AUS Chapter 16: Liu Jiang, Your World is So Complicated

I really should have anticipated this.

While unpacking the system program, I discovered a jump point in the system’s task process. In other words, there’s a watershed moment; from a certain node, the entire system jumps to another set of programs.

At the time, I assumed it was a backup program to prevent system crashes, because that’s my coding style – I always leave a backdoor. However, I didn’t expect this supposed backup program to actually be the correct, intended program.

After a moment of disorientation, I landed on a soft cushion.

What is this? I reached out and touched it. It felt completely different from Liu Jiang’s bed, like a velvet cushion filled with foam.

Then I heard the sound of a circuit breaker being flipped, and the surroundings instantly brightened. I squinted and took a while to see where I was.

This is… a hotel lobby?

Not just any hotel, but the kind that has been open for many years, with once-luxurious decorations, now deserted.

The floor tiles were dark gold marble. Not far away were luggage carts and green plants. I was sitting in the lobby’s resting area, my bottom on a dark red velvet sofa. I was still wearing the clothes I had on during the jump – a black short-sleeved shirt, school uniform pants, and a pair of plastic slippers from Liu Jiang’s house.

I looked completely out of place in the hotel.

Is this the “lobby” the system mentioned?

I tried to talk to the system, but this clearly wasn’t the simulation environment anymore. There was no response.

I stood up and started to look around. Soothing music played in the lobby. Listening carefully, I could also hear the faint sound of the air conditioning vents and the steel cables of the elevator moving. Not far from me was the hotel reception desk, but there was no one there.

Standing in front of the reception desk, I rang the service bell and looked around the lobby again. Everything looked like an ordinary hotel, as if a group of elderly tourists with flags would walk in the door any second, or a bellhop who had just delivered luggage would step out of the elevator.

However, nothing happened.

I stood there, listening to the world play along with me for two minutes as if there was light, but nothing happened.

My throat tightened, and I started to panic. Just as I was about to turn around and ring the bell again, a voice spoke from behind me.

The voice was calm: “Hello, tester. Welcome to the lobby.”

I immediately turned my head and met the gaze of an older bellhop, slightly taller than me.

Without hesitation, I blurted out: “Holy crap! Are you human?”

He replied: “Hello, I am not.”

After a moment of silence, I felt this conversation was a bit too bizarre, so I cleared my throat and straightened up.

I said: “I meant to ask, are you a character controlled by a real person, or just a command generated by the system?”

He remained calm and courteous: “As I just mentioned, I am not a real person, just a system assistant during your simulation process.”

That makes sense. I saw it when I unpacked the backend. This simulation system only allows one person to connect at a time, so the bellhop in front of me, like everyone else I’ll meet here, is an NPC.

The bellhop wore a common black vest and white shirt. He was thin, with a few wrinkles on his face, looking somewhat older, but his demeanor was not senile. He stood tall, his graying hair combed back.

He looked no different from any other hotel bellhop I’d seen, utterly ordinary.

He said: “Let me introduce myself. You should already have some understanding of me – I am the ‘system’ that served you in the previous levels. You can continue to call me ‘system’ as before.”

So this was the guy who reminded me to sprint in the strong wind and calmly announced the objectives before each level.

I remembered.

When our company was developing this simulation game, we did consider adding a level selection feature for players, similar to the safe room in the Resident Evil series, or the bathroom mirror cabinet before the war in Fallout 4. Here, time is relatively static compared to the game itself. As long as the player doesn’t leave, nothing will happen. Players can rest and recuperate, and enter the next level when they are ready.

And such safe areas usually require players to pass the so-called “tutorial levels” – that is, the first few levels – before they can be accessed. From this perspective, I have now truly entered the game.

I looked around again, this time understanding that this was the environment my colleagues had developed. Now, looking at it, it did have a strange, deserted feeling, despite the semblance of life.

I suddenly remembered the last conversation I had with the system before being pulled into the “lobby.”

Staring into the bellhop’s consistently gentle eyes, I asked him: “So, the objective of the last level was for me to realize I’m a mundane person?”

He pondered for a moment and nodded: “You are correct, but not entirely. Technically, you just needed to negate your previous thoughts in any way, and you have done so. Congratulations.”

He finished speaking and paused with a smile. For a moment, I thought he was going to clap for me with his white-gloved hands.

Fortunately, he didn’t, or I definitely would have gotten angry.

I pressed my hand to my forehead, struggling to form words, finally asking: “Are you trying to say that I myself am the embodiment of worldly perspectives?”

