Over the next four or five days, the global situation shifted drastically again.
The U.S established a special department to suppress terrorist attacks, gaining massive public support in the process.
Japan and Korea followed suit.
Huaxia watched coolly from the sidelines—then rolled out a series of internal policies specifically targeting the game.
Huaxia didn’t need superheroes.
Here, everyone could be their own hero.
These international developments had absolutely zero impact on Fu Changxun, who was currently being worked into the ground at home—no, wait, “training stamina” at home.
Ever since joining the Special Affairs Office, Dong Zi had started forcing him to wake up early for morning workouts. Dr. Fu was now exhausted every single day.
He was at the point where just seeing Dong Zi made his muscles ache and bones feel like jelly.
“Wait—schools are doing game classes now?”
Xu Xiao came home from school with a bombshell announcement.
She nodded. “Yup. The teacher said some kids our age have already entered the game. The school’s organizing training sessions—everyone has to attend.”
This was nothing like some optional extracurricular.
Even if the school didn’t mandate it, parents would move heaven and earth to get their kids enrolled.
What parent wouldn’t want their kid trained? If not, they’d get smacked upside the head with a bamboo shoot and a plate of pork stir-fry.
What—don’t want to live anymore?
A brat throwing tantrums inside an instance? That’s a dead kid right there.
Fu Changxun was lying limp on the couch, but upon hearing this news, he forced himself upright with great effort.
“…Finally. The school did something right.”
“Xiao Xiao: …Ge, what’s wrong with you?”
After the past few days of getting along so well, she’d already gotten used to calling Fu Changxun “Ge,” and Dong Zi “Dong-ge.”
“Your ge’s been ravaged,” Fu Changxun said weakly, voice barely above a whisper. “By your Dong-ge.”
There was obvious ambiguity in those words—but innocent Xiao Xiao didn’t catch it. Dong Zi, who’d just come through the door after picking up the kid, understood instantly.
A flush crept up the tips of his ears. Without saying a word, he made a beeline for the bathroom.
Fu Changxun remained sprawled out in a boneless heap. Xiao Xiao, left to her own devices, wandered into the kitchen to hunt for food. On the way, she refilled the black cat’s bowl. When she came back out, Dong Zi was still holed up in the bathroom.
Xiao Xiao: I really don’t get these adults.
Not that Dong Zi ever intended for her to understand.
Outside, society was undergoing a quiet upheaval. Beyond the school’s new game counseling programs, many companies had also begun revising their internal policies—mostly to soothe employee nerves and stem the tide of mass resignations.
For example, employees who had already become players were granted ten days of paid leave per month.
Those with player family members were granted five days off to spend with their loved ones.
Dong Zi had just used up his fifteen days of leave for the previous month. Now he was back at the office, applying for this month’s batch.
His boss glanced at him, then looked down at the abysmal attendance record that was about to hit twenty consecutive missed days. He winced. “Are you planning to just quit altogether?”
Dong Zi shook his head. “Of course not. You’re paying me too well—I’ve got no reason to resign.”
The boss frowned. “Then why the hell have you been gone so long? You’re good at what you do, sure, but the company can’t afford to pay you just to sit around at home.”
“I’m a player.”
“…Ahem. You should’ve led with that.”
Just a few days ago, Dong Zi had shown up to work and cleared out all his backlog like nothing was wrong. And now he drops this bombshell? The boss damn near had a heart attack.
“My little sister and a friend of mine are both players too. I need to train them this month.”
Finally, a proper excuse. Dong Zi skipped work blatantly and guilt-free.
Fu Changxun, now subject to involuntary bootcamp: “…”
What did he do to deserve this?
Still, some good came out of it. Under Dong Zi’s… intensive (strike that)—vigorous training, Fu Changxun’s stamina stat had clawed its way from 27 up to 33.
The tooltip for his stamina now read: “Barely qualifies as a shut-in. Might lose a fight against half a goose.”
Fu Changxun glared murderously at that stupid line, like he was ready to eat the damn thing whole.
Tonight’s dinner: iron pot goose stew.
But Dong Zi wasn’t satisfied yet. The next morning, he dragged him out for another sunrise jog.
Normally, Fu Changxun could talk Dong Zi into anything—but when it came to this, Dong Zi never listened.
“I can’t do it anymore, Ah Zi… I can’t run…” Halfway through, he collapsed, not even able to crawl. “Back in college… huff… I wasn’t this weak. I don’t know what happened. I’ve just been… falling apart.”
Panting hard, Fu Changxun crouched down and plopped onto the curb.
Dong Zi reached out to pull him up, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Ah Xun, your current stamina… If we get thrown into a ‘battle royale’ type instance, your survival chances are slim.” He crouched beside him, speaking gently.
Fu Changxun already knew. He’d looked up the average stats for regular players: most hovered between 30 and 70, with only a few outliers.
His own starting stamina had been a miserable 20—well below the curve. In plain terms, he was weaker than the average player.
And the key to survival in a battle royale wasn’t outrunning the killer—it was outlasting the other prey.
Who could run farther. Who could hide better. Who could endure more.
Other types of instances might test intelligence or charisma, but in a battle royale, it all came down to stamina.
They couldn’t afford to gamble.
With a soft sigh, Fu Changxun braced himself and grabbed Dong Zi’s hand, dragging himself upright.
