Actually, Jiang Yan’s character setting was perfectly logical: a once-privileged young lady fallen into ruin, her family all dead, desperately needing an emotional anchor—and right then, she encountered Xiao Congye, who so strongly resembled her elder sister.
She came to treat Xiao Congye as her spiritual support. Even if Xiao Congye disliked her, she would persistently seek her out, just to prove she was still the girl who had an elder sister.
An easy role to play, with the primary route of attack plain as day.
Compared to the identity Shen Huanhuan had drawn, Jiang Yan’s was far more manageable. Under ordinary circumstances, it would be something to celebrate, but since her passionate, clingy persona was so vastly at odds with her real self, the result looked both contradictory and amusing.
“I laughed so hard, I’m not even scared anymore,” Shen Xiaoxiao rubbed her cheeks, trying to work out the cramps from smiling.
“It’s true, there’s nothing to fear at the moment,” said Jiang Yan.
She quickly pulled herself out of that awkward scene and moved on to more pressing matters:
“This field isn’t as frightening as we’d thought, but it could be much more despairing. Its operating pattern is entirely different from any known energy field.”
Jiang Yan sat down in a chair.
At this point, everyone realized the same thing—if breaking character didn’t result in death, then what was the energy field using to kill people?
You had to know, the teams who came before—especially the last one—were exceptionally strong. Notably, the Penglai Island abbot was extraordinarily powerful and experienced, with a talent that could resist any spiritual attacks; her chance of dying should have been negligible.
So how exactly did she die?
After a moment of silence, Shen Huanhuan brought up the first phrase the group saw upon entering this energy field—
[In a grain of sand, a world.]
[In a moment, a hundred years.]
“At that time, Pingping found a grain of sand in the giant Buddha’s palm, and then this phrase appeared before all of us.”
“After that, we chose to enter. The sand quickly grew insubstantial and enormous, then enveloped us, and when we awoke, we found ourselves here—in this world, the true energy field.”
“That must be what ‘a world in a grain of sand’ refers to.”
“And ‘a hundred years in a moment’…”
Here, Shen Huanhuan’s expression became deeply bitter. She drew a slow breath and intoned, “If it’s the worst case, then maybe it’s literally true…”
Pingping quickly added, “From what we’ve seen, that seems to be the case.”
“I used to wonder just how frightening an energy field it would have to be to wipe out an entire team so quickly, with none of them even lasting a single day.”
“But now…” Pingping sat in her chair, irritably kicking her legs, “they not only survived more than a day, they may have lived here for months, years, decades—”
“To be more morbid, maybe even centuries.”
Shen Xiaoxiao murmured, “Outside, not even a second passes, but inside the energy field it’s a hundred years. No wonder those bodies tossed into Qiufu Sea died so recently—their actual time of death was short, but inside the field they may have lived for untold years, only dying on some given day.”
“That much time, and to the outside world it’s just a blink.”
“Just thinking about it is agony…”
Noticing everyone’s faces growing steadily more dispirited, Jiang Yan cut off this line of reflection.
“Lunch is soon. Let’s talk quickly about possible death conditions.”
Though discussing this might worsen everyone’s mood, it had to be done.
They all reined in their emotions and looked to Jiang Yan.
Jiang Yan pondered a moment, then spoke evenly, “At present we know that OOC doesn’t cause death, but we don’t know if that will be true forever, so there may be death conditions set.”
Pingping offered three hypotheses: “First, you can break character as often as you like until you finish your assigned storyline, and won’t die no matter how many times it happens.”
“Second, there’s a limit to the number of times—maybe each person gets five or eight breaks.”
“Third, at first nothing happens if you OOC, but after a certain point it will start resulting in deaths.”
Having listed all scenarios, Pingping saw Jiang Yan had nothing to add.
When no one else spoke, Jiang Yan addressed the second possible death condition.
“This is very likely a kind of mental contamination, or, put differently, a character-setting contamination scenario.”
“From Shen Huanhuan and Yu Renwan’s experience, we can see everyone exhibits some instinctive reactions in certain situations—these come from our provided character settings. Logically, as time passes in here, these instinctive reactions will multiply.”
“We’ll grow more and more into our roles, and will no longer trigger quiz prompts.”
“At that point, this copy is no longer a quiz but becomes true full immersion.”
