Scenario One: Painted Skin — 1

The world was pitch-black.

A moment later, a line of white, 14-point SimSun text appeared in the center of the darkness.

[Loading game resources...]

[Downloading voice resource pack...]

[Optimizing system interface...]

[Loading complete. Login successful.]

The glow from the white text was a little harsh. The protagonist of this story tried to rub his eyes. He raised a hand—and felt nothing.

Startled, he looked down and discovered that all he had left was a pair of forearms floating in midair.

The rest of his body was nowhere to be found.

"...? Who am I? Where am I? And where did the entire body attached to my arms go?!"

The words faded into the darkness. As his vision went black again, a rich male voice, smooth and shamelessly flippant, spoke from somewhere in the void.

[...You are the protagonist of a novel. Due to circumstances certain authors were too lazy to explain, you accidentally lost your memory. By the time you woke up, you had successfully logged in to a full-dive game called World Model. The system informed you that to reclaim your lost memories, you must clear a variety of game scenarios generated from horror stories and collect enough items to exchange for them.]

The protagonist was baffled. "Wait... What kind of backstory is this supposed to be? Is that amnesiac protagonist me?"

[All right. Confused and bewildered though you may be, life must go on. A new life deserves a new beginning, so let us start by choosing a name for yourself.]

[What is your name?]

The disembodied male voice paused, patiently awaiting the protagonist's answer.

The silence gave the protagonist time to recover. He stared blankly for a long while before his brain finally rebooted and began processing the situation.

His memories began the moment he opened his eyes. Other than that, the only thing he remembered was his name.

Nothing else.

According to that narrator-like prompt, he was currently at the login screen of a full-dive game. That sudden spiel must have been some kind of game backstory, and it happened to match his present circumstances perfectly.

So the amnesia was part of the game's premise? An immersive role-playing experience, then. Interesting.

Still, not even bothering to explain the cause of his amnesia made that opening far too half-assed.

After a moment's thought, the protagonist replied, "My name is Bu Jianhan."

[Very well, Mr. Bu Jianhan. It is a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to World Model. I am System 301, your most trustworthy assistant. I will answer your questions and accompany you throughout the delightful gaming journey ahead.]

The system was surprisingly personable. It certainly had character.

Unfortunately, it also sounded like a shady guide on a bargain tour, forever poised to strong-arm its captive customers into buying something.

[Your first game instance will now be loaded. Prepare for deployment.]

[3, 2, 1...]

At the end of the countdown, dazzling light burst before his eyes. Bu Jianhan squeezed them shut on instinct. When he slowly opened them again, a blurry interior swam into view.

He blinked hard several times until his vision gradually cleared.

He was in a bathroom. Diagonally across from the bathroom door stood a half-open kitchen door. Beyond the kitchen's sliding door, he could just make out the tall back of someone pacing with a cleaver in hand, humming a slightly off-key tune.

[Scenario: Dear Brothers]

[Difficulty: One Star]

[Scenario Description: Beneath that borrowed skin, do you truly know who it is you are speaking to?]

[Scenario Introduction: You are an ordinary private detective. In this fiercely competitive society, your agency has survived only because you latched onto your wealthy friend Lin Seven. To date, he has given you more than 159,200 yuan in financial support... Unfortunately, you abruptly lost contact with Lin Seven one week ago. Then, just yesterday, you happened across a missing-person notice in the newspaper placed by his elder brother, Lin Five. Your detective's instincts told you something was amiss, so you decided to visit Lin Seven's villa in search of clues.]

[Current Objective: You have arrived at Lin Seven's villa. Go say a friendly hello to his family.]

Upon entering the scenario, Bu Jianhan used the brief lull before the plot officially began to quickly familiarize himself with the game's controls.

As this was a full-dive game with no keyboard, mouse, or controller, its interface was closer to virtual reality. Everything from story information to control prompts floated before Bu Jianhan on translucent screens of light.

Actions did not require him to physically tap anything, either. He only had to issue a mental command.

Had technology really advanced this far? Bu Jianhan's mind filled with question marks. Admittedly, he could not remember how advanced technology was supposed to be, but this seemed implausibly sophisticated.

Next, he decided he ought to see what he looked like. He was sitting on a toilet, so he turned toward the mirror over the sink.

He had no reflection.

Bu Jianhan: "...?"

A bad feeling stirred in him. He adjusted his viewpoint mentally. After rotating it through a full 360 degrees, he finally confirmed the truth.

He. Was. Nothing. But. Two. Forearms.

No body, no reflection. He was literally all hands and no head.

Then what am I using to sit on the toilet? Who made this character model? Could they possibly have been any lazier?

Start with two hands; scavenge the rest of the body as you go?

The game was shamelessly sloppy about the protagonist's backstory—the part that deserved some care—yet meticulously recreated every detail old-school horror games had been sloppy about.

Fine.

