HTCYH Ch 38

Chapter 38: Reality (Warning: Breakthrough of Immersion)

Gunshots, explosions, cries, footsteps, the sizzling sound of malfunctioning machinery—chaos, fear, despair.

For a moment, Tu Si couldn’t tell if this was a dream or reality. He felt as if he had returned to that hellish laboratory in northern Myanmar: the sealed glass chamber custom-made for him with not a single gap, the thin air, the suffocating darkness, the mechanical arms that relentlessly harvested his tendrils. Only the chaotic sounds of battle told Tu Si that the chance to escape had arrived.

A piercing light stabbed into his eyes. The door of the laboratory had been forced open. Having lived in darkness for so long, Tu Si’s eyes welled up with tears, making his vision hazy. Through the blur, he vaguely saw a SWAT officer in combat gear rush in. Flustered, the officer scrambled to open the glass chamber, and in the instant it opened, Tu Si’s hair-thin tendrils slipped out silently.

Tu Si barely caught a glimpse of the officer’s eyes before he severed his tail and fled, leaving behind only a humanoid corpse that slumped into the officer’s arms.

Tu Si jolted awake from his dream. That long period of darkness was something he had deliberately forced himself to forget. But the appearance of Liang Tiancai had refreshed the memory, making it replay over and over in his mind, growing clearer each time. And the officer’s eyes that had once been vague were now frozen in 4K clarity in his mind.

Dark blue pupils, so deep they appeared black—profound, mysterious, like a bottomless abyss that threatened to swallow him whole. Those were Wuming’s eyes!

Wuming, at first glance, always gave people the impression of being refined and courteous, a cultured gentleman. But if you covered his face and saw only those eyes, all you would feel was fear, danger.

Tu Si sat up in a daze, lost in thought. Such distinctive eyes, such an unforgettable moment—he had never once forgotten that fleeting glance between him and the SWAT officer back in Myanmar.

And yet, when facing Wuming, Tu Si liked to meet his gaze. But even though the eyes were so similar, why had he instinctively separated the two in his mind, never connecting them as belonging to the same person?

Moreover! Those eyes! Those eyes! Tu Si had encountered them countless times in other situations as well. Now that the dream had resurfaced, it felt like a blow to the head. Many fragments of those overlooked and forgotten eyes began replaying in his memory: a glimpse in the bamboo forest, a hint on the political arena, a stare across the battlefield, a backward glance amidst a sea of corpses. Yet whenever he tried to recall the full scene or the owner of those eyes more clearly, everything dissolved into haze. All he remembered was that pair of eyes—powerful, dangerous, a source of comfort and joy, but also of despair and pain.

It was because of those eyes that, when facing Wuming, Tu Si unconsciously paid attention, obeyed, and trusted him. Deep down, he knew that Wuming had no good intentions, that he was scheming, burdened with secrets, and an immense threat. He constantly reminded himself to stay wary. And yet, whenever he was in Wuming’s presence, Tu Si instinctively chose not to probe, not to question, deliberately overlooking every hint of wrongness. He carelessly exposed all his vulnerabilities before Wuming, like a cat Wuming had raised himself, offering up its soft belly into his hands.

But Liang Tiancai’s reappearance shattered this self-deceptive brainwashing, forcefully stuffing all of Wuming’s irregularities into Tu Si’s mind. It forced him to wake up, to question, to demand explanations. His head throbbed as if about to burst. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know.

Tu Si only wished for things to remain as they were. The captain was the captain, nothing more than the leader of Team One of the Bureau whom he happened to suddenly fancy—a fragrant, delicious captain. There was nothing wrong with that. He was strong, gentle, could lead him through games to reap rewards, smiled as he gifted him bone fragments, and cooked delicious meals for him. Tu Si wanted nothing more than to live out his brief human life in this ignorance, to say their farewells in eighty years and pretend at dying. Wasn’t that good enough? Why ruin this hard-earned vacation?

But those abyss-like eyes had already been branded into his mind, burned into his soul, never to fade. They were a constant reminder for Tu Si to chase the truth.

So, for the following week, Tu Si remained conflicted and troubled, deliberately avoiding being alone with Wuming.

Wuming, as if sharing a tacit understanding with him, instantly reverted to the standard superior-subordinate relationship once they exited the game. He gave orders, checked on work progress, maintained distance, disciplined and righteous.

