chapter 35

As expected, the [Game] possesses authority surpassing that of the [real world], able to alter the very [facts] of reality.

This is a world that has been rewritten, and those chosen as [players], having glimpsed the [truth], find themselves [silenced], unable to reveal even a fragment of what they know.

To what extent this [gag order] reaches remains unknown. Tangible, recordable things are easily erased—words on paper, posts on Weibo or social media—such [erasure] is well within the means of ordinary humans. 

Bai Liu retrieved his battered, irreplaceable phone from a drawer, found a friend's number, and dialed. Before the other could react, he recounted his entire ordeal in a rapid torrent. His friend, stunned, could only exclaim in disbelief as Bai Liu's fingers tapped idly on the table, counting down in a low, careless murmur: "Seven, six, five…"

"Why are you counting down? Tell me more about what happened! Is this for real? You're not making it up, are you? This is insane—"

Bai Liu lowered his gaze. "Three, two, one."

His friend's voice cut off abruptly, then grew confused: "Eh? Bai Liu, why did you call me? Wait—when did I answer your call? I don't remember this at all!"

"It's nothing," Bai Liu replied offhandedly. "I just missed you, so I called."

Seven seconds—the time it took for his Weibo post to fade, for the last character to vanish. Bai Liu had timed it. He hadn't expected the [Game] could so easily rewrite even [subjective memory], not just objective reality, and that it required only seven seconds to do so—no more, no less.

It seemed that, for the [Game], altering a person's memory was no more difficult than editing a string of data.

"Ugh, Bai Liu, you only ever say you miss money. Don't disgust me," his friend joked, clearly familiar with Bai Liu's ways. "Seriously, though, what made you call? Is something up?"

"I've been pondering a question, Lu Yizhan. Do you think human memory lasts only seven seconds?" Bai Liu drummed his fingers on the table, idly jotting down his experiences on paper, watching as each word faded away.

Lu Yizhan paused, puzzled. "Why the sudden philosophical turn? And isn't the saying about fish, not people? 'A fish's memory only lasts seven seconds,' right?"

"Did I get it wrong?" Bai Liu stretched languidly. "Maybe so. With only seven seconds of memory, it's easy to misremember. But what if the original saying was 'human memory lasts seven seconds,' and something changed it to 'fish memory lasts seven seconds'—just to fool us, the seven-second humans?"

Lu Yizhan was used to Bai Liu's odd musings since his unemployment. He laughed helplessly. "What have you been thinking about lately? I just got paid—let me treat you to dinner. Stop worrying about fish and seven-second memories. If people only remembered for seven seconds, how would we ever memorize all those legal codes?"

"If you're buying, I'm coming." Bai Liu tucked the coin around his neck back into his shirt, shivering as the cold Siren King's scale pressed against his chest. Before hanging up, he asked on a whim, "If humans remember for seven seconds, and fish for seven seconds, Lu Yizhan—how long do you think a mermaid remembers?"

"Why are you still on about this? Now you're bringing up mermaids?" Lu Yizhan laughed. "If both humans and fish remember for seven seconds, a mermaid's memory must be even shorter—maybe less than a second?"

"Perhaps."

Though he had bid farewell to the mermaid named Tavir, perhaps, in the instant Bai Liu left, he was already forgotten.

Bai Liu rarely felt any sense of loss at being forgotten or overlooked. He never sought human approval; as long as he had money and his own amusements, he was content. Yet the Siren King was a singularly beautiful string of data—even Bai Liu, so devoid of sentiment, felt a faint regret at being erased from that memory, if only for a few seconds.

But it was only a little regret—no more than the size of a fish scale.

Bai Liu and Lu Yizhan were friends largely because of their shared stinginess. They became inseparable comrades through the exchange of discount and lottery information. Some believed their bond was forged by mutual understanding as orphans, both without parents, able to empathize with each other's hardships.

As soon as Bai Liu sat down at the barbecue stall, Lu Yizhan, eyes crinkling with joy, announced, "Bai Liu, I'm getting married."

