The Truth in the Footage

Something was wrong.

Seeing the chibi Xiang Ran in such a state, she immediately sensed that something was amiss.

‘Could it be…?’ Xiang Qi’s expression was exceptionally awkward, yet a sliver of hope lingered in her heart. ‘Perhaps I truly misjudged… Haha, but how could it be possible? That person, still alive, after all this time…’

Her gaze sharpened, carrying a hint of ferocity. Before the tiny Xiang Ran could react, Xiang Qi swiftly tucked the card into the sock garter.

Although her clothes had been changed, the garter remained untouched.

This wavering state of mind, torn between hope and apprehension, was driving her to distraction. She disregarded everything else, desperate only to confirm her suspicion.

It wouldn’t be difficult. She recalled having her webcam pointed at herself before being pulled into the game. A quick check of the saved surveillance footage on her laptop would provide the answer.

Opening the folder, the video lay before Xiang Qi, undisturbed and undeleted. This was, at least, good news; if the footage had vanished, it would truly confirm her worst fears.

‘That person wouldn’t make such a rookie mistake, I suppose.’

However, the hand Xiang Qi used to grip her mouse trembled. With the truth within reach, she hesitated.

‘I’ll watch it later. There’s no rush right now… It’s probably better to understand the system first.’

Evasion might be shameful, but it was often effective.

Xiang Qi clicked on another folder, one that had suddenly appeared on her desktop. She hadn’t seen it before entering the game.

The filename was concise, just two characters, making it impossible for anyone with sight to miss the connection between this ‘game’ folder and the game system itself.

[Congratulations, player, on passing the first game! You have gained the qualification to touch the truth of this world. Now, all you need to do is… survive!]

The moment she opened the file, these words flashed across the screen. Before she could even process their meaning, the window abruptly closed. The system then went dark, only to flicker back to life, displaying a familiar loading interface, and an equally familiar application popped up automatically.

‘Uh… isn’t this freaking JuJu?’

Xiang Qi remained expressionless, even as she typed in her account and password.

[System Notification: Ink Bamboo has joined the group chat. Everyone, please say hello!]

[Old General: Yo, a newcomer!]

[Hundred Winds: Newbie, give us a voice and photo reveal!]

…

Then came a flood of messages. Xiang Qi stared at the computer screen, not finding anything amusing.

‘Is this it? This is it?’

‘This is the ‘team’ the system spoke of? How is this any different from the ridiculous chat groups I usually join?’

‘It even exists directly within this application, and the account is my own. System, do you have no shame?’

[Bringing Wine: Alright, you guys, don’t scare the newcomer away.]

[Bringing Wine: Newbie, ignore them. If you have any questions, check the group files. Basic game knowledge is organized there.]

[Hundred Winds: Wine Bro, hello!]

[Just Wanna Try: Wine Bro, hello!]

…

Another neat wave of identical messages flooded the chat.

‘This is an untouchable big shot,’ Xiang Qi concluded with a single glance. After all, that conspicuous green hat was so eye-catching, highlighting its owner’s noble authority.

So, should she follow the big shot’s instructions and browse the group files first?

Xiang Qi raised an eyebrow, her small face creased in a conflicted expression.

Humans were sometimes perverse. Faced with an issue, they only wanted to escape, but once they had, they yearned to look, always caught between hope and fear, without a firm grasp on their feelings.

In truth, she had long since judged the outcome. Now, she simply refused to acknowledge reality, fantasizing that her judgment was flawed, placing her hope on that one-in-a-hundred chance.

“Poppy, are you there?”

The sound was soft, so quiet she could barely hear it herself. Uttering that name again after several years gave her an unreal, ethereal sensation.

This time, Xiang Qi finally steeled her resolve and clicked on the surveillance footage. She needed to understand what had truly happened.

In the monitoring screen, the long-haired black-haired girl’s form flickered, as if losing all strength before collapsing to the ground.

‘This… the game doesn’t take the body, does it? It only pulls the player’s consciousness into the game.’

Everything seemed normal up to this point. Although the items she had clutched to her chest scattered across the floor, no unexpected situations arose.

The next instant, however, caused Xiang Qi’s pupils to contract sharply.

The girl in the footage stood up again. She rubbed her head, then turned to look at the webcam on the laptop. Her black-and-red eyes seemed to gaze directly through the monitor at Xiang Qi.

Then, she revealed a brilliant smile, one that instantly overshadowed a hundred blooming flowers, as if the world itself lost its color.

The girl looked at Xiang Qi, her eyes filled with immense tenderness.

“Zishu, I’m back.”

“Did you miss me?”

The surveillance footage had no sound, yet it conveyed this meaning without a doubt.

A heavy stone lifted from her heart. She had known this outcome all along; now, it was simply officially confirmed. Xiang Qi felt all her strength drain away, and she slumped onto the desk, closing her eyes.

****

Xiang Qi’s childhood was influenced by two individuals: Chen Xuan and Poppy.

Chen Xuan taught her about shamelessness and brazenness, personally guiding her through the treacherous aspects of society. Poppy, however, a being of the same origin as herself, made her understand cruelty, revealing the dark side of existence in its rawest form.

Xiang Qi had never killed anyone, because all the killing had always been done by Poppy.

In the beginning, their relationship had been exceptionally close. Xiang Qi always regarded her as a trusted older sister, and Poppy was forever gentle, embracing everything about Xiang Qi.

If anyone could earn the trust of young Xiang Qi, Poppy, residing within her, was undoubtedly unique in that regard.

Even Chen Xuan was unaware that Xiang Qi harbored another personality. Xiang Qi placed unconditional trust in Poppy.

No matter how shameless Xiang Qi was on the outside, even to the point where she despised herself, Poppy remained her last sanctuary within.

The name Poppy was also given by Xiang Qi. Poppy said she liked poppies, so Xiang Qi gave her the English word for the flower as her name.

In truth, she should have understood long ago what the poppy flower truly represented, but Xiang Qi refused to think about it, nor did she ask, merely greedily indulging in that tenderness.

Until…

“That person is so annoying. I already refused them, but they insist on extorting me,” Xiang Qi complained in her mind. “It seems I’ll have to teach them a lesson.”

At that time, she had already devised a complete plan for revenge.

“Revenge? I understand.” This was Poppy’s voice.

And so, that person disappeared, vanishing completely from the world. The police investigated for months but couldn’t uncover a single clue.

Only Xiang Qi knew where that person had gone, and for two full months, she couldn’t bring herself to drink tap water.