"You don't know, you said?" A man in his thirties, with long, flowing black hair cascading over his shoulders, sat across from Jing in a wooden-paneled office. His intense gaze bore into Jing, firing off a relentless barrage of questions.

Jing was already angry by then, he had repeated the story many times over, and yet he was asked the same questions again and again.

"Please," He said sternly. "The entrance test is just around the corner and I haven't slept in ages, let me go. I said everything that I have, I don't know. They're demonic cultivators, how should I know why he wanted to kill me."

The man swiftly stood up with an offended expression, "You fucking brat," He said. "Why do you speak to me in such an insolent manner."

Jing's eyes narrowed as he frowned, but he knew how fruitless it'd be to try to but heads with the man. In the end, he just raised his hand and admitted defeat, "I apologize, I am just still reeling from the shock because I almost died."

The man coldly harrumphed, and ordered, "You can go."

Jing turned around, rolling his eyes, and left the room. Outside, The old man and the fat teen were still waiting for him for some reason, and so together they exited the building.

The streets had become deserted by then even though they were at the very heart of the city as it was well past midnight.

"We'll take our leave now," Elder Zheng finally said.

Jing cusped his fist against his palm with a bow and thanked once again, "Elder Zheng, Wang Fei, thank you. Have a good night!" Leaving the two behind, he started asking around until he found the Brown Silk Inn and entered inside.

It was a simple establishment, an eating lounge in the first story, and the one on top was reserved for the rooms. He approached a young female attendant and asked for a man with Shen Yun's description. He learned that he was indeed inside and had been waiting for him. Jing thanked her, climbed the flight of stairs, and knocked on the room, "六", "Six."

After waiting for a few seconds, and nobody opened he reasoned that he must be sleeping, and so he carefully opened the door directly opposite to that and entered as that was his room.

It was a dark room with curtained windows. Once he closed the door behind him, he could barely see in front of him, and only in front of the windows where some light filtered through.

His feet were still bare as the day he was born, and were even darker than the room he found himself in. Without a care in the world, he went for the single bed at the heart of the room and laid on his back.

As he stared into the wooden ceiling where he could see logs passing through from one end to the next, his mind was abuzz with activity, and his heart was taut with fear. His eyes would randomly glance at the door from time to time, expecting another demonic cultivator to break it down and go for his throat.

Remembering the feeling of his jugular cut open, his heartbeat increased in response. It was singlehandedly the most terrifying experience of his life, he could still remember the sound of his croaked breath as the filled windpipe. The blood violently gushed out in a continuous stream into the ground below, coloring his grey robe in a darker shade.

He swiftly sprung up to his feet, and frantically removed the robe he was wearing and threw it into the corner. Looking down at his brown sweater, he noticed the blood that seeped into it too. In a hysterical frenzy, he ripped it off of him. The white robe also had a reddish coloring, and he tore it as well.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

A dam of emotions seemed to burst out inside of him as his eyes began to slightly tear up. He clenched his lips, scrunched his nose, and murmured, "Don't you dare cry you piece of shit." Fists clenched so tightly together that several red droplets began to land on the wooden ground. He gritted his teeth in anger whenever images of what had happened in the last couple of days flashed through his mind. "I will show them," He mumbled quietly to himself.

It was then that the always-following but invisible demon made an appearance. For the very first time, he had a solemn expression on his face as he asked, "What are you talking about?"

Jing's looked at him, eyes bloodshot, and said, "Those fucking people. I won't be helping them, just the opposite."

Aukhman's eyes glistened with a strange light, "You won't." He coldly said.

The abrupt confrontation made Jing slightly pause. His tight fists let go of their hold as he asked with a daring expression, "Who's going to stop me?"

"Yourself." The demon said with a shrug.

"And why would I do that?"

"Your position here isn't a coincidence," Aukhman said. "The Dreameaver's Cataclysms is a treasure whose intelligence is beyond the workings of even immortals. The players were intentionally placed in positions that would allow them to affect the trajectory of history in this world. That was why there was another player in your small group of 12, and trust me there will be even more players on the Golden Mountain. You have a very wonderful opportunity in front of you here, you get to be the only opposition to several players perhaps, and if you play your cards right you will receive a lot of support in doing it."

"I don't care for it," Jing angrily said.

"Listen," Aukhman slightly softened his expression realizing the pointlessness of anger, and said, "You are emotional now, and if you want power that is the only way. You don't have any other choice."

"No, I have." Jing protested. "I can just join the Golden Mountain's side and continue playing the game from that position."

"There are reasons you have been given representatives," Aukhman suddenly said as he gazed at the ceiling, his eyes seemingly penetrating the void beyond. "Because the game is complicated, and you need us to advise you on how to keep it entertaining for those who will watch. And if it isn't entertaining, then your life has no value, I do not think that you understand that."

He looked at the teen right in the eyes and sternly said, "You do not have a life outside of the game, I've said it before. It is in your best interest to follow the game's rules, make it entertaining, and increase your power. Freedom is something that can only be attained when you're the last man standing. As things stand, you are not free."

He then sat down in mid-air, in his usual position. "As for the reason why you can't join their side, it's simple," The demon said, "Reviews."

"Reviews?" Jing mumbled, his state of mind starting to calm down as his energy was directed elsewhere. "What do you mean?"

"The viewers will hate you for taking the easy route and ruining their fun as they'd be expecting a clash between the players of the Golden Mountain sect and the demonic ones," Aukhman said with a sigh. "Their hate would prompt them to vent their frustration by making things difficult for you. They will start writing reviews about you, mentioning how weak, boring, and how waste of a time it is to follow you. You have to remember that there are 1000 players, and so the moment people see the slightest negative review they won't even give your episodes a chance."

"What would follow is but a sure but temporary death until a more popular player comes to kill you because you'll have zero support and no strength to even defend yourself." His voice turned even more grave and added, "Remember, a player without support from those who watch him is a dead player. You can never get the things they'll be able to give you. Keep this in mind."

Jing slightly gulped after hearing all of that, and to say he wasn't terrified by the demon's words would be a lie. His mind was now free to look at the situation more objectively, he began to realize the difficulty of the matter. Other than the previously mentioned reasons, the other biggest deterrence was none other than the frightening sect leader who marked him with something and promised to personally come after him if he betrayed them.

He could still remember the faint smile she had when she looked at him as she promised that, and for some reason, he completely believed her words.

Suddenly, he began quietly laughing at himself. "What kind of situation is this?" He talked to no one in particular. In his wildest dreams, he wouldn't have dared to imagine such an unbelievable situation.

'It seems like the only way forward is through?' Jing thought with a wry smile. Now with only his boxer briefs on, he jumped on the bed, and in a matter of seconds, he drifted off to sleep. Whether another killer would attempt to barge in and slit his throat once again was something that his weary mind forsake ruminating. He could feel that his sanity was teetering on the verge of collapse from the combination of sleep deprivation and everything in between. Sleep was now vital.