Earth-71342 – 12th October, 2025
An hour had passed since the Live View feature had stabilized, and governments around the world were still scrambling. Emergency sessions were convened in glass-and-steel towers, in bunkers beneath ancient capitals, and aboard orbiting stations. Scientists, military strategists, and AI analysts furiously tapped at holographic displays, trying to make sense of what they were seeing—or, more precisely, what they weren't.
"Do not use the panels without authorization," came repeated announcements across every media channel, every public broadcast. "This is a global anomaly. Your safety is not guaranteed."
But it was too late. The people of Earth-71342 ignored the warnings. Fingers swiped across glowing search bars. Grids of ticking frames were navigated obsessively. Children peered over parents' shoulders. Entire streets crowded around public panels. The world was captivated, entranced, and desperate for answers. The official voice of caution drowned beneath the collective heartbeat of curiosity and fear.
In a small apartment on the outskirts of Shanghai, the Fang family sat huddled around the flickering golden panel in their living room.
Fang Lee, a stocky man with graying temples, clenched his fists in frustration. Beside him, his wife, Liu Minhua, smoothed her apron nervously, glancing between the screen and her husband. Their son, Fang Yuren, had vanished a week prior, and no one could tell them what had become of him—till now, as bits and pieces of a tower circled around.
Also present was Yuren's childhood friend, Chen Jia, her black hair tied neatly behind her shoulders. She had been the first to discover the golden panels and had rushed to share the news with the Fang family. Alongside her were her parents, Chen Wei and Lin Fang, who had come not only to support Jia but also to offer what little hope they could.
"We'll find him," Jia said firmly, placing a reassuring hand on Minhua's shoulder. "The screen—it's showing everyone else. Your boy is out there somewhere. We just have to keep looking."
For a moment, silence fell over the room. They all stared at the panel, desperate for a glimpse, for a sign, for some confirmation that their son was alive. Then, just for a heartbeat, Yuren's stream appeared—a faint image, blurred but unmistakable. And then it vanished.
A small line of text appeared: [You have been blocked.]
Minhua's breath hitched. Fang Wei's fists unclenched, only to tighten again in frustration. Jia leaned closer, whispering encouragement, trying to shield the family's hope from collapsing.
Now, an hour later, the Live View blinked again. This time, the username displayed was no longer Fang Yuren—but Zhang Rui.
The room froze.
On the screen, he stepped through the bronze door, the improvised Iron-Scaled Chestpiece covering his torso, with shoulder guards, bracers, and greaves layered over it. A quiver of arrows rested on his back, his bow slung over one shoulder. A blue tie knotted through his belt loops secured two pouches at his sides.
Faint firefly-like light caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, tracing the hardened frame of someone who had survived things ordinary people couldn't imagine.
"Zhang Rui…" Minhua whispered, her voice trembling.
Chen Jia's hand tightened around hers. "He's alive," she said, voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes. "He's alive."
Fang Wei stepped forward, his expression torn between relief and suspicion. "But… why the name change? Why Zhang Rui?"
Chen Jia shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe it's how the Tower works. Maybe he changed it himself. But it doesn't matter—he's alive. That's all that matters."
The two families leaned in, watching Zhang Rui move with purpose across the stone floor, adjusting his bowstring and checking the weight of his pouches. Every motion was deliberate and controlled—nothing like the gentle high schooler they once knew.
For the first time in a week, a fragile light returned to their eyes.
Hope.
—
Inside Player Tower's Testing Sector
Zhang Rui moved through the narrow tunnel, following the faint glow of tiny winged insects that fluttered ahead like living lanterns. The walls were jagged, rough stone scraping his arms as he passed, and the ground was uneven beneath his boots. But soon the claustrophobic passage opened, and he stepped into a massive chamber.
A large spinning pavilion rotated slowly in the center, aligning as he approached. The moment it stopped, a seat pulled forward, waiting for him.
[The Tower congratulates all of you for being the first group of Earth-71342 participants to fill your pavilion seats.]
[3/3] (Full)
[As the first participants in this testing sector to achieve this, you shall each be rewarded with three Revival Slips and a One-Way Return Token. This token will allow each of you to return to Earth at any time you wish. (Be warned: if you leave, you forfeit reentry into the Tower. If the One-Way Return Tokens are not used before or during the Second Testing Sector, they will no longer be available.]
A golden panel formed in front of Zhang Rui. His heart sank the moment he saw 3/3.
He knew exactly what that meant.
In every version of the Tower he had written, every Testing Sector followed the same brutal structure: a trial to clear an entire floor as a group. The main difference was always the number of players trapped together at a pavilion table.
A decagon had ten players.
A nonagon has nine.
An octagon held eight.
And so on.
The lowest he had ever written in his drafts was a hexagon—six players. Anything less than that was suicide.
