Chapter 135 – Ning Xu

“I forgot some things a long time ago, and remembered them not long ago.”

Eerie Investigation Bureau, Jiangcheng Branch, infirmary.

Chang Xu sat on the hospital bed, a Rubik’s cube whirling in his hands as he cycled it through solved and scrambled states at lightning speed, yet his voice was calm.

“I once thought I was human, only to find you all treat me as a monster; I realized the kindness you show me is just to use me better—perhaps I should be angry.

“But I gradually calmed and began to think, and discovered I’d never had anything at all. I have no right to rage, for even the feeling of ‘having’ was a lie.

“Ning Xu, Director Mu once told me that deception stems from fear. Yet I know fear can never be erased. Does that make deceit right?”

The woman called “Ning Xu” wore the black Investigator uniform, long hair framing sharply defined yet gentle features that instinctively put one at ease.

She took Chang Xu’s hand and sighed softly. “Deceit is wrong, so we never meant to deceive you. Feel it with your heart—have all these years of care and companionship been false?

“The Eerie Cultivation Plan was proposed and carried out by headquarters’ Fu Jue; we are Jiangcheng Branch. Though part of the same Eerie Investigation Bureau, our ideals differ from headquarters’.

Ning Xu smiled, letting go. “In short, don’t overthink it—trust your feelings. Little Chang, haven’t you always believed your instincts are spot-on?”

Chang Xu gave an “Mm,” accepting the explanation. Or rather, he’d never meant to reproach them; the moment he woke from the nightmare brewed by an evil god, he’d already prepared to let go.

He had nothing; his heart was as empty as seas far from land, thoughts and emotions separated by a thick membrane of water—never angry, nor knowing how to be, nor even what anger felt like.

What he felt more was confusion and helplessness, fear of loss and error, craving a definite answer, as with countless puzzles before.

Now Ning Xu had given him that answer, and he chose to believe—to trust he had once possessed something and would continue to possess it.

Chang Xu looked up at her. “When do I report on the Hopeless Sea instance to the Records Office?”

“What’s the rush?” Ning Xu laughed. “Your mind took heavy damage; rest first. The celebration is the day after tomorrow—perfect chance to relax.”

“Alright. Thanks.”

…Ning Xu left the infirmary, walked to the far end of the corridor, and entered a little-used room.

The plaque on the door read “Archives,” dusted thin with grime, yet inside was spotless.

A huge monitor refreshed the game Forum in real time; posts scrolled past, keywords highlighted in red as the program auto-traced posters’ IPs.

Many who encounter supernatural events assume they’re the Protagonist of the story, or at least above the common herd. Sadly, from the moment they touch the extraordinary, they bathe in the Federation’s gaze.

“The Federation is watching you” was once a novelist’s hyperbole; with today’s tech, reality surpasses it.

With further tightening of online real-name rules, anyone leaving digital footprints enters the Federation’s sight, basking in the leviathan’s stare.

Since its founding in 2008, the Eerie Investigation Bureau has operated in reality through the power of the state.

Thanks to the Federation’s vast data pools, the Bureau quickly located the first wave of players, contacted them offline, seized the largest Forum discussing the Eerie Game, and absorbed smaller player-run Forums.

Thereafter, the Bureau used this information giant to polish its image and steer opinion while monitoring players for timely containment.

As the saying goes: “Can’t get you in the game? A bullet in real life will do.”

Through such swift moves, the Bureau gained considerable sway over the Eerie Game and reclaimed large numbers of qualifications, recruiting elite soldiers to enter as players, winning hearts and minds through action.

Back then, the top guild was called Ark, shining like today’s Jiuzhou Guild as every player’s beacon.

Players preached unity and cooperation; even in the worst straits, harming others was last resort—partly for fear of scorn after leaving an instance, partly from trust that Ark would protect them.

Yes, early Eerie Game was far gentler: veterans could spend points to enter ongoing instances to rescue rookies, and newcomers could buy items to survive death points at any time.

