Chapter One: A New World

Stepping out of the company’s main entrance, Zhang Shan felt a bit lost and reluctant—after all, it was a place where he had worked for several years.

Zhang Shan was now unemployed, a drifter for the time being. The reason for his resignation was simple: he saw no hope, no prospects for making money. He wanted a change. As he grew older, he realized that if he didn’t change now, he might never have another chance.

In this materialistic age, having no money is an original sin. He wasn’t aiming for extraordinary wealth, but merely scraping by was clearly not enough—even finding a partner was out of reach. He didn’t need a car or a house, but at the very least, he wanted to be able to support a family.

Zhang Shan knew that, at present, he didn’t have that ability. He could barely support himself. So whenever he failed at a blind date, he never complained—he understood that his own shortcomings were to blame. He had little respect for himself, so how could he expect others to see him differently?

That’s why Zhang Shan quit his job. He wanted a new kind of work and lifestyle. Even if he was merely jumping from one pit into another, he had to try. Without trying, without changing, he knew he would remain in this limbo forever.

Walking through the dazzling, bustling city streets, watching the hurried workers all around him, Zhang Shan suddenly stopped in his tracks and looked up at a digital billboard on a skyscraper.

“Two days until ‘New World’ launches.” The video showcased thrilling battle scenes, characters dressed in dazzling attire, and grand, sweeping environments—enough to stir anyone’s blood.

Watching the ad, Zhang Shan felt a surge of anticipation for the future.

Yes, this was his plan—a new way of working and living. He wanted to make a living through gaming.

Nowadays, making a living from games was nothing new. Many people relied on gaming for their income—working at game companies, streaming, going pro as esports players, running gaming studios, forming professional farming teams, or trading virtual goods. It was a vast professional community.

Zhang Shan wanted to join this industry, to give it a try.

However, he didn’t want to work for someone else anymore. He wanted to be a solo professional gamer: free to work and live as he pleased. Farming for in-game currency, gear, and items, then trading them—this was how many gamers made their money.

“New World” was different from any previous game. There was no top-up system, only a trading system. That meant the developers didn’t sell in-game currency or any items. If whales wanted to spend money, they could only buy blue coins from other players, with the official game providing a dedicated trading channel.

Why did such a seemingly public-spirited game exist? The reason was simple: it was developed and operated under the auspices of the Blue Star Alliance government. Its purpose wasn’t to make money—or at least, not just to make money.

“New World” was the government’s bold attempt to address a series of new-era social problems—an effort to expand people’s entertainment options, broaden their living space, and enrich their spiritual world, even if virtually.

It was precisely because of this unique background that Zhang Shan decided to resign and take his shot in the game. Who knew? Maybe he could win a future for himself. After all, people need dreams; without dreams, one is no better than a salted fish. He had been a salted fish for so many years—he couldn’t stay that way forever.

Back at his apartment, Zhang Shan immediately took out his phone and ordered a “New World” gaming helmet. It cost ten thousand blue coins—not cheap, nearly equivalent to two months’ salary, which pained him a bit.

Fortunately, though the pay at his old job had been low, he’d worked there for years and saved up a little each month. He’d managed to amass a modest sum—over a hundred thousand blue coins. It wasn’t enough for any grand undertaking, but buying a helmet and playing for a while was no problem.

“New World” was touted as a fully immersive virtual reality game, accessible only with specialized equipment. One option was the helmet Zhang Shan had just ordered; the other, a premium model, was a gaming pod resembling a space capsule.

If filled with nutrient solution, the pod could allegedly keep a person in-game for over ten days straight without any harm to their body—on the contrary, it was said to be beneficial. But such luxury was beyond Zhang Shan’s reach. The pods started at several million, and even the nutrient solution was unaffordable. It was rumored to be a blend of high-grade health supplements, specially formulated. Zhang Shan didn’t know the details, but he knew one thing: it was expensive.

Just because Zhang Shan couldn’t afford it didn’t mean others couldn’t. According to the official website, over fifty thousand pods had already been sold. The Alliance’s purchasing power was astounding. Among the Alliance’s billions of citizens, there was never a shortage of wealthy people.

The helmets had sold even more—over twenty million, according to statistics. This spoke to the game’s popularity: even before launch, countless people were ready to join.

