Prologue

A World Without Self-Evident Truths

Loose pages fluttered from a messy desk, scattering like snowflakes across the room, each carrying an unfinished dream, a wish that would never come true.

Zi-Cheng lay on the cold studio floor, reaching out with his trembling hand. His fingers grasped only emptiness—a fitting answer to the emptiness within him.

A game. A dream. All the years he had poured into his project, everything he’d sacrificed… it was all slipping away. In just a few hours, it would all be over.

Outside the window, the dark night sky was lightening, a faint shade of blue hinting at the arrival of dawn. Yet there was no hope in that light; it was merely a reminder that time was running out.

“Zi-Cheng… what are you going to do?”

The question came from his phone, a simple sentence from a friend, but it only deepened the hollow look in Zi-Cheng’s eyes. What was he going to do?

He didn’t have an answer.

Around him, the once-lively studio felt like an empty husk, like the hollowed-out ruins of his heart. A rent notice taped to the door, mocking him, while his mailbox overflowed with debt collection letters. This place had once been his battlefield—a space where he and his comrades fought together, side by side, for the sake of their shared dream. Now it was nothing more than a graveyard for that dream, without even a headstone.

“Indie game development in this city? You’ve got to be kidding me!” he remembered someone sneering at him, back when he’d first started. “You’ve got no connections, no capital, and you still think you can pull off a startup?”

(Do dreams truly require a wealthy background and capital to take flight?)

Three years ago, Zi-Cheng had laughed off those words. He had refused to compromise, refused to believe in such a hopeless world. With nothing but determination and every last cent of his savings, he threw himself into this venture like a gambler with no second thoughts.

And in the end, like a gambler, he lost everything.

“Don’t you think you’re just being naïve? What you did was laughable!”

Perhaps it was naïve, he thought, but that dream was never laughable.

There were stories of other developers who’d been betrayed, their teams poached, their data stolen, and their ideas ripped away by unscrupulous companies. Yet Zi-Cheng had never imagined that it would come from within his team—from his most trusted partners.

What a fool he was to believe in this adventure called “entrepreneurship,” to think he could sail forward with his team like pirates marking their arms with an “X,” pledging loyalty to the same dream, on the same grand voyage.

(How could they do this? We all set sail on the same ship, didn’t we? How could they stab me in the back before our ship even reached the Grand Line?)

“Well, my friend, that was mostly wishful thinking on your part.”

Hearing the words from his phone, Zi-Cheng felt a taste of bitterness catch in his throat, and for a moment he almost wanted a cigarette—an image he’d never thought he’d find himself craving. The faint bitterness of smoke, maybe, would match the bitter smile tugging at his lips.

A moment of silence, then the caller pressed again, a mocking tone curling in his voice.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a game designer? You should know that the world’s obsessed with PvP games by now!”

PvP—Player Versus Player. It was more than a game; it was a phenomenon that thrived on battles, deception, and betrayal, an activity where participants clawed their way to the top, trading trust and violence for status, wealth, and that intoxicating sense of superiority over those they defeated.

Zi-Cheng let out a bitter smile. “So reality is nothing more than a PvP game, isn’t it?” he muttered.

The world is a battlefield. He understood that simple truth better than anyone. Yet…

“Yet you just can’t go with the flow, and that’s why you’re nothing more than an arrogant bastard who thinks he’s above everyone else.”

Those words hit Zi-Cheng like a truck, leaving him breathless and speechless.

They were the words of his business partner—the man who ultimately took everything from him.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

Ming-Wei Shi.

“Look, even the Olympic Committee is talking about adding e-sports. The higher-ups are having meetings about building a top-tier e-sports arena downtown. Don’t you get it? This is where the money’s heading!”

Ming-Wei’s words echoed in Zi-Cheng’s head with a tone as if he were explaining something obvious to a child. “The Secretary of Trade just put together a small e-sports competition, and the government handed him a $30 million grant! Is there even easier money to be made?”

Zi-Cheng said nothing, his hands clenched into fists. He had nothing against e-sports, and in fact, he enjoyed the occasional competitive game too. But this e-sports boom had transformed the gaming world overnight. Studios across the city were scrambling to cash in on the trend with MOBA games and live-service competitive shooters, abandoning the art of storytelling and depth in favor of pure, ruthless competition.