Monthly fatalities once dropped to double digits—like calm before a storm, or some higher-dimensional being indulging toddlers.

In that peace, guilds like Sera and Balance that trafficked in fear were rats in the gutter, hated by all.

Just as the Bureau gathered nearly a hundred-thousand players to storm the Final Dungeon and shatter the supreme rule, the date became January 1, 2014.

Exactly fifteen years after the Game’s arrival, players converged before the black tower in the Ruins of the Sunset. Ark’s guild leader Lin Jue, in a white suit, delivered a final rousing speech beneath its shadow.

The sallow sky suddenly erupted in golden light, evoking the birth-flash of primordial stars.

Crimson fire rained like meteors, slamming into the root-woven earth and bursting into pillars of flame, lava spreading in every direction.

Some players logged out in seconds; others hesitated and were swallowed by fire, burned to ash.

Screams and death intertwined; the Ruins of the Sunset became a living hell.

From final messages and survivors’ recollections, many claimed to have seen the corpse of a legendary “god.”

Though descriptions of this “god” varied wildly—like ravings—the Bureau dubbed the event Twilight of the Gods.

The Eerie Game then underwent a month-long “maintenance,” while the Bureau tallied its losses.

Half the Investigators perished; Ark’s core members on site were wiped out trying to save others.

Player morale plummeted; without intervention, the community might never recover.

When players re-entered, they found to their despair that many safety mechanisms had been altered or removed, and bizarre new functions added.

After months of brutally hard instances, the Bureau realized the Eerie Game was targeting them… Later, some of Ark’s peripheral members inherited its legacy, forming Jiuzhou Guild, while others became the first generation of Tingfeng Guild.

The Investigation Bureau had no choice but to pull back its in-game presence, retreating to reality to pull strings from behind the scenes and focus on countering Eerie incursions.

Meanwhile, after being hammered by the Bureau in the real world, Sera and the Balance Guild shifted their expansion efforts back into the game—one side waned as the other waxed.

A balance was finally struck… In the Archives, Ning Xu skimmed the toxic posts traced to Jiangcheng IPs that had been bundled and forwarded to her screen, then languidly lifted an eyelid.

Most of these people were only loud-mouths; the moment they were confronted they quivered like drenched quail. The real big fish either used ghost addresses or stayed silent.

What the Bureau truly needed to watch were the players who had cleared certain special instances—Dialectical Game, Shuangxi Town, and a handful of others.

As Ning Xu stepped around the computer desk, the Investigator monitoring Forum trends looked up. “Sis Ning, you’re here?”

“Mm. I’m logging the latest update.”

Ning Xu walked up to a metal wall lined with drawers, deftly opened one with her fingerprint, and took out the tablet inside. She typed: Subject’s corruption index 6%; no psych intervention needed for now.

Wounds acquired in an instance don’t carry into reality, but the damage to mind and psyche is real.

Veteran players degenerating into rampagers, Investigators snapping and going berserk—commonplace in the thirty-six years since the Eerie Game arrived.

The Eerie Investigation Bureau had long since built a full oversight and self-screening system, tracking every Investigator’s mental health and promptly detaining anyone who turned hazardous.

For someone like Chang Xu—who almost died in an instance and only barely clawed his way back—an uptick in corruption was inevitable; how high it climbed depended entirely on his psychological resilience.

Of course, rumor had it IQ played a part as well.

More than once Ning Xu had half-joked to herself: “Simple minds have simple bliss; the emptier the head, the fewer the thoughts, the easier to shake off the negativity.”

After leaving the game, Chang Xu had lain unconscious in the real world for five days. When he finally woke he sat wordlessly fiddling with a Rubik’s cube, ignoring everyone—until Ning Xu walked in.

To the Bureau’s top brass, Chang Xu was a razor-sharp blade: wield it right and he’s a fine tool; even if you can’t get maximum mileage, never let him slip your grip.

So the moment Ning Xu had checked her previous charge into detention, she headed straight to the orphanage to pick up Chang Xu.

