008 Encounters That Have Occurred

Waking up in the game pod, Duan Qing rubbed his cheeks, trying to clear his mind.

Though only one night had passed, it felt to him as if an entire day had elapsed. Virtual reality games had a way of distorting one’s sense of time, though the exact ratio varied from game to game. Duan Qing was unaware of the precise time conversion between the Free World and reality, but after this night, he had gained a rough impression.

Recalling the events of the night, they had indeed been quite remarkable.

He had encountered players and NPCs from that world, made a good friend, found his footing, and... met an intriguing girl.

This all happened after they finished dining and stepped out of the Sylphen Inn. The inn’s entrance opened onto a narrow alley, irregular in shape due to the inn’s expansive grounds, creating a noticeable bend right at the door. The path formed a three-way junction with corridors extending left and right. Near the right-front alleyway, close to a cluster of houses, sat the girl in the purple robe who had stormed out earlier. She was perched on a small wooden step before a door, facing sideways. Her arms clasped around her knees, head bowed, radiating a pitiful, dejected air. Now, without her hood, her golden hair was tied into a loose ponytail resting softly against her back, mirroring her somber mood.

By real-world standards, it was roughly eight or nine in the evening in the Free World. Although the night breeze was cool, pedestrians, both players and NPCs, still passed by from time to time. As Duan Qing and Steel Heart lingered to watch, several inn patrons stepped out to offer some words. One appeared to be a teammate from the earlier quarrel, trying to console her or persuade her to reconsider. Yet, the girl remained motionless, seemingly ignoring him.

Duan Qing exchanged a glance with Steel Heart, who gave a subtle thumb’s-up and a suggestive expression that was surprisingly playful for his towering, stoic figure.

The female player seemed to be the same girl Duan Qing had seen earlier in the alley, the one dragging a wild boar. Though he hadn’t glimpsed her face before, this encounter had left a lasting impression. He was fairly certain that she was the player the Freedom Wing had just expelled.

Should he approach and introduce himself?

Staring at the golden braid gently trembling in the breeze, Duan Qing hesitated, glanced around to see few others nearby, then took a couple of steps forward.

Yet fate denied them the chance to meet. Before Duan Qing could reach her, the girl named Dream Bamboo appeared to have a sudden realization. She lifted her head abruptly; a faint glimmer of tears lingered in her eyes, but her gaze now conveyed a quiet resolve, as if signaling to others that she was no longer despondent.

Her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes brightened, and as she clenched her fists, vitality seemed to infuse her once more. She shook her hands before her chest, seemingly cheering herself on. Then, fixing her gaze toward the inn’s entrance, she scowled with anger and disdain. Muttering something—likely about the team leader’s audacity—she then noticed two people nearby: one tall figure standing a bit back, looking skyward, indifferent; the other slimmer one watching her intently.

Though clearly upset, the girl’s spirited eyes suggested she was already moving beyond her earlier blow. She widened her eyes and glared at Duan Qing, whose expression betrayed innocence as he smiled awkwardly.

This only fueled her irritation.

Of course, she didn’t know Duan Qing and Steel Heart and probably assumed they were mere passersby observing her. Reflecting on the disheveled image they had seen earlier, a faint blush crept onto her cheeks, a subtle embarrassment at appearing so helpless—though in the dim light, no one else could likely notice.

Flushed with a mix of shame and anger, she glared fiercely and pursed her lips in warning. Before anyone could respond, she scoffed softly, pulled up her hood, and turned to walk away down the alley.

Her arm swung widely, and her gait was somewhat uneven... Watching her retreating figure, Duan Qing couldn’t help but chuckle.

What followed was merely a minor continuation of the moment. Believing the attempt at conversation had failed, Steel Heart laughed heartily, clapping Duan Qing on the shoulder. He urged him not to take it to heart, remarking, “That’s youth for you,” marveling at the richness of young lives. Duan Qing could only shake his head resignedly, brushing off the teasing—it had never been a serious matter, and taking it so would be foolish.

They exchanged a few casual words, shared their plans, wished each other luck, then parted ways and logged off. Naturally, they had exchanged friend requests.

In this era dominated by virtual MMORPGs, real-name registration had become inevitable. However, games generally allowed players to choose between ordinary or real-name friend statuses to protect privacy. Ordinary friends could see only the in-game ID, while real-name friends gained access to more details: real names, recent games played, achievements, and so on.

Much like households in the previous century owning several computers or consoles, game pods had become essential entertainment devices. These pods acted as terminals connecting players to various platforms. Almost all virtual reality games developed by major companies could be accessed through these pods. As technology neared perfection, the standardization of gaming terminals naturally unified social features like friends lists and communication platforms. Thus, if you befriended someone in one game under their real name, you might discover offline that you both played several other games, further enriching your social network. Friendships forged in one virtual world often extended into others.

