Chapter 1: [The Altered World!]
Beijing.
Early the next morning.
At home, Zhang Ye woke up still puzzled by last night's dream. Yawning, he turned on the TV for the morning news. Suddenly, he noticed a silver ring on his left pinky finger—something that definitely wasn't his. He frantically tried to yank it off, but it wouldn't budge. Worse, when he rubbed the ring's surface, a tactile holographic screen flickered to life, displaying text in the same font as his dream:
[Game Ring Activated. Novice Reward Package "Random Modification of Real-World Background" Ready for Distribution.]
Countdown began…
Three seconds…
Two seconds…
One second…
Reward Distribution Initiated!
What happened next left Zhang Ye stunned.
His HTC phone, tossed carelessly on the bed, warped and twisted before his eyes, morphing into an unfamiliar device branded "TCC." The two pirated Xu Zhimo poetry collections on his windowsill shimmered—one vanished entirely, while the other transformed into a "Chen Tianmo Anthology."
Chaos erupted. Objects across the room began mutating uncontrollably.
But the most shocking change was on the TV. His Changhong television had become a "Feitian" brand—a name he'd never heard—and the news reports were utterly unrecognizable:
"Mango TV's new variety show 'Radiant Glory' breaks 1% ratings."
"Wu Bang's latest film 'White Lady' surpasses 500 million box office."
"Divine Songstress Zhang Yuanqi's new single flops; may shift focus to acting."
"World-renowned painter Darko's 'Azure Sky' sells at U.S. auction."
"10th anniversary memorial concert for Chen Weishi, 20th century's most influential film icon. Superstar Sun Yu moved to tears during performance."
Zhang Ye gaped at the screen for ten full minutes. Since when was there a "Divine Songstress Zhang Yuanqi"? Who the hell is Chen Weishi? Wasn't Chen Yixun still alive? And what's this 'White Lady' movie—did Bai Yansong's mom become an actress overnight?!
Panicking, he yanked open the curtains. The world outside had transformed: the rows of old poplar trees lining the street were replaced by flower beds. A distant high-rise now stood as a six-story flat-roofed building. Even the gray apartment towers had shifted positions, their facades repainted in beige and white.
Beep!
[Reward Distribution Complete!]
[Note: Real-world background randomly modified and theoretically balanced.]
Zhang Ye's face paled. He grabbed his unrecognizable phone, checking the date—still two months after his college graduation. His contacts remained unchanged, but how could everything else be different? And this cursed game ring… Did it really rewrite reality?!
Refusing to believe, he booted up his computer. Each search deepened his terror.
Gone. All of it—gone.
No He Jiong or Xie Na in broadcasting.
No Eason Chan or Jacky Cheung in music.
No Feng Xiaogang or Sun Honglei in film.
No Qi Baishi, Picasso, or even Mona Lisa in art.
The viral hit "Uneasy"? Mo Yan's novels? Beethoven's symphonies? Transformers? The Voice of China? Erased. All wiped clean by the game's "random modifications." This… this is my reward as the game's sole player? Since when is reality a playground for some twisted RPG?!
What kind of game is this—Contra? Super Mario Bros.? Do I headbutt walls to spawn magic mushrooms now?!
Some constants remained: major historical figures, global geopolitics, and societal structures stayed intact. The Kangshifu instant noodles on his desk still bore their familiar logo; Louis Vuitton remained a luxury brand. The "randomness" clearly had limits.
This is insane! What kind of nightmare is this?!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Someone hammered violently on his door. Zhang Ye knew exactly who it was—and pretended not to hear.
After several more thunderous knocks, keys jingled. The door swung open.
Despite the world's upheaval, one thing hadn't changed: his landlady.
A woman in her thirties strode in, breathtakingly beautiful even with a towel wrapped around freshly washed hair. Her figure radiated athletic vigor, but those familiar with her knew the venom beneath the beauty. This was Rao Aimin—a woman whose sharp tongue explained why she remained unmarried.
"Playing dead, kid?" Rao Aimin smirked, slamming a calculator onto the table. Her once-Casio device now bore an unfamiliar "K" brand logo. "Rent! Two months overdue—2,582 yuan total. Not a cent less today."
Zhang Ye forced a smile. "Auntie Rao, just a few more days? I've got a radio host interview this morning. If I get the job—"
"You? A host?" She snorted. "With your looks and height? If you can land that job, I'll perform at the Spring Festival Gala tomorrow!"
After half an hour of pleading, Zhang Ye finally convinced her to leave. Ten minutes later, she returned—still in pajamas—and tossed a steaming breakfast bundle at him.
"Leftovers," she lied, scowling. "Stop clinging to that stupid celebrity dream. Even a communications grad shouldn't starve in Beijing."
The warmth of the food betrayed her act. Zhang Ye smiled faintly—beneath her acid tongue beat a surprisingly kind heart.
Stepping outside later, Zhang Ye wandered streets both familiar and alien. Billboard models were strangers; shopfronts blared unrecognizable pop songs. The August heat clung to his skin as dissonance gnawed at him. None of this makes sense!
In a final scientific test, the rational graduate solemnly flipped a coin: Heads means this altered world is real…
Ting!
The coin landed—heads up.
Zhang Ye's world went dark. It's all true.