Chapter 1: Masterpiece

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System: Soul connection... Connection successful...
System: Initiating Martial Arts System...
System: Initiation successful, Martial Arts System officially activated.

A series of system prompts echoed endlessly in Lin Qi’s mind, making him, slumped in the dilapidated martial arts hall, let out a deep sigh of relief.

System: Please set the initial game connection amount. This amount will be borne entirely by the player.
System: The higher the amount, the closer the player's initial physical condition is to the original state, the shorter the resurrection time after death, the higher the resurrection cost, the more complete the soul connection, and the more realistic all sensations such as pain.

“A game, huh? Of course, authenticity is priceless. Set it to the maximum.”
Hearing the cost would be shouldered by the player, Lin Qi didn’t hesitate for a moment before choosing the highest value.

System: Please provide a game description.
“A description?” Lin Qi mused. “It should sound grand, inspiring a sense of challenge—only then will players be willing to try it.”
He pondered briefly, then began to write on the system panel:

A hundred nations at war, myriad races vying for supremacy, the evolution of life, the path to divinity—here, the legend of the martial artist will be written by you.
This game boasts 100% virtual immersion. Because of its extreme realism, please download and play with caution. Not suitable for players lacking a certain level of skill.

System: Do you wish to confirm this game description? Once confirmed, it cannot be altered.
“Confirm!”
After carefully reviewing it, Lin Qi found no issues and clicked the confirmation button in the system menu.

System: The game has been uploaded to the Blue Star Network and will launch in half an hour. Please wait.

...

Blue Star, Year 2325.

“Aim! Take a deep breath, exhale, focus your mind, relax your whole body, and the targeting reticle will shrink.”
“The calmer your mind and steadier your heartbeat, the smaller the reticle becomes.”
“Don’t rush—wait until the reticle is at its smallest.”
“Now!”

Inside a virtual gaming pod, a man nearing thirty, with a rugged yet steadfast face and a thick beard—resembling a reliable big brother—explained the art of aiming to his live audience while piloting a giant mech.

Bang—a single shot struck a mechanical beast hiding five kilometers away amid swirling sand.

Beep.
A red marker appeared over the mechanical beast two kilometers away, indicating its death.

“One shot, one soul! Brother Zhen, you’re amazing!”
“So this is the skill of a professional?”
“Zhen, are you really planning to retire from the team in six months? With this level of play, you’re on par with top sixteen competitors in the national Mecha Continent tournament.”

The viewers in Fang Zhen’s live stream couldn’t help but exclaim and marvel at his feat of sniping a distant target.

Mecha Continent, a virtual game boasting 75% immersion, was one of Blue Star’s most popular mech battle games in recent years.

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For ordinary players, piloting mechs with smooth movements was a challenge; just hitting targets hundreds of meters away typically took two or three months of practice.

To hit a mechanical monster five kilometers away under severely impaired visibility was a godlike achievement.

“As you get older, your reactions naturally dull. I’m already considered old among pro players. Even if I don’t retire this year, next year I might not even beat the rookies.” Fang Zhen sighed. “Alright, enough of that. Let’s check out what interesting new games are out today.”

No one in the live chat doubted his words. The world of professional virtual gaming was fiercely competitive and youth-driven. Most could only remain at their peak until twenty-five, and thirty was indeed considered old.

So, many aging pro players turned to streaming or other sidelines.
Fang Zhen had started streaming five years ago and was now fairly well-known in the Mecha Continent streaming circle, often making it into the top hundred most popular gaming streams.

As the chat buzzed with discussion, Fang Zhen opened the game lobby. Soon, a new game with a five-headed black dragon logo caught his eye.

“Damn!”
“4,999! What kind of masterpiece is this?!”

Fang Zhen rubbed his eyes, worried he’d misread the price.

With the widespread adoption of virtual game engines, even tiny studios could make games; dozens of new titles launched daily on every platform.

Most games cost less than a hundred credits, and even AAA titles rarely exceeded five hundred.
But this new game, Martial Ascension, was priced at ten times that—an amount far beyond what the average person could afford.

The live chat exploded.

