NOVEL NEXT Chapter 28
Chapter 28 Sea Without Light 28
Kui Xin indeed became a public enemy among the players.
She viewed all the posts related to 233 on the forum. The attitudes of the posters and the commentators were mostly intense, with almost no one speaking in her defense. Occasionally, there were some calm analyses, but they were drowned out by the more fervent comments.
The 62nd post said: “I think this incident may involve hidden circumstances. When we crossed over to the Second World, none of us knew each other’s identities. Can you tell who is a player and who is a native? You can’t. Perhaps 233 Number never intended to kill their own kind.”
The 63rd post replied to the 62nd: “Then who do you think 233 Number wanted to kill—foreign natives? Regardless of whether they wanted to kill natives or us players, it’s still a heinous act.”
The 64th post responded to the 62nd: “It doesn’t matter what you say. Who cares about the cause and psychology behind 233 Number’s killings? Everyone only cares about the result—they killed someone. There might be other Removers among the players who will mimic them, so murders like this between players will become even more common!”
The 84th post: “Just thinking that 233 Number could be lurking while we post these threads gives me chills. What do you think he was thinking when he saw these posts? Panic, fear… or maybe just a sneer?”
The 85th post: “If 233 Number was killing because of reasons, why doesn’t he come out and clarify it?”
The 86th post replied to the 85th: “233 is not an idiot. Who would stand out at such a critical moment? Would anyone believe him if he clarified? Could we even tell if he was telling the truth or lying?”
Then, players began spamming the 85th post, urging 233 Number to come out and explain.
But Kui Xin understood she couldn’t explain herself.
Players were filled with fear and swayed by public opinion; few people were willing to dig deeper, and many cared only about the outcome. Players were in the regression stage after their first crossover, the most irrational state. They were chaotic, scared, and desperate to vent, showing the darkest sides of humanity.
If Kui Xin explained, how could she handle continued doubt from the players? If players demanded details on her killings? She couldn’t prove she was innocent, and others would always suspect malice.
In trying to clear her name, Kui Xin could easily expose herself. Players were displacing native residents from the Second World. Inhabitants had various identities, ordinary people or complex roles, some with high positions. A careless hint from her could lead them to trace her.
Kui Xin was calm, realizing as long as she didn’t respond, players wouldn’t guess her true identity or status. Thus, she was safe.
The biggest risk was her appearance.
Each player’s features resembled those from the First World.
Players were soul-traveling, not body-swapping. For example, in the First World Kui Xin had long hair, in the Second World short hair, which did not change upon returning. Her injuries from the Scythe Demon didn’t follow.
Kui Xin tapped her iron helmet; its presence hadn’t returned to her First World either. But…
She smoothly and skillfully wielded a craft knife, practicing tricks.
All her innate talents and extraordinary abilities returned with her into the First World.
Currently, she possessed five innate abilities: Performance Persona, Life Fortitude, Hazard Avoidance, Rapid Learning, and Combat Instinct acquired after entering the Second World.
Combat Instinct was a talent gleaned from her physical form in the Second World, unexpectedly harmonized with her body in the First, allowing weapon use and recall of combat skills.
Lying down on the bed, Kui Xin exercised push-ups. Surprisingly, she managed fifty in a go—a level previously unattainable. A sports class dropout, she found making even ten difficult. Fifty seemed unbelievable!
These fifty push-ups significantly exceeded her body test scores in the Second World, where she could do over a hundred. Interestingly, her vision seemed clearer.
A low myopia of 100 degrees had required intermittent glasses for school. Now, the slight blur had vanished. In the Second World, she was a sharpshooter with excellent vision.
Kui Xin realized unknown forces were aligning her bodies’ attributes:
Physical strength from the Second World was merging into the First.
Kui Xin searched for a measuring tape, standing to measure her height. During the annual health check, she stood 170 cm, yet in the Second World she was 175 cm.
Now at 171 cm, a natural growth attributed to development.
In the bathroom, she glanced in the mirror, scrutinizing herself.
Player appearances weren’t identical across worlds, around 70-80% alike. Long hair lent her a softer demeanor. This made the resemblance to her second-world look decrease ever so slightly, despite still being very similar.
Kui Xin usually wore a high ponytail. Experimenting, she let her hair fall loose and adjusted her fringe, finding it didn’t suit. Then, she braided it loosely, aiming for a sweeter look. The likeness decreased further.
In the Second World as a city enforcer, Kui Xin had a mature, efficient, somewhat cold appearance exuding elite security officer traits.
The contrasts between her First and Second World appearances were noticeable.
It wasn’t sustainable, Kui Xin thought about getting plastic surgery. However, it was costly and unaffordable now. She decided to adjust her wardrobe instead.
