2. The Game Begins After Entering the Dream

After tidying up his haul, Jiang Heyi approached the “Slime” bubble. Sensing his presence, the round, translucent slime’s midsection split open slightly like a softly parted mouth, silently begging him for food.

Jiang Heyi fed the low-level monster materials he had collected over the past four days, piece by piece, until his hands were empty. Yet, the slime bubble seemed to possess a bottomless appetite, still demanding more from him.

“Can you really eat that much?” he wondered.

After a moment’s thought, he decided to give it more—this time stuffing in the ingredients he had reserved for cooking everyday meals: bass, rabbit meat, carrots, and the like.

“Glug, glug~~~”

As the slime bubble continued to swallow, its body visibly expanded, and a shimmering azure light began to flicker. This seemed to signal that some critical threshold had been reached, prompting Jiang Heyi not to slack off. Seeing the dwindling contents of his backpack, his hoarding instincts kicked in and he gritted his teeth, going all in.

“All for you, all for you!”

The bubble rapidly inflated, soaring higher like a hydrogen balloon.

“Is it going to explode?” Jiang Heyi wondered anxiously.

The slime bubble radiated a dazzling brilliance like the sun, its piercing azure waves flooding every corner of the space, filling every crevice with radiant light.

Instinctively, Jiang Heyi covered his eyes, but the all-pervasive glow seeped through his fingers, imprinting itself into his mind.

In a daze, a gentle, tender female voice echoed softly in his ear.

“Honored ‘Cyber Potato,’ the master I serve, please bestow a name.”

Jiang Heyi slowly opened his eyes to see a humanoid figure of blue, gelatinous substance bowing slightly in salute. The once blank white world was now replaced by majestic mountains, endless forests, and a babbling brook beside a wooden cabin.

“I serve my master; please grant me a name.”

The voice of the gelatinous figure pulled Jiang Heyi back to the present.

He looked at the NPC who was speaking to him for the first time, hesitating as he asked, “Don’t you have your own name?”

“As a puppet guiding my master, only you can grant us life,” came the reply.

“Naming can grant a puppet life?” Jiang Heyi’s interest was piqued by this game mechanic detail. Although the prompt that the game was about to end sounded again, he couldn’t help but probe further.

But this time, the puppet remained silent.

“Alright then, a name it is… Garlic Sprout.”

Given the “Cyber Potato,” it made sense to have a “Cyber Garlic Sprout” as a puppet.

After confirmation, the name “Garlic Sprout” faintly appeared above the puppet’s head.

He wanted to ask more, but the third prompt forced Jiang Heyi to reluctantly bring up the control panel.

Seeing new options on the panel, he was slightly surprised, then realized these were unlocked choices related to the puppet and the home.

After some thought, he selected one and exited the game.

……

The phone alarm blared noisily. After hitting snooze twice for five minutes each, Jiang Heyi yawned as he removed the “Badge of the Stars” game login device— a headband—along with its matching smart watch.

He opened the phone app to check his sleep data from the previous night. It showed everything was fine; the data matched what the game’s app had recorded.

After washing up, the clock’s hour hand pointed exactly to 6:40—a perfect start.

Jiang Heyi’s home was nestled in an old residential district. Early in the morning, elderly neighbors could be seen heading out energetically with vegetable baskets or pushing carts to buy groceries.

At this hour, young people were rarely visible—they usually left punctually for work, with sleep being a luxury and early rising a joke. If spotted, they were yawning endlessly.

Jiang Heyi, 22 years old and freshly graduated from university, was currently job hunting. He felt himself stepping toward that very lifestyle.

His seniors, however, thought he was worrying needlessly.

To step into that life, one must first have a job—and so far, all his resumes had disappeared without a trace.

He wasn’t even qualified to be a corporate drone.

“Hey, Xiao Jiang’s here! What’ll you have? The usual?”

Entering a breakfast stall across the street, the busy owner, Old Fang, greeted him warmly. The nearly sixty-year-old man always seemed full of energy.

“Soup dumplings, red bean buns, freshly ground soy milk.”

“No more salted egg yolk buns?”

“Changing the taste a bit.”

The shop wasn’t crowded yet; most customers were local old neighbors.

Old Fang’s breakfast stall had been running for over a decade, serving the community with generous portions and never skimping on ingredients. The place was always clean and hygienic, attracting both the older and younger generations, keeping business thriving.

Jiang Heyi’s order arrived quickly, but Old Fang didn’t rush off. Instead, he brought a basket of xiaolongbao to sit opposite him.

“Xiao Jiang, I want to ask you something.”

“Ask away, but I’m going to skip it,” Jiang Heyi firmly declined.

“Come on, just take it. You can pack it to go.”

Old Fang wiped sweat from his brow and pulled out his phone to open a short video.

The video was about the “Badge of the Stars,” with a marketing account layering dramatic music and a mysterious tone to hype the game as “epoch-making,” the kind that made people want to skip just hearing the soundtrack.

Unlike the community and content creators Jiang Heyi followed, Old Fang’s saved videos didn’t focus on realism, open-world experience, gameplay, or strategies.

They highlighted “multinational cooperative operation” and “the world’s first sleep entertainment project.”

The major power players, despite their rivalries, had cooperated fully on this, allowing the game to be licensed across countries without resistance. The developer, “Starlit Bonfire,” was a previously unknown company that overnight became a household name.

Just the ad slogan—“A second life after falling asleep”—was enough to revolutionize many people's understanding of cutting-edge technology. And now that it had entered daily life, its impact was undeniable.

