CW for this arc: general cruelty, blatant ableism

Just a note: there’s a lot of discriminatory language used against disabled people here. When the tone is neutral (3rd POV, general description, etc) I’ll use more respectful language. But in other POV, I’ll keep the discriminatory language if used for accuracy.

Arc 3: Hide and Seek

Since he was already inside the instance, Yan Jiyun focused his attention on selecting his props, clearing his mind of the information he’d memorized about other instances — he could use that later once he got out.

He remembered that Qi Feng had chosen Introductory Mode for him, but somehow, upon entering, it had turned into Challenging Mode.

Qi Feng hadn’t only told his new teammate which props to prepare. He had repeated those same reminders three times in Yan Jiyun’s ear. Thankfully, he’d remembered them all.

Although there was a difference between Introductory and Challenge Modes, the usable props shouldn’t vary too much. At most, he’d just add two more; after all, Challenge Mode offered two additional item slots.

This time, he didn’t plan to enter the instance as a cat. The points he’d earned from the previous instance were enough to enter in human form. After spending some on items, he used the rest to redeem several Human Form Time Cards, each lasting between 5 and 30 minutes, all different durations.

Fortunately, these cards didn’t take up any item slots. Hopefully that wasn’t a bug, but an actual perk.

Over the past few days in the Central Zone, he’d tested that the Human Form Time Cards could be exchanged for flexible durations, and there was no limit to how many he could have. However, the minimum duration per card was 5 minutes. That meant he could redeem multiple 5-minute-plus cards and use them strategically during the instance. But timing was crucial — if another player discovered that he could switch between cat and human form, it would definitely put him at a disadvantage.

After checking through all his prepared props and newly exchanged cards, Yan Jiyun equipped a 20-minute card. Once it expired, he’d either switch back to cat form or use another, depending on how the instance unfolded.

Only one minute remained in the preparation phase.

Yan Jiyun asked the system, “I remember the main account chose an Introductory instance for me. Why did it become Challenging?”

The calm mechanical voice replied, “The instance’s difficulty is determined by the main account’s cleared instance count and accumulated points. Since the main account is already a mid-tier or above player, to prevent the main account from helping new players cheat, sub-accounts are only allowed to enter Challenging Mode.”

Yan Jiyun gritted his teeth. “So, from the start, the instance wasn’t a random Challenging instance — it was randomly selected from within the Challenging category?”

“Yes,” the voice confirmed. “All Introductory Mode instances in the newcomer tier are locked to you.”

“Then why didn’t the instance selection screen say so?”

“The selection interface is identical for all players. Before the selection time ends, players are not restricted from browsing Introductory Mode listings.”

So, all the research he’d done beforehand was basically useless. He hadn’t even entered an Introductory instance before, but knowing how this damn system worked, Challenging Mode would be at least ten times more difficult.

“The main account didn’t know about this rule either?”

“That’s correct. Many game rules must be discovered by players themselves. It’s part of the intended gameplay experience, all to make the game more engaging.”

“Engaging my ass,” Yan Jiyun muttered. “This broken system almost got me killed.”

He pressed his lips together. He’d thought having a powerful player backing him would make things easier, but no! The system had thrown him straight into Challenging Mode. Other players might only need to clear three Introductory and two Challenging instances to graduate from the newcomer phase, yet all five of his would be Challenging.

If he had followed the normal route, the main account could’ve explained the rules and helped him choose instances — technically “cheating,” sure, but his first two runs didn’t even get that benefit! He was a pure newcomer with zero cheating behavior.

Good thing he was a cat; if he were human, he’d have no idea how to survive this.

Qi Feng was definitely the most unreliable cat-owner in history!

Most people’s cats brought misfortune to their owners — his was the reverse: the owner was the one dooming the cat.

Yan Jiyun could only sigh inwardly.

In the instance’s prep area, he couldn’t see his teammate’s info, and the other likely couldn’t see him either. Once inside, the party would automatically disband, since this wasn’t a team instance but a solo one.

The game’s design deliberately minimized group coordination. [Destiny] wasn’t about creating a pleasant multiplayer experience. Players could only choose the same instance together — beyond that, there was no further support. So Yan Jiyun didn’t reveal himself to Qiu Xi, and he only hoped that poor guy wouldn’t be unlucky enough to end up in the same Challenging instance with him.

This game really had it out for people. It even dragged disabled players into its misery.

There wasn’t much time left to argue with the system. Soon, he heard the countdown begin:

[Five… Four… Three… Two… One… instance loading…]

[The instance is about to begin. Life and death are your own responsibility. Wishing all players an enjoyable experience!]

This time, Yan Jiyun entered the instance in human form. His body grew weightless, consciousness fading for an instant.

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing among a crowd of people. Immediately after, the soulless mechanical voice began announcing the instance information.

[Instance Name: Hide and Seek]

[Instance Duration: 24 hours]  

[Difficulty: Challenging] 

[Objective: Be the last one standing.]  

