Chapter 2: Awakening
[Welcome, our top player.]
[“Infinite Split” game has been loaded. You will now enter the character creation phase.]
At first, Ji Minghuan thought he was hallucinating. He was fully conscious, yet no matter what he did, he couldn’t open his eyes. It was like someone had taped his eyelids shut, fusing them to the skin beneath.
Actually, this wasn’t all that uncommon. In China, people often called it “ghost pressing down on the bed.”
Most folks experience “sleep paralysis” at least once or twice in their lives. Scientifically speaking, it happens when your body starts waking up before your brain fully reboots. Your mind becomes aware, but your body hasn’t caught up yet—leaving you frozen like some ghost is pinning you down.
But it didn’t take Ji Minghuan long to realize this wasn’t sleep paralysis.
It was something far stranger.
Emerging from the darkness was a floating interface, made up of interwoven red and black pixels—it looked exactly like the UI of an RPG game. In the center, pixelated text slowly typed itself out:
[Before the game begins, the player must answer one question—“Can you tell whether you’re dreaming or in reality?”]
The line was written in perfectly clear Simplified Chinese. Not a single word felt clunky or hard to understand. Logically, even the simplest sentence should take a second for the brain to process and comprehend.
But these words flowed into Ji Minghuan’s mind like a stream pouring into the sea—smooth and seamless. It was as if the layout and phrasing had been custom-made for how he read.
Below the question, four answer options floated into view:
[A. I’m dreaming]
[B. I’m in reality]
[C. Neither dream nor reality]
[D. This is both a dream and reality]
At that moment, Ji Minghuan suddenly remembered what the Instructor had said in the cell earlier.
“Since you like games, there’s a good chance your ability will manifest in a form related to ‘gaming.’
Every kind of Esper ability finds a way to help the user understand it.
And for you… since you love video games, your ability might appear like this—a level, guiding and testing you, helping you figure out how it works.”
“So… this is my ability?”
Ji Minghuan raised an eyebrow at the thought. But instead of immediately focusing on the question on screen, he tried to shift his gaze to the darkness beyond the interface.
Within two seconds, he realized his field of vision was completely locked. He was only allowed to look at the four options in front of him.
In a VR game, “locked camera angle” made sense. In real life, though? It was freaky—like invisible hands were pinning his shoulders and head in place, forcing his eyeballs to stare at just one spot.
With no other choice, Ji Minghuan turned his attention back to the text.
But then—he noticed something chilling right beside the four options: a thin, 2cm-wide object, hanging in the void like a ghost limb. Its pale skin was almost corpse-like, hiding most of the veins beneath.
It was… his index finger.
No doubt about it—Ji Minghuan recognized the scarring at the knuckle.
In the dark, he silently stared at the finger.
Normally, seeing your own hand wouldn’t be weird. But this wasn’t normal. This was just one finger, floating alone in the void—like someone had chopped it off and laid it on a cutting board.
In the blink of an eye, Ji Minghuan realized he could control the finger with his mind.
More precisely, it felt like this finger had been separated from his body and turned into a “cursor” on the screen—his very own game mouse.
With just a flick of thought, the finger would dart across the interface like a glowing pointer.
Most people would be horrified—sickened, even—at the idea of part of their body turning into a detached tool.
But Ji Minghuan? After a month locked in a lab, his tolerance for weirdness had skyrocketed.
He just blinked, curious. Then quickly accepted this setup and began playing with it like it was a shiny new toy—wiggling the finger up, down, left, and right. He even tried to snap the “mouse-finger” in half just to see what would happen.
It didn’t work, so he gave up on the fun and turned back to the question on screen.
[Can you tell whether you’re dreaming or in reality?]
“They’re asking if I’m dreaming?” he thought.
Even now, Ji Minghuan couldn’t be sure.
If this was a dream, it was way too vivid. And more importantly, his thoughts were clear. Every link in his reasoning chain was intact—there were no logical gaps, no mental stumbles. He could probably write the whole thing on a chalkboard and it would still make perfect sense.
But rationally, people rarely realize they’re dreaming while they’re dreaming. Maybe this was just one of those “can’t see the fog when you’re in it” moments. Maybe he was dreaming and just couldn’t tell.
He might think everything made sense, but that didn’t mean it actually did. He just couldn’t perceive the parts that didn’t.
“…Screw it. When in doubt, pick the longest option.”
Expression blank, Ji Minghuan used a grade-school test-taking hack and moved his finger over to the fourth option without hesitation.
Click.
The screen refreshed.
[Player has selected Option D: “This is both a dream and reality.”]
[Congratulations, that is the correct answer.]
[As a reward for your correct answer, you’ve received 1 initial skill point. (Once you create your first character in the real world, this point can be used to unlock part of that character’s skill tree.)]
If he still had a head, Ji Minghuan probably would’ve tilted it sideways by now—and tilted it hard. But in this pitch-black space, the only thing accompanying him was that severed index finger.
The screen updated again.
[Would you like to begin creating your first “game character”? (You may also choose to delay creation until you’ve gathered more information about the world—more knowledge may improve the initial power level of your character.)]
Below were two small options: [Yes] and [No]
“Well… whatever’s coming, at least it’s interesting.”
