Chapter One: The Virtual World

Around ten o’clock at night, the lights in an office on one of the upper floors of a towering building were still brightly lit. At this hour, most people were already home, enjoying their well-deserved rest, but Chen Hao remained hunched over his desk, buried in overtime work.

In fact, Chen Hao was not alone; many others on this floor were still hard at work. The reason so many people had gathered to work late into the weekend night was actually quite simple—a recent, powerful electronic network virus had erupted across the globe. It had appeared suddenly, without warning, and within a single night, the world’s electronic networks were infiltrated without exception.

Nearly every secret stored within global electronic networks was stolen by this virus. Yet, curiously, the virus seemed content with merely stealing information; it showed little interest in publicizing or leaking any intelligence. The world’s digital order, therefore, experienced no great chaos, and none of the stolen data was ever released through any clandestine channels. It was as if the whole incident were nothing more than an elaborate prank by the virus itself.

Nonetheless, the virus’s rampage left its mark: the most direct result was the destruction of numerous network databases. People remained on high alert, and IT professionals worldwide spared no effort in attempting to crack the virus’s code. Government-trained cyber agents, corporate tech experts from major conglomerates, and even legendary lone-wolf hackers—all were united in pursuit of a single goal.

But just as everyone seemed on the verge of tracing the virus to its source, it abruptly and completely vanished from the digital world, as though it had never existed. Every trace and shred of information about the virus disappeared without a trace.

If not for the damaged databases serving as grim reminders, people might have dismissed the entire affair as a bad dream.

It was for this reason that Chen Hao, along with so many others, was burning the midnight oil—repairing the databases ravaged by the virus.

Chen Hao worked for Unreal, the world’s largest online game company—a title earned thanks to a legendary game coveted by players everywhere: Virtual World.

Admittedly, the name was so plain it bordered on absurd, lacking any grandeur or flair. Even two or three decades earlier, no self-respecting game company would have chosen such a bland title for its flagship product.

Yet, regardless of its unimpressive name, the game’s brilliance shone across the globe. From a technical perspective, it was the most successful virtual reality game ever created, pushing the boundaries of VR interactive technology to their very limits.

It stood as a testament to human imagination and ingenuity. The game boasted not only an expansive world and intricate lore, but also, most impressively, a virtual reality experience of breathtaking realism. Every facet—character avatars, non-player characters, and background environments—was rendered with such authenticity that even the most nitpicky critics could not fault the visuals. The effects were so lifelike, it became nearly impossible to distinguish between fantasy and reality.

What made all this possible was a unique feature: this pinnacle of next-generation VR games did not involve simply viewing a screen. Instead, it utilized sensors to read players’ brainwaves, allowing them to roam freely through worlds constructed within their minds.

When entering the game, players would use a sensor to immerse themselves in a pre-set world of thought—a shared dream where everyone could interact with one another, reminiscent of the film Inception.

Compared to the elaborate mechanics of Inception, entering this game was remarkably simple: all one needed was a connected console and two brainwave sensor leads. With these, anyone could easily dive into the game.

Upon its release, the game was met with a frenzy of excitement, eclipsing even World of Warcraft, which had reigned supreme as the world’s top online game.

Chen Hao was a senior program administrator at this colossal company. Like many others, he had started as a devoted fan of the game, which had inspired him to study game programming in university. He longed to unravel the mysteries behind the game’s creation—how it was made, and what kind of genius first conceived such an idea.

Though he’d read countless online novels in his student days, all featuring brainwave helmets and the like, no real-world company had ever managed to bring such technology to life. Even now, Unreal’s technology remained unmatched and inimitable.

Other game giants had tried to replicate Unreal’s success, striving to develop similar games, but all failed without exception.

Eager to satisfy his curiosity, Chen Hao had hoped that joining Unreal would give him access to the company’s technical secrets. Unfortunately, even as a senior programmer, his responsibilities were limited to database management, far removed from the content that truly interested him. It seemed the real core of Unreal’s technology was entrusted to only a select few. None of his colleagues, as far as he could tell, had any insight into the deeper secrets.

Clearly, the company’s owner was no fool, fully aware of what was most valuable, and had implemented airtight security measures. After all, what other game company’s headquarters had never been revealed to anyone? Not only was there no trace of it online, even the contact address on the official website was nothing but a string of Xs.

More astonishingly, the office floor Chen Hao worked on was only a small part of the Data Technology Department; the entire one-hundred-meter-tall building was owned by the company, with armed security guards stationed downstairs.

Rumor had it that the top ten floors of the building were riddled with traps and mechanisms, ready to deal with any unwelcome intruders—no further explanation was necessary.

Most surprising of all, governments around the world turned a blind eye to these extreme security measures, a testament to the company’s immense influence.

The longer Chen Hao worked at Unreal, the more bewildered and curious he became. Through extensive investigation, he uncovered a secret unknown even to many employees: Unreal was far more than a mere game company. In addition to game development and operations, it had branched into medicine, security, construction, and any other industry that promised high profits. Wherever money could be made, Unreal’s subsidiaries could be found.

Now Chen Hao finally understood why governments tolerated the company’s security protocols. It was no exaggeration to say that, should Unreal wish, it could easily destabilize the economy of a small country.

He often wondered who the company’s enigmatic owner truly was—and whether he had any children. If he happened to have a daughter around Chen Hao’s age… Well, with his own charm, Chen Hao figured he stood a fair chance.

This wasn’t mere arrogance; Chen Hao was, by all accounts, a young man of talent and means: handsome, tall, and well-built, with a wealthy family background—practically the archetype of the successful second-generation heir. He was also genuinely intelligent. Many of his female colleagues harbored secret affections for him.

Some of them struggled to understand why someone of Chen Hao’s background and capability would choose the grueling life of a programmer at Unreal.

That didn’t deter their fervent pursuit, however. The number of love letters Chen Hao received each day threatened to crash his inbox. Every Valentine’s Day, chocolates and bouquets would pile up on his desk, rendering the space nearly unrecognizable.

Chen Hao found it baffling—what was a man supposed to do with chocolates and flowers, anyway?

He wasn't uninterested in romance, nor did he find his admirers unattractive; it was simply that his standards were unusually high, bordering on unrealistic. His ideal partner was the archetypal perfect heroine from the world of anime or comics.

Of course, he never voiced this out loud, knowing full well how others would react—they’d either think he was crazy or making excuses.

There were only two people at the company who knew this about him. The first was his close friend since joining the company, Bill Andre. Despite his Western name, Bill had grown up in the East, a typical “banana”—white on the outside, yellow on the inside—and had yet to pass even the basic foreign language exam.

The second was Chen Hao’s childhood friend and neighbor, Gu Mengyan—a girl who, truth be told, came pretty close to his ideal. But their relationship was so familiar, so comfortable, that Chen Hao never saw her in that light; the two were closer than friends, but far from lovers.

As a result, marriage had never been on the table for them. Instead, they were more like best friends, confidants who understood each other completely.

And, as fate would have it, Gu Mengyan also worked at Unreal…