But now? Right in front of him stood a triangular pavilion. A table of three.
Half of the lowest number he had ever created.
No. No, no, fuck—out of all the tables, why would I be placed at the triangle? Panic flared in his chest, but he crushed it down immediately. The last thing he needed was to spiral now.
He forced a crooked laugh and stepped forward casually, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Hey, looks like there are actually people in this place. I thought I was going to be trapped alone for a while."
If I die, then I'll just retry with another group, he told himself as he fully emerged from the tunnel's shadow. No need to panic yet.
"My name's Zhang Rui," he said, resting his bow against his shoulder. "I guess I'm the archer of the group."
His eyes shifted to the other two players. One was a girl with long green hair and a traditional green dress, her gaze calm but unreadable. The other was a man holding a wooden training sword. The weapon was crude, scarred along the edges as if it had smashed against iron rather than wood.
"I'm guessing you two are melee fighters?" he asked.
The two strangers turned when Zhang Rui stepped forward.
The girl with jade-green hair blinked once, her expression calm but unreadable. Her dress—a flowing traditional qipao—rustled as she shifted. Beside her, the man in loose training robes rested a hand casually on the wooden sword slung over his shoulder.
"I am Lin Qiao," the girl said with a faint nod. Her voice was soft but steady. "Grass Sect disciple—support specialist. I can treat injuries, wrap wounds, and call forth the Heavenly Sovereign's grace against my enemies."
The man beside her chuckled and shook his head. "Don't mind her. She thinks talking like a martial arts sage will help her Dao Seed advance faster. If you're wondering what that even means, just read what's inside your golden slip later. Annoying as it is, her method does kind of work—but don't think you have to copy her. She's just dramatic."
He thumped a hand against his chest. "Name's Zhao Ren. And the girl who introduced herself is actually Zhao Qiao—my little sister. By the way, nice gear. Where'd you get that stuff?"
"Good to meet you," Zhang Rui said, forcing a polite smile. "As for these—I made them—"
Lin Qiao—Zhao Qiao—cut him off sharply, turning to glare at her brother. "Hey, Zhao Ren… Didn't you see the Tower message just now?"
"Huh?" Zhao Ren blinked, confused by the sudden irritation in her voice.
"Didn't we agree not to reveal our real identities? We're supposed to stay private except with family. But here you are, just handing out my name like it means nothing! If you're going to act like this, go home and stop ruining my plans!"
"What plans? Making a fool of yourself?" Zhao Ren leaned back casually in his seat. "Like I said, your method works, but you don't have to act possessed while doing it."
"I really shouldn't have told you about my nurturing method," Lin Qiao muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. She turned back to Zhang Rui and sighed. "Well, the mystery's ruined now, so let me reintroduce myself. Hi, I'm Zhao Qiao—but you can keep calling me Lin Qiao."
Zhang Rui nodded and cupped his hands respectfully. The siblings' eyes drifted down to the bundle he was holding—wrapped in a half-soaked school shirt.
"Then let's start again," he said. "Nice to meet you, Sister Lin Qiao and Brother Zhao Ren. You both introduced yourselves, but I didn't get the chance to introduce myself properly."
He smiled. "I'm Zhang Rui. I'm not particularly good at archery, but I somehow passed my trial~."
His laughter was light and disarming. The siblings took a better look at him now—the bow strapped to his back, the floating bamboo slips hovering around him, and one enhanced arrow still encased in a faint glow. Their gazes dropped to his waist—two pouches there—then to his quiver packed with reinforced arrows.
He said he made his gear… Lin Qiao thought, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. So he's not just an archer—he's a craftsman. That means he can upgrade equipment. If that's true, it'd be better to stay on his good side.
Zhao Ren had the same thought. The siblings shared a glance, and a silent agreement passed between them.
"You don't need to be modest," Zhao Ren said, waving Zhang Rui over. "If you survived your challenge, that means you're good enough."
"And since we're already ahead of you here, we can give you some pointers," Lin Qiao added, gesturing toward the pavilion. "First—you'll be needing a seat." She flashed a smile, polite yet calculating.
Zhang Rui turned to where she pointed. Under the golden pavilion, on the stone chair assigned to him, a new outfit lay neatly folded—a dark-gray Tang jacket and matching pants, waiting for him.
On the pedestal beside his seat rested several items:
A golden bamboo slip etched with shifting characters.
A silver bamboo slip, sealed with jade wax.
A golden coin engraved with his own face on both sides.
Floating above the table—a small ivory-white token carved with the word RETURN.
Identical tokens hovered beside Lin Qiao and Zhao Ren.
Zhang Rui lowered his hands and returned Lin Qiao's polite smile. "Then I'll be in your care. I'll trouble you two to explain what exactly is going on."
He stepped forward and settled beneath the pavilion's shade.