Chapter 136: Safe Zone
"Discretionary distribution" meant that the system would satisfy her, but not completely. Just like how it controlled the comments in the livestream chat, this system was cunning.
Well, discretionary was fine. Since it worked this time, she now roughly knew how to step on the system’s bottom line to get what she wanted next time.
The frozen, flickering panel in front of her finally returned to normal. A flash of golden light passed, and Li Zhi was pulled into a chaotic scene.
She saw a long string of steps floating in the air.
Like a stairway to heaven, they hovered above the sea of clouds, sunlight dazzling and brilliant. A familiar figure was slowly ascending the steps, one by one, reaching the throne at the very end.
The world was utterly silent.
Li Zhi tried to move closer, but this must have been what the system meant by "discretionary"—she could only watch from afar, unable to hear anything.
Li Zhi saw that Li Jianxi’s expression was icy cold. This was not the Li Jianxi she was familiar with—his gaze was filled with intense aggression.
But soon, Li Jianxi turned around.
He began descending the steps.
Countless hands stretched out from the divine throne, trying to drag him back. But the moment those hands, shrouded in black mist, touched his body, they were all dispersed by the golden light surrounding him.
He descended resolutely, never once looking back.
Soon, the sea of clouds vanished. He stepped from the heavens to the earth, but the stairs didn’t disappear. Those layered steps extended all the way into hell. In that gloomy, dark hell, a sea of blood churned, malicious ghosts swirled chaotically, and savage monsters awaited at the entrance, staring eagerly at the figure drawing closer to them.
Li Jianxi walked in.
Countless ghostly hands grabbed him, dragging him into the bottomless abyss. The staircase disappeared, and the hell that devoured him closed its eyes.
Li Zhi was ejected back out.
On the panel before her, a line of text appeared: "The NPC Li Jianxi’s most profound memory has been transmitted to the player."
This was the clearance reward that Li Zhi had aimed for this time.
Li Jianxi had said that from the moment he gained consciousness, he had always been an NPC. But his behavior clearly didn’t match the traits of NPCs generated by instances.
Able to freely travel through different instance worlds, carrying items that only players could possess, willing to help players within the bounds of the rules—everything pointed to one conclusion: Li Jianxi had once been a player.
But for some reason, the system had sealed his memories and thrown him into the instance world as an NPC.
Restoring Li Jianxi’s memories probably wasn’t possible. But simply peeking at his most profound memory might not violate the rules.
Li Zhi had succeeded.
She saw the deepest memory Li Jianxi had forgotten.
A long staircase to heaven, one end connected to the divine throne, the other to hell—and Li Jianxi had chosen hell.
He did have sealed memories. He was a player.
With the clearance reward distributed, three random points-exchange items appeared on the panel. Li Zhi pulled herself out of her thoughts and looked at this batch of items.
A bloodstained baseball bat. Usable in both the real world and in instances, it dealt massively multiplied damage to ghosts. The number of uses depended on the strength of the ghost—it might shatter after one use, or last longer. Requires 999 points.
A blank map. Usable only in instances. Recite an incantation to reveal the footprints of ghosts within 100 meters. Requires 599 points.
A colorless, tasteless poison. Single-use item, usable in both the real world and in instances, but only effective against humans. Dissolves in water, kills invisibly. Requires 499 points.
Li Zhi squinted slightly in displeasure at the last item.
This kind of invisible poison only cost 499 points. With so many players entering instances daily, who knew how many dangerous items like this had already leaked into the outside world?
It was obvious that the [Ghosts] system intended to destabilize society.
Li Zhi exchanged 2.1 million popularity points for 2,100 points and bought all three items. Right on cue, the system announced her updated stats: "Detected that player’s total popularity is now 32,855,185. Current global ranking unchanged. Please continue your efforts."
The higher the ranking, the greater the gap between players. With Li Zhi’s current position, even millions of points wouldn’t budge her standing.
After redeeming the three items, the panel didn’t disappear as usual. Instead, a new message appeared:
"Congratulations on surpassing 20 million popularity! New privilege unlocked: freely choose the timing of your next instance entry."
Two date ranges floated on the screen. After fiddling with it, Li Zhi found that the soonest was tomorrow, the latest was three months from now.
No wonder top players were always entering instances—they could choose their own schedules.
Li Zhi asked, "What happens if I don’t choose?"
The system responded mechanically: "If the player waives the right to choose an instance time, previous rules apply, and entry will be randomized based on player attention metrics."
Got it. After thinking for a bit, she set it for half a month later.
She didn’t like entering instances too frequently. Half a month was about right to spend time with family and adjust her mental state. Once she confirmed her choice, the panel finally disappeared, and soon, the nine players reappeared in the safe house.
This time, everyone had earned a good amount of popularity, redeeming plenty of items—especially Owen Dong, who, for the first time, had a fat wallet to spend freely.
He was thoughtful enough to recognize that all of this was thanks to Li Zhi. He ran over and whispered, “Big Boss, I exchanged for a [censored] and a talisman for warding off evil spirits—do you need either? I’m willing to trade with you!”