Yu Renwan hesitated: “Jiang Jiang, do you mean that, once we fully adapt to the personas created by the energy field and become the characters inside the scenario, we die?”
“It’s possible,” Jiang Yan nodded, “much like losing SAN points in a mental contamination event, draining away until there’s nothing left. Once we completely forget who we really are, we probably become new characters in the scenario.”
Shen Xiaoxiao propped her cheek, considering, then declared with conviction, “I’ll definitely remember I’m Shen Xiaoxiao!”
“Don’t be so sure,” Pingping scoffed. “You’ve only been Shen Xiaoxiao for seventeen years, but you could be this character setting for seventy or eighty years.”
“Once you’re fully assimilated, would you really remember which is the real you?—for all you know, Shen Xiaoxiao might just be a dream you once had.”
Shen Xiaoxiao froze, thumping the table in mock anger: “Stupid Pingping, stop undermining my self-confidence!”
Pingping turned away: “Childish.”
Jiang Yan ignored the bickering and immediately proposed a third possibility:
“If we’re to live here for so many years, chances are our character settings are growth-based. Only by truly immersing ourselves and experiencing her changes can we answer the quiz correctly, which in turn blurs our sense of our true self—but maybe there’s an exception. What if, even after completing our whole storyline, we always remember we were just acting inside the scenario?”
“Would the energy field let us go?”
“I doubt it,” Pingping said bluntly. “The head of the last team, Penglai’s abbot, was an old lady—very advanced in age, and with a deep self-awareness. If she was only in here for a few decades, I don’t think she’d forget herself. As for the others, who knows, but no way the abbot would.”
Jiang Yan: “So this scenario probably restarts, or uses some form of reincarnation loop.”
“The field won’t set a mandatory death condition, but it won’t limit passing time, either. If it starts a reincarnation mode, making someone replay a fixed persona again and again, then their true identity just becomes a stop along the journey, and after a few centuries, they would inevitably forget who they were.”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “……”
She tried her best to grasp Jiang Yan’s meaning, her words coming out haltingly: “But isn’t that just dragging us to death?”
“How are we supposed to cheat the system then?”
Jiang Yan shook her head. “There should be other ways to break free from the energy field—we just have to find them ourselves.”
“Otherwise, we’ll just keep endlessly living in the scenario, endlessly becoming our own persona, endlessly taking on new roles, until we forget ourselves.”
A long silence fell over the room.
Shen Huanhuan couldn’t help but think of what others must have experienced: “How desperate that must be… it’s truly hopeless…”
She tried to empathize with their plight, speaking softly:
“If I stop thinking, I could achieve immortality inside this scenario. But the moment I start thinking, I’ll realize my life is just one performance after another.”
“I know this act will end eventually, but I don’t know when.”
“I know we’ll all die, but I don’t know when that day will come.”
“If that’s really the truth—” Shen Huanhuan’s voice dropped, “could it really not push someone to end it all?”
Jiang Yan rapped her on the head, cutting off her tendency to empathize at inappropriate times.
“All of this is just speculation with little evidence.”
“For all we know, the reality might be much better,” Jiang Yan said. “Either way, let’s just muddle through in this scenario for a few years and see how things develop.”
Everyone: “……”
Who uses ‘years’ to describe time spent in a scenario!
“Anyway, it’s the path we chose for ourselves,” Pingping jumped down from her stool, her stomach rumbling hungrily, eager for food.
She said, “This scenario’s time mechanism was clear from the beginning, but we still chose to enter the real energy field.”
“Even if we didn’t understand at the time, the system gave us clear clues and offered us the right to withdraw.”
“So now we can’t really blame it for dragging out the timeline.”
*
Pingping’s point was fair.
This was an energy field that offered a choice from the outset. Since they chose to enter, they accepted all its operating rules.
[Life and death here are uncertain; this is disaster, not fortune.]
The energy field was merely upholding the warning it issued before entry.
Disaster, not fortune.
The food was all served when a boy of about fourteen or fifteen came to fetch them for a meal. After they left the room, he said his name was Lin Xiaotang, a servant who usually did errands. Once they reached the staircase landing, he cordially called out to Jiang Yan and Shen Xiaoxiao, saying he’d show them their daily chores that afternoon; Xiao Congye was especially strict, and no laziness was allowed.
