“Can someone like this really clear an instance?”
Watching the screen, where a shy, slender, and delicate-looking boy smiled, many people couldn’t hide their doubts: “The livestream team isn’t holding a beauty contest. What good is looking pretty? If he can’t even survive the instance, he’ll lose his life before anything else!”
It wasn’t surprising that people were impatient. Ever since the Earth’s mutation three years ago, everything familiar had changed.
It started with the countdowns that appeared at the collarbone. Those tiny, black, tattoo-like numbers ticked down by the second. When they reached zero, the person’s heart would stop, and they would die in agonizing pain.
There was only one way to survive: enter the life-and-death “games” through floating crystals that appeared out of nowhere across the globe. Only the winners could delay the countdown at their collarbone.
What happened to the losers?
To put it bluntly—they didn’t die intact.
In just three years, the once peaceful world had become like hell—fear grew, despair spread, and collapse was bottled into balloons, released to the skies, only to rain down over every street and alley again.
If you didn’t enter an instance, you died. If you did, you might die unexpectedly. What were ordinary people supposed to do?!
The whole world was asking the same question. And just when everyone was filled with panic and confusion, a sinister livestream channel promoted by the alliance appeared.
The hosts who appeared there often had rare and powerful evolutionary directions, and their high survival rates offered people tremendous psychological comfort.
But today, a newcomer appeared.
A new host who looked thin, frail, and so young it was hard to tell if he was even an adult.
“The official response says he’s an adult; he just turned eighteen last month.” Around the crystal, a crowd had gathered. Among them, a broad-shouldered man sneered: “The new host’s livestream only got single-digit likes—that’s a record low. I don’t get what the higher-ups are thinking. I could do better in the livestream team myself.”
The woman next to him rolled her eyes: “Maybe his evolution path is amazing… maybe he’s a sinister ghost type.”
At her words, laughter erupted around them. Someone snorted: “Do you think ‘sinister ghost type’ is like wholesale at the market? The livestream team barely has any of them, if any at all.”
The woman sneered, about to retort, but suddenly her expression changed: “Did you hear that sound?”
“?!”
Everyone immediately became alert, looking around with uncertainty. They hadn’t heard anything themselves, but no one doubted the woman’s hearing—she was a sinister monster evolutionary type, with exceptional auditory abilities.
Sure enough, within a minute, the ground began to tremble. A rumbling accompanied dust and sand swirling in the air.
More and more people stood, their faces serious, eyes fixed on the only entrance to the alley.
Several armored vehicles rolled in, screeching to a halt. Soon, dozens of inspection team members disembarked, forming perfectly trained rows.
They arranged themselves in two lines, leaving a narrow path between them. At the end of the path lay the livestream team’s temporary camp, where today’s instance participants were waiting.
The sheer spectacle of this escort left countless onlookers dumbfounded. Soon, some hosts from the camp ran out to watch. From their expressions, it was clear even they were surprised.
The broad-shouldered man who had been mocking earlier froze: “I’ve seen the player list. The hosts in this instance should all be commoners or low-class players—no one with noble status. Could there be someone from a noble family among the ordinary players?”
People exchanged confused glances, and a heated discussion broke out.
“Wow… in my lifetime, I’ve never seen this many inspection team members. They couldn’t possibly be here just to escort one person, right?”
“Ordinary players wouldn’t get an escort from the inspection team. And I don’t think this is an escort—it looks more like… a prisoner transfer!”
“Which host is so dangerous that hundreds of inspection team members are needed to move them?!”
“All the hosts are here, except for one…”
“The newcomer!”
“The only host who hasn’t arrived is the newcomer!”
Everyone focused their gaze as an inspection team member stepped forward and unlocked the massive chains crisscrossing the armored vehicle. Soon, the side door opened, and a long leg stepped down.
The boy appeared in the crowd’s view. What people noticed first wasn’t his unnaturally youthful, delicate face, but the black electronic collar around his pale neck.
For a moment, the entire scene erupted in whispers, then fell into dead silence. Everyone instinctively held their breath.
They were all thinking the same thing.
The livestream hosts fell into two categories. One group performed exceptionally across multiple instances; the alliance offered them massive benefits and recruited them. The other group was far more mysterious. Everything they had done in instances was top secret, never disclosed. They were usually extremely dangerous criminals whom the alliance had subdued at great cost and kept heavily restrained.
The second type had one defining trait: they always wore electronic collars. Any one of them could be taken at random—their crimes were almost unspeakable.
“I take back what I said before,” the broad-shouldered man muttered, sweating heavily. “Maybe… the newcomer really is a sinister ghost type.”
This time, no one nearby dared to argue with him.
Everyone’s attention was entirely on the boy, and soon, something even more shocking happened. Under the terrified gaze of the crowd, an inspection team soldier stepped forward and began handling the electronic collar.
With a sharp click, the soldier actually unlocked the collar!
Immediately, someone stepped back several paces, fearing the boy might act suddenly—after all, incidents like this had happened before. Even the soldier who removed the collar remained on full alert, eyes locked on the boy without blinking.
“Welcome to the livestream team,” the soldier added, clearing his throat. “I mean Zhao’an Team branch, not the Xiang’an Team.”
“Tha—” Jian Yuntai had barely said a word when every nearby soldier instinctively gripped their guns. Some even subtly moved to block the only retreat path behind him.
Jian Yuntai twitched at the corner of his mouth. Wasn’t this a bit… excessive?