“This game claims 100% virtual immersion!”
“100% immersion? That’s a blatant lie. Even the world’s biggest studios can barely reach 80%. I’ve never heard of ‘Priceless Reality’ games—how could they make a 100% immersive game?”
“I’ve seen bold games before, but never one this outrageous. Priced at 4,999, and every time your character dies, it costs another 648 to revive; if you don’t revive within 24 hours, your account is deleted. This isn’t for me.”
“But the devs made it feel legit—there are only ten test slots for the first batch.”
“This game is definitely fake. If a 100% immersive masterpiece existed—even in development—it’d be front-page news. If it actually released a playable version, the news would be everywhere. If this is real, I’ll stream myself doing somersaults while eating noodles.”
“Too real for casuals, and not suitable for the unskilled—these devs sure talk big. Brother Zhen, go for it!”

The heated discussion sent Fang Zhen’s stream soaring in popularity, tripling and quadrupling in under thirty seconds—rivaling the top gaming streamers.

Fang Zhen saw an opportunity.
“Brothers, since you’re all curious about what kind of game this is, I’ll take the plunge for everyone.” Gritting his teeth, Fang Zhen paid the 4,999 credits. “Priceless Reality, huh? If it’s not real enough, we’ll refund within two hours and report them together—show these devs what reality means!”

“Brother Zhen, you’re awesome!”
“4,999! The devs have guts.”

The viewers wholeheartedly approved—after all, with the streamer paying, they could just spectate and enjoy the ride. If anyone was going to lose money, it’d be the one who paid.

“Too real, is it? Let’s see just how real it gets!”

With his stream hotter than ever, Fang Zhen clicked to launch Martial Ascension.

...

A dim little room. A flickering light. From the corridor beyond the iron bars, the wind howled, making the newly awakened Fang Zhen feel utterly bewildered.

“What’s going on? Where is this?”
“I was about to play Martial Ascension—how did I end up here?”

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The nauseating stench of rot, the cold touch of metal chains around his wrists and ankles, and the icy wind blowing from who knows where—all made Fang Zhen shudder uncontrollably. A single thought sprang to mind.

Kidnapping!
Was he kidnapped?

“Name?”
Before Fang Zhen could recover from his panic, a cold, stern voice snapped him to attention, prompting an instinctive reply.

“Fang Zhen. Fang as in direction, Zhen as in shake.”

“Age?”
“Twenty-nine.”

“Twenty-nine… You’re a bit old, aren’t you? Doesn’t seem like you’re much use anymore.”
“No, I’m still young! I have savings! I can still—”

As the stern voice continued its questioning, Fang Zhen slowly regained his senses and his vision cleared.

Outside the bars sat a striking, pale-faced young man dressed in a black martial arts uniform, quietly making notes in a small book while glancing up to ask questions.

“So I’m in?” Fang Zhen stared at the young man, Lin Qi, and though the clothes were different, the tone and demeanor were unmistakable. He hastily pleaded, “Sir, you must have the wrong person. I’ve never done anything illegal! I’m just a game streamer—this must be a mistake.”

“Don’t get familiar. I don’t know you.”
“Then… Officer?”
“Be serious. Address me as Master of the Hall, or Lord Lin Qi.”

“Master of the Hall? Lord Lin Qi?”
Fang Zhen’s mind spun in confusion, unable to discern who this Lin Qi was.

A kidnapper?
An uncle?
A madman?

“Twenty-nine... twenty-nine...” Before Fang Zhen could respond, Lin Qi glanced at his notebook, spinning a pencil between his fingers and muttering under his breath. Then he looked up. “In that case, prove yourself—two thousand squats in two hours. You may begin.”

“...” Fang Zhen was bewildered—and a little afraid.
Of all things, why prove yourself at twenty-nine with squats? Two thousand in two hours? Since when did lunatics get this creative?

“Need my help?”
“No! I can do it myself, believe me.” Seeing Lin Qi rise, Fang Zhen dared not protest, hurriedly starting his squats, paying no mind to the chains on his wrists and ankles.

One... two... three...

“Not bad, quite standard. Since you don’t need help with the chains, I’ll leave you to it.” Lin Qi nodded approvingly at Fang Zhen’s frantic squatting, then left the dim underground room.