6. Then launch a powerful offensive online.

Chen Sheng was first bewildered, then astonished. The healing game had started without so much as a warning, dragging him right in without any advance notice.

“Is it because I’m wearing these glasses?” he wondered. But he quickly realized the crucial point—once he exited the game, he’d better switch back to his old pair, just in case these interfered with his daily life or work.

After all, the game’s “user experience” was crafted to perfection. The immersion was so convincing, it seemed to deceive his very mind. At this moment, Chen Sheng could not help but suspect he had truly crossed into another world.

He found himself in a gloomy, old house. Judging by the worn doors, windows, and courtyard walls, this residence must have stood for over a century, every surface bearing the marks of time.

“Is this a game scenario?” he mused. “So, where’s my starter gear?”

Chen Sheng looked himself over but found no backpack. He scanned the area, but nothing like a backpack was in sight. There wasn’t anything remotely game-related, not even a personal account interface.

“No prompts at all?” Chen Sheng muttered, his urge to complain growing. “Isn’t this supposed to be a single-player game? At the very least, shouldn’t there be some kind of tutorial?”

Just as he was mulling over the possibility of a historical setting for this quest, the tightly closed door ahead suddenly opened, and a group of people stepped inside.

They were just as startled to see Chen Sheng as he was to see them. One man’s face darkened with anger, but instead of unleashing it on Chen Sheng, he turned to someone behind him. “How did you find these extras? Who let him in here? Don’t you know the rules?”

The one being scolded was a middle-aged man with an honest, mild-mannered face. He kept his head bowed, silent and resigned, as though he was used to such treatment.

After a few more harsh words, the angry man ordered everyone to start preparing. The middle-aged man approached Chen Sheng, his expression unchanged, even offering a small, apologetic smile. “Don’t mind the director—he’s always like that. Since you’re here, go get changed. Just do what you did yesterday.”

Chen Sheng’s astonishment deepened—not because of the man’s personality, but the way everyone behaved. They didn’t seem like game NPCs at all; they were far too lifelike, too real.

But thinking about the game’s advanced settings, perhaps such realism was to be expected. And so, Chen Sheng followed the middle-aged man to change clothes, curious to see how the story would unfold.

On the way, the man introduced people—not to help Chen Sheng be recognized, but to let him know who everyone was. “This is Xiao Li, responsible for filming. This is Su, the stagehand.”

Just as Chen Sheng suspected, this was a film crew preparing to shoot a drama.

Suddenly, commotion broke out among the crew. A young man strode in with several others, immediately scanning the room. Not seeing whom he sought, he approached the director and demanded, “Where’s Qian? Why don’t I see her? I had my dad invest in this just for her! Don’t tell me you didn’t get her here!”

Being confronted so rudely, the director’s face nevertheless remained wreathed in smiles. “Of course not! I wouldn’t dare deceive you, Young Master Qi! Qian’s scenes don’t start until tonight, so she’s still resting at the hotel.”

“So I have to wait?” Young Master Qi was clearly displeased. His gaze swept the room, then landed on Chen Sheng. He jabbed a finger at him. “You! Go to the hotel and tell Qian I’m here. Tell her to get over here—now!”

Chen Sheng simply frowned, unmoving.

“Didn’t you hear me? Are you deaf? Why are you just standing there?” Young Master Qi’s expression grew hostile.

“I heard you,” Chen Sheng replied, finally speaking as he walked over to Qi. Qi, brows knit, was waiting for an explanation—when suddenly, a flash of steel: a knife plunged into his abdomen.

The warm blood spilled onto Chen Sheng’s hand, making him pause in surprise and admiration for the game’s realism. The sensation, the temperature of the blood—everything was uncannily real.

This healing game was extraordinary.

Even as he marveled, Chen Sheng pulled out the knife and, catching the director off guard, slashed his throat.

Why put up with abuse just to play a game?

Really, who could endure that?

But this healing game truly lived up to its name—it seemed to anticipate his desire for cathartic action, even providing him with a weapon. He had no idea where the knife had come from; it had simply appeared in his hand.

Seeing the game present him with such an option, how could Chen Sheng hesitate?

The director collapsed, clutching his throat and making a few harsh, gurgling sounds, eyes wide in terror at Chen Sheng, before dying with barely a struggle.

Chen Sheng watched, once again awestruck.

It was so realistic! As if a real person had been murdered, the game’s design was nothing short of miraculous.

“You killed someone!” Young Master Qi, not felled by a single blow, screamed in terror when he saw this.

Chen Sheng merely looked at him as if he were an idiot. He’d already stabbed the man—wasn’t it obvious? This didn’t fit the logic of a game at all.

Was this a bug?

He made a mental note to check if reporting bugs to the developers would earn him a reward.

With that in mind, he decided to finish the job—only to be stopped.

Someone rescued Young Master Qi: the middle-aged man. He stepped between them, blocking Chen Sheng. “You can’t kill anymore. If you do, something terrible will happen. We’ll all die!”

Hearing this, Chen Sheng sensed there was more to the story. He raised the knife. “Is it because of this?”

It was an ordinary fruit knife—at least, it looked that way. But no fruit knife in the market was as hard, as sharp as this one.

It could kill with a single cut, slice through iron as if it were mud.

The middle-aged man was momentarily stunned by the question. He glanced at the knife, puzzled, then frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because it suddenly appeared in my hand,” Chen Sheng replied, his face expressionless.

Not that he cared much. After all, it was just a game. Even if a ghost appeared, Chen Sheng would not hesitate to stab it. Whether or not he’d succeed, he refused to lose his nerve.