The Weight of a Promise Broken

Other matters could be disregarded, but Xiang Ran’s feelings were the one thing Zhou Yousheng could not afford to ignore.

It was an indescribable sensation, for in Zhou Yousheng’s heart, Xiang Ran held a unique significance. She simply couldn’t bear the thought of Xiang Ran harboring any misconceptions about her.

However, the deed was done, and all she could do was try her best to salvage the situation. Fortunately, Xiang Ran didn’t dwell on it, merely teasing her occasionally, which finally put Zhou Yousheng’s mind at ease.

Yet, she still needed an explanation from Su Youpeng. He had explicitly promised her one thing, only to blatantly break that commitment.

Upon entering the game once more, Zhou Yousheng discovered Su Youpeng was also present, and half of the puzzle clicked into place. Still, some aspects remained unclear, so she seized the opportunity to inquire.

She received an unexpected answer, one Zhou Yousheng had never anticipated. She had never realized she appeared that way in his eyes—so utterly… base.

First came an overwhelming surge of fury. Any girl misunderstood in such a manner would likely react similarly, let alone two who had been childhood friends. The impact was far greater than she could have imagined.

This was unforgivable. Utterly and eternally unforgivable.

Zhou Yousheng lowered her gaze. Aside from the anger, a peculiar sense of relief bloomed within her, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. An indescribable comfort enveloped her, akin to shackles that had once bound her finally shattering.

She knew, unequivocally, that nothing was possible between them anymore.

I offer three seconds of silent commiseration for Young Master Su Youpeng, who, through his mistake, had sealed a devastating fate. Please forgive my uncharitable chuckle.

Pushing the matter aside for the moment, Zhou Yousheng remembered she was still in the game. Personal issues needed to be put on hold; completing the mission was paramount.

While she wasn’t afraid to die, it didn’t mean she was willing to perish inexplicably. Venturing rashly into an unfamiliar area might lead to danger, but failing the system’s assigned mission would undoubtedly result in a complete and utter demise.

Such a simple calculation was easy enough to grasp.

“Actually, I had already braced myself for death…” Zhou Yousheng sat down decisively. Before her, the darkness was absolute, preventing her from seeing anything, and she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

She was a Group B player, whose assigned mission inherently put her at odds with others from the very beginning. After the game rules were announced, she had felt a sense of bewilderment, sitting alone by the sea, unwilling to ponder anything else.

Compared to a “monster” like herself, Su Youpeng, as a normal human, was clearly more important. The Zhou family had another son anyway, so her death wouldn’t truly matter. But the Su family was different; Uncle Su only had Youpeng. Zhou Yousheng couldn’t imagine the devastation Uncle Su would endure if Su Youpeng were to die.

If a monster survived, wouldn’t it eventually harm those closest to it?

After much deliberation, this had been Zhou Yousheng’s final conclusion: she would abandon her mission and fully assist Su Youpeng in completing his, ensuring his survival.

This was the last vestige of kindness remaining in the girl’s heart.

Alas…

Girls, after all, tended to be more emotional. Once their temper flared, no one could restrain it. Unbeknownst to him, Su Youpeng had already missed his chance.

‘Why should I sacrifice my life for a guy like that?’ Suddenly, a furious indignation flared within her, like a fire burning in her heart, intensely resentful.

‘He must pay the price!’

She abruptly stood up, the wind caressing her cheeks, bringing a faint coolness. It mirrored the girl’s current mood—a profound astonishment at her own dark thoughts.

Clapping a hand over her mouth, Zhou Yousheng sank back down, a bitter taste rising in her heart.

‘There it is again. I truly am nothing but a monster…’

The scene shifted once more, arriving at another untouched area.

Here, unlike elsewhere, the ground was littered with broken walls and scattered debris, utterly dilapidated. It appeared as though no one had set foot here for a long time, with dust coating every visible corner.

“Was this island once inhabited?”

The man lit a cigarette, slowly navigating through the ruins. He occasionally paused to examine something, his brows furrowing and then relaxing, before moving on to the next corner.

“These ruins must have been here for quite some time,” he murmured, exhaling a smoke ring. His eyes flickered uncertainly through the haze. “It’s not impossible that there are still indigenous residents on the island.”

Weathered by time, the traces left by humans seemed insignificant before nature, making it difficult to find any useful clues amidst the rubble.

“I wonder how the veteran player is doing. With my absolute advantage here, there’s no way she could be progressing faster than me, right?” Thinking this as a matter of course, the man recalled the young woman sitting on the reef, gazing at the sea, and had to admit she was truly beautiful.

But that was meaningless; beauty couldn’t put food on the table.

For some peculiar reason, he always harbored a certain degree of animosity towards very beautiful girls.

Combined with some inside knowledge about the rules, he understood what the appearance of a veteran player meant in a newcomer’s game. It certainly wasn’t a good sign, so he naturally began to target her deliberately.

This was one of the reasons.

The newcomer game mode operated as a self-contained system. The “three-game novice” rule served both as protection and as a period for newcomers to adapt.

Under these circumstances, the difficulty wouldn’t be too high, allowing for a certain survival rate. However, once a veteran player intervened, things changed. A newcomer game with a veteran player present only signified two possibilities: either the veteran player themselves had issues and was thrown into a penalty round by the game, or there were promising talents among the newcomers who needed indirect assessment by a veteran.

Regardless of the situation, it was not good news for the newcomers.

“I just hope this veteran lady doesn’t die on the way.”

The man chuckled without warning. These were not things someone like him should ordinarily know. But someone had approached him, providing intelligence that newcomers shouldn’t have access to—information whose value far exceeded that, considered exceptionally important even by many seasoned veterans.

“One takes benefits, one does the bidding. It’s just about keeping an eye on veteran players who recently appear in newcomer games…”

He could roughly guess the person’s objective; it was nothing more than seeking revenge.

He didn’t believe he would be unlucky enough to encounter someone targeted by individuals of that caliber. However, having learned such information, he couldn’t help but be wary of the veteran player in his own game session.