At first she treated him like a live bomb, only to discover his inner world was blank as paper—short on common sense and basic cognition. In short: easy to fool.

Facing someone like that, even Ning Xu sometimes felt the Bureau was being paranoid.

“Sis Ning, another early warning from the Tingfeng Guild.” The Investigator at the computer didn’t bother looking up. “The ‘Gate’ has definitely appeared.”

Ning Xu gave a soft “Mm” and smiled. “We’ll wait for the director’s call; something this big isn’t ours to decide.”

She brushed it off, shut the drawer, locked it, and left the Archives without a backward glance.

She wandered aimlessly down the corridor until she found herself beside the floor’s only window.

Calling it a window was generous—it was a hole barely a square decimeter, maybe an air vent, maybe damage from some past mishap.

The hole had never been patched, always offering a view outside, so Investigators liked to loiter here when they had a spare moment.

Ning Xu stopped and glanced sideways through the opening.

A black cat crouched on a branch, eyeing a nest in the shrubbery below.

The spotted doves inside preened blissfully, oblivious to the danger.

Ning Xu couldn’t help a soft laugh, tempted to chuck something out—scare off the cat or startle the birds.

But then she thought: cat stalks birds, that’s the food chain—what right does a human have to interfere?

The communicator at her waist buzzed. “Ning Xu, your proposal came back approved—you’re in full charge. But if anything goes wrong, the fallout’s on you.”

“No problem, I understand. HQ already has a success; if we follow protocol we may avoid trouble.”

Calmly, she turned and headed toward the elevators at the corridor’s end… Underground level five of the Eerie Investigation Bureau: a maze of passages flanked by cold metal rooms labeled with numbers and text.

Ning Xu counted the doors and paused at one marked 【129】.

Basic information was written in the upper-left corner of the door:

【Eerie Name: Pseud-Human】

【Type: Ghost (?) 】

【Threat Level: E】

【Notes: Possesses human memories and self-identifies as human; also exhibits core Eerie traits—immortality, omnivory, infectivity, etc. Shows good compatibility with other Eeries and can sense high-threat Eeries. No observed proactive aggression toward humans to date.】

Through the electronic panel she saw inside: a disheveled young girl sprawled like an animal, possibly unconscious.

Ning Xu donned a hazmat suit and stepped in.

Sensing someone, the girl jolted awake and pleaded in a threadbare voice:

“Please let me out… I really cleared Dialectical Game, I’m human…”

“I’m Zhang Yiyu, Class of 30, School of Literature, Liucheng University. My mom’s Wang Haiyan; my dad died in a crash, I’m all she has left…”

“Please, at least let me call her…”

Ning Xu walked over, helped the girl up, and soothed her gently: “I believe you’re human.”

She fished a steel ball from her pocket and offered it, coaxing: “Swallow this and I’ll let you go.”

Clutching at straws, the girl grabbed the ball and stuffed it into her mouth.

Ning Xu stepped back inconspicuously and watched coldly.

Ten silent seconds passed; the girl had swallowed the sphere. She looked up pitifully: “Officer, I ate it—will you release me now?”

Ning Xu gazed down, a flicker of pity in her eyes. “You still think you’re human? A chunk of metal that size would kill any normal person from pain.”

The girl woke as from a dream, her already pale face turning bloodless.

Frantically she tore open her own belly; amid coils of black mist she rummaged through her guts, fished out the steel ball, and hurled it away.

Curled tight, she muttered in denial: “I didn’t eat it, I didn’t… I’m human, I really am…”

“Didn’t I promise I’d release you?” Ning Xu sighed, stepped close, and lifted the girl’s face with something like tenderness. “What does it matter—human or Eerie?”

The girl stared in disbelief as the gentle woman continued: “Join us as a Ghost, re-enter the Eerie Game, and I’ll give you the greatest freedom my authority allows.

“You may call your mother once a month; we’ll tell her you’re away on classified federal business.

“I’m sure your mother will be proud of you.”

… Inspired by “Big Brother is watching you.”