[Surviving Players Number: 30/30]

The first two instances had “main missions,” but this one only had an “objective.” Did that mean there was no main storyline this time?

There were thirty players in total, all gathered on a massive stage surrounded by countless cameras. In the center stood a young director holding a loudspeaker.

Like Yan Jiyun, everyone was quietly observing the surroundings and the NPCs.

At the very back row, he spotted Qiu Xi. The young man looked bewildered, scanning both sides of the stage as if searching for something.

Yan Jiyun had already shifted into human form in the prep zone, so Qiu Xi would never recognize him here.

‘Poor kid, dragged into a Challenging instance because of me. Sorry about that.’

The director shouted, “Welcome, everyone, to the filming of the show Happy World! Each of you is a future star in our program. I hope you’ll do your best to shine in today’s game. The more impressive your performance, the higher your popularity when the show airs. Please, don’t slack off,  lazy celebrities will be eliminated!”

The players exchanged confused looks.

What does that even mean? Role-playing again?

Ignoring their doubts, the NPC director continued, “Next, I’ll give you ten minutes to form teams. Thirty players will make six groups of five. Once the time is up, I’ll announce the game rules. The timer starts now!”

Only ten minutes to form groups is not easy at all. Other than those who’d entered together, no one really knew each other.

Panicked players quickly began talking to whoever was nearby, like a matchmaking fair. They exchange basic info and try to find compatible teammates.

Yan Jiyun wasn’t in a hurry. He obediently stood to the side, observing the other players exchange information, not intending to be the first bird to stick its head out.

Choosing teammates was actually quite the delicate matter. The prerequisite for being picky was having options.

Right now, no one could guess what kind of game rules the NPC director had in mind.

“Hide and Seek” didn’t look like a story-driven instance at all. It was just a game title. Based on the given hints, its essence was simply to play a game. But how exactly to play, and how the rules were set, remained unclear. And since players were being forced to team up, it was likely there would be PvP combat involved. Once competition entered the mix, naturally everyone would want to pick strong teammates; nobody wanted to be dragged down by a pig teammate midgame.

While Yan Jiyun was considering what kind of people to team up with, a man leaning on a cane standing slightly to his left was suddenly shoved onto the platform.

The player who pushed him said with ill intent, “Oops, sorry, but I’m not teaming up with a cripple.”

The other players all turned their heads toward the commotion, not to look at the man who pushed, but at the one lying on the ground.

The NPCs below the stage went on with their business, completely ignoring the conflict between players.

No one went forward to help the man up.

Yan Jiyun stepped over and helped him to his feet. “Are you all right?” To him, lending a hand was just a small favor.

The man was actually quite young. He was maybe a little older than Yan Jiyun, not yet thirty, probably around 27 or 28. 

He had fair skin, and from his attire, one could tell he was used to a comfortable life, clearly from a good family.

“I’m fine,” he said.

The man who had shoved him sneered. “Hey, kid, let me teach you something. In an instance like this, you’d better not get too close to weird people, or you’ll never even know how you die.”

Yan Jiyun knew the guy had a point, but also didn’t. If this were an ordinary game, self-preservation came first, yes — but saying it out loud only made things worse, forcing others onto a moral pedestal and stirring resentment.

The disabled man spoke gently. “Thank you.”

Yan Jiyun picked up his cane and handed it back.

This game really was inhumane. A whole batch of disabled participants — some mute, some lame — dragged in just to die and raise the death rate? Surely even garbage games didn’t have a death quota KPI, right?

No one wanted to team up with the cripple.

And similarly, no one offered Yan Jiyun a team invite either. They were afraid he’d be a burden at a critical moment. With his slender frame, he didn’t look like he could fight. His face was handsome enough, but that was all. People hesitated when they saw him; overly good-looking players always attracted drama, and in the end, they chose to avoid him.

With only three minutes remaining, Yan Jiyun saw that neither Qiu Xi nor the disabled man had been chosen by anyone. Without hesitation, he teamed up with them.

Qiu Xi made a gesture of thanks in sign language, which made Yan Jiyun feel a little guilty.

The disabled man knew sign language too.

Their team still needed two more people. But soon, it filled up.

The last two were a college couple who’d been rejected by everyone else, automatically grouped with them. They had no other choice — couple players were the most disliked in games: unfocused, easily distracted, first to drag the team down, and always sneaking in a bit of cringe-worthy PDA. Worse yet, if someone scolded them, they’d argue back, ending with two mouths against one.

Yan Jiyun had run into plenty of that type before in other games, and now here they were again, even in a deadly instance.

With all five members assembled, they briefly introduced themselves.

The disabled young man was Gu Wenzhu.

The mute youth was Qiu Xi.

The college couple: the girl was Sun Xinxin, the boy was Ma Haiyang.

Just as introductions ended, the ten-minute countdown did too.

NPCs came forward to attach group and number tags to them. There were six teams total, divided into A through F groups, with five players each. All players were divided into No. 1 to No. 30, and Yan Jiyun was in Team F, No. 29.