When Wuming once again coldly criticized him for typos and formatting issues in his report, Tu Si, whose skin had long since thickened, no longer cared. He only wanted to return to his dorm and sleep.

Finally, when the meeting ended and he was about to return to his dorm, Tu Si overheard rumors of his and Wuming’s “breakup.” Some said Tu Si was fickle and had been dumped by the captain; others claimed the captain was actually straight and couldn’t accept Tu Si’s gender, leading to separation. There were all kinds of wild speculations, chaotic yet wonderfully entertaining. Tu Si could hardly resist grabbing a small stool and some yarn needles, ready to knit Ke a sweater while enjoying the gossip.

Just as he deliberately slowed his steps to hear more, a proper, standard male voice tinged with a broadcast-like tone sounded:

“Comrade Tu Si, hello. This is the Complaint Department of the Game Bureau. We’ve received a report concerning Captain Wuming of the Bureau’s Investigation Team One, and we’re here to conduct questioning. Please proceed to the meeting room. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Tu Si froze, a faint sense of dread rising in his heart, though he gave nothing away outwardly. He nodded politely and followed the stern officer into an office.

In the center of the room stood a clean, tidy desk with a military-green lamp on it. To the right was a sofa where two officers were already seated. Tu Si was led to a wooden chair on the left. The officer even courteously asked if he needed tea, which Tu Si declined. Once he was seated, the officer walked over to the sofa and stood at attention like a soldier.

On the sofa, a middle-aged officer with graying temples spoke first. His voice was stern, carrying a heavy sense of authority. From the outset, his tone carried the weight of interrogation:

“Tu Si? A special-case recruit intern? Did you participate in the formal examination? What school did you graduate from? Headquarters has banned special recruitment. Wuming knew this and still violated the rule? He’s breaking the law deliberately?”

Tu Si’s heart sank. This office felt less like a meeting room and more like an interrogation room. The officer was already condemning Wuming before he himself had said a word. Clearly, they had come to cause trouble. Straightening his back, Tu Si replied calmly:

“Good day, Officer. I am Tu Si, 24 years old, a graduate student of the Department of History at XX Nationality University. The games often feature elements from different historical eras. Having a historical consultant helps players better understand the background and find safer strategies to clear the levels. I was not specially recruited out of favoritism. Captain Wuming personally paid for me to serve as his historical consultant.”

The middle-aged officer, obviously set on targeting Wuming, escalated the accusation:

“Consultants don’t need to enter the game. Yet you’ve entered the game twice. That’s against regulations! We’ll have to cut off your game access. Unofficial players are extremely dangerous. Wuming’s guarantee means nothing!”

Tu Si pressed his lips together, refraining from rebuttal or resistance. Deep down, he suspected that his selection into the game was orchestrated by Wuming. If they really cut his access to the game, there would be someone far more anxious than him. Knowing he couldn’t outmatch these seasoned manipulators, Tu Si chose to stay quiet, neither helping nor hindering Wuming.

Seeing him silent and compliant, without protest or panic, the officer felt like his fist had punched into cotton. His face flushed red, but he had no outlet for his anger. Growing impatient, he barked:

“Why are you just sitting there? Hand over your phone! Don’t want us to cut your access? If not, then fine! All unofficial players are considered members of player organizations. Player organizations are classified as unlawful groups. Members of such organizations, if the case is minor, face up to three years imprisonment, detention, restriction, or loss of political rights, and may additionally face fines. In serious cases, three to seven years with fines. In particularly severe cases, over seven years or even life imprisonment, along with fines or asset confiscation! Those who strongly refuse to cut access or repeatedly re-enter will be deemed particularly serious offenders!”

Before he even finished speaking, Tu Si had already pulled out his phone, placed it on the desk, and slid it over—kindly unlocking it beforehand as well.

The middle-aged officer’s words caught in his throat. This was the first time he had encountered someone this cooperative. His aura of authority, left hanging in mid-air, crumbled awkwardly. His face turned the color of pig liver.

Watching the supposedly intimidating superior who had spewed baseless accusations now flounder, Tu Si found it amusing. Inwardly, he thought: With self-important fools like this in power, perhaps not all of the player organization’s criticisms of the Game Bureau are exaggerated. There’s truth mixed in. No wonder Wei Zhuang had cursed them so viciously back then, while neither Fang Xia nor Wuming bothered to defend the Bureau’s reputation.