Chapter 1: Chapter One: The Strange Phone Call

Guangdong Province, Jihua Village, Guicheng.

In Room 306 of Xingshuang No. 8 High School, a slender figure strained on his bed, fingers flying, the screen flickering rapidly—luckily the internet was fast enough to keep up with his seemingly fluid spray.

Head +1, perfect, hehe.

Aside from him, the dorm held no one else; no distractions at all, truly carefree—only missing the chance to drop the mouse and sing a song to show off his voice.

Unconsciously, he’d been playing in the dorm for nearly two hours; if he didn’t leave soon to eat, he wasn’t sure he’d even make it out of campus.

His attention had never once turned to the time; this concern was redundant—the curfew was at nine, and it was barely past seven; nightlife hadn’t even begun, so there was plenty of time, no rush, no rush.

Back to the game, his team’s push was still fast; the score stood at 12:5, and one more victory would officially end the match for their Defender side.

“Hey you, go to Point B, don’t mess up—I’m taking Point A. We’ve got this, just one enemy, easy peasy.” The boy glanced at his 3/11/3 stats, utterly unashamed, even issuing orders with swagger; any teammate with a temper would’ve erupted into a torrent of curses.

“...” To suppress his rage and secure victory, the teammate paused briefly, then chose silence, silently creeping toward Point B. Between sacrifice and survival, the choice was clear—anyone who wasn’t outright quitting or too angry to obey followed the boy’s instructions.

After all, this plan, barring mishaps, was still the safest and most reliable, with a high chance of success; numerical advantage wasn’t something to joke about. Of course, all this was hypothetical, so don’t misunderstand.

Whether they won or lost depended on who the last enemy was and what weapon he carried—if he was a shotgunner, oh man, that’d be brutal! In these corner maps, shotgun ambushes were just unbearable—one shot and you’re gone.

The title “All Beings Are Equal” wasn’t a joke.

If he was good at ambushes, the two of them were done for.

As for why the teammate didn’t respond, it was obvious—he feared he’d snap back and insult the boy, and then the noob would blame him for everything. Better to say nothing, just do his own job. This round was on him alone; the teammate was useless.

“Gogogo!” The boy eagerly signaled, then carefully moved his character toward Point A, grenade in hand, pin pulled, ready to toss the moment he reached the critical spot.

He was a little afraid someone might jump out—even though there was only one enemy, he still wasn’t sure if he could handle it. Everyone talks big, but when real bullets fly, there’s always a flicker of fear…

Honestly, winning or losing didn’t matter much—they still had the advantage—but he felt guilty. He’d just won a verbal battle with his teammate, and if he messed up now, it wouldn’t be three or four people yelling at him—it’d be the whole team. He might even get kicked. After all this effort, if he didn’t even earn a few GP, it’d be a total waste of time. So he had to play it safe—at least give the team some excuse. Hey, look at my skills, I’m carrying the whole team, okay?

Alright, no more bragging.

He moved safely from Point B to the center of the bridge, saw no one at Point A, or maybe the enemy was planting the bomb—any scenario was possible.

After brief thought, he leapt down through a gap in the bridge, creeping silently toward Point A. Basic movement was mastered, but the sound of his footsteps on water was still loud—he didn’t know if the enemy had noticed.

Soon, he crossed the water and walked along the right bank. Just as he’d covered about a third of the way, a warning tone rang in his ears.

“Ding. Bomb planted at Point A.”

“Already?” The boy muttered, unable to resist tossing his grenade. It arced through the air and exploded above and to the right of Point A, leaving only a black scorch mark on a firecracker crate. As for kills? Pure fantasy.

……

The scene fell into awkward silence—for the spectators, anyway. From his own perspective, head down, he wouldn’t see it until he was dead.

His teammates were furious, pounding their keyboards, but ultimately held back from typing. Wait, wait and see—if he really was this bad, they’d turn into keyboard gods, roast him, then vote him out. Too damn annoying—throwing grenades like a blind man.

He pulled out his primary weapon, the M4A1—Thunder God, instinctively tapping the right-click to aim. At that moment, he felt invincible.

He rushed toward Point A with his gun raised, ignoring everything—the bomb kept flashing. If it hadn’t been planted long ago, it wouldn’t have turned so urgently red; that was the prelude to detonation. If he didn’t stop it now, they’d lose. Caution only mattered before the bomb was planted. Now he hoped the enemy was right next to it—just one burst, and it’d all be over.

His muzzle stayed fixed on the bomb site, still not firing. If he startled the enemy, it’d be bad. Sure, he was bad at the game, but he still had basic awareness. If he had top-tier skill, he could dominate here—but imagination was imagination; reality was reality.

“Dadadada!” As he sprinted, gunfire erupted from Point A. His health bar vanished instantly, dropping to a crimson 15. The situation couldn’t have been more dire.

Just then, a phone rang sharply in the silent dorm. As he froze for a second, his character’s health hit zero—he died right there, and the kill cam showed it: barely meters from the bomb site, inside a firecracker crate, a sneaky bastard lay in wait.

“What the hell, is this a coincidence? Who the fuck is this?” He hurled the mouse away in frustration, snatched up his phone—still playing music, vibrating with a steady “buzz”—and now he desperately needed to vent. If this was just a prank call, he’d make the caller regret ever being born.

“Li Kang, in charge of Guicheng Cemetery? What the hell is this? I just didn’t go out for Qingming Festival, and now I get this cursed call?” For a moment, the boy hesitated. Other unknown calls or family calls—he’d answer normally. But this one felt… wrong. He feared being dragged into something sinister.

When it came to ghosts and spirits, he preferred to believe they existed rather than risk touching them. So this call… left him utterly at a loss.

The phone kept ringing. He kept sliding his finger toward the answer button, then pulling back. Even with the bright white lights on, his back chilled, his whole body prickling with dread. He pressed himself against the wall, hoping to lessen the fear, then finally dropped the phone, ignoring it completely. If I can’t see it, the ghost can’t see me… ugh, if only I’d played the game seriously, I wouldn’t have run into this cursed thing. Just end it already—I want to leave.

After a long time of being ignored, the call ended automatically. Just as he exhaled in relief, the phone rang again—unrelenting, as if determined to keep calling until he answered. This ghost had serious persistence.