Chapter Fifty-Nine: Untitled

Riches and Honor, Level 9, In-game
Heavenly Repulse, Level 10, In-game
Pine and Plum Hermit, Level 9, In-game
Splendid Culture, Level 11, In-game

Gazing at the few who were all in the game, Luo Hanya pressed his slightly aching temples. The previous scenario had truly been exhausting—a torrent of bizarre twists and dramatic highs and lows had left his spirits somewhat deflated.

“Phew, this game really does take it out of you. Every single scene is crafted so realistically. Isn’t the company afraid something might go wrong? Playing scripts like this for too long could cause mental issues,” Luo Hanya muttered. “Never mind, I’m pretty much at my limit anyway. I’ll take a break, and play again tomorrow.”

A new friend wants to join you to experience the Horror House.

Luo Hanya was just about to log off when the system prompt pulled him back. He opened the game menu, and a new message appeared before him.

Player Dreamtrace Farewell has requested to add you as a friend. Accept?

His finger trembled, but he still clicked “Yes.” Upon doing so, a window akin to a video call popped up, and on the other side, Dreamtrace Farewell wore a cool, aloof expression.

“Hey! Hanya Luo, did you get that invitation?” Dreamtrace Farewell asked bluntly, wasting no time.

“Uh, yes, I did,” Luo Hanya replied, first a bit puzzled, but then it dawned on him. “You received the invitation too, right? Why don’t we team up when the time comes?”

“Hmph! Do you think I need to team up with you?” Dreamtrace Farewell’s delicate nose lifted stubbornly, her demeanor lofty. On anyone else, such an attitude might have been irritating, but from her, it was oddly endearing.

Luo Hanya thought to himself, “What a captivating creature—every movement tugs at the heartstrings.”

“But, seeing as you’re so sincere, I suppose I can reluctantly agree. Just don’t hold me back,” she said.

“Come on, I was only making a suggestion. If you don’t want to, then forget it—I’m not forcing you.”

“Oh? It’s all up to you, is it? What do you take me for? Whether you agree or not, you’ll do as I say anyway!” Dreamtrace Farewell lifted her chin, proud as a peacock.

Only now did Luo Hanya realize her true nature: cold and aloof on the surface, but wild and unrestrained once familiar.

“I never thought you were this kind of girl,” Luo Hanya muttered under his breath, “Can’t you be a bit more reserved?”

“If I were reserved, wouldn’t you just take advantage of me? Hmph! Dealing with a guy like you, I can’t afford to be shy.”

“Hey! Do you even know how to talk? What do you mean, a ‘repressed type’? Am I that sort of person?”

“You don’t look it,” Dreamtrace Farewell pouted, “but you actually are!”

A long silence.

“What? Did I hit the mark?” she said, making a playful gesture, triumphant.

Still silence.

“Tsk, nothing to say now? So fragile.”

Silence.

“Hey! Say something!”

This player is now offline. If you have something to say, please leave a message.

“You jerk!!!”

By this time, Luo Hanya had already stepped out of the gaming pod. He drew open the curtains, looked out at the blazing summer day, and grinned, imagining Dreamtrace Farewell fuming in frustration.

He went downstairs to fetch a glass of juice, then tapped open his smartwatch and leisurely browsed the latest news on Horror House.

Shocking news: Radiance Studio announces its entry into Horror House!
Horror House unveils Soul Equipment!

Strange world settings: Thoughts on Horror House.
Level cap at 30? What are they playing at?

A torrent of information rushed in, much of it player musings and short essays. Luo Hanya ignored most, selecting a few topics of personal interest.

The first was about Soul Equipment. Unlike his own, this was a weapon called the Soul Severing Blade. Unfortunately, aside from some basic introductions, all other details were pixelated out. After all, this was private to each player, relating to their own strength, and equipment information was never fully disclosed.

At the end of the article, Luo Hanya couldn’t help but laugh: the author had written, “I am Liuli of the Wind, surely you all know me. As the ace of Radiance Studio, I hope you’ll support us. Skilled players, you’re welcome to join. I’ll be waiting for you at Radiance!”

So, it was just an ad! Luo Hanya felt speechless. But in an era where the gaming industry had become so established, studios had indeed become mainstream. The top gaming studios and elite players dominated the upper echelons of every game. Studios now ran with a mature operational model, much like web marketing—leveraging their reputation for advertising, and branching into games, novels, comics, animation, and more to ensure member income. It was nothing like the old days, when success depended solely on selling accounts or in-game currency.

Game companies had also changed. Now, games fell into two main categories. One was short-term cash grabs: low-cost, short-lived games advertised with crass slogans like “Your sultry senior sister is waiting for you,” “Little junior sister needs your rescue,” or “Come for dual cultivation!” The only potentially impressive aspect was the graphics; gameplay was poor, and the more you spent, the stronger you became—essentially private servers, quickly destined for obsolescence.

These games might attract crowds early on with flashy effects and the thrill of invincibility, but as time went on, player numbers would plummet. After all, few play just to admire the scenery or ogle beauties, and even that grows tiresome, leading to aesthetic fatigue.

The other category consisted of highly playable games with stunning visuals, designed to last. Here, in-game purchases were limited to cosmetic upgrades, making your experience look better, rather than the cliché plots of “one dollar to max level, divine gear, mythical beasts, and fawning junior sisters.”

These games valued personal skill above all—some even felt like real worlds, where any talent could find their place. Such games endured for years, becoming timeless classics.

Luo Hanya stretched lazily and, with interest, scrolled through a particularly heated forum thread, silently flipping through over fifty pages as more and more people joined the fray. A peculiar expression surfaced on his face—much like an emperor gazing down at his loyal subject from his throne.

“Oh foolish subject! Bow before your sovereign!”

He sprawled out on the sofa, aimlessly browsing game news while waiting for lunch—a living embodiment of the classic “Ge You slouch.”