"Congratulations." Bai Liu was unsurprised; Lu Yizhan had been with his girlfriend for years. "Tonight's meal is on me, and I'll give you a two-thousand-yuan wedding gift."

Lu Yizhan nearly spat his beer in Bai Liu's face, eyes wide. "Are you crazy? Treating me and giving a wedding gift? Two thousand?! Didn't you say you'd never give wedding money, that it was a waste with no return?"

Indeed, that was what Bai Liu had once said at a colleague's wedding.

That colleague, never close with Bai Liu, had always gossiped about him behind his back, but when it came time for the wedding, shamelessly sought a gift, insisting everyone else had given twelve hundred, so Bai Liu should too.

Bai Liu had calmly replied, "I have no plans to marry, so I won't give wedding money to strangers. It's a one-way investment with no return."

The colleague's face had turned black, feeling as if Bai Liu had called him and his wife a pair of "dogs." He raged behind Bai Liu's back, cursing him to die childless.

But Bai Liu was unmoved. He had no intention of raising children, so such curses were merely objective statements about his future.

"It's not that I'll never give wedding money," Bai Liu said, sipping his beer. "I just won't give it to strangers. You're not a stranger. We have a history. Giving you a gift isn't a wasted investment."

Lu Yizhan was both touched and amused. "So, you're hoping to earn your investment back from me? Seriously, Bai Liu, you don't need to give me anything. I'm just happy you're here. I don't have many friends, and you're one of them. Besides, you're not doing so well lately, right? Really, forget it."

"When you're better off, we'll talk about it," Lu Yizhan said, waving his hand in a mock refusal.

If Bai Liu's thrift was innate, Lu Yizhan's was born of necessity.

Lu Yizhan was a poor policeman, only recently living a little more comfortably, but still far better off than the unemployed Bai Liu. He truly didn't want Bai Liu to spend the money.

Bai Liu finished a skewer, wiped his mouth, and suddenly said, "I made a hundred thousand this week."

"Pfft—!" Lu Yizhan really did spit out his drink. "What did you do?!"

He knew Bai Liu never lied. If he said he made a hundred thousand, he had. Lu Yizhan was genuinely shocked. "You didn't do anything illegal, did you? I'll turn you in myself if you did!"

Lu Yizhan had always known Bai Liu was brilliant, but he used his talents in odd ways—designing horror games, devising perfect crimes. So when Bai Liu suddenly got rich, Lu Yizhan's first reaction wasn't envy, but a chill down his spine as he reached for his phone, ready to call the police.

He knew Bai Liu's moral baseline was low, and with his "money hoarding disorder," who knew what he might do without a steady income?

"I changed jobs. No need to worry—I checked, it's legal." Bai Liu cracked peanuts as he spoke. "The pay is high, but it's dangerous. Still, it suits me."

"What kind of job pays that much?" Lu Yizhan was skeptical. "A hundred thousand in a week?"

"Emmm, more or less selling my soul to a large underground organization. I can't disclose its existence." Bai Liu stroked his chin, trying to describe his experience in the [Game] without triggering censorship.

"Then I perform on stage—well, livestream, really—selling my body and soul in various ways, subjected to all sorts of bizarre abuse for the audience's entertainment. Some viewers tip generously, and that's how I made a hundred thousand."

"…." Lu Yizhan's face cycled through confusion, shock, fear, and finally settled on pity. He looked at Bai Liu with sorrow. "Are you… working as a gigolo at a nightclub, Bai Liu?"

Bai Liu: "…"

After some explanation, Lu Yizhan reluctantly accepted that Bai Liu wasn't doing anything indecent, but still refused the wedding money, insisting it was "money earned by selling yourself"—he couldn't accept it.

Bai Liu: "…"

If Lu Yizhan insisted on seeing it that way, so be it.

After their brief gathering, Bai Liu rested at home for two days, paid six months' rent, tidied up his apartment, and prepared to re-enter the [Game].

