Extra (2): Administrator’s daily routine

Players on the overall strength leaderboard generally had colorful titles. Although they were not as famous as Tan Xiao, their posts still stood out, especially with a title related to the Administrator, which instantly drew a lot of traffic.

Opening the post, the author first left a statement on the first floor: “No arguing, wild guessing, or questioning allowed in this thread. Violators will have their posts deleted.”

After all, he didn’t make money from traffic. He managed his own thread and deleted posts as he pleased.

The author then posted a long article on the second floor.

He started by showcasing his own strength: “My overall strength ranks fifteenth. After this instance, my ranking should be in the top ten.”

Players on the forum all knew that to make it into the top 20, you needed at least one S-grade run. For the top ten, that usually meant two.

The author continued: “This was my fifteenth game. The instance was initially marked as normal difficulty. Don’t ask me why I didn’t choose a hard-level instance—let’s just say I used an item to carry a newbie. Quick ad: Our guild is pretty friendly. Interested players can PM the vice president of our little-known underground guild, ‘Fugitive Saint from Base Camp.’ We recruit high-level players and promising newcomers who got a B grade on their first run!”

As time passed and more newbie players joined the app, the system added various items. Some of these items can bind to a player and allow entry into a slightly easier instance.

But the God Game was different from other games. Just because a veteran went into a newbie area didn’t mean guaranteed success. If you run into an instance with strong supernatural elements or one that didn’t suit your skillset, even top players could fail.

After all, there weren’t many “hexagon warriors” (well-rounded players). Some were intelligence-based and bad at combat, and those brute-force muscle types often crashed and burned in puzzle-heavy instances.

So the top 20 players weren’t necessarily the strongest, but they usually didn’t have any obvious weaknesses—or they’ve got a perfectly matched partner.

The player making the post was from a major guild and entered this instance to carry some new recruits.

“This was a metaphysics instance—basically, it had ghosts. A no-ghost, pure-monster instance is much easier. Monsters are usually killable, with clear weaknesses. Even if you lack brains, enough firepower gets the job done. It just depends on whether the system bans items or weapons. If it does, it gets harder—you have to craft your own weapons inside the instance.”

“Metaphysics instances have a lot of variability. But if there’s a puzzle-solving element, then once you solve it and get the corresponding countering item from the plot, it’s usually easy to kill the enemy! When I entered this instance and saw the content, I knew I had it under control. The main mission was to survive seven days in a village. Side quests were optional. The main goal was to make sure the newbies didn’t die. That difficulty level wasn’t surprising. Even though my presence in the instance might raise the difficulty slightly, with a few new players and a normal-level instance, it shouldn’t have been that hard.”

“Key point here: that’s in normal cases. What I’m talking about now is the abnormal case. The map was a backward village with nice scenery, kind of primitive. But the living conditions were surprisingly okay—no rats or bugs—just no food. In metaphysics instances, it’s best to bring your own food. Something that looks like a normal meal might turn out to be rice mixed with ashes.”

Normally, instance walkthroughs that reveal changes and detailed strategies were sold on the forum. Even charging just one game coin can be lucrative if enough players were willing to pay.

But this post rode the wave of Administrator-related traffic, so the author couldn’t really charge for it. It’s not that he feared players complaining about value—it’s mainly that he didn’t want to upset the Administrator. Most people wouldn’t want someone else profiting off their fame, and it’s not like he could charge first and then offer the Administrator a cut.

Either way, promoting his guild in such a high-traffic post without charging wasn’t a loss.

“I have decent resources. As long as the game doesn’t ban them and I don’t do anything stupid, I just eat the system-provided food. Things went smoothly at first. But then—here’s the key part—on the seventh day of the instance, half the participating players died. I was just waiting for the instance to end, and then at midnight on day eight—blackout. I didn’t exit the game. I got trapped inside the instance. Time rewound. The dead came back to life. It went back to the first day. It became a looping instance!”

“Just to clarify: I’m of normal intelligence—not a genius, but not dumb either. It was obvious this was a looping instance. Although starting a time-loop instance at this difficulty is a bit insane, the ghosts and monsters in it weren’t too strong. The real challenge was the puzzle-solving, which I can understand.”

At this point, the author shifted focus and described a lot of his puzzle-solving process. His writing was solid, and the heartfelt descriptions of the scenes were immersive. Other players reading it felt like they were on a rollercoaster—like reading a mind-bending detective novel.