Temporarily accepting this ridiculous reality, Bu Jianhan got off the toilet—he had no idea how, but his eye level rose, so it must have happened—then closed the story window obstructing his view and began studying his surroundings.

Through the open bathroom door, he could still see the aproned figure pacing around the kitchen. The man held a huge, gleaming cleaver and was chopping a large slab of meat on the cutting board. White veins of fat marbled the bloodred flesh. It looked like a large cut of lean pork... or perhaps beef?

Before long, a series of crashes came from upstairs: the dull thump of what sounded like a chair overturning, followed by the sharp shatter of ceramic dishes. The apron man immediately looked up, alert. He wiped the cleaver on his apron, returned it to the knife rack, and hurried out of the kitchen.

As Bu Jianhan watched him leave, his gaze abruptly froze.

I understand the apron and all... but why isn't he wearing anything underneath it?

The man's pert, snowy-white buttocks nearly blinded him. Bu Jianhan checked the game information in the system interface again. There was no mention of an age rating or explicit content whatsoever.

It probably was not a kink thing. For now, he would assume the character model was faulty—or the game had bugged out.

While the apron man was gone, Bu Jianhan slipped out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to investigate. He might as well see whether the map had any collectibles.

Dinner was halfway prepared. Flames sputtered on the stove, a pressure cooker released steam in rhythmic bursts, and he could hear water boiling inside a pot and smell the rich aroma of fresh meat broth.

The meat on the cutting board was only half cut: some sliced, some cubed, some julienned. Pale red blood seeped from the vivid, well-marbled flesh, trickled along the grain of the board, and pooled on the counter. Clearly, it was not all meant for the same dish. Apparently, the villa's owner was preparing an all-meat feast.

Beside the cutting board, bowls of every size held marinated chunks of meat in various shapes and sizes. Judging by the quantity, there was enough to feed nine or ten people.

Bu Jianhan tried to pick up a small piece from the cutting board.

He raised his hand and reached for it. Before he could make contact, however, the piece he had fixed his gaze on obligingly flew up by itself. It hovered stubbornly three centimeters from his hand, maintaining that distance as he drew back and floating along until it was directly in front of him.

Bu Jianhan: "...? The Force?"

Don't ask. The answer was quantum mechanics.

He turned the piece of meat this way and that. Although he could examine it, he could not use it, so it probably was not a collectible. Just as he was about to put it down, a rapid patter of footsteps descended the stairs outside the kitchen.

Bu Jianhan jolted. Feeling like a burglar caught trespassing in someone's home, his first instinct was to run. He dashed out of the kitchen in one long stride.

Then scurried back into the bathroom.

Sure enough, the apron man had come downstairs. He seemed to be in a foul mood, each booming step louder than the last.

He returned to the kitchen, took out the cleaver, and resumed chopping.

Crouched on the toilet, Bu Jianhan found himself in a quandary. He had fled so quickly that he had carried the meat away with him without thinking. It was obviously too late to put it back now.

Maybe he could hide it somewhere in the bathroom for the time being?

Just as he congratulated himself on this excellent idea, a thunderous roar erupted from the kitchen. "WHO TOUCHED MY DINNER?!"

Bu Jianhan's scalp prickled. His hand jerked, and the piece of meat hovering above it fell into the toilet with a plop.

Worst of all, Bu Jianhan lived by the exemplary hygiene maxim, "In with a rush, out with a flush." The instant he saw something fall into the toilet, he reflexively hit the flush button.

"WHOOOOSH—"

The toilet's deafening flush naturally alerted the enraged, apron man. Cleaver in hand, he stormed into the bathroom and came face-to-face with Bu Jianhan hiding inside.

Bu Jianhan: "..."

Uh, how could I explain that I didn't mean to take his dinner?

I was just checking whether it had marinated long enough?

It was clearly too late to apologize. The apron man apparently had not expected to find an intruder in the house. Surprise crossed his face—then his features twisted into a vicious, hideous snarl.

Before Bu Jianhan could offer a single word in his defense, the rancid cleaver, the bloodstained apron, and that terrifying, ashen face contorted with fury all hurtled toward him!

He tried to retreat, but it was too late.

A sharp, blood-smeared cleaver flashed coldly as it came chopping down at his head!

Terrified, he threw up his arms and crossed them in front of himself, but it was no use. With a clang, the cleaver struck him. Blood sprayed across his vision, dyeing everything scarlet!

"A-Aaaah—!"

Agony overwhelmed him. As he screamed, the man raised the cleaver and hacked at him again and again in a frenzy. The bathroom was too cramped; there was nowhere to dodge. Helpless and despairing, Bu Jianhan could only watch as the scene before him grew redder and redder, until blood swallowed everything.

After a moment of silence, the crimson gradually faded to black.

In the center of the darkness, a line of softly glowing white text in 14-point SimSun stood out with perfect clarity.

[You have died.]