Among the three possibilities, Xie Shuangxue leaned most toward the first method, mainly because of the timing.

Right now, he was in what was called a “pre-scene”—a segment invisible to players. The true timeline, where players could observe events, began with the Bloody Night Massacre, followed by the City Lord’s last stand, then Chun Yao’s arrival and acceptance of his mission, and Chun Yao’s first encounter with Luo Yin. Only after all this would Xie Shuangxue’s “ungrateful wolf” scene play out.

In this pre-scene phase, the system’s control was relatively light, while critical story scenes had much stricter control. Xie Shuangxue’s other two ideas both fell under these critical scenes, making them harder to manipulate. By comparison, he figured his highest chance of altering the storyline lay here.

He glanced around the scene again. He was hiding under a rock formation in a small garden, with a small hole in the rock acting as a ventilation point for him to see outside. The rock formation itself was low, but the ground beneath was dug out, forming part of an underground escape route.

Xie Shuangxue had originally entered the tunnel to escape the manor but stopped here when he saw that the outside was crawling with skeletal ghosts. He could only wait for the Feather Clan to arrive and rescue him.

The garden itself was flat and open, giving a clear line of sight, and at a glance, it appeared devoid of hiding places or traces of skeletal ghosts. Yet, one of the ghost commanders was hiding beneath the ground, concealed just under the grass nearby.

This skeletal commander was likely one of the most formidable in the horde, posing a tough challenge. Now, it lurked beneath the ground, invisible on the surface.

There was, however, one tiny flaw—one that even the Gods and Demons testing team might have missed.

The skeletal ghosts’ stealth action wasn’t completely undetectable. One patch of grass in the garden had been slightly lifted, creating an unusual wrinkle hidden in the shadow against the wall. In such a chaotic environment, this small detail would go unnoticed unless someone looked closely.

This detail wasn’t something the developers set up; it was an automatic adjustment made by the intelligent engine during scene generation, reflecting the increased realism of the game world.

But Xie Shuangxue noticed it.

He had observed closely during every test, never missing a single small detail.

Xie Shuangxue was constantly assessing just how realistic the world SEA created was. During testing, he’d tried various little tricks to confirm his theories.

In truth, as realism increased, the game world followed more and more logical patterns. Scene details were just one aspect of it. While the other NPCs hadn’t developed self-awareness like he had and didn’t change the story proactively, they could still think.

Modern AI being capable of thought was hardly news, though there were levels and degrees of complexity compared to human thinking. Still, they naturally showed curiosity about oddities and responded differently depending on the situation.

SEA’s recent upgrade made this even more apparent.

Now, Xie Shuangxue was about to create his own “oddity.”

Even without complete confidence, he had to give it a shot.

There was nothing in the hidden chamber beneath the rock formation aside from a few small pebbles on the ground. Spending a bit of light, he reached down and grabbed a handful of pebbles, then raised his hand to the right height.

That one big move cost him nearly a tenth of his light reserves.

It took days to gather light, yet he could use it up in an instant.

Light really didn’t last long.

Xie Shuangxue sighed inwardly.

But the good news was that, while his character was self-centered, he was still capable. After setting up, he only moved two fingers, maximizing energy efficiency.

The pebbles, under his control, shot out one by one through the ventilation hole in the rock formation. They followed a fixed arc and landed on the wrinkled patch of grass with almost no sound.

The skeletal ghosts hiding beneath the grass didn’t notice.

Unfortunately, because the ventilation hole was so narrow, his view was extremely limited, and the pebbles didn’t line up perfectly. Seven or eight pebbles scattered across the grass, some partly obscured by blades of grass.

A few scattered stones on a garden lawn were an entirely normal detail that wouldn’t draw attention.

The stones in the tunnel were too small; Xie Shuangxue wasn’t quite satisfied. He glanced at his wrist’s light gauge, already running low, but he wasn’t discouraged. He calculated and planned to toss out a few more pebbles, hoping to create a pile obvious enough for the Feather Clan to notice.

Just as he was about to change his angle, he heard voices, as though coming from beyond the wall.

The Feather Clan was here to rescue him this early?

No, impossible.

Xie Shuangxue immediately dismissed the thought. The earlier scenes weren’t over yet, so it couldn’t be the Feather Clan.

He paused, peeking through the hole in the rock. At a certain angle, he could glimpse a gray figure moving beyond the garden wall, pausing right at an opening in the wall’s design. The figure itself was too blurry to make out any specific features.

An idea sparked.

Plans can’t keep up with changes. Whether or not it was the Feather Clan, if he could lure someone over and draw out those skeletal ghosts early, it could disrupt the storyline.

Decisive, Xie Shuangxue slightly adjusted his aim and flicked one of the pebbles out. With precise force, the pebble sailed through the opening in the wall and struck the figure squarely on the lower leg.

A shout rang out.

“What the heck? Who hit me?!”

“Ambush? Have some shame! Damn it, I forgot to turn off the pain feedback setting from my last mission—ow, that hurt like hell!”

Xie Shuangxue had guessed correctly.

It was a player.

He hadn’t considered this possibility before.

A player could disrupt the story—and was actually an excellent option.

The system’s storyline suppression was heavy, though. Xie Shuangxue tried, but he couldn’t speak to attract attention. Minor actions were within the system’s tolerance, but speaking was tied to key plot points and couldn’t be forced.

According to the system’s parameters, if the person outside wasn’t part of the Feather Clan, he shouldn’t be calling for help.

Fortunately, the player seemed to notice the pebble had come from inside the wall. He crouched down, peering through the lower opening in the wall.

Due to the angle, he couldn’t see Xie Shuangxue hiding under the rock formation, though Xie Shuangxue could hear his muttering.

“This place is kinda weird.”

Xie Shuangxue thought he was a bit odd as well.

The guy was talking to himself as though he were speaking with someone else.

He really hoped this quirky player was the type who liked exploring.

Standing outside the small garden, Qiao Zhihui began to ponder.

He had been observing for a while. Inside, there didn’t seem to be any places to hide—just a rock formation, and nothing else. The minimap showed he was alone, with no blue dots for other players or red dots for enemies.

Unless it was a stealth skill from the Assassin class, but he’d been here long enough that a stealth skill wouldn’t last.

Qiao Zhihui was an Assassin himself.

Any ordinary player might shrug it off as a glitch and move on, but not Qiao Zhihui.

He was a streamer.

And what streamers love most is a bit of excitement.

Intrigued, he crouched there, watching.

Qiao Zhihui had been streaming since Gods and Demons launