag and her keyring fell to the floor.

A hand quickly caught the falling handbag, saving the fragile eggs inside from being smashed. With his other hand, Tan Xiao picked up the keys before they hit the ground and placed them on the old key rack by the entrance.

Even though the home was now smaller, many of the items inside had been brought over from the place they had lived in for more than a decade—like that worn-out key rack at the entryway.

Mrs. Li quickly shut the door and, out of habit, locked it.

Yes, Tan Xiao’s real-life mother was also surnamed Li, and her name was Li Li—not “Li” as in jasmine, but “Li” as in clever. Maybe that’s why she was always chosen by the game to play the role of Tan Xiao’s mother.

Similar character settings and similar-sounding names easily blurred Tan Xiao’s memories, making it hard to distinguish truth from illusion. After all, the highest form of deception is nine parts truth to one part lie. Lies mixed in with truth are the most convincing.

“Mom.” Tan Xiao pulled Wen Yi over and introduced him again, “This is Wen Yi, my partner—my companion.”

“Wen Yi, this is my mom.”

Wen Yi followed with a polite, “Mom.”

Mrs. Li, still happy about her son’s return, was then hit with a huge emotional shock. Mr. Tan quickly poured her a glass of warm water.

Seeing his wife’s reaction, he knew for sure this wasn’t a hallucination—his son, who was supposed to be dead, had really come back.

He didn’t understand how the rumors could’ve been so wrong. They had said the top-ranked player had fallen, that he had dropped off the rankings. But just because someone drops off the list, does that have to mean they died? Maybe he beat the game, and that’s why he was no longer a player.

Mr. Tan grumbled internally about his unreliable coworkers, not mentioning how irrational he himself had been at the time.

Clear the game? No one had ever thought that day would actually come. Even if it were possible, it surely wouldn’t happen this soon. And if the game had been cleared, why hadn’t the system released an official announcement?

Tan Xiao had always earned system forum announcements every time he cleared a level, but this time there had been nothing. So everyone assumed he had died in a failed attempt.

Mrs. Li looked at the young man beside her son. He was well-groomed, handsome, and had a clean-cut demeanor. He was a little shorter than Tan Xiao, but his aura made their height difference seem irrelevant.

He was clearly a grown man—someone with social experience—and seemed to come from a well-educated background.

He was wearing a white casual trench coat. The fabric was structured and crisp. His pants were also pure white. The entire outfit made him look very clean, like a researcher or a surgeon.

White and black is a classic combo, and white clothing can be quite hard to pull off—on most people, it looks arrogant. But this man wore it effortlessly—even better than Mr. Tan himself ever could.

“What do you do for a living? Doctor? Researcher?”

Tan Xiao replied, “Wen Yi is a highly skilled doctor. He became a chief physician at a top-tier hospital at a very young age.”

Though he was a doctor in a game instance, his professional skills were solid. The giant metropolitan instance was practically indistinguishable from real life.

“Really? Dr. Wen is very accomplished. But chief physicians are usually in their 30s or 40s. At that age, shouldn’t he already be married with kids?”

As a mother, she naturally cared more about her child’s partner than a father might. Despite the massive changes in society, she was never a player herself and couldn’t fully grasp the player-driven changes.

To Mrs. Li, her work life had remained relatively straightforward. In terms of relationships, her thinking was still rooted in the older generation.

Her own son was only eighteen, and he had never shown any signs of liking boys. Suddenly, he brought home a much older man and called him his partner. As a mother, it was hard to accept.

She instinctively felt her son had been seduced by a worldly adult. No matter how presentable the man looked, her first assumption was that he wasn’t a good match.

In fact, before they came here, Wen Yi had been troubled over what form to appear in. He obviously couldn’t show up as a jellyfish or a cat to meet Tan Xiao’s parents. Among the humanoid identities they’d used before were doctor, student, and CEO.

Wen Yi had considered appearing as his 18-year-old self, close in age to Tan Xiao, which could help support the story that they’d known each other for years as friends.

But Tan Xiao had said, “Being the same age is nice, but someone successful in their career is more reassuring.”

Dr. Wen and CEO Wen both counted as accomplished professionals. Unfortunately, Wen Yi’s success was within the game, not the real world.

Following Tan Xiao’s advice, Wen Yi decided to go with the identity of Dr. Wen. After all, businessmen can come off as shrewd, while doctors—lifesavers—are seen in a better light.

Wen Yi glanced at Tan Xiao. If it had been anyone else treating him this coldly, he would’ve walked out already. But this was Tan Xiao’s mother—the one who gave him life. For his partner, he was willing to endure rejection and doubt.

Though he’d never raised a child himself, he could still empathize with both Tan Xiao and his parents.

Tan Xiao took the initiative to say, “No, Dr. Wen is still very young. He’s only in his twenties. And back then, when we got together, he didn’t agree at first—it was me who insisted on pursuing him.”

He gripped Wen Yi’s hand tightly. “Mom, the times have changed. These days, gender doesn’t matter so much anymore. Being alive and well is already a blessing. To find someone you truly love—that’s the greatest fortune of all.”

He hadn’t brought Wen Yi here to have him suffer on his behalf.

“Mom, I came back this time not just to see you and Dad—but also to introduce him to you both. To let you know I’m doing well, and I’m happy now. I’m not here to ask for your approval.”

“You brat, is that how you talk to your mom?” Old Tan quickly stepped in to smooth things over, saving his wife from losing face.

“Your mom didn’t say she disapproved. She just asked a few questions because she was confused—and here you go getting all defensive.”

He internally grumbled that his son had forgotten his parents now that he had a partner, but as Researcher Tan, he still had to speak up.

He turned off both his wife’s and his own phones, then pulled the two young men into the bathroom.

Even though the house was basically safe, the living room might still contain some surveillance equipment—those with audio-recording capabilities. The bedrooms might have hidden devices too. After all, his son was called Tan Xiao, and had been suspected of being the top player.

Around their home, there had always been hidden personnel assigned to monitor them. Even though those people had been withdrawn after the “top player’s fall,” the house wasn’t necessarily free of bugs.

Thankfully, he was a researcher himself, and the privacy of the bathroom was still guaranteed.

Tan Xiao was pulled in by his own father, with Xiao Bai following behind. Four people and one dog crammed into the small space.

Mr. Tan asked seriously, “Tell me, during the time you were gone—did you enter the ‘God Game’? That top-ranked player with the same name as you—was that you?”

Tan Xiao nodded. “It was me.”

This kind of thing could be hidden from others, but not from his own parents. Besides, he wasn’t the top player anymore, so it wasn’t a major secret.

Although he had already expected it, Mr. Tan still gasped dramatically.

He instinctively looked at Wen Yi. “He’s a player too? Ranked near the top?”

Tan Xiao vaguely answered, “We did meet in the game instance.”

That Wen Yi wasn’t a player was something he didn’t plan to tell his father. A well-meaning omission would help family harmony.

Mr. Tan took it as confirmation, and most of his resistance to Wen Yi faded.

To meet a reliable, trustworthy teammate in the game was a rare blessing. He had once been a player too, so he knew how much the game changed people.

Things like family background, education, career, age, or gender—which had once mattered so much in real life—no longer held the same weight.

He then asked a series of questions: “Why didn’t you come back before? Why appear so suddenly now? Do you know your name disappeared from the game ranking?”

The past didn’t matter. The future did. Tan Xiao selectively answered: “From now on, I’m no longer a player.”

He added silently in his heart: Because I’ve become a game administrator.