Chapter 3: Everyone, Stay Calm—I'm Familiar with This Process
Page (1/3)
“All tests are complete.”
“Troublesome, we have to start all over again afterward.”
Lin Qi watched Fang Zhen dissipate slowly into ashes on the ground and couldn’t help but sigh. Being an NPC was truly no easy task. His gaze then shifted to the time displayed on his wristwatch and he added a few words to Fang Zhen’s entry in his notebook.
Maximum time limit: 2 hours, 23 minutes, 14 seconds.
Physical perception: Poor.
Overall rating: Kindergarten senior class level.
“Without protection, this is roughly their maximum resistance time to the pollution. Seems necessary to purchase a batch of protective gear,” Lin Qi thought, rubbing his aching head as he considered the limited bits in his possession.
The dangers of the wild didn’t stem solely from monsters but also from numerous radiation-contaminated areas. Those unable to withstand five to six hours of radiation exposure would find survival in the wild nearly impossible.
Moreover, individuals with acute physical awareness could survive much longer outdoors. Such people could quickly distance themselves from polluted zones upon entering, thus avoiding fatal long-term radiation exposure.
Fang Zhen, however, was clearly not among them.
Previously, he had borrowed 30,000 bits from the Gorilla Gang. After buying weapons and repaying Luo Qi, plus covering the costs to operate the martial arts gym’s generator, 18,500 bits were gone.
Adding the 495 bits spent on food and water to restore his body over recent days, along with the hospital’s monthly fee of 2,500 bits, the total came to 21,495 bits.
If players were to farm, their daily sustenance must be managed. A minimal daily consumption—one box of high-protein biscuits and a bottle of water—costs about 3 bits per person, which isn’t much.
With his current funds, he could not only support ten players but even twenty or thirty, sustaining them until they were ready to approach the Gorilla Gang without issue.
Yet cultivating Blood Essence Rice was an entirely different matter.
A single Blood Essence Rice plant required an energy land area of 4 square meters and yielded 10 grams of rice.
To produce one pound of Blood Essence Rice, 200 square meters of energy land was necessary.
Earning 30,000 bits monthly required at least 30,000 square meters of wildland cultivation. If planting was done in three batches, each would need 10,000 square meters—this excluded seed and water costs.
Energy lands in safer wild zones were scarce. Those near the city were mostly controlled by major factions in Lightchaser City, with the remainder fiercely contested by numerous undocumented vagrants. Finding covert energy land was extremely difficult.
Areas close to the city were either too small or too scattered, making cultivation easily detectable and hard to manage.
Farther from the city, monsters were active and the travel risk was high. A single ambush would leave no refuge for the unfortunate.
Adding the cost of protective equipment would only increase the risks of farming in the wild. If a player died outside, the protective gear was lost. Without protection, survival was difficult—an impossible dilemma.
“A second-hand set of outdoor protective gear costs 3,000 bits?” Lin Qi glanced at the price on his wristwatch and barely hesitated before closing it. Feeling insulted by the price, he pulled out his notebook and flipped through it. “Looks like Plan B is our only option. Although it means more deaths, it’s definitely safer.”
The Obsidian Martial Arts Gym had originally been the heart of Lightchaser City, but due to the beast tide conflicts and various radiation contaminations, it had become an abandoned district.
Though most of the area was polluted, as a former city center, the underground still contained many energy veins. Even if largely mined out, the residual energy underground remained dense.
With sufficient time and manpower to develop underground cultivation, even though many areas were unusable due to pollution, the cultivable zones still offered decent returns.
At least personally, Lin Qi valued this option—it was somewhat slower and less profitable than wild farming but still worthwhile.
“Next up, it’s time to activate rewards for those players.”
Thinking this, Lin Qi began patting the pockets of his clothes. As the founder of a game technology company, he understood well the mindset of players. It was impossible to get something for nothing, yet offering attractive rewards was essential.
Page (2/3)
If so, there was no one crazier or more dedicated than players in the entire world.
However, Lin Qi searched for a long time without finding anything worthwhile. Especially since he was running a martial arts gym, he couldn’t appear too stingy.
Just as he was about to open his wristwatch to search for second-hand items, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an elementary school textbook scattered on the hallway floor.
“Fitness Breathing Technique!”
“Perfect! This is it!” Lin Qi strode over and picked up the nearly half-torn book with satisfaction. “Luckily, players don’t speak the language of this world yet. I just need to copy it and rename it the ‘Jing Shen Breathing Method.’ If they can’t master it, that’s simply a matter of their talent.”
…
In Fang Zhen’s livestream, he stared at the icon for “Advanced Martial Awakening” displayed in his virtual inventory, unable to regain his composure.
“Guys, was I just playing Advanced Martial Awakening?” Fang Zhen asked the viewers, hardly daring to believe it was real.
The texture! The sensation!
The prickling pain through his body!
It was exactly like the real thing—unbelievably authentic!
“Zhen, you’re way too good at acting. Just admit the game company paid you.”
“Zhen’s performance was amazing; I thought you were actually kidnapped.”