The story actually began a month ago, on his birthday. It was a long, long tale, but Jian Yuntai was too exasperated to go into detail. He preferred to summarize:
Like everyone else in the world, he had awakened his sinister type on his eighteenth birthday.
Human evolution had four levels of “Sinister Types,” ranked by rarity: Monster, Human, Spirit, Ghost. These were the “Sinister Types.” Yet he seemed to belong to none of them; none of the known types manifested as “hunger.”
He was so hungry his soul trembled. When he saw dozens of fragrant cargo trucks heading toward the noble district, he couldn’t resist following them.
When he woke again, he was wearing an electronic collar and locked inside a transparent, bulletproof glass room.
Beneath him was an electric chair, and his entire body was bound with heavy chains. People outside the glass stared at him as if he were a ghost. For a whole month, Jian Yuntai was forced to undergo various sinister type tests. He almost believed he would be trapped there forever—until suddenly, the livestream team bailed him out.
Immediately afterward, he was sent to this hellish place.
**
[137-player instance assembled, loading… Player Jian Yuntai, load successful.]
[Welcome to the Life Crystal Great Escape.]
When he opened his eyes, Jian Yuntai found his surroundings had changed. He had been transported from the ruined alleyway to a massive plaza.
The first thing he saw were two suns hanging high in the sky.
The heat was almost unbearably intense. After only a few seconds, a layer of sweat broke out across his back. His blood felt like it was boiling, and he could barely inhale through his nose. Jian Yuntai had to open his mouth to breathe.
But the instant he did, an overwhelming stench hit him—the combined smell of sweat, sewage, and an indescribable, almost metallic stench of rot. The odor nearly knocked him out.
He cursed under his breath and silently covered the lower half of his face.
Around him were tens of thousands of instance natives. With so many people, he couldn’t tell who were players. They all looked angry, volatile, and were staring in the same direction.
A column of people in white armor appeared. It was clear they were the instance’s law enforcers.
“We need to leave the city!”
Someone shouted in despair: “You know the extra suns only cover this city! Why won’t you let us leave? Is this even a place humans can survive?”
The crowd surged forward in chaos, stepping on each other in the crush. But when the enforcers raised their guns in warning, everyone froze in fear.
The large screen at the plaza’s center lit up, and a broadcast voice announced: “Today’s temperature: 46°C. Rescue supplies will arrive in one day. Do not panic; stay home and wait. We will overcome this crisis together from outside the city.”
“Over your grandmother’s crisis! You’re outside the city trying to cross what motherf*king crisis!” A roar came from the right. Turning to look, they saw a burly man with bloodshot eyes. When he noticed Jian Yuntai staring at him, he cursed viciously, “What are you looking at?””
Jian Yuntai withdrew his gaze.
He wasn’t looking at anything—just concerned about this guy’s fragile psyche.
Two suns were already this unbearable. If the strong man knew the instance’s name, he’d probably kill himself on the spot.
[Current Instance: Six Suns.]
A low male voice, audible only to players, sounded: [The research institute plans to launch artificial suns, putting the city in unprecedented danger. I don’t understand why—they’re all madmen. These madmen want to kill everyone in the city!]
At that moment, the plaza’s broadcast picked up again: “The following are escaped suspects. Citizens, please identify them. Capturing one allows you to reach the city gate as a witness and exit safely.”
Upon hearing “exit the city,” a huge cheer erupted from the plaza. The large screen flipped through photos of each suspect, and everyone focused intently, staring at the images.
“Since this is an escape game, the emphasis is on ‘escape,’” a blond man murmured quietly from the right.
His voice was low, and the nearby natives didn’t pay attention. But Jian Yuntai’s evolved hearing was exceptional; he could hear clearly:
“So the players’ goal is to capture those madmen launching the suns, in exchange for a chance to escape this place. While doing this, they must endure rising temperatures and handle the crucial problem of food and water.”
He seemed to be speaking directly to the livestream audience, chuckling to himself: “Easy. This is way too easy!”
Jian Yuntai shook his head. “Wrong.”
The blond man froze mid-laugh and looked around, confused. By then, Jian Yuntai had already withdrawn his gaze; the man assumed it was his imagination and went back to chuckling.
But soon, he couldn’t laugh anymore—the large screen displayed his own face.
It was like a trigger. Nearby natives, who hadn’t paid attention to the blond man, suddenly had their eyes magnetically drawn to the screen. In an instant, all gazes snapped to him.
The blond man froze, dumbfounded.
“That’s him! He’s one of the escaped suspects!”
Someone shouted this, triggering a chain reaction. Several people surrounded the blond man. Impatient ones grabbed him; it was easy to pull off his cap, revealing his handsome face to the scorching air. Jian Yuntai immediately recognized him.
Young Master Xue—the livestream team’s notorious “landlord’s idiot son.” This guy had the face of a mixed-race model, looked strong, but couldn’t actually fight. He was first-rate at running away.
Now, he was pinned to the ground, unable to move. It seemed all the crowd’s anger over the suns was vented onto him. If it weren’t for the plan to use him to exit the city, they might have torn him apart.
Seeing Young Master Xue as a warning, Jian Yuntai didn’t hesitate. He turned, ready to run.
He needed to find somewhere to hide.
But the instance gave no such option. People stood tightly packed in a circle, so dense that it felt impossible for air to pass through—let alone leave.
Before Jian Yuntai could come up with a new plan, the photos on the large screen flipped again.
This time, it was his face.
