Chapter 162

Chapter 162: The Boundless Dark Realm 17

When Kui Xin returned from Su Rong’s house, it was already seven o’clock in the evening.

This was the first day back at her so-called “hometown.” Throughout the day, she exercised as usual, attended her studies, and tutored Su Rong. The life was tranquil, but tranquility might not last long.

In the evening, while browsing forums at home, Kui Xin encountered some very disturbing news.

The survivors among the tens of thousands of players were a mix of different characters—rational people alongside irrational ones, individuals with great ideals, and selfish villains. Some foreign players had uploaded “Crimson Soil” onto encrypted websites abroad, and even leaked game-related rules.

“There are ‘Crimson Soil’ players leaking information on a Spanish website and inciting ordinary people to hunt down players.”

First post: I’ve put the link here. As we all know, there’s a rule in “Crimson Soil” stating that if an ordinary person kills a player, they directly inherit the player’s game qualifications. Now this rule has been leaked within a small circle. Although the Spanish forum is niche, it still has considerable traffic. Those who leaked the rule deserve to be condemned!

1st reply: Some people, out of misfortune, don’t wish for others to suffer the same. Others, who are suffering, hope everyone shares their misfortune.

Kui Xin copied the URL, used data manipulation to bypass the firewall, and went online.

Her thoughts churned within the data network as countless characters transformed. She found the thread where the secrets were divulged—the author roughly described “Crimson Soil” and outlined its entry rules. Curiously, he only discussed the perks of entering the game but completely ignored the dangers players faced.

“After entering the game, you have a chance to awaken extraordinary abilities, and these abilities can be taken back into our world. Imagine, the hero scenarios from films could manifest on you! Isn’t that cool? Entering the game is simple; it just needs a bit of luck. If there’s a game player around, killing him allows you to acquire his game qualification!”

After briefly glancing through posts on the Spanish site, Kui Xin noted that the replies were currently two to three hundred. Ninety-nine percent questioned the authenticity of the post, and many accused the poster of inciting violence.

Soon, the website admin deleted the post.

Kui Xin followed the IP trace to locate the poster, eventually discovering he was a poor individual barely able to afford meals, relying on game coaching to eke out a living. She then intruded his computer and traced his web history, finding him to be a thoroughly failed person, exceedingly dissatisfied with reality.

He revealed rules solely to spread malice.

Kui Xin quietly reviewed his information, noting down the real-world name and rental address, deciding to monitor him long-term. Not everyone kept silent on the internet. She could identify players’ real-world identities through such tracks; others like He Kangshi would do the same with installed viruses and spyware on their phones. Some played the role of observers or perpetrators, while others hunted down targeted players. If they acted, Kui Xin could trace other hidden players.

Kui Xin refreshed the forum and saw another post from someone that said: “Posting about ‘Crimson Soil’ online or through various social apps will directly lead to your removal. Note, any relevant keywords and abbreviations will also be removed!”

The subsequent response added: “Don’t easily try to release related content. It may lock your IP. I’m a fairly skilled hacker and did some tests myself! If you’re not confident in removing IP tracking, refrain from posting such content to avoid exposure!”

A trace of reflection crossed Kui Xin’s eyes, a sense of anticipation fulfilled.

Someone replied under the post: “Indeed… This was inevitable. The influence of ‘Crimson Soil’ is growing. Only by controlling it early can we prevent things from spiraling out of control.”

“This is being done to contain the spread and protect both ordinary people and players who accidentally fell into the game. To maintain peace and stability, the fewer people who know about the game, the better. We should limit the impact and keep the situation可控的范围内。”

“Exactly. It relieves a heavy burden. I’ve always been worried about leaks, but now it’s a little more reassuring.”

“Perhaps even without us knowing, certain individuals have already begun investigating the game’s secrets… Only, we seldom encounter such people.”

Kui Xin refreshed the homepage, seeing foreign players sharing tips on stockpiling supplies and weapons, recommending particular gun models and bullet quantities, teaching how to build small ammunition processing machines, fortify shelters, and renovate basements—creating an apocalyptic atmosphere.

Over the years, when zombie apocalypse and nuclear end-times media took off, some people were convinced those events were inevitable, hoarding decades’ worth of canned food and purified water in their basements.

