Chapter One: The Holographic Game "Crime Files"

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2034, Central Continent, Haishi Anding Hospital.

“‘Crime Files’ has started announcing its closed beta slots.”

“Did you get a spot in the beta?”

“How could I? Only eight thousand people were selected across all continents—my chances are less than winning the lottery.”

The nurse taking temperatures exchanged words with the one bringing water and medicine to the bedridden patient, discussing the game that had recently dominated every platform, both in popularity and in heated discussion.

As the first fully immersive simulation game truly developed and put into testing, the announcement of the closed beta for the holographic game “Crime Files” immediately captured the attention of countless people.

The company StarRing claimed that the game offered the most realistic touch, hearing, smell, and vision.

The game’s tagline was: “This is a truly existing second world.”

So, after signups opened for the closed beta, the number of applicants across the continents soared to an astounding five hundred million.

Out of curiosity, the two nurses signed up as well, though neither held out the slightest hope of being chosen.

One of the nurses double-checked the color and quantity of the pills, then picked up a cup and handed the medicine to the patient in the bed.

Pale, bloodless, slender fingers grasped the cup. With the other hand, the woman calmly took a pill, placed it in her mouth, raised the cup, and swallowed, repeating the motion methodically.

Long, ink-black hair draped over her waist; her striped hospital gown was printed with the institution’s name and insignia.

The nurse’s gaze lingered at the delicate line of the woman’s neck before moving up to her face. Even after seeing her more than a hundred times, she couldn’t help but marvel at the girl’s features, as meticulously crafted as if by a goddess.

Only after the girl had swallowed all her medication did the nurse reach for the cup, then, together with the other nurse, turned and left the room.

Through the slight gap in the door, their regretful voices could still be heard.

How could someone so beautiful fall ill?

Outside, fine rain washed the newly sprouted green leaves, refreshing the world to the eye.

Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz.

Ye SangSang was jolted back from her thoughts by the vibration of her phone. She reached for it from the gray bedside table.

Crime Files Official: [Dear player, as a registered beta user, you have been granted a closed beta slot for the holographic game “Crime Files.” Please click the link in this message to register your information. We will mail you the necessary holographic gaming equipment free of charge within three working days.]

Crime Files Official: [Sorry to disturb you. If you wish to decline, simply reply to this message with the word “decline.”]

She stared at the message and recalled the nurses’ earlier conversation about the closed beta slots for “Crime Files.”

Or perhaps it was a scam.

To her recollection, she hadn’t even applied for a spot in the “Crime Files” beta.

Ye SangSang set the phone aside, ignoring the message.

Life in the hospital was inevitably dull. After nine o’clock, the aide arrived as usual, carried Ye SangSang into the bathroom, helped her wash, and then set her in the wheelchair.

Seated in her chair, she watched in silence as the aide straightened the sheets and placed the bland hospital meal on the table.

Finally, the aide arranged the chamomile her employer required in a vase by the window, then left as quietly as she had come.

Ye SangSang steered her electric wheelchair forward, parking perfectly at the table, and reached for the chopsticks to eat the tasteless buns.

When she finished, she moved to the lounge to watch TV.

The room, silent until now, was instantly filled with the racket of voices and noise. Ye SangSang’s dark, bottomless eyes remained calm and numb.

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She had been here for three months and fifteen days and was now intimately familiar with every detail of the place.

She didn’t change the channel, and after a while, a familiar phrase echoed from the television.

“Latest news: The holographic game ‘Crime Files’ has begun its closed beta; slots have been distributed. The game is thrilling, but we hope everyone approaches it rationally… Lastly, a reminder to the public: beware of scams and other such risks…”

It was the fifth time today Ye SangSang had seen or heard the words “Crime Files.” A flicker of interest stirred within her.

When the game launched officially, she would try this so-called holographic experience.

Judging by the name, it promised to be stimulating.

Ring, ring… ring, ring…

At that moment, Ye SangSang’s phone rang.

She waited until the news segment ended before picking up the phone. Glancing at the caller ID, she set the phone back down, uninterested.

But the caller was persistent; as soon as she declined, the phone rang again.

After a moment’s thought, Ye SangSang answered.

“Ye SangSang, how dare you not answer my call? Believe me, I’ll have the doctor increase your treatment!”

The voice was arrogant and domineering.

