Chapter 110

Chapter 110 – Artificial Soul Part 37

Kui Xin started to adapt to activities during nighttime.

The nights in Hei Hai City were bustling and noisy, with various people emerging like nocturnal animals, driven by different purposes. The darkness provided cover for some.

Rain had ceased, making the ground wet but reducing foot traffic on the streets.

Navigating through the darkened alleyways of trash, Kui Xin stepped over puddles. The murky water reflected her silhouette.

With headphones plugged in, Augus was sending her information support.

It had countless eyes scattered across every corner of Hei Hai City, each camera under its control.

Cameras on the street tracked He Gaoyi’s movements.

She entered a supermarket and after half an hour emerged with numerous packages, walking south. She waited at the intersection for the traffic lights before heading back to her dormitory.

“She is three hundred meters away from you,” Augus said in her earpiece. “Stay hidden.”

“Understood.” Kui Xin responded.

Eliminating He Gaoyi posed no significant challenge. He had no combat experience, and his physical abilities were average. For Kui Xin, killing him was virtually effortless; all she required was to evade surveillance cameras.

He Gaoyi could directly interface his consciousness into any digital device, turning him into a human computer. Therefore, when Kui Xin decided to kill him, it needed to be immediate and decisive, ensuring he couldn’t struggle or use his communicator to call the Investigation Bureau for help.

As He Gaoyi approached her, Kui Xin rehearsed numerous scenarios in her mind. She would pull him into the alley behind a trash bin when he passed, then strangle him, snapping his neck within two seconds.

Kui Xin was meticulously prepared, concealing herself entirely, her head fully covered with a plastic bag and tape, not letting a single hair show. Her hands were also gloved to avoid leaving fingerprints.

“Caution, people are approaching from both directions. Behind you is an adult male about thirty meters from He Gaoyi,” Augus informed her. “If you drag him into the alley, they might notice her sudden disappearance.”

“No problem. Fifty meters gives us enough reaction time.” Kui Xin looked around.

Overflowing garbage bags filled with sewage littered the alley, which was followed by a three-meter-high brick wall. That was how she entered the alley, and after the deed was done, she could quickly climb the wall to escape. Even if her presence was noticed, she would have ample time to depart the crime scene.

Minutes later, He Gaoyi arrived where Kui Xin was hiding.

Like a viper awaiting its prey, Kui Xin launched a lightning-fast strike. The snake-like figure wrapped around the woman’s throat, strangling her until her neck snapped. Every action was completed within two seconds, perfectly aligned with Kui Xin’s plan.

The plastic shopping bags dropped from the supermarket scattered, revealing their contents.

“You’ve killed He Gaoyi.”

“You have obtained an extraordinary ability, Data Manipulation A-Rank.”

Seeing this system notification, Kui Xin relaxed slightly.

She dragged the body deep into the alley and smashed He Gaoyi’s electronic devices, preventing the Investigation Bureau from locating her. This act aimed to delay discovery of the body.

Punting a garbage bag over the corpse, Kui Xin activated Shadow Transition to move through walls and escaped back home along her initial path.

Meanwhile, the passer-by trailing He Gaoyi had been fixated on playing tablet games, oblivious to anything happening ahead, including his sudden vanishing.

“Smooth cooperation.” Augus remarked.

Although mechanical-sounding, there was a hint of relaxation in its voice.

Kui Xin smirked. “Agreed.”

Back in her apartment, Kui Xin checked the time: 23:59:45.

“It’s time to go home,” she said, “See you in seven days.”

“Alright, see you in ten seconds,” replied Augus.

…

“Data Manipulation A-Rank: With your self-awareness, you can control data streams. You’re as effective in network and data realms as a supercomputer.”

In the darkness, Kui Xin opened her eyes hearing the breaths and rustling of someone turning over beside her.

Su Rong had woken up too.

To appear asleep, Kui Xin suddenly heard soft sobs.

She paused, then asked, “Rong Rong? Are you okay?”