Though the [Game] only required entry every seven days, Bai Liu felt the need to go in early to investigate a few things.

But first, a good meal—if he died in the game, at least he'd had a decent last supper. With that thought, he went downstairs for a bowl of noodles with a fried egg.

The noodle shop owner was skilled, and a greasy television hung in the corner, broadcasting the news above Bai Liu's head as he ate.

The female anchor's voice was clear and steady: "The lawyer for Li Gou, the prime suspect in the rape and dismemberment of a high school girl, has filed an appeal, citing insufficient evidence for the death sentence. A retrial is being prepared—"

On the screen, the suspect's brutish face was juxtaposed with a smiling schoolgirl, her eyes pixelated, the contrast jarring.

The shop owner, a plump, doughy man, wiped his hands on his apron and sighed, "What a tragedy. Such a good girl, ruined. If I were her parents, I'd have lost my mind by now. The verdict was set, and now suddenly they say the evidence is gone. The internet's in an uproar."

The anchor's voice remained flat: "The victim's family is highly agitated, gathering at the courthouse. Authorities are intervening."

In the footage, a disheveled, hysterical woman was restrained by a crowd. She was so gaunt as to be unrecognizable, the skin around her eyes bleached and wrinkled by tears. No matter how she wiped them away, the next breath brought fresh tears and snot.

Pinned beneath the arms of others, she struggled madly toward the courthouse, nearly collapsing to her knees, howling like a wounded beast: "She was only eighteen! Why is the evidence gone?! Why have all the records of what that animal did to my Guoguo disappeared?! Are you protecting him?!"

Beside her, a middle-aged man was pinned to the ground by security, writhing and screaming, his clothes torn by his struggles.

He wept, shouting, "Let me go! Give my daughter justice! Give her back her innocence! Bring out that beast Li Gou! I swore at Guoguo's grave I'd kill the monster who hurt her!"

The video cut to Li Gou, his eyes obscured by pixels, mouth twisted in a smug, criminal sneer: "I didn't do it. The evidence was all fabricated by those two to frame me."

"I'm a good person." Li Gou's mouth stretched into a grotesque, savage grin, his pixelated eyes and upturned lips exuding a chilling arrogance. He rasped, "Heaven helps the innocent. Those who slander me should be burned."

"How tragic," the shop owner murmured, dabbing his eyes with his apron. "I knew that couple—they used to live around here. Their daughter, Guoguo, was a good student. Who could have imagined this…"

"Evidence vanished?" Bai Liu finished his noodles, raising an eyebrow at the news.

Such erasure of objective reality was eerily similar to the [Game]'s [gag order]…

"Where is the girl's grave?" Bai Liu asked the owner. "Or do you have her parents' number?"

The owner hesitated. "I do, but… what do you want with it, Bai Liu?"

"I might be able to help them." Bai Liu wiped his mouth, left ten yuan under his bowl, and stood.

The owner was startled. "Help them? How?"

"By unconventional, but legal means," Bai Liu replied calmly.

He had realized that the game operated like a pyramid scheme, players toppling like dominoes, each drawn in by seemingly unrelated but subtly connected events, ensnared by the [Game]'s traps and driven to desperate desire, only to be absorbed as [players]—souls sold to the [Game] in pursuit of their own uncontrollable cravings.

The price of entry was a desire so fierce it eclipsed the fear of death—like Bai Liu's own greed for money.

If he was right, soon there would be two more grieving, desperate parents among the world's [players].

That [Li Gou] was likely a player as well, using an item to erase his crimes, forcing the bereaved parents into a state of helpless vengeance, thus meeting the game's criteria for new recruits.

Just as [Mu Ke], seeking to experience life before his weak heart failed, parachuted into Bai Liu's old job, forcing Bai Liu into unemployment and a desperate hunger for money, leading him into the game.

Everyone in this world was a pawn or a building block in the [Game]'s hands, their lives toyed with at the whim of a godlike entity, as if it were all just a game.

What a cunning and merciless [Game].