AP CH6
Scorching sun. Drenched in sweat.
When Huai Shi came to his senses, he found himself standing on a sports field, with shouts of “Hee-ha!” coming from behind. He seemed to be doing some kind of group calisthenics with the guys opposite him.
Before he could react, a foot kicked him from behind. A burly man in a vest pointed at him and cursed, “Chen Bo, you useless wimp! Didn’t eat your fill, huh?”
After that, the man shoved Huai Shi’s sparring partner aside and took a stance. “Come on, you and me. Let’s spar.”
Peeking over the man’s shoulder, Huai Shi saw the slogan on the wall behind him:
The more you sweat in peacetime, the less you bleed in war.
Before he could make sense of it, his body moved on its own, rushing straight toward the man—no, the instructor—in front of him.
Thud!
A punch to the chest.
Darkness filled Huai Shi’s vision. Pain shot through him.
…
…
“Again!” the instructor beckoned Chen Bo with a curl of his finger.
It was only then that Huai Shi realized he seemed to be in some bizarre possession state, like a spirit latched onto this poor guy’s back, forced to passively endure everything this body experienced.
It felt like a dream—but the pain was painfully real, nothing diluted or dulled.
Thud!
Another throw, followed by a joint lock. Huai Shi felt his face slam into the ground.
“Again!”
Thud!
“Again!”
Thud!
…
The scenes shifted endlessly. In those scattered dream fragments, Huai Shi seemed to be repeating the process of being abused and battered by several instructors.
They seemed to have it in for this unlucky soul he had possessed. Poor form—beaten. Slow reaction—beaten. About to eat—beaten. Just got back to training—beaten again.
Eat, sleep, beat Chen Bo…
The smell of sweat and feet nearly made Huai Shi give up all hope.
Finally, when Chen Bo had become barely capable of holding his own for a few moves in military combat training against the instructors—evolving from a total rookie to a slightly less pathetic one—he got expelled.
Why? Because he got into a fight with local thugs during police training… and was thrown out!
And thus, he became a wandering thug himself!
What joy! What happiness! Huai Shi almost wept. At last, no more beatings.
What the hell was this?
Did he accidentally stumble into some kind of “Super Punching Bag System”?
What followed was beyond description—an endless stream of fragmented nightmares. Huai Shi’s identity kept shifting—from the unlucky trainee endlessly beaten by instructors, to a street thug clutching a cleaver in the summer heat looking for fights… then to a gate guard watching out for cops raiding illegal activities… and then to a sleazy brothel manager greeting customers every night… and finally to a bald middle-aged man stuck in endless meetings…
This poor bastard loved meetings.
Study meetings, discussion meetings, inspection meetings, observation meetings, report meetings… pouring limited energy into an unlimited number of conferences…
Those fragments piled atop one another like a rickety building, layer upon unstable layer, until they reached the limit and collapsed—only to break into thousands more.
Huai Shi’s mind was dragged apart, splintering into hundreds and thousands of selves running endlessly through hundreds and thousands of nightmares on loop.
Like a cheap computer bought for 150 yuan trying to load a galaxy-sized task list, his brain overheated, friction burning against his skull, setting everything ablaze.
Every nightmare shattered all at once.
Huai Shi opened his eyes, gasping violently for air. Sweat dripped from his face, slid down the chair’s armrest, and splattered onto the wet floor.
The clock on the wall ticked steadily on.
Only five minutes had passed since he shut his eyes.
In that time, he’d been punched and kicked 80 or 90 times, been in dozens of fights, hospitalized more than a few times, spent hundreds of days loafing around, sent countless scantily dressed girls into their pink rooms… and attended an uncountable number of meetings.
A full-service social experience package.
…
“Truly… hell itself…”
Huai Shi muttered blankly, sliding weakly off his chair.
In the haze, he shut his eyes.
Might as well die…
For a brief moment, he saw the tragic ruins of his future life laid out before him and sincerely wished for an end.
And just like every wish he had ever made—
—this one was just as unlikely to come true.
…
…
When he opened his eyes again, it was already dawn the next day.
He was still lying on the floor, but his body felt much better, as if he had taken some kind of miracle elixir.
Soon, he noticed the IV needles stuck in his hands. Hmm… one bag of saline and one of glucose…
“You’re awake?”
A crow’s head suddenly popped out from the side, cheerfully congratulating him: “We’ve successfully cured your illness of seeing everyone as a pigeon!”
“…Well, thanks a lot for that.”
“A healer’s heart is like that of a parent. No need to thank me.”
The crow flapped its wings, flew over to the table, perched on the edge, and crossed its legs like a little rascal. With one wing, it produced a cigarette from who-knows-where, expertly lit it, and puffed away like some street thug. Except the smoke it inhaled leaked out from underneath its feathers in wisps, looking bizarrely strange.
