[That statue is missing its head]

“What’s wrong?” Slack Bro asked.

Zhou Sui moved his panel in front of them, displaying the peculiar miniature figure. The skill tree showed no reaction. “Forging material?”

“Doesn’t look like forging material,” Slack Bro said, leaning in to examine it. “It seems more like a quest item.”

Rich Bro, the Beastmaster, also took a look. “It’s got nothing to do with my spirit pet. Doesn’t look like pet food either.”

Zhou Sui reached into his inventory, and the corresponding description popped up—

[An effigy lost in the Forest of Birds, origin unknown.]

The Divine Tree game was full of odd and mysterious events. This item seemed related to the spirit pet event Rich Bro had triggered, yet it didn’t appear to be a material tied to a special spirit pet. Zhou Sui pondered for a moment, intending to take it out of his inventory and hand it to Rich Bro—who had activated the special spirit pet quest—but a notification suddenly appeared—

[This item is bound and cannot be dropped or gifted.]

Slack Bro: “Oh ho! A bound item! That’s rare.”

Rich Bro: “Brother Zhou, you keep it. This thing might trigger something later.”

Zhou Sui, who had always hated doing quests: “…”

It couldn’t be discarded and took up inventory space.

When Zhou Sui’s peripheral vision fell on the miniature figure, its stone-carved eyes seemed to be staring back at him.

He glanced at it, then casually tossed it into a corner of his inventory.

Kind of ugly.

Slack Bro and Rich Bro, acting like long-lost friends, started chatting animatedly and dragged Zhou Sui along to farm wild monsters in another zone. Zhou Sui was slow at doing quests, but Slack Bro, a frequent wild grinder, knew where the high-experience monsters spawned. When they asked if Zhou Sui wanted to join, he tagged along to leech some experience.

With the Beastmaster’s numerous summons, their aggro-pulling efficiency skyrocketed. In the wild monster zones, he’d round up entire hordes at once—Zhou Sui’s grinding speed now dwarfed what he and Slack Bro had achieved as a duo. His once-stagnant experience bar, previously crippled by slow quest progress, finally began to climb.

…

By evening, Zhou Sui’s experience bar had reached level 29. He used up his remaining Qingshan Academy runs and logged off to eat.

His stomach growled unusually fast—his loader didn’t have a nutrient pod function.

While rushing to grab food, he accidentally stepped on the cat’s tail, eliciting a piercing yowl.

“Sorry,” Zhou Sui apologized.

The mechanical cat nagged incessantly, but its owner remained unfazed. Eventually, under its persistent complaints, Zhou Sui reluctantly grabbed a cat teaser to play with it. The mechanical cat, as if it were only natural, forgave him, hopping over to Zhou Sui’s side to watch him. After finishing his nutrient fluid, Zhou Sui stared intently at his optical computer. Yesterday and today, his pet had noticed its caretaker sinking more and more time into gaming.

“What’s this guide?” the cat asked.

Zhou Sui: “For the Wild Lion King. It nearly clawed me to death earlier.”

“Your enrollment paperwork’s been processed. Director Li from Capital University sent a message three hours ago,” the mechanical cat said, flicking its tail to pull up a system notification about an admission letter and shoving it in Zhou Sui’s face.

Only then did Zhou Sui recall he’d forgotten something recently.

A few years ago, he’d been in a work-study situation. During his time at the training camp, he often had to stay in the holographic world, putting his studies on hold.

Then came the hypersomnia episode when he’d been in stasis.

His academic record had frozen a few years back. He’d just received his admission to Capital University but hadn’t reported to the school when the issue arose. Zhou Sui had nearly forgotten about it, but Director Li, ever attentive to students’ circumstances, had called him via comms after he recovered and was discharged.

“Here’s the deal: We’ve received your outstanding performance record from your service days… Don’t worry, don’t worry! Our school has special pathways and bonus policies for exceptional students. You won’t fall behind—our teachers are top-notch!”

Director Li’s voice was gentle and refined, his enthusiasm leaving Zhou Sui no room to argue. “Retiring young is the perfect time to soak up cultural knowledge. We’ve checked with Dr. Wu about your health, and after some discussion, the school’s decided to place you in Class 3 of the StarNet Intelligent Analysis major.”

“It’s a popular program with great job prospects!”

Zhou Sui, long retired with a bonus stash and planning to coast through life, had no chance to object. His academic path was neatly arranged once more. With too many missed classes, he’d have to start from freshman year at Capital University and make up all the cultural credits he owed.

Attending university after retirement—probably the only oddball from his batch of training camp.

The mechanical cat chimed in: “Low cultural literacy means you’ll get scammed online.”

Zhou Sui: “…”

The cat continued: “Low cultural literacy means you won’t even understand game guides. People call that illiterate.”