Startled, Su Rong suppressed her tears and said, “No, nothing, just… had a nightmare.”

“What was it?” Kui Xin asked, frowning.

“Nothing, it’s just a dream.” Su Rong buried her face in the pillow, speaking muffled. “A dream… everything will be alright when you wake up. Sorry to disturb you, go back to sleep.”

However, Su Rong remained awake long into early morning.

When Kui Xin heard Su Rong move towards the bathroom, she grabbed the mobile phone at the bedside, intending to check the forum for new updates.

But opening her phone, she first noticed messages from the Class Group. Some night owls hadn’t gone to sleep yet, chatting vigorously in the group.

Kui Xin had an obsession—she always needed to clear all unread notifications.

Yet, when she opened the chat tab, she froze.

“Did you fill out the Beta Test application?”

“Yes, just finished; hoping to be selected.”

“This beta round has 100,000 spots, the chances are much higher now.”

“I’ve been a perpetual unlucky player, so I’m not hopeful.”

“Hell, I turned 18 only in October, couldn’t apply.”

Kui Xin felt a chill.

Pulling up the chat history, she saw the start of the conversation: “Hey! Wake up! The official Deep Red Soil announcement revealed that第二批内部测试的名额有一万，现在就开始报名了! [Images]”

Opening the image, she found it listed the one-week signing period ending August 16th; names of those chosen would be announced then.

August 16th marked her next return to the Second World.

This batch of 100,000 players… what impact would that have on the second world?

“… damn.” Kui Xin clenched her fists, barely suppressing the profanities rising in her mind.

She sensed life would never return to tranquility.

At six-thirty AM, Kui Xin woke naturally.

Su Rong had been restless and didn’t truly sleep until dawn, seemingly affected by her experiences in the second world. Without disturbing her, Kui Xin quietly prepared to leave.

Morning exercise was non-negotiable; maintaining health was critical.

Kui Xin carried her backpack and jogged, then took the metro home.

After arriving, she viewed a concerned expression on her face as she scrolled through forum posts, reading:

“Damn, who can warn newbies about avoiding this game?”

“My family wants to play Deep Red Soil, but I begged them not to, fearing they’d think I was joking. I kneeled down and pleaded earnestly with them to avoid the game, but they thought I was crazy.”

“Ugh, my younger brother applied for the beta yesterday. Is there still hope for a reversal? Should we sit and wait for death?”

“Don’t panic. If I’m correct, there must be a final choice before entering the game. We should reject it like we did at the beginning.”

The forum buzzed with anxiety. Seeing despair, Kui Xin felt suffocated.

Her attempts to dissuade others made minimal impact; the player base was too small, barely over ten thousand. How could such a fraction dissuade billions globally?

Only if someone exposed internal secrets could this attract enough attention to warn users. But who would take the risk? Those revelations could be perceived as part of the marketing strategy.

Kui Xin knew few remained rational in online discourse. Leaking details could attract more interest. And a few had severe oppositional tendencies, insisting on playing precisely because others advised against it.

Lips pursed tightly, Kui Xin glanced at the forum’s user count.

Since the game’s launch, 8899 players had survived.

First-round purges claimed most lives, yet those survivors currently enjoyed a temporary reprieve. If第二批beta测试 didn’t open, subsequent deaths would occur at a smoother rate.

Thinking of the第二批beta test, Kui Xin felt overwhelmed. With 100,000 players set to arrive, she wondered who among the naive would get selected.

Unperturbed, Kui Xin sifted through hot topic threads on the forum. One post caught her eye: “Holy sh*t, remember that UP who deleted their account after joining the game? They posted a video! What chutzpah!”

Frozen, she clicked and saw a video title: “I’m a Deep Red Soil beta tester; I urge everyone not to play this game unless you’re willing to pay life’s cost, dying alongside innocent players in this strange world.”

…

Please note that due to the nature of the text, certain sensitive content has been altered for appropriateness.