After a month of mind-numbing confinement, Ji Minghuan’s brain was completely dulled—his body too. Now, this sudden bit of stimulation felt like a firecracker going off in front of him.
He decided to treat it like a lucid dream. Might as well enjoy it while it lasted.
Dragging the finger cursor like a mouse, Ji Minghuan hovered it over the interface—
—and clicked [Yes].
The text within the frame changed—words burst forth more densely than before, like a swarm of baby spiders crawling out of an egg sac, nearly filling Ji Minghuan’s entire field of vision.
His eyelids didn’t even twitch. He stared at it all in silence, a little relieved that he didn’t suffer from trypophobia.
[Next, you will be allowed to create a “game character” in the real world. Once creation is successful, you will be able to freely control that character’s actions according to your will—no matter where your body is. Every time you fall asleep, your consciousness can transfer into the created game character.]
[When you are awake—that is, outside of dreamtime—the character will follow a “logical behavior algorithm” based on your prior in-character decisions, and automatically adapt to its surroundings until the next time you resume control.]
[Of course, if you wish to control the character even while awake, you can change the game settings. (Warning: doing so may trigger symptoms of “schizophrenia” or even “personality split.” Because the collision and conflict between multiple perspectives and sensory inputs in the brain is beyond what most people can endure, it could place an unbearable strain on your mental state. If overwhelmed, the character may enter a “rampage state.”)]
[Now, please choose one of the two “identity records” below. This will serve as your first game character, making its grand debut on the stage called ‘the real world.’]
“Pretty sure ‘grand debut’ usually has a negative connotation... Haven’t even started yet, and they’re already handing me the villain script?”
Ji Minghuan raised an eyebrow and muttered in his mind.
Shaking off the pointless thought, he scrolled down.
[Character Record #1]
[Name: Gu Wenyu]
[Gender: Male]
[Age: 17]
[Race: Asian]
[Class: Superhuman (Esper) — One of the three major extraordinary races. Each Esper possesses a unique power, which correlates closely with their personal growth and life experience.)]
[Base Stats: Strength: C | Speed: C | Spirit: C]
[Initial Rating: C]
[Background: You live in China’s capital city—a native high school student of Lijing. One night, you suddenly awakened your superpower: the ability to generate and control dark “binding restraints.” From that day on, you began to notice that your family—whom you’ve lived with for over a decade—might be hiding secrets you never imagined...]
[Character has three growth paths to choose from: A) Hero | B) Villain | C) Gray Character]
[Note: Once a growth path is chosen, it cannot be changed. Choose carefully.]
Scanning the file, Ji Minghuan murmured, “An Esper with restraint powers… Sounds kinda weird. Wait—Lijing? That’s my hometown.”
More precisely, Lijing was where his orphanage was. Until he’d been kidnapped and brought to this lab, he had never once left that place—not even for school, unlike some of the smarter kids.
He scrolled further with his index-finger cursor to look at the second character file.
[Character Record #2]
[Name: André]
[Gender: Male]
[Age: 16]
[Race: Caucasian]
[Class: Anecdote Envoy — One of the three major extraordinary races. These individuals travel to bizarre, mythical realms to obtain “Anecdote Fragments,” which they then harness using the mystical “Anecdote Codex” to fight with various fragment powers.]
[Base Stats: Strength: D | Speed: D | Spirit: C]
[Initial Rating: D++]
[Background: You live in the capital of Denmark. Since childhood, you’ve been fascinated by strange stories and otherworldly adventures. One morning, you received an invitation from the mysterious “Whale Garden,” opening the gate to the world of Anecdote Envoys.]
[Character has two growth paths to choose from: A) Anecdote Sentinel | B) Evil Anecdote Envoy]
“I don’t get it… but it sounds kind of awesome.”
Ji Minghuan was intrigued. “So, if there are three extraordinary races total, then besides Espers and Anecdote Envoys, what’s the third one supposed to be?”
The thought made him curious, but he didn’t spend much time choosing between the two characters.
Since he’d grown up in Lijing—the same city Gu Wenyu came from—he made his decision the moment he saw the name.
If this dream really was his ability manifesting, and if it really connected to reality, then choosing Character #1 would at least give him an excuse to return to the orphanage and investigate. Figure out what kind of organization had kidnapped him and brought him here.
The police might not know anything—but based on what Ji Minghuan knew about the Director, unless he was dead, he had to be aware two kids had gone missing. Maybe he even knew where they’d been taken.
[You have selected Character Record #1 — “Esper: Gu Wenyu.” Please now choose one of the following three character growth routes: A) Hero | B) Villain | C) Gray Character.]
Ji Minghuan skimmed the three options—and chose C.
The reason was simple: he didn’t want to be a hero, and he didn’t want to be a villain. He just wanted to figure out who the hell took him and how to get his real body out of this d**n lab.
As a gray character who straddled the line between light and dark, he’d naturally have more chances to uncover the truth.
[You have selected Growth Route #3 — “Gray Character.” A unique character development system has been generated.]
[Please wait while your first in-world game character, “Gu Wenyu,” is being created and made logically consistent in the real world...]
[Entering China: Lijing... Final countdown commencing.]
[3...]
[2...]
[1...]
The moment the number hit zero, Ji Minghuan’s vision was swallowed whole by a blinding light.