In the world of Player Versus Player, games were no longer about immersion or exploration. Instead, it was all about becoming the strongest in the shortest possible time. Be the top dog, the “king” of a virtual battlefield. Players eagerly poured their money into powerful and expensive equipment, even resorted to cheating or backstabbing others to reach the top. Meanwhile, game companies, seeing nothing but profit, happily churned out new weapons, stronger characters, and items to give players that edge in the eternal climb to “glory.”

(In other words, a small investment for a huge profit.)

A perfectly sensible business approach—but one that filled Zi-Cheng’s stomach with disgust.

(That’s just being lazy. Is this really what “games” were meant to be?)

The caller’s voice grew colder. “I can’t understand this obsession of yours. How far do you have to go with this ridiculous idealism before you’re satisfied?”

A sharp snap echoed in Zi-Cheng’s heart, like the shattering of glass. That one sentence—dismissing everything he believed in as “obsession”—was the final straw, cutting through the last thread of hope he had been clinging to.

Is that it? he thought, his fingers trembling. If you don’t follow the trend, you’re not even worthy of a chance to survive?

If you stand your ground and won’t compromise… you’ll be betrayed?

Emptiness grew in Zi-Cheng’s chest, swallowing all the memories he once held dear. He had created games to bring people joy, to share stories, to let players experience and explore worlds that no one had seen before. But now, it seemed, the world didn’t care about that anymore. All they wanted was power, status, and a fleeting sense of superiority.

So… where did that leave him?

The sky slowly turned a pale, fish-belly white. As Zi-Cheng bathed in the cold, blue light of dawn, he felt like he was sinking into the depths of an endless ocean, in complete solitude and cast out by those he once called companions. Memories of his hard work crumbled before him like a sandcastle swallowed by the waves. Watching it all disintegrate, he felt a deep ache in his chest… but strangely, there was no regret.

“I hate PvP, and I hate this world.”

(The defeated dog’s final bark.)

Zi-Cheng chuckled bitterly as a single tear slipped down his cheek, as if draining the last remnants of strength from his body. He felt utterly exhausted, tired of fighting, of hoping.

“You signed a contract with the government,” the voice on the phone reminded him, cold and merciless. “Even if your company goes under, they won’t let you walk away. You should know they don’t let things slide that easily.”

The words barely registered.

Once, they would have stung, but now, they felt as distant as a thunderstorm miles away. The rage, the heartbreak—it just felt… numb.

Without a word, Zi-Cheng reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pill bottle. Inside, a single, crystal-clear pill red like a ruby glittered, rattling against the bottle as he shook it.

The man on the other end of the line scoffed. “They say desperate men do desperate things, but not many can actually take the leap.”

Zi-Cheng’s fingers tightened around the bottle. “And if I take that leap… you’ll help me get back everything I’ve lost?”

There was a pause.

“With pleasure.”

And that was all he needed to hear.

After everything he had endured, handing over his years of hard work to those who betrayed him, the idea of placing his vengeance in someone else’s hands… it almost felt like a relief.

Without hesitation, Zi-Cheng twisted off the cap and swallowed the pill.

Immediately, a strange icy sensation bloomed within him, spreading like tendrils of frost winding through his veins. It felt as if thousands of tiny, wriggling ice worms were crawling beneath his skin, filling him with a chill so deep it reached his bones.

His vision blurred, and he slumped forward, the world around him slowly fading into mist.

In the haze, he saw something — a door, perhaps — faintly glowing with an otherworldly light, materializing in the middle of the empty studio. It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat, calling to him.

image [https://i.imgur.com/irZaXJc.png]

(What… is this?)

Zi-Cheng tried to reach out, to stand, but his body felt light and helpless, like a withered leaf caught in a storm. His mouth opened, but no sound came from it. Even his own breath was slipping away.

His consciousness flickered, a weak and trembling flame struggling against the darkness. He felt himself falling, deeper and deeper, until that final sliver of awareness faded into an infinite void — silently extinguished like the last light of a dying candle.

“You don’t belong to this world, not anymore,” the caller’s voice sounded distorted and distant, like it was passing through the ocean. “I’ll take care of things for you. From here on, you and I are accomplices on the same boat.”

The words echoed faintly, growing softer, as if drifting into the depths of an endless sea.