“Streamer’s insane. This is my first time watching someone do deep squats for two hours straight without gasping for breath. That stamina is enviable.”
The audience in the livestream teased Fang Zhen, convinced he was just pretending. It was just a game after all, exaggerated as if it were reality.
“Zhen, you’ve been doing deep squats for two hours. How realistic is this game? Is it true?”
“Come on, after two hours of deep squats, that’s proof enough, right?”
“But the game’s starting is brutal—two hours of deep squats right away. Zhen died before even leaving the room. The developers must be trying to prevent refunds.”
Curious viewers bombarded Fang Zhen with questions as he remained dazed.
Virtual game livestreams were like watching movies; viewers couldn’t immerse themselves. Perspectives were limited to third-person or player views, offering no real sensory experience beyond graphics.
“Realism? Is it true?” Fang Zhen looked at the Advanced Martial Awakening icon, eyes shining brighter, voice trembling slightly. “Guys, I’ve never played a game this realistic. The sensation is unprecedented. I swear, this game will be the masterpiece of the year and will definitely explode worldwide!”
“Other games boasting over 75% realism, though well designed in gravity and motion sensing, pale in comparison. Each deep squat strains every muscle, and the stabbing pain upon death is vividly real. Claiming 100% realism isn’t an exaggeration.”
“But the game has flaws—no beginner’s guide, no game window; I didn’t even know how to log out after entering. There’s no character customization; your appearance and body are 100% preset. No chance for adjustments.”
“And the start is harsh—two thousand deep squats. Players lacking perseverance won’t survive. The developers need to revise this or risk driving away newcomers.”
While pointing out flaws, Fang Zhen’s gaze burned ever brighter.
A second spring!
Fang Zhen felt his second chance had arrived.
Professional esports careers were short-lived, usually ending by age thirty, except for top-tier players who might last until thirty-five, earning huge rewards.
The most popular mecha combat game, “Mecha Continent,” had come late to Fang Zhen. Age and fierce competition meant his efforts barely secured a spot. Now, the pro league was on the brink of being phased out, making success impossible.
But Advanced Martial Awakening offered new hope.
With its claimed 100% realism and combat focus, if it caught on, it would surely spawn its own professional esports league, surpassing Mecha Continent’s 75% realism in popularity.
Page (3/3)
As one of the first players to experience Advanced Martial Awakening, Fang Zhen knew he could become a top pro if he seized the opportunity.
“Zhen, you’ve given many useful tips for newcomers, but is it possible… they can’t even get in?”
“I’ve paid for the game a while ago but still see ‘queue connecting’ messages.”
“No way, 4,999 yuan and you’re already paid?”
“100% realism? Fake! This must be the devs’ ad with streamers tricking people. They limit to ten players but don’t limit purchases or queue spots. What a scam. Real players can’t even play, so streamers can hype it all they want.”
“Clearly the streamer’s just creating buzz. If it were really 100% realism, I’d praise it.”
“Newcomers, is this game real or not?”
“I don’t believe it! Unless it’s free!”
As Fang Zhen enthusiastically promoted Advanced Martial Awakening, some viewers eagerly wanted to try, while others accused him of colluding with the developers to deceive buyers. The game was supposedly unplayable.
The chat room buzzed with disputes, pushing the stream toward the top ten game livestreams. Advanced Martial Awakening’s fame soared, attracting both skeptics and enthusiasts.
“Listen, this game’s still in testing. They might open more spots later. If you don’t believe me, forget it—I’m confident and will keep streaming it,” Fang Zhen declared, ignoring the insults. “Friends, let’s keep going. No quitting after the opening session.”
He then recharged 648 bits, and the Advanced Martial Awakening icon lit up from dull gray.
The dim basement remained cold and drafty, filled with wails.
“Did two more join this time?”
Fang Zhen opened his eyes to find two new people beside him: a young man and woman both wearing gray long T-shirts.
The man looked shy and under twenty; the woman, about twenty-three or twenty-four, had fair skin, shoulder-length hair, and an air of heroic grace, like a wandering swordswoman.
Both were dazed and confused by their sudden surroundings, nervously eyeing Lin Qi, who sat at the iron-framed table with a notebook and pen.
Seeing their panic, Fang Zhen felt an unexpected surge of confidence and accomplishment.
“Don’t panic,” Fang Zhen stood, brushed dirt from his pants, and calmly addressed them. “I know this process like the back of my hand.”
The two calmed visibly, looking at Fang Zhen—the bearded older brother figure—as if finding their anchor.
“Name?”
“Fang Zhen!”
“Age?”
“29!”
“That’s a bit old.”
“I still have potential! I can prove it!”
Lin Qi and Fang Zhen exchanged questions and answers, Fang Zhen’s replies strong and confident, embodying the seasoned player’s poise.
“Good! Then prove it.” Lin Qi nodded approvingly. This was the model player he wanted—cooperative and confident.
He then picked up a metal shovel from the floor and tossed it in front of Fang Zhen.
“Turn right at the corridor ahead. There’s a small warehouse with a two-hour, twenty-minute time limit. Dig out a 10-cubic-meter space five meters underground. You may begin!”