Timed Challenge

In the upper right corner of the screen, three icons flashed—one at the top, one in the middle, and one at the bottom. The topmost read “Fifteen Days of Self-Discipline.” The middle one was “One Timed Challenge Opportunity.” The bottom, however, was “Unlock Chapter Two of the Game.” This last icon appeared dimmer than the other two and was accompanied by a progress bar, as if the game content was still loading.

Xiu Nan leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a brief rest. It was getting late, and darkness pressed in from the world outside.

A tearing sound broke the silence as he ripped open the packaging of instant noodles. He enjoyed a simple midnight snack, then hurried to the bathroom to wash his face. Afterward, he logged out of the game and opened the writer’s backend to start typing.

Although he was just a low-tier novelist, he could at least support himself with his manuscript fees. Writing was his daily work—not physical labor, but certainly a mental grind. Every day he lost a horde of brain cells and shed a handful of hair. The once-lush forest atop his head had grown sparse.

He began typing, fingers flying over the keyboard. In this profession, there were no holidays. Every day required a set number of chapters to be updated—a torment. Yet there was one redeeming quality: freedom, and the ability to choose when to write. If a fast-typing author had a complete outline and was willing to sit at the computer from morning until night, he could finish a week’s worth of work in a single day. That would leave the other six days free for fun.

Xiu Nan wished he could do that, but he simply couldn’t manage it. He longed for a disciplined life, but laziness always got the better of him. Still, in special circumstances, he could power through and churn out three days’ worth of chapters in one go. Like now, when he was writing furiously, the desire to play games outweighing his chronic sloth. Since the game was still updating, he might as well finish the tasks for the next couple of days. That way, he could indulge in two consecutive days of gaming. Perfect planning!

The sound of typing echoed throughout his small rental apartment. Xiu Nan paused occasionally to organize his thoughts, sipping water now and then. Strangely, as he wrote, new ideas kept popping into his mind. He jotted them all down. The old book was nearing completion and wouldn’t need them, but they might be useful for the new one—though he hadn’t yet decided what genre or form it would take. Perhaps it would be inspired by this fascinating new game…

When he finished writing, he stretched with a long, satisfying yawn. Midnight had come and gone; all was silent. Bored, he opened the game interface. Chapter Two was still updating, the progress bar barely past the halfway mark. He decided to sleep and play tomorrow.

Before bed, he brushed his teeth and lay down. Lying on his side, he scrolled through novels. As he read, his eyelids grew heavier, and, yawning, he drifted off to sleep.

Morning light poured in, warming the bedroom. The alarm sounded.

“Oh thank you sir!”
“Oh yeah! Easy Cheap Connection!”
“This world is too chaotic!”
“I heard you’re from Guangdoor, maybe we’re hometown fellows!”
“Boy next door!”...

With the devil’s whispers in his ears, Xiu Nan opened his eyes. The first thing he did was reach for the phone by his pillow. A quick tap and the cacophony ceased. The second thing he did was close his eyes and try to sleep again.

Ten minutes later.

“Oh thank you sir!”
“Oh…”

A hand reached out and covered the phone.

Twenty minutes after that, having washed up, Xiu Nan opened the window and looked outside. Soft white clouds drifted across a bright sky. The weather was fine today. He stretched, feeling the strain in his spine from last night’s hours spent at the computer, gaming and writing.

He left the bedroom and entered the living room, where a large, pale pink exercise ball sat in the corner, unusually springy. This was the prop he used for daily stretching exercises. He wasn’t sure where he’d heard it, but supposedly, regular stretching was good for the spine. So he’d bought the gear and followed tutorials on his phone every day.

He warmed up, then went through his daily routine. After half an hour, Xiu Nan finished his workout. It was nearly eight-thirty—just right for breakfast. He went downstairs, bought soy milk and fried dough sticks, and quickly finished his meal.

Back in the bedroom, he flopped into his chair. With a tap, he turned on his computer, placed his phone on the desk, and began to research. He typed “Extraordinary Game” into the browser.

A flood of results instantly filled the screen. He clicked a few at random, only to find they were all low-quality web games—likely paid to be ranked high, with graphics so poor they bordered on pixelation. He scrolled up, the page flickering before his eyes.

After five minutes of searching, he found nothing relevant. He switched to several browsers, thinking some gems could only be found in specific ones... Unfortunately, there was still nothing similar. Xiu Nan frowned, then tried searching with different keywords, including unique terms from the game.

“Violet Rose Pistol,” “Relic Organization,” “Saint Loran Assassins’ Guild,” “Crescent Moon City,” “Kashu Robin”...

Plenty of information came up, but it was all vague and unrelated—at best, items or places with the same names.

“Maybe the game was banned for its ultra-realistic graphics and gruesome death scenes,” he mused, running a hand through his hair with a sly guess. “I remember there’s even a favorability system; if you max it out, maybe you unlock some R-rated content…”

Of course, as a web novelist, his imagination was always running wild. Sometimes, while playing, Xiu Nan wondered if this wasn’t just a game, but a real world. But he had no way to prove it.

There was no delightful “ding” of a system prompt in his mind, no sudden flickering of the screen to suck him into an extraordinary world. All that lay before him was a game—a game he could control, with an astonishing degree of realism. So all Xiu Nan could do was play, peering through the screen into that mysterious realm.

And that was fine. As a seasoned homebody—timid and lazy—his only hobbies were writing and gaming. To ask him to go to another world and accomplish earth-shattering deeds? Not a chance! He absolutely refused!

His thoughts drifted as his phone screen slowly dimmed. There was no point in digging further, he decided. If it came to him, so much the better; if not, so be it. He’d always been rather Zen about things.

His gaze returned to the screen as the light flared up again. “Extraordinary Game” launched once more.

The loading screen was the same as before—a path winding through mountain forests, the assassin Kashu walking alone.

In the upper right corner, three entries glimmered softly:

“Fifteen Days of Self-Discipline” (Active)
“One Timed Challenge Opportunity” (Active)
“Game Chapter Two: Bone Island Soul Slayer” (Active)

He moved the mouse and clicked the first entry.

“Fifteen Days of Self-Discipline” (√)