Such postings weren’t confined to player forums. When Kui Xin checked wild survival and military forums, she also found similar discussions.

While these “guides” were typical, Kui Xin also observed unlawful religious groups exploiting chaos. They claimed celestial illusions were signs from their Lord, evidence of divine manifestation, and believers would be welcomed to heaven by angels upon death…

Kui Xin sighed: “Your Lord indeed follows trends; heaven in a cyberpunk style?”

Compared to the chaotic overseas internet, things were much better domestically.

Opening the TV, Kui Xin watched a科普 program inviting meteorological and optics experts. Under questioning, the experts confidently explained that the celestial illusions were natural phenomena unrelated to supernatural elements. Presenting convincing research data and images earned applause from the audience, convincing looks on their faces… After watching the program, Kui Xin thought, “These experts really have impressive skills and broad knowledge, almost convincing were it not for my personal experience with ‘Crimson Soil.'”

At the end, the host concluded with a smile: “Dear viewers, we must believe in science, view matters around us with scientific eyes…”

“…” Sighing with irony, Kui Xin could only laugh.

Most things in this world could be explained scientifically, except for ‘Crimson Soil.’ The program aimed to reassure the general public.

A few programs internationally also reported on urban illusions, all asserting they were natural occurrences connected to magnetic fields, optical refractions, and solar movements, unrelated to any mysterious phenomena.

The situation continued evolving, the impact relatively limited, the situation still under control.

Kui Xin prayed in silence — hoping her world would remain uneventful.

She wished gods, extraordinary abilities, and xenomorphs would stay far away.

Holding the remote, Kui Xin switched channels to see local news about wild boars roaming the city. These wild boars were dangerously aggressive, urging residents to stay clear and avoid provoking them, reporting incidents to the police.

“Wild boars?” Kui Xin muttered.

In recent years, wild boars had frequently invaded both forests and cities due to the decline of natural predators, reproducing massively. This led to annual crop destruction and invasions into villager homes, harming guard dogs and stealing poultry.

They were omnivores with sharp tusks, often causing injuries.

Just as Kui Xin prepared to switch channels, a familiar game screen popped up unbidden.

“A regional mission triggered.”

Her hand trembled, nearly dropping the remote.

“Fine…” Her gaze darkened, “If there was a first time, there would be a second time. Makes sense.”

Those four words—”makes sense”—she forced them out through gritted teeth.

It wasn’t logical for regional missions to exist, yet the game made it reasonable, blurring lines between the virtual and real worlds. Kui Xin couldn’t help but face this unfamiliar “homeland.”

Blinking, she read the latest regional mission description.

“[Mission Description]: Your hometown, Tonglin City, was the starting point for mutations…”

Kui Xin’s heart sank upon reading the first sentence.

During her last assignment to investigate cult murders, the mission description had never been so specific. It merely stated, “Unusual events occurred in your hometown, the familiar region where you live…” However, now, the new regional task had a clear location: Tonglin City!

Would others receiving regional prompts also see “Tonglin City”?

Suppressing her shock, she continued reading.

“…the twisted shadows haven’t faded away. Danger approaches. Power from another world seeps into yours. Solving one problem means facing endless others. You killed the heterodox follower Fang Zhi, but he left behind mysteries. Right now, your city has experienced wild boar attacks, but is the truth really so simple? Perhaps this is an opportunity for investigation.”

“Accept or Reject? This is not just your concern, but affects everyone’s and the world’s future. You could fail, with consequences unbearable. But success, despite low odds, is possible.”

“[Mission Task]: Dark Realm Descends.”

Dark Realm Descends? What did those vague four words mean? Descended? What descended?

Before Kui Xin could fully ponder, she received a message from He Kangshi.

He Kangshi sent frantic messages: “Boss! Why did regional tasks appear in Tonglin City?!”

Less than two seconds later, Su Rong chimed in: “Senior Sister Xin Xin, we’re doomed! Did you see the regional tasks? You must have seen them! Why did this happen? Wild boar attacks occur every year, why does it feel different this year?!”

Subsequently, Yuan Lu, Xie Gankqing, and Yu Qiwen also messaged her.

Yuan Lu said: “Did you receive notifications? Check the forum; regional tasks aren’t limited to Jingchu, they seem national…”

Kui Xin’s mind raced, grappling with the implications of these revelations.