Chapter 43
Chapter 43: But This Is Way Too Much
In the real world, it was 12 a.m.
Liang Xue Yao wasn’t that nervous.
Jiang Tian Ya was.
They had VR equipment at home, the kind that had sat untouched long enough to gather dust. After Liang Xue Yao’s accident, his family had tried everything—every distraction, every hobby, every way to drag him back from the edge.
In the end, painting was what calmed him.
Tonight, Jiang Tian Ya sat with his phone, scrolling the group chat. A few players had already gone to sleep—work tomorrow—waiting to hear the midnight result instead.
Su Da Qiang: Damn, I told my girlfriend this game can give you a second life and asked her to grab a slot. She slapped me twice and said I’m crazy.
Ma Little Bird: Once she gets in and sees you as a Blue Smurf, won’t she dump you on the spot?
Qi Da Zuo: Can’t wait for the twenty new players tonight. I heard Zhou Nu Zi and the others got assigned as guides?
Yang Mei Mei: Yeah. Fan Gu Zhou and the others all went.
Ma Little Bird: big shot han went hard with the weibo hype. Even those damn game designers were willing to drop twenty slots.
Gu Yun Xi: If we hadn’t played it ourselves, who wouldn’t curse this game a little?
Yang Mei Mei: Philanthropist in the other group is a real lunatic. He doesn’t believe it. We told him to grab tonight and he said it’s marketing, refused to fall for it. He’s convinced big shot han is staging a stunt and insists he’ll track down the place.
Su Da Qiang: Please. With only twenty slots, does he think he can just grab one? Don’t be fooled by how hard people curse on weibo. With this kind of heat, plenty will rush tonight.
They’d prepared everything.
Whether Liang Xue Yao could grab a slot at 12 would be up to luck.
Seeing Jiang Tian Ya so tense—and seeing his cousin, who usually avoided people, willing to stay here until midnight—Liang Xue Yao forced himself to focus.
Maybe it was their top-tier internet, maybe it was the computer. Jiang Tian Ya even had the official national time open, syncing their clock down to the second.
Then it hit 12.
The website refreshed the recruitment form right on time. Because the game required face verification and locked IP, Liang Xue Yao had to do the operation himself.
He clicked in instantly.
Everything was prepped. He copy-pasted the information. No lag, no stutter, no spinning wheel. Just smooth speed.
His fingers moved fast. Ten seconds. A little more.
He hit confirm.
A prompt popped up:
“Congratulations. You have obtained the permanent beta qualification for ‘start with a broken sect.’ Please enter the game within one hour. Otherwise, when the login channel closes, this slot will be void.”
Liang Xue Yao hadn’t even had time to breathe, but Jiang Tian Ya let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days.
“Good. Good!” Jiang Tian Ya looked genuinely happy—rare for him. He hugged Liang Xue Yao hard. “You can log in now. Go in first. I’ll head home and log in later to find you. My game ID is Jiang Ya. Don’t use your real name—shorten it or change it. Don’t give yourself away.”
“If you don’t know the basics, check the guide Big Shot Han posted. Anyway—go in. I’ll add you to our group. Ask if you don’t understand something.”
Liang Xue Yao nodded, dazed. “Okay…”
Jiang Ya pulled him into the game group.
The group was already exploding and didn’t even notice the new member.
Su Da Qiang: Holy crap, in under 30 seconds my cousin said the slots were gone. What kind of animals are grabbing them?!
Yang Mei Mei: Thirty seconds is too crazy. I took ten minutes last time… I was insanely lucky.
Ma Little Bird: Damn, the Daoist got in. That’ll piss Philanthropist off to death.
In another group, the argument continued.
Philanthropist: So you’re going to be a shill too?
The Sun Shines On Your Dark Heart: Don’t say that. I saw a lot of people grabbing on weibo—someone has to play. @Old Daoist Ascended, post a review.
Old Daoist Ascended: OJBK. I’m downloading the game.
Jump High Pee Far: @Philanthropist, stop acting like you’re the only sober one. Someday you’ll regret it so hard your guts turn green.
Little Titan Girl: @Philanthropist, stop yelling. No matter how much you yell, they won’t give you a slot.
Philanthropist: Whatever. What game haven’t I played? I don’t care about this slot.
Little Titan Girl: /smile Then good luck. Stay stubborn your whole life.
Liang Xue Yao downloaded the game.
It was… wrong.
Even with fast internet, downloading in one minute was ridiculous. The interface that loaded afterward was almost laughably bare-bones.
Under Jiang Tian Ya’s watchful eye, Liang Xue Yao strapped his waist tight—just in case his leg injury made him lose balance while playing.
He put on the VR headset.
The world went black.
Then the familiar prompt appeared, the same one the first batch had seen:
“Do you voluntarily enter the game, experience yun zhou continent, and follow Sect Master Song Jiu Lai’s arrangements?”
He’d heard it all from his cousin already.
“I agree,” Liang Xue Yao said.
“Agreement confirmed. Welcome to yun zhou continent. You will begin a brand-new life!”
Next came the ID.
He chose: Xue Yao.
No one would link it back to him. Not easily.
Then the face-sculpting screen appeared.
It stunned him.
Perfect customization—down to the smallest detail. He wasn’t the type to obsess over character creation. In real life, he’d always known he looked good. He didn’t think he’d care.
So he left it as the default.
That single lazy choice would haunt him later.
For a long time afterward, he would wake up at night with tears on his face, hating himself for not making it look better. Just like Mu Qiu.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he opened his eyes—and everything he’d believed for the past twenty-plus years collapsed all at once.
“Holy crap, you’re fast. Brother, you didn’t even customize your face? You’re going to regret that!”
A huge face filled his vision.
Behind her, a creek ran softly through the dark. Moonlight scattered across the water like broken gold. The night was quiet and impossibly clear.
Zhou Xiao grinned. “Pretty, right? We picked a spot with good scenery on purpose. Had to give you new players a nice welcome.”
Liang Xue Yao didn’t answer.
He lowered his head.
And in that moment, his whole body began to tremble.
Two legs.
Whole. Unbroken.
He stared as if his eyes were lying to him. Then, slowly—unbelievably—he took a step.
Like a child learning to walk, careful and trembling, as sensation returned to him in a way he’d forgotten existed.
Tears spilled down his face without permission.
Zhou Xiao’s grin faltered. “…Damn, Brother. I know you’re excited, but this is way too much.”