Jiang Yan brought up the task Xiao Congye had assigned her earlier: “I have to wash the deputy manager’s clothes this afternoon.”
“Manager Xiao mentioned it,” the boy said. “From now on, you’re to wash clothes for both managers and Senior Sister Shaochun. Those in gray wash the apprentices’ clothes—in time, an older aunt in her thirties will join you. She handles the costumes—they’re difficult to wash, and if you mess them up, you’ll be punished.”
Shen Xiaoxiao looked down at her own gray robe, now knowing her assignment, and hastily responded.
Now, aside from Shen Xiaoxiao and Pingping, everyone’s primary targets for interaction were clear: Jiang Yan with Xiao Congye, Shen Huanhuan with Lu Shaochun, Yu Renwan with Xi Jueyun.
Shen Xiaoxiao and Pingping hadn’t triggered quiz segments yet, but Shen Xiaoxiao’s main contact was likely also in the theater; Pingping would be assigned elsewhere, and might only trigger her quiz at her new location.
The dining area was in the second-floor inner hall, usually reserved for privileged guests watching performances. The space wasn’t large—there were only three or five tables.
“Some lords can’t stand sitting with commoners—they think the others are filthy, not qualified to watch the same show, so they pay extra for seats in the inner hall.” Lin Xiaotang quietly explained the function of the place.
Jiang Yan asked, “How many of these lords are there in Lingren Village?”
Lin Xiaotang unhesitatingly held up five fingers: “Five.”
“Senior Sister Shaochun told us that apart from these lords, everyone else in Lingren Village is just better-dressed vagrants. Some lords care about appearances and will ask for opinions before doing anything dirty, while others have no shame and simply snatch attractive vagrants off the street.”
“Like Lord Wang,” Lin Xiaotang said bitterly, “last month he already had eight concubines, then snatched three beautiful women home. Now, still eight concubines.”
Shen Xiaoxiao corrected him: “You counted wrong—it’s eleven!”
Lin Xiaotang lowered his voice: “No, really, just eight. One was tortured to death, one hanged herself, one ran away. The one who ran was always jealous and oppressed by the other wives. Lord Wang thought he was quite the catch, but she seized a chance and escaped.”
“He was furious, searched for half a month across the village and back mountain. Who knows if she got away.”
“Anyway, we just need to stay put in the theater. Both managers are good people; they won’t mistreat us.”
At this, Lin Xiaotang glanced meaningfully at Jiang Yan. “Don’t be fooled by how fierce Manager Xiao looks. Whenever guests bully us, she always steps in. She’s a clean freak, too—scrubs the tables three times before every meal, so about the snot on the clothes…”
Jiang Yan hurriedly cut him off: “Okay, okay.”
Lin Xiaotang nodded approvingly, his pale face beaming. “That’s good. You look smart.”
“….”
Jiang Yan: “Thank you for your guidance.”
The masters had their own table, the apprentices another; Jiang Yan sat at the servants’ table, with Shen Xiaoxiao wolfing down food on her left and Lin Xiaotang on her right—a perfect window for gathering information about the theater. When Lin Xiaotang paused to drink, she asked him about the theater’s status within the village.
“Do guests often cause trouble?” Jiang Yan pressed her lips together. “I’ve never dealt with something like that—I’m a bit afraid.”
“They do, but not too often.”
Lin Xiaotang raised his finger and discreetly gestured at Fang Xuyu: “That’s Lord Fang’s second son. The eldest had an accident and can’t have kids—Lord Fang only has two boys, so…”
“So the theater is backed by the Fang family,” Jiang Yan understood.
Lin Xiaotang nodded. “Right. But even that makes things difficult—Lord Fang has been annoyed with our theater for years. He thinks performing is embarrassing, blames Third Master for making him lose face in the village. If not for the fact that the Fang family’s lineage all depends on Third Master, Lord Fang would’ve shut us down ages ago.”
But Fang Xuyu couldn’t be an actor forever.
Lord Fang would one day run out of patience.
In fact, to make his son walk the “right” path, the easiest way was simply to destroy the theater.
So, although things looked peaceful, the reality was that the theater was just a duckweed adrift in turbulent waters, liable to be drowned at any time.
As Jiang Yan pondered, she kept helping herself to food.