“So? Learn anything?” the crow asked.
“Does being alive count?” Huai Shi muttered, grumpily dragging himself up from the floor. He didn’t dare pull out the IVs, so he carefully settled into the chair.
It was only then that he realized—he was no longer the same as before. He was now a man with a Status Panel.
Without delay, he opened the Book of Destiny and eagerly checked the page with his personal stats.
Ignoring the strange “Stress Phase” label at the top, and the empty sections for Stigmata and Divine Imprints, he looked down to the simple and easy-to-understand Skills Section.
His General Knowledge, representing common sense and education, was still a shameful LV3—barely high-school level, and some of that had probably already been returned to the gym teacher.
But his Cello Mastery, representing his musical skill, was something he could be proud of: LV6—reaching the level of a professional. To go any higher would take ninety-nine percent sweat and that crucial one percent of talent.
As for the mysterious skill Death Premonition, it was still grayed out.
This was all starting to feel more and more like some weird game.
…Was this going to force him to pay real money to win?
Huai Shi felt a vague sense of unease.
After last night’s ordeal, Huai Shi had finally grasped how things worked: in the Book of Destiny’s rules, only abilities that were fully mastered and usable at will could be listed as Skills.
A normal person, through lifelong study and practice, could at best reach LV10—the highest level possible.
Of course, like every shady game designed by cruel developers, the early levels were easy enough, but going higher—even by a tiny bit—took hundreds of times more effort.
And for some people, LV10 was already the end. For others… it was just the beginning.
Huai Shi knew this well.
Like two perfect test papers—same score, different meaning.
Level wasn’t everything. It was merely a convenience for the Book of Destiny to help him measure himself.
Sighing at how far he still had to go, Huai Shi kept scrolling—and discovered that overnight, he’d gained some new skills.
[Combat: Basic Military Boxing LV4]
[Reconnaissance LV4]
And a rather dubious one: [Illegal Organization Management LV3]
Then—
“What the hell?!”
The crow squawked, shocked. “Why is your Document Drafting skill already LV6?!”
Huai Shi rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? Try sitting through hundreds of meetings and then writing hundreds of reports and study notes! See how you feel!”
He didn’t feel much about the military boxing or reconnaissance skills—those were things he’d learned passively, from being beaten and watching others. But writing those endless reports and reflections… that was true blood, sweat, and tears.
His greatest harvest from last night wasn’t fighting or lookout skills—it was the supreme ability to pad documents!
He was now so skilled he could effortlessly sneak an entire Pacific Ocean’s worth of nonsense into any update—and he could split it perfectly into clean 3,000-character sections, so as not to go over the limit and waste effort.
“You better remember this part well,” Huai Shi smugly patted his Book of Destiny. “Next time you write reports, follow this exact format.”
He crossed his legs and sighed in satisfaction. “If I ever write novels… I’d make a fortune.”
“Writers never end well,” the crow muttered ominously beside his ear. “Most go bald before middle age. Like that… what’s-his-name Hu? That Guo guy? And that wandering Jun something…”
Huai Shi shivered.
No thanks. Best not to tempt fate.
“But speaking of which…”
He flipped to the appendix at the back of the book. The dossiers there seemed drained of all meaning. Most of the writing had vanished, leaving only blank, sterile forms.
“Why are these people’s memories appearing in the book?” he wondered.
“Oh? You didn’t know?”
The crow seemed surprised but explained casually, “The Book of Destiny is bound to you now. It only records things related to you.
As for these fragments—I’d guess they all died because of you.”
“…What?”
Huai Shi froze.
“Yep. About seventy-something people, give or take,” the crow said lightly. “Sadly, only four or five of them had enough Source activity left to imprint their most vivid memories here. Fewer and fewer people these days have the potential to awaken… you should be grateful to them, you know.”
“…”
Huai Shi inhaled sharply, goosebumps breaking out all over him. Instinctively, he leaned away from the crow and the book.
But then he realized—even if he threw the book and the crow into the deepest trench of the sea, it would do no good.
He finally understood why the military had suddenly dragged him in for interrogation.
Because… those people yesterday… were probably all dead.
All of them.
Only he remained.
Even thinking about it made him tremble—as if that blood-soaked murderous ape was standing right behind him, grinning hungrily.
It took a long, long time before Huai Shi calmed down, forcing out a dry chuckle. “Isn’t this… a bit much?”
“Oh no, Huai Shi. This is exactly how it is. The world isn’t as safe and peaceful as you think. The sky, the earth, this country, this city… all of them hide things you’ve never seen.
Truths that must never be known. Borders that must never be crossed. Hells that must never be glimpsed.
As long as you stay in the narrow shelter of the Present World, you’ll never see the truth.”
The crow watched him silently, admiring the boy’s stunned expression.
Then, softly, she asked:
“—Huai Shi, do you long to possess a soul?”