Ye SangSang had expected this and said nothing, knowing the caller would get to the point.

As she anticipated, the silence on her end prompted the caller to continue.

“I checked your personal information and saw that you were selected for the ‘Crime Files’ beta. Listen up—this isn’t something you should have received. The moment the equipment arrives, you’re to hand it over to me. If you don’t, I’ll tell Dad that your condition has worsened and you’re plotting to escape the hospital and kill me.”

The boy’s voice was rough with adolescence, thick with entitlement, as if sure his threat would work.

Ye SangSang recalled the text she’d received an hour earlier. So that was it—he had used her personal information to register for the beta.

It wasn’t a scam text after all; she had genuinely received a slot.

She parted her lips and replied, “I declined.”

Succinct, and perfectly calculated to infuriate.

There was a gasp on the other end, then a voice tinged with rage: “...Ye SangSang! You little bitch, how dare you… That was my slot, not yours! How could you decline it?”

As he shouted, she could hear the sound of objects being thrown.

The corners of Ye SangSang’s mouth lifted in the faintest of smiles. “I didn’t know. If you’d told me earlier, I would have saved it for you.”

“You did it on purpose! You knew I wanted the spot, so you turned it down the moment you got it!” His voice, trembling with anger, came through the receiver.

Ye SangSang’s eyes flickered. After a pause, she said softly, “Too late now. It’s already declined.”

With that, she hung up.

The caller clearly had no intention of letting it go; he kept calling back.

Ye SangSang simply set her phone to silent, then, as it was time to go out, steered her wheelchair into the corridor for some air.

Along the way, she met several fellow patients who greeted her warmly. Having lived together so long, everyone was familiar with one another.

Though Ye SangSang rarely responded, it didn’t dampen their enthusiasm.

By now, the rain had stopped, leaving the air fresh with a hint of rot and mildew.

Nurses carrying trays of medication avoided her as they passed.

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No one stopped her, and no one tried to make conversation.

She sat in the stone pavilion in the garden, her gaze drifting past the hospital’s high walls, “looking” out toward the unknown beyond.

She didn’t know how long she stayed before guiding her wheelchair back.

The aide, as silent as ever, set out lunch as if she were a speechless automaton—if Ye SangSang hadn’t once heard her speak, she might have believed it.

She didn’t care, dutifully eating her allotted meal.

After the aide left, Ye SangSang stared at the silver fork in her hand. Stainless steel glinted under the white light of the lounge.

After three seconds, she set the fork calmly on the table and returned to her own room.

A while later, the aide came in to collect the dishes, clattering them noisily.

Ye SangSang looked up at the verdant leaves outside, as if she hadn’t heard a thing.

Once alone, she picked up her phone and clicked the link from the “Crime Files” message.

The phone directed her to a dark-themed website, decorated with motifs of swords, roses, and scales of justice. A black box popped up.

[Dear player, welcome to the StarRing official site.]

[We have detected that you are a closed beta user for “Crime Files.” Please proceed with facial recognition as instructed on screen.]

Ye SangSang followed the prompts: lift your head, turn, blink.

Once verified, her login was confirmed in the corner of the site.

[Ms. Ye SangSang, you are now logged in. The fully immersive simulation game “Crime Files” welcomes you.]

[It appears you haven’t entered an address. Please provide your shipping details in the pop-up form so we can mail your holographic equipment free of charge.]

A location option was available; she selected it.

Once the address was confirmed, Ye SangSang looked at the page in front of her.

It gave an introduction to StarRing, the game company, and after the main page scrolled, an overview of the “Crime Files” holographic game.

As the name suggested, it was a game built on real criminal cases, simulating worlds for players to enter and experience firsthand.

Every case was based on reality.

There were all types and forms of crime; players could choose any and immerse themselves in roleplay.

Of course, the beta was designed to test for bugs and enhance player enjoyment, so roles would be assigned randomly.

For example: perpetrator, investigator, or victim.

There were also character backgrounds and physical attribute panels to aid the immersive experience.

The accompanying images were indistinguishable from reality.

“This is a truly existing second world.”

If the equipment lived up to this slogan, it would be the real deal.

Gazing at the images, a trace of anticipation appeared on Ye SangSang’s face.

For once, Ye Zhe, that loathsome person, had actually done something good.