Checking his order on his phone, Zhang Shan saw there was about half an hour to go before his helmet would arrive. Express delivery had become truly impressive.

With nothing to do while waiting, Zhang Shan scrolled through his contacts and found “Boss Wu.”

Of course, Wu wasn’t really a boss—he was Zhang Shan’s old university buddy, Wu Qinglin, with whom he’d shared many cigarettes.

Back when they were fresh graduates making their way in Peng City, Wu Qinglin had joked at a gathering, “May we all be bosses someday!” and saved everyone’s contacts as “Boss So-and-so.”

The passions of youth—thinking back on them now made Zhang Shan smile. Such fond memories.

The call connected; amid a jumble of background noise, Wu Qinglin seemed to have just gotten off work.

“Boss Zhang, what can I do for you?”

“Do for me? I’m out of a job.”

“No way, why? Weren’t things going well for you? Don’t tell me you got fired for flirting with colleagues?”

“Nonsense, you know as well as I do—there aren’t any women in our company, just a bunch of aunties. I quit on my own. Worked there for so long and felt it was pointless, so I left.”

“Your boss let you go that easily? What about your job?”

“My boss was eager to see an old-timer like me leave. As he puts it, ‘Anyone with hands can do your job.’ I could leave anytime—handover done in minutes; resigned in the morning, gone by evening.”

“That’s true; your job was dull and going nowhere. Wages barely rose over the years—stay any longer, and you wouldn’t even make enough for meals. So what’s your plan? Need me to ask around for you?”

“No need. I plan to join the gaming crowd and see if I can make a living there.”

“No kidding? You think that’ll work? Wait, are you talking about ‘New World’? That might actually be possible. Just from the introduction, you can tell this game is different—not like those old traps we used to play.”

“What about you? Planning to play too? Unwind after work?”

“Where’s the money for that? A helmet costs ten thousand. I need to save for the baby’s formula.”

Wu Qinglin had married the year before last; his child was just over a year old. It made sense—raising a child was tough for ordinary people these days. Even someone as carefree as Wu had to save for baby formula and couldn’t splurge on a helmet. The pressures of society were heavy.

“All right, I’ll test out ‘New World’ in a couple of days and see what it’s like. I’ll give it six months, and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll look for a job.”

“Sounds good. Give it a try. You’re still single and free—do as you please. Come hang out sometime.”

“Will do. Let me play for a while, see how the game is. I’ll visit you and meet little Mengmeng when I have time.” (Little Mengmeng was Wu’s daughter’s nickname—a cute little girl.)

They chatted a bit more and ended the call.

Thinking back on their youthful ambitions, Zhang Shan couldn’t help but sigh.

Setting his phone aside, he surveyed his messy room and decided to tidy up. He folded his clothes, boxed up all sorts of useless odds and ends to throw away, grabbed the mop, and gave the place a thorough cleaning. After a short while, it looked decent enough for a human to live in.

“Ding dong, ding dong—1102. Alliance Express Delivery.”

Zhang Shan opened the door to find a smiling courier standing outside with a package.

“Hello, sir, please confirm receipt of your package.”

Zhang Shan signed for it swiftly.

“Thank you.”

He closed the door, quickly opened the package, and took out the beautifully packaged gaming helmet. Excitement filled him as he followed the instructions—plugging it in and putting it on.

A display slowly unfolded before his eyes. A pleasant voice sounded in his ears: “Welcome to New World. Verifying identity, please wait…”

“Beep beep beep. Identity verification complete. Citizen Zhang Shan of the Alliance, your user information is now linked to this gaming device. New World will officially open on August 18, 2058, at 8:00 AM. Please look forward to it. You may visit the official website and forums for more information about the game.”

Hearing this, Zhang Shan remembered that the game’s forum had opened today. He’d already studied the official site, but there was little information there. He decided to visit the official forum and see what the experts had to say.

In the upper right corner of his display, the words “Game Forum” appeared. Zhang Shan focused his attention there, and the forum interface immediately expanded, floating over a third of the screen.

Brainwave connection—it felt almost like controlling things with his thoughts. Technology was truly amazing. It seemed that, in the future, he could grind mobs and browse the forum at the same time.

To be honest, it had been years since Zhang Shan last played a game, and he’d never experienced a gaming helmet before. It all felt so futuristic—almost magical.