Many players began to imagine themselves in that instance. What would they do? Ninety-nine percent of them probably wouldn’t have performed as well as the author. As for the remaining one percent—either their overall strength was higher and they believed they could stay even calmer and do better, or they were just overconfident and overestimated their abilities.

At the end of the post, the author said: “At that point, I made a desperate gamble. I decided to bet my life. Everyone knows there are resurrection items now, but in this type of instance, they’re basically useless. Even if you have one, it only buys you one extra life. In a looping instance like this, once you die, you completely lose consciousness. And when the system offers you a choice, if you’re unconscious, it automatically defaults to keeping you in the instance instead of sending you out. I had already used all the items I bought with my performance rating—including a uniquely ugly decoy doll.”

“One thing worth mentioning is that I later found out this doll was actually an item originally obtained by the Administrator back when he was still a player. He sold one copy, and I was lucky enough to win the bid for it and even brought it into that instance. Although the Administrator said that saving me had nothing to do with the doll, I believe this just proves the fate between me and the Administrator.”

“Let me emphasize—this fate is entirely pure. The Administrator has a partner, who is incredibly handsome and powerful, a perfect match for him. (Omitting ten thousand words of praise for the couple here.)”

“Their relationship is so good—how good? The so-called fake Administrator routine is running around fixing bugs and patching loopholes. The real Administrator routine is going on instance trips with his lover and fixing things along the way. Just bragging a bit—I got wedding candy from the Administrator, which is actually a super useful item that boosts a stat.”

Right—at the time, that strange and sarcastic system had basically given up on him. Because from the time the issue was reported to when it was fixed, it normally wouldn’t have been that quick. Originally, the instance was supposed to be shut down and fixed later.

But by chance, Tan Xiao and Wen Yi were holding their wedding in an instance connected to his. So just in time, before his death, the glowing couple appeared in front of him and broke the time loop from the outside, saving his life.

When Wen Yi read up to this point, he gave a small snort. At least the guy was sensible. That earlier line about “fate” was really ambiguous—it could easily have led to some bored people shipping them. After all, Tan Xiao once interacted with that player surnamed Wang inside an instance, and by coincidence saved him twice.

Back then, Wang was the only person who had any meaningful contact with Tan Xiao and was added as a friend, so people started shipping them like crazy. The forums were full of nonsense like “The domineering #1 player falls in love with me.”

Since Tan Xiao was trapped in a space at the time and had no memory, he couldn’t clarify anything. As a result, the gossip spread like wildfire.

But after Tan Xiao became the Administrator, the officials posted clarifications on real-world forums and even deleted those posts.

As for the in-game forums, now that Tan Xiao was the Administrator, of course he wouldn’t allow such rumors to grow.

The thread author said: “At that moment, I felt absolute despair. It was like entering a maze, spending countless efforts following every clue, finally reaching what you believe to be the exit just before collapsing… only to realize that the light at the exit was just a reflection from a mirror. The actual exit was indeed once there, but due to a bug, awakened NPCs hiding their strength, or outdated game versions, it had long been sealed off. That instant—you feel like you’ve dropped into hell. You just want to die…”

“And right then, the system uses its sarcastic tone to remind you, ‘Bug is uploading, relevant programs submitted, awaiting patch and compensation.’”

“I strongly suspect others have encountered similar situations before—maybe even multiple times. Total wipeouts, which is why no information ever got out. But I made it out!”

“Thanks to the wise and mighty Administrator and his partner, who descended like angels from the sky and broke the time loop from the outside. The game gave generous compensation—that’s why I rose from rank fifteen to ten. Pretty generous indeed, but no matter how generous it is, you need to be alive to enjoy it. So again, thanks to the bosses.”

“If the Administrator role didn’t exist, a bug would remain a permanent bug. An instance with issues might be sealed temporarily once discovered, but more players would still enter and die. That’s why I say I was lucky—because the Administrator can’t be everywhere at once. It’s possible that by the time he arrives, the players inside are already dead. But his work means something to me. At the very least, he saved my life. I care—and so will others he saves.”

At the end of the post, he added that all the content had been confirmed with the Administrator as safe to publish.

He also wished everyone success in their instance runs—and offered best wishes to the Administrator and his lover on their wedding: may they enjoy everlasting happiness.

While most players were finishing or still reading the post, the forum page suddenly burst into colorful fireworks.

The system then pushed several dazzling announcements:

Congratulations to God Game Administrator Tan Xiao and game guide Wen Yi on their joyous wedding!

Send your blessings to receive a piece of wedding candy. Happy wedding wishes—may their love, like the God Game, be eternal and everlasting!

TN: This is the end, thank you everyone for the reading!