Of course, this could also lead to awkward situations—friends in one game turning into rivals or enemies in another—with consequences that spoke for themselves.

Whether to use real names or remain anonymous was a player’s choice. This dilemma indirectly gave rise to various factions—groups forged from mutual trust and camaraderie, aiming to avoid conflicts and foster brotherhood. Those close-knit groups evolved into “clans,” which eventually formed major guilds. Though this exclusive approach had drawbacks, the strength of unity was undeniable. Over years of competition and natural selection, only the strongest guilds remained, those capable of protecting their interests and dominating new games as they emerged.

After many years of development, the alliance overseeing these guilds appointed respected stars and authoritative figures to maintain order. They also established flexible regulations to preserve internal harmony. When selecting guilds for rankings, they used comprehensive performance evaluations accepted by all, organizing tournaments in popular games periodically to measure true strength.

Given the current trends, Duan Qing thought, there would surely be competitions in the Free World, even though the game had already been running for some time. He flipped through his game pod’s system interface.

There were leaderboards for major games, player recommendation lists, hot new releases, and a communication center resembling a built-in chat tool—text, voice, video chats, conversation groups, even live streams. Most importantly, it featured forums for each game, comprehensive news, alliance updates, and the latest information across various sections.

This platform contained nearly all the information a player might need, an overwhelming flood for any newcomer—though not for Duan Qing. He considered himself somewhat of a veteran. Though he had stayed away from virtual gaming for three years, missing out on professional and casual news, stories, and recent trends in gameplay and virtual industry development, he didn’t mind. These things could be caught up on later. For now, he wanted only to relax and enjoy the game, so he focused solely on Free World content, which he found quite appealing.

Naturally, his friends list appeared offline.

As he casually browsed new event announcements, some dubious walkthroughs, and testimonials from self-proclaimed top-tier players—most of whom he didn’t know—he reflected on his own experiences, summarized his impressions, and recalled the scenes from that afternoon when he had set up the pod.

Having avoided virtual games for nearly three years, Duan Qing knew that to play again, he would need a new device. He had sacrificed his remaining savings to purchase the latest gaming equipment, complete with delivery service. When the company’s courier arrived that afternoon, he was eager and attentive. But once the equipment was brought inside, things began to take an unexpected turn.

In this era of rapid technological advancement, virtual reality equipment was constantly evolving. The newly delivered game pod was the latest model, with improved sensing and projection technologies, more advanced connectivity methods, and a design optimized for ergonomic comfort, becoming notably more lightweight and compact.

Duan Qing was unaware of these improvements. Seeing the pod much smaller than the “old model” he remembered, he assumed the company had made a mistake.

In truth, to enhance user experience, manufacturers had diversified game pods into various versions catering to different player needs—comfort editions, optimized models, deluxe versions, enthusiast-grade sets, and so forth. Given Duan Qing’s current financial status, he was grateful just to afford a “standard” model with basic specs.

Perhaps because he had spent less money, or because life’s hardships had made him more cautious, or perhaps because he was still in the throes of post-breakup pain, Duan Qing found himself skeptical of this unfamiliar device. He voiced his doubts bluntly.

The company’s staff, likely accustomed to such difficult customers, maintained professionalism despite inward disdain and responded patiently with explanations. However, to Duan Qing, a self-proclaimed veteran, these reassurances fell short.

The dispute reached a stalemate. Just as Duan Qing prepared to contact customer service for further negotiation, the company proposed a new solution: their project manager, who was supervising the delivery, was downstairs and could come up to resolve the issue.

Confident in his position, Duan Qing readily agreed. As he contemplated leveraging his experience to extract some concessions, the sound of high heels clicking up the stairs reached his ears. A knock followed—perhaps the manager had grown impatient or sensed trouble and came to investigate.

Duan Qing wore a sour expression, ready to assert his demands, but when the door opened, surprise overtook him.

Standing before him was a beautiful and elegant woman. She wore the white uniform emblazoned with the unique emblem of Tianxiang Corporation, but its distinctive black cuffs and the intricate lines rising over her chest marked her as someone of higher rank. Her long black hair cascaded like satin down her back, contrasted strikingly against the white fabric. Behind neatly trimmed bangs rested a pair of frameless rectangular glasses, softening the slender, gentle lines of her eyes. One hand hung at her side while the other rested on her waist; her slightly arched eyebrows, sharp nose, vivid red lips, and subtly upturned mouth formed a perfect, professional smile.

Then, her feminine, melodious voice rang clearly in Duan Qing’s ears, crisp and invigorating like a mountain spring.

“Hello, I am Chu Lingbing.”