Naturally, anomalies led some to dig deeper. The official explanation boiled down to “enhanced cooperation on frontier technology is the most powerful step toward the future.”

The vague answer sparked imagination: “Starlit Bonfire” was backed by governments, their weight undeniable.

Some were amazed, marveling at the rare unity among the major powers.

Others were awestruck that, unbeknownst to them, technology had once again exploded, as if the 21st century was about to witness upheavals akin to those sparked by technology in the early 20th century.

And some… focused on conspiracy theories.

Like those in the 19th century who saw electricity as a demonic force, there were voices framing “Badge of the Stars” as a game distorting consciousness for precise control.

Some claimed it was capitalism forcing people to work even in their dreams.

Others pessimistically warned that shifting from reality to the virtual would destroy humanity.

Since “Badge of the Stars” was announced two months ago, debates between conspiracy theorists and tech advocates raged on.

For game enthusiast Jiang Heyi, after winning the initial lottery for access, he didn’t hesitate to purchase the login device.

The noise of public opinion didn’t sway his decision. Faced with high freedom and epoch-making gameplay, he had no resistance.

But Old Fang was different.

There’s a saying: any technology present at my birth is ordinary; any technology developed between my ages 15 and 35 is revolutionary and world-changing; any technology after 35 is unnatural and doomed.

Old Fang was nearly 60, feeling more fear and confusion toward technological change.

Times accelerated relentlessly. Many his age had only recently mastered mobile payments, while older folks still trembled under skeptical looks from those for whom such payments were routine. And now even more incomprehensible technological advances appeared…

Old Fang sighed, “My grandson wants to buy it, but his mother won’t allow it. They’ve been arguing fiercely lately…”

“Because she thinks it’s dangerous?”

Old Fang nodded hesitantly, “She says it affects brainwaves and makes people stupid.”

“Badge of the Stars” required users to be at least 18 and bind their identity. As an adult responsible for his actions, even if family forbade it, one could still find a way to earn money and buy it.

The conflict arose because Old Fang’s son believed the conspiracy theories, while the grandson, like Jiang Heyi, thought a good game should be enjoyed first.

Such family disputes were beyond Jiang Heyi’s ability to intervene.

He lowered his head to sip soy milk, quickly pondering what to say.

Fortunately, more customers arrived, and Old Fang got busy again, his worries easing as he chatted with familiar neighbors.

Leaving the stall amidst the growing crowd, Jiang Heyi quietly paid for the xiaolongbao.

Checking the resumes in his backpack one last time, he took a deep breath, gazed at the increasingly bustling street, and resumed his job hunt.

……

As the sun set, weary Jiang Heyi entered a milk tea shop near Chengning City Sixth Middle School.

Among a noisy group of students, he sat alone at a table, feeling out of place.

The air conditioning dispelled the stifling heat from the summer sun, calming his restless mind.

“Ding-ling-ling~~~”

The door opened, and Jiang Heyi, engrossed in a gaming forum, looked up instinctively.

A man about 1.8 meters tall, roughly 25 years old, with a refined and scholarly demeanor stepped in.

He wore a crisp white shirt, sharply pressed black trousers, and slightly worn white sneakers—simple yet neat.

The oppressive heat made him immediately sit beside Jiang Heyi, pulling tissues from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his forehead, tugging at his damp shirt, and cleaning his black-rimmed glasses before letting out a long breath.

“What will you have?” Jiang Heyi asked Zhong Zemo.

“Milk green tea,” came the reply.

When their drinks arrived, Jiang Heyi took out 200 yuan in cash and handed it over.

“That’s 216 total; I’ll pay you back slowly.”

“Don’t worry about it, the two drinks are on me.”

“Next time, I’ll treat you.”

Zhong Zemo often said this but didn’t always follow through, though he wasn’t untrustworthy.

They met through a gaming group over seven years ago. Both from Chengning City and sharing hobbies, they got along well.

Back when Jiang Heyi enjoyed trying new games with friends—mobile, PC, console, even physical card games—he was active in the group. But since Zhong Zemo married two years ago, his activity had declined.

Many in the group were like this, caught between life’s demands; their posts became fewer, surfacing only on holidays.

Half a year ago, Zhong Zemo suddenly reached out, asking to borrow money.

As a history teacher at Chengning Sixth Middle School, it was somewhat humorous for a teacher to ask a student for cash, especially since Jiang Heyi hadn’t even graduated yet.

If it were anyone else, Jiang Heyi would have ignored the request, but for Zhong Zemo, he couldn’t refuse.

Since marriage, Zhong Zemo’s monthly living allowance was only 100 yuan. He didn’t smoke or drink, but 100 was still extremely tight.

He often had to ask his wife for money, but the results weren’t always favorable.

Zhong Zemo insisted on borrowing cash because digital transactions could be tracked.

Not having control over even 200 yuan was a bleak reality that often left Jiang Heyi speechless.

“Online at midnight tonight?”

“No problem.” Zhong Zemo glanced at the time and hurriedly stood up. “It’s time. I have to get home to cook dinner. See you tonight.”

Watching the man’s hurried departure, Jiang Heyi sighed softly.

Before the vegetable market closed, he bought a good amount of produce at low prices and leisurely returned home.

Eating alone, with no family to worry about, Jiang Heyi lived a carefree life that allowed him plenty of time to hone his cooking skills.

As spicy fish head and stir-fried pork with chili were just set on the table, his phone suddenly buzzed.

“Mo Yu (Zhong Zemo), what’s up?”

“You’ve been mentioned by a content creator. Hurry and check the little streaming site.”