“Ah Zi… I’m really going to have to trouble you. When I can’t run anymore, I’m counting on you to pull me along.”
“No trouble at all,” Dong Zi replied. “That’s what I call… strategic assistance.”
They exchanged a look and broke into matching smiles.
The morning jog resumed.
Over the next few days, the Points Leaderboard shifted again. Some players kept diving into new instances and watched their scores climb. Others vanished without a trace.
Every second, somewhere, players were dying inside the game.
On the seventh day, Fu Changxun’s stamina stat stopped rising. That was when he finally made up his mind: it was time to enter a new instance.
That night, before bed, he made sure to tuck Xiao Xiao in and pull her curtains shut.
After turning off the lights and closing her door, he returned to the bedroom and hesitated before speaking quietly to Dong Zi. “If we’re heading into an instance this time… should we bring Xiao Xiao along? She’s still so young, and she’s only been through one rookie instance. I’m afraid…”
Something might happen to her.
Dong Zi had just stepped out of the shower. His hair was still dripping wet as he casually reached for the hairdryer.
“Why not ask Xiao Xiao herself?” He flipped the switch. “She’s ten now—old enough to make her own basic decisions. We don’t need to decide for her.”
Fu Changxun blinked. “You’re right. I can’t protect her forever—she needs to grow up.”
If he were ever to die in an instance… he hoped that by then, Xiao Xiao would already know how to survive on her own.
With that thought in mind, he headed to the bathroom for a shower. When he came out, he started looking around for the hairdryer—only for Dong Zi to walk over and take it from his hand.
Without saying anything, he began drying Fu Changxun’s hair for him.
The atmosphere instantly shifted—dense, quiet, intimate.
Whatever had been weighing on Fu Changxun’s mind vanished into white noise. As warm air drifted through his hair, his brain went completely blank.
Wait a minute… Even when he was dating Lu Qi, they never did anything this intimate. Dong Zi’s actions were a bit too close, weren’t they?
But maybe he was just overthinking it. Maybe this was a gay guy projecting onto a straight guy’s casual behavior.
Maybe straight bros really did dry each other’s hair?
…Did they?
Lost in thought, he didn’t even realize his hair was nearly dry. Dong Zi switched off the dryer, placed it back on the table, and stood up like nothing had happened at all.
Fu Changxun still couldn’t figure out what Dong Zi had meant, even after they climbed into bed.
The next morning, when Xiao Xiao heard her two gege were preparing to enter the game, she immediately insisted on going too—and even called her teacher to ask for leave.
Her teacher, clearly concerned, said over the phone, “Xu Xiao, do you really have to go? If you still have rest days left, don’t rush into another instance—it’s too dangerous…”
Xiao Xiao replied earnestly, “Don’t worry, Teacher. I promise I’ll take good care of myself!”
Seeing the crease between Fu Changxun’s brows, Dong Zi suggested, “If you’re really worried, we could bring along that Lulu. Her ability’s excellent, and she probably won’t say no.”
Fu Changxun nodded. “Good idea.”
When they arrived at the Special Affairs Office and explained the situation to Lulu, she literally jumped three feet into the air. “You guys are finally going into another instance? I’ve been waiting so long I’ve practically started growing mushrooms!”
She eagerly grabbed her backpack and struck a dramatic pose. “When are we heading out? I’m ready right now! I was born ready—eight hundred years ago!”
Fu Changxun couldn’t help laughing. “Slow down. Even if we’re entering an instance, we still need to buy a temporary team card first. Lulu, what’s your in-game nickname? Let’s create a party and set up a group chat channel.”
After the last update, the game’s personal panel allowed players using team cards to communicate directly through it. Nicknames were now unique, searchable identifiers.
If duplicates existed previously, the first player to register got the clean name; others had numbers like 234 tacked on afterward.
Fu Changxun had been one of the earliest players. He was the only one named “Doctor.”
Lulu nodded rapidly. “Right, right—I almost forgot! My nickname’s ‘PeaceIsBlessing.’”
Fu Changxun paused mid-search. “…”
PeaceIsBlessing?
That was… incredibly absurd. It sounded like something his grandfather would’ve used as a screen name.
Lulu laughed sheepishly. “It was my mom’s old username—I just got used to it, haha.”
Xiao Xiao looked up and chimed in, “Ge, I picked the name ‘IWillClearThis!’ with an exclamation mark at the end.”
“…Sure,” Fu Changxun replied, not quite sure what to say.
He searched everyone’s nicknames, added them into the party, then pinged the game’s customer service: “Four-person team. Ready to enter.”
[Detected: Player still has 23 rest days remaining. Do you wish to enter the instance early?]
After confirming with both Dong Zi and Xiao Xiao, Fu Changxun replied firmly, “Confirm.”
[Confirmed.]
[Detected: Player possesses both advanced and temporary team cards. Matching relevant instance…]
[Ding dong—]
[Congratulations, players. Clear the instance to return to reality.]
[Welcome to the multiplayer instance: Family Portrait.]
[Note: Player activity zone is within the hospital. Two opposing factions exist within this hospital—Black and White. Upon choosing your faction, different clearance routes will unlock. Explore diligently!]
[Loading instance…]
[Nine players have entered this game.]