Zhou Sui, who loathed reading quest details in games, felt a sharp pang of irritation as if the cat had hit the bullseye. He grudgingly read through Director Li’s admission notice, added his homeroom teacher’s comms ID, got pulled into the Capital University class group, and promptly muted it.

After handling all that, he picked up the game guide again.

“You’ve been playing games a lot lately,” the cat remarked.

Zhou Sui: “If I go to the training room, you’ll tattle on me.”

The cat, speaking human words: “It’s for your own good. If you go into stasis again, I’ll be a widowed cat.”

It purred and shifted its position. “If you like it, play more!”

“The money in the account won’t treat you badly,” Zhou Sui said. When he was sick and hibernated back then, it scared the cat a lot. This sentence was often repeated by the cat as nagging. The two—one human, one cat—had been living together for years, long accustomed to each other’s presence.

Back in the early days, Zhou Sui had thought it was just the mechanical cat’s companionship programming—or perhaps an overly realistic reaction to being abandoned.

Zhou Sui could understand, yet couldn’t fully grasp it: “Spend less time online—what have you downloaded into that brain of yours?”

In terms of an AI’s lifespan, this cat would outlive him.

The mechanical cat wasn’t pleased. It jumped up, ready to make a fuss, and its tail swiped across the virtual screen Zhou Sui was interacting with.

The swipe landed on a nearby push notification link—

[Shocking! Must-Know Divine Tree Plot Updates—Miss It and Regret It for 30 Years!]

It was trending high, ranked third on the real-time list.

The streamer was a blogger focused on the main storyline of Divine Tree.

Story enthusiasts—Zhou Sui wasn’t one of them. His interest in the game lay in its novel monster battles and weapon skill systems.

That’s why, when he first started doing quests in the wild, he was painfully slow. The text information was overwhelming, and processing it was a hassle. But recently, while browsing game guides, he’d learned about something beyond the various gameplay mechanics that many players cared about: the world progression of Divine Tree.

This world progression was driven by all the players experiencing special events across the Divine Tree continent, with much of the information coming from story-driven players. As the world progressed, the game’s setting revealed more to these players. After reaching level 50, veteran players who’d long left the newbie servers noticed something: the Tiankong Tree high above wasn’t as bright anymore.

For every player entering the game, the first thing they saw was the Tiankong Tree in the air. Day or night, it was the sole guiding light of the Divine Tree continent.

Logically, as the Divine Tree continent’s story progressed, corresponding branches of the Tiankong Tree would light up… or it would react to significant plot advancements, reflecting the changes. This was how most story enthusiasts judged whether the special events or dungeons they tackled were tied to the main storyline.

But now, in the advanced zones, the Tiankong Tree had dimmed. Not just dimmed—high-level players could sense an eerie feeling in the sky.

Story enthusiasts had never heard of a mainline quest they’d completed showing signs of regression, so the community exploded.

[Mainframe-driven game… think back to the level regression in Tianhuan a few years ago.]

[This game’s been quiet lately—it’s definitely brewing something big.]

[Divine Tree’s gameplay feels a bit standard now, but way more players have triggered special events this month compared to last.]

[And didn’t the main storyline mention the Tiankong Tree starting to decay?]

The barrage of comments kept popping up in the analysis video. Zhou Sui ignored them, about to scroll down, when the streamer’s voice suddenly rang in his ears: “The leaderboard big shots are so busy leveling up, yet they keep hiring people or using alts to visit newbie servers. You don’t think it’s that simple, do you?”

Isn’t it just for materials?

Zhou Sui recalled what Slack Bro had said—those players were there to farm special events for skill materials.

“Farming tree food is one thing, but no matter how good the materials are in newbie villages, how can they compare to advanced zones?”

The streamer continued in a mysterious tone: “Things have been so lively lately… because something new was discovered in the advanced zones!”

Zhou Sui’s gaze paused.

“The leaderboard squads have been hovering around newbie villages. Materials are part of it, but not the only reason,” the streamer went on. “Just moments ago, the top-ranked team, Skyward Ascen, killed a wild boss in an advanced zone and made it to the world announcement. The boss dropped a stone head—specifically, a human head.”

“After some careful comparison, guess what I found about this stone statue’s material description and the visuals it revealed?”

As the voice trailed off, a creepy image appeared in the video.

The cold wind howled through the wilderness, and what came into view was an abandoned temple swayed by the eerie breeze. The head of the dilapidated stone lion had already fallen to the ground, and the gaps between the bricks were filled with waist-high weeds. The weeds were dry and withered, a pale yellow, giving the scene an utterly lifeless appearance at a glance. Following the chilling, mournful sound upward, one could see the temple’s gate.

One of the doors was missing, and high above, on a weathered plaque, were written the three characters “Tiandi Temple”.  

The deep, crimson font stood out starkly, looking as though it had been written in blood in the dim surroundings. Peering through the broken door, one could see the statue of the deity enshrined within the temple.  

That statue was missing its head.