Returning to the Second World would allow her to change her looks; advanced technology would make modifications easier. She believed many players planned similarly, as changing appearances was simpler than exposing identities.
Her thoughts flustered as she considered returning to the Second World. She felt anxious and concerned.
Because she came back during a fight. Time does not pass when traveling worlds, a significant disruption affecting combat situations. Returning without immediate reaction meant possible death.
While Lan Lan and Jiang Ming would be reliable allies, Kui Xin shouldn’t depend on them. Better self-reliance.
Checking her phone, it read 00:53. Dawn again.
Washing up in the restroom, she returned to bed.
First night back, confident she could sleep soundly, without worrying too much about tomorrow.
Wait! Not worrying about tomorrow? She forgot something crucial.
Flipping through her notes, she saw, “9 AM at Changle Square, Third Floor for a fast food restaurant job interview.”
Kui Xin thought, “Ah, full life, restarting?”
At 7:30 AM, Kui Xin wasn’t woken by her alarm but rather by her high school teacher’s call.
“Xiao Xin, join me for lunch today?”
Teacher Wang spoke. He was strict but caring privately, often inviting Kui Xin over for meals, helping her choose schools and majors. His son was two years older, attending the same college as Kui Xin, studying AI. She would soon be his peer.
Sleepy, Kui Xin mumbled, “Not today, Teacher, I have an interview…”
“Oops, forgotten it’s summer. Let you rest longer,” Teacher Wang noted Kui Xin’s grogginess.
Teachers stuck to fixed schedules, waking at six even during holidays.
He said, “Called to discuss a tutoring job. Don’t work at that fast-food place; it’s too hard. My friend has a daughter preparing for art exams, needing tutoring.”
Rubbing her eyes, Kui Xin asked, “What is the pay?”
“Eighty RMB per hour. Three hours daily,” Teacher Wang said, “Till end of August.”
Impressed, Kui Xin agreed, grateful for Teacher Wang’s help.
Post-exam, Kui Xin briefly worked odd jobs, at a mall, then a boba shop that failed. She sought new work.
Getting up, she prepared breakfast and contemplated. Back from a hectic Second World, idle First World felt strange.
She rearranged furniture, stretching and exercising to adjust. Planned morning runs starting tomorrow.
Physical improvement needed consistency; adapting gradually.
Hours later, sweating and exhausted, Kui Xin showered, heading to Teacher Wang’s house.
Before leaving, she checked the forum. Posts about 233 remained heated.
Skimming past them, she read another calculating player density globally.
Top post: “World population roughly seventy-five billion; China fourteen billion, nearly twenty percent. Forum shows many Chinese users, estimating thousand-plus players in China, sharing among cities. Maybe players won’t meet, but vigilance is key.”
Forums were less noisy; more analytical discussions emerged. Some pondered forming alliances. Others analyzed societal structures.
Dreams of stealing tech arose.
One post: “Imagine the impact of cybernetic limbs and holography, world-changing technology!”
Replies questioned motives, fearing misuse.
Random requests emerged:
“I’m on a smugglers boat, sick, seeking deportation penalties.”
“My illegal ID, how fix it?”
“Escaped life as male escort, turn things around?”
Helpful responses abounded, forums positive yet conspiracies surrounded 233.
“Need xenomorph intel, offer rewards. Pay via bank or deliver, anonymity kept confidential. Interested, pm me.”
Curious about ‘rewards,’ Kui Xin’s interest piqued.
Posting a nickname exposed details, but hers matched the 233. Yet, numbers were randomly assigned, based on registration order.
Finally, she decided to observe any replies about xenomorph intelligence.
Descending, she headed to the subway stop. Zhang Ma, seeing Kui Xin, laughed, “Gee, got dressed up, looking elegant!”
Smiling, Kui answered, “Morning, Zhang Ma, did you win?”
“Lost, but enjoying the game.” She giggled.
Amid the bustling crowd and warm sun, Kui Xin found comfort in ordinary reality.
Boarding the subway, she opened the group chat on her phone.
“Million-follower YouTuber mysteriously deleted account, vanishing without trace,” Kui Xin read a discussion topic. Frowning, she scrolled up, puzzled.
This YouTuber made gaming content, frequently visible during live streams and videos, with many followers.
His last post before deletion read, “Got an internal test invitation for ‘Crimson Soil.’ Everyone wait for my review stream! Might be the only live streamer to get one. Lucky break!”
Kui Xin: “Poor kid, truly unfortunate.”
Deleting the account was a big step backward; frequent public visibility meant leaking personal data. Likely, the unlucky fellow fled swiftly, leaving behind a major issue.