Everyone was ravenous, so the meal dragged on for a long while. Driven by primal hunger, Shen Xiaoxiao stuffed her mouth with steamed buns, barely touching the meat or vegetables—lord knew the buns were most filling.
Jiang Yan’s own stomach turned sour from hunger; she knew overeating would leave her suffering, maybe even bedridden, but she couldn’t stop herself gorging.
After two bowls of rice, Xiao Congye approached, frowning.
“Are you all reincarnated starving ghosts?”
Jiang Yan, clutching her bowl, lifted her face. Xiao Congye snatched the bowl away and told Lin Xiaotang, “Watch these five. If they take one bite more, beat them.”
Then she gave a slight bow to Xi Jueyun, flicked her purple sleeves, and returned to her quarters.
Xi Jueyun had just finished eating, too. Now, without her stage makeup and costume, her features were light and inoffensive.
She simply emanated calm: a fair, gentle face, pale lips, moon-white robe, with an unchanging expression no matter whom she looked at.
She gazed placidly at Pingping. “Everything is arranged. After lunch, you’ll follow Lin Xiaotang to Flower Street and find Yue Niang.”
Pingping nodded by instinct.
After a few seconds, she realized something was off and asked, “Is Flower Street a place for selling flowers?”
Xi Jueyun: “That street is all brothels.”
Pingping’s mind went blank.
Xi Jueyun must have read her thoughts, and added, “But Yue Niang is different. You’ll understand when you get there.”
“I won’t harm you.”
Fang Xuyu explained further: “Yue Niang is a remarkable woman. She always wanted a younger sister. Half a year ago she took in a vagrant, but that girl looked down on her, secretly contacted Lord Wang and went with him—in the end, shamed and abused, she hanged herself.”
“Headmaster has arranged everything. You’ll see once you’re there. You’ll like her.”
Pingping had no way to refuse, but their words sparked her interest. She gulped down some water and prepared to follow Lin Xiaotang.
Lin Xiaotang had finished eating too, wiped grease from his hands on his clothes, and tried to take Pingping’s hand.
Pingping quickly hid her hands behind her back.
Lin Xiaotang blushed and scrubbed at his clothes some more.
“Better let me hold your hand. There’s a rush of vagrants outside—easy to get lost.”
Only then did Pingping reluctantly extend her hand.
They left the theater.
Just outside, Pingping saw a string of stalls. A gaunt girl knelt on the ground, clothes in tatters. Without shoes, her feet were all scabbed and bloody. Pingping moved closer and saw the yellow paper before the girl: “Selling myself to bury my father.”
She quickly looked away to the next stall.
This one was manned by a frail man, putting on a sycophantic smile, bowing to everyone. On the paper in front of him: “Eldest daughter: 5 taels. Youngest daughter: 3 taels.”
Lin Xiaotang, unmoved, dragged Pingping past more than a dozen such stalls.
Just then a patrol team approached, wielding iron rods wrapped in rags to drive people away. One woman with a broken leg refused to go, clinging to her two children and kowtowing desperately, hoping for just another chance.
“Maybe someone will buy me any minute now! Soon, soon, my children will have food!”
But the cold rod landed directly on her waist—no flesh there, so it struck bone with a dreadful crunch. The woman collapsed to the ground, gasping.
It was clear the patrol cared nothing for the vagrants’ lives. After beating the woman, they grabbed the little girl’s face, twisted it left and right, exchanged a look of disdain, then slammed their thick rods into the child’s chest and face. The slightly older boy lunged to shield his sister; when he looked up again, his mouth was full of blood.
He spat out seven or eight teeth, then fell motionless.
“Couldn’t take a beating,” a man sneered, kicking the boy’s corpse into a pile of bodies by the roadside, dragging the girl and her mother toward the village entrance.
Pingping tried to look back, but Lin Xiaotang gripped her hand tightly and pulled her toward Flower Street. “It’s no use. It’s like this every day.”
“No use.”
“Lingren Village…the so-called peaceful haven, the peach orchard to which all vagrants aspire…” Pingping echoed the phrase that had appeared on the system’s quiz board,
She scanned her surroundings, then lowered her head.
Flower Street was far from the theater; after nearly twenty minutes of walking, Pingping finally saw it.
True to its name, a flower was pinned to nearly every door. Lin Xiaotang introduced Yue Niang: “Her full name is Jin Yuebai. She was sold into Flower Street at age nine, began taking clients at thirteen. Her work is selling her body.”