The system neither agreed nor disagreed, gesturing towards the dessert stand on the counter: “If you need to rest, you can have a candy and relax on the sofa.”

I waved my hand, indicating that I didn’t need to, pressed both hands to my forehead, paced in a circle, and finally grabbed a lemon candy from the dessert stand.

The sweet and sour taste filled my mouth, and I finally accepted the system’s quirks once again.

The system spoke at a very opportune moment: “Since you are ready, why don’t I explain the progress of the next levels?”

What else could I do? Listen!

The bellhop came out from behind the reception counter and gestured with his hand, inviting me to follow. We entered the elevator that arrived right on time. After a short elevator ride accompanied by the sound of steel cables, we arrived at the floor labeled “2.”

The elevator doors opened, revealing a short corridor directly in front of us. Like the lobby, the corridor was standard hotel fare: patterned carpet, warm wall lamps, a seating area with sofas and coffee tables. Walking forward, I looked at the room numbers and quickly noticed a pattern.

From left to right, the numbers on the doors were “2-1” and “2-2.” Clearly, these were the levels I needed to continue to “clear.”

The system promptly explained: “These are the levels you need to proceed with. After each successful completion, I will bring you to the corresponding level. Just open the door to enter. You can freely rest in the lobby without entering a level.”

I turned to look at the elevator we came from, and a thought suddenly popped into my head.

I asked him: “Can the elevator also take me to levels I’ve already cleared?”

The bellhop nodded: “Yes, if you wish to revisit a completed level, I can take you back at any time.”

Sure enough, this was like the level selection screen of a stage-based game. Completed sections could be revisited and explored at any time. From this perspective, this game was quite worthwhile.

Unfortunately, I had no desire to reminisce at the moment.

I expressed my thoughts directly: “I want to go to the next level now.”

The system didn’t offer any further explanation. After he nodded in agreement, another thought suddenly came to mind.

It couldn’t be helped, it’s an occupational hazard as a backend developer – ideas always abound.

I asked him: “I’ve passed the tutorial level and officially entered the game’s storyline. Aren’t there any rewards?”

To be honest, when I asked, I didn’t really think about what the “rewards” would be. It was just a gaming habit, like virtual item rewards after clearing a level, which could be used for skill upgrades or item purchases, or perhaps just a bonus level.

Like me and Liu Jiang—

Stop.

I looked at the bellhop with a sincere expression, pretending I hadn’t thought of anything.

The bellhop looked at me with an equally sincere expression and said: “There are.”

There really are?

He continued: “After you successfully complete each level, you have one opportunity to ask me a question that exceeds my authority.”

Exceeds your authority?

He added: “I won’t give you examples of what constitutes a question that exceeds my authority, because giving examples itself would exceed my authority.”

I hesitated, and he said again: “Just a reminder, you have already used your reward question opportunity for this level.”

I hesitated again, then frowned: “When did I use it?”

Then it dawned on me. It must have been when I asked, “Are you human?”

“That was a question that exceeded your authority?” I felt like I had been scammed by a con artist.

He smiled politely and answered indirectly: “I suggest you choose your question carefully after completing the next level.”

I put my hands back into the pockets of my school uniform pants. Being in high school student form meant I didn’t have to pay much attention to my image; being a little casual didn’t matter.

I said, “Asking you for a hint for the next level shouldn’t be considered exceeding your authority, right?”

He nodded in affirmation and replied: “Actually, from the next level onwards, I won’t always be readily available for you to call upon.”

He stepped back and gestured towards the room with the number “2-1.”

“Starting from the next level, your experience will be much closer to the real world. I will become a program within your communication device. If you need me, please use your communication device to call me. Also, level objectives will be sent to you as messages to ensure our presence doesn’t affect your gameplay experience.”

Questioning whether he was “human” now seemed a bit rash, because hearing him speak a long paragraph without any hesitation didn’t seem like something a living person could do.

I marveled again. If there were no apocalypse, and this game was successfully developed and launched, I couldn’t imagine the public’s reaction.

“Well then,” I said, “thank you for your trouble.”

He understood my unspoken meaning, nodded with a smile, took a key card from his pocket, and swiped it to open the door to room “2-1” for me.

The door opened with a click, and the lights in the room came on. It was a very ordinary standard room, with a dark red patterned carpet extending into the room, wooden furniture, plain bedding – everything was unremarkable.

But I knew that this ordinariness, like everything else in this world, was just a facade.

Under the bellhop’s calm gaze, I turned and stepped into the room.