Li Zhi smiled. “No need, you keep them for yourself.”
Owen Dong nodded, glanced at the countdown timer already ticking in the safe house, and sighed. “Who knows when we’ll see each other again. We’re not even in the same province, and with how chaotic it is outside, I don’t even dare to cross provinces to buy you dinner.”
Li Zhi patted his shoulder. “It’s fine. If fate allows, we’ll meet again in another instance. With your luck, we might run into each other next time.”
Owen Dong beamed. “You’re right!”
Both he and You Jingmeng got her contact info, memorizing it so they could add her on WeChat later. Han Wenlin, watching from the side, looked envious and muttered, “Didn’t we agree you’d treat me when we got out? Now you’re pretending you don’t remember.”
Li Zhi glanced at him, and Han Wenlin immediately shut his mouth.
He knew Li Zhi was still displeased that his personal grudge with Wei Xiao had dragged the others into danger. He didn’t dare seek attention from her, but just before the countdown ended, Li Zhi walked over to him and said, “I owe you a meal. I’ll make it up to you when I get the chance.”
Han Wenlin was pleasantly surprised. “You’re not mad at me anymore?”
Li Zhi replied, “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”
Han Wenlin grinned ear to ear. “That means you’re not mad! Message me when you’re out—just search my name!”
The countdown ended, the safe house disappeared, and Li Zhi returned home.
From the living room came the clatter of packing. She stood still for a few seconds, unused to Li Shuang not rushing over to pounce on her. Walking out, she found the living room filled with moving boxes—aside from the large furniture, everything else had been packed up, sorted, and organized.
“We’re moving?”
“Jie!” Li Shuang stuffed her plush toys into a bag, then lunged at her. Li Zhi hugged her tightly, hearing her excited voice: “We’re moving! The government established a Safe Zone—we’re among the first batch to move in!”
Li Zhi was surprised. “The Safe Zone was built this quickly?”
She had discussed this before with Tan Manyu’s superior, Fang Yangxing. Director Fang had mentioned that when players were dragged into instances, the magnetic field around them would intensify. They speculated that the system’s activity was essentially magnetic field activity.
The authorities were researching shielding devices to block this magnetic activity, to build Safe Zones unaffected by instances. Li Zhi had thought it would take longer—she hadn’t expected the government to act this fast.
Once Safe Zones were established, the identities of players and ordinary people would be completely separated. Life inside would return to normal, society would stabilize, and no one would need to worry about personal safety amid the chaos.
Since they had been notified to move, it meant the management systems inside the Safe Zones were ready. After exchanging a few words with Shang Jinru, Li Zhi returned to her room and called Yao Mingfeng.
After a few rings, he answered with a chuckle, “Out of the instance already?”
Li Zhi smiled. “Yeah. My family just told me—we’re among the first batch moving into the Safe Zone?”
Yao Mingfeng replied, “Priority goes to those who’ve contributed to the country—you’re obviously included. But the Safe Zone is huge. Our city’s establishing two, east and west. The others will gradually move in later.”
Li Zhi’s primary concern was her family’s safety. The Safe Zone’s establishment completely eased her worries. However…
She asked, “Can players go in too?”
Yao Mingfeng’s voice turned serious. “That’s the key issue. Our tests show that players with attention below 100,000 who’ve only entered an instance once or twice can be completely shielded by the device once they’re in the Safe Zone—the [Ghosts] system can’t drag them in anymore. But those with attention above 100,000—no matter what, they’ll still be dragged into instances, even inside the Safe Zone. Worse, the magnetic clashes damage the shielding device itself.”
It was a tug-of-war—one side dragging out, the other trying to hold back. Shielding devices were high-tech, costly to produce, and couldn’t withstand that kind of wear and tear.
Li Zhi sighed. “Things outside the Safe Zone will only get more chaotic.”
Yao Mingfeng said helplessly, “It can’t be helped. All we can do is protect the ordinary citizens. Right now, dangerous items are everywhere, and conventional weapons are useless against them. Even deploying the military won’t change much.”
“But anyone moving into the Safe Zone must give up all benefits related to instances. Our experiments confirm that instance-generated items can’t be used inside. We need a functioning, normal society.”
Li Zhi said, “I understand.”
Players had their ways to survive. Ordinary people had their ways to live. Until the [Ghosts] system was completely expelled from this world, Safe Zones were the only way to ensure societal stability.
Of course, some people would refuse to enter. Fortune favors the bold, and besides—other countries had long fallen into apocalyptic chaos.
After hanging up, Li Zhi went out to help with the packing.
This was the apartment her father and mother had bought together when he was alive. They’d lived here for over ten years, and now they had to leave—it was hard to let go.
Shang Jinru grasped her hand anxiously. “Zhi Zhi… will it be hard to see you again after this?”
With her popularity so high, she was bound to remain outside. That tall young man who had come to notify them earlier said it plainly—getting in and out of the Safe Zone would require strict review. Meeting her daughter again would be next to impossible.
Li Zhi bent down to hug her gently. “It won’t be too long, Mom. I promise.”