“But she’s different. Yue Niang only takes clients when she wants, and always picks her own men.”
Pingping, trying to shake off the human misery she’d just witnessed, asked, “What does that mean?”
“She looks down on cheating husbands, and on the men who frequent this district,” Lin Xiaotang answered quietly. “She only likes clean men, those who’ve never touched a woman. She once bet the madam she’d choose her first client herself. For a month before opening her door, she lingered outside Young Master Chen’s house. He’d just returned from abroad—educated, handsome; everyone said she was a toad lusting after a swan. But a month later, Chen came to her and said he wanted to take her away.”
“Yue Niang agreed, but after sleeping with him, immediately dumped him. After that, her reputation took off. People move in and out of Lingren Village all the time—whenever she fancies a man who’s not yet married, she tosses a flower at his door. If he comes for her, she’ll sleep with him a few times, then move on. If he doesn’t come, she never tries again.”
Lin Xiaotang’s voice grew increasingly admiring, and Pingping cocked her head at him.
“You sound quite taken with her.”
Lin Xiaotang blushed. “I just think she’s amazing.”
A few minutes later, Lin Xiaotang stopped before a door, this one unadorned by any flower—immaculate, the stone pathway spotless as though it had never known dust.
Lin Xiaotang knocked. After half a minute, a woman opened the door.
Pingping looked up in curiosity; the woman, eyes half-closed, looked down at her.
Half a minute later, she reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind Pingping’s ear.
She looked ordinary, yet every gesture seemed effortless and magnetic, as if this allure were in her very bones, in her bone structure.
“From now on, you’ll call me Sister Yue.”
“Sorry for troubling you, Xiaotang. Here’s a snack for you,” Jin Yuebai said, stepping inside to fetch two bags of pastries and handing them to Lin Xiaotang. “Give the other to Manager Xi, thank her for sending me a little maid.”
Lin Xiaotang’s face turned as red as a boiled shrimp. He clumsily took the snacks and bolted.
Pingping: “…”
Jin Yuebai led her inside. Pingping, looking so young, seemed to inspire everyone to hold her hand.
Jin Yuebai’s home was spotless and spacious, three connected rooms in all. At the innermost chamber, she pointed at the bed, “From now on, you’ll sleep here.”
Pingping obediently sat down on it.
For a while, the room was silent as they looked at each other. After a few minutes, Jin Yuebai suddenly let out a soft laugh.
She asked Pingping, “Do you like me?”
Pingping mulled it over, then nodded. “I like you.”
“That’s fine, then. I won’t keep anyone who doesn’t like me, and won’t keep anyone who won’t say sweet words,” Jin Yuebai didn’t say more, but set out a plate of fruit for her, then stepped out of the room.
Pingping sat on the bed, yawning.
With nothing to do, knowing she’d be here a long time, she couldn’t summon any immediate desire to chase clues. Still dressed, she prepared to nap—but right then, she heard a sudden “ding” in her ear.
Finally, it’s here.
Pingping looked up.
[You’re just an ordinary farmer’s daughter, never been to school, everything you know taught by your parents. Your father said actors ruin the state, so you dislike performers. Your mother said prostitutes are base, so you despise whores.
But having arrived in Lingren Village, you find the ones showing you kindness are precisely these two kinds of people—they are the most downcast and pitiable, yet extend you a hand. Yet a few days’ kindness doesn’t erase deep-rooted prejudice, so when faced with Jin Yuebai’s question, you chose to lie.
Now, living in the room she’s arranged for you, you feel uneasy. You fear Jin Yuebai will discover you’re a liar, you fear being thrown out.
Therefore, you decide to—
1. Find Jin Yuebai and confess you lied just now, making clear you’ll only deceive her once and will strive to overcome your prejudice.
2. Help Jin Yuebai by cleaning her room, organizing her closet and bookshelf, showing your intentions through actions.
3. Do nothing—just nap, since Jin Yuebai has already seen through you. All she wants is a companion’s quiet presence.]
Since breaking character doesn’t cause death, Pingping wanted to try what Jiang Yan had experienced before.
So she pointed straight at “Option 3”—in other words, exactly what she was just about to do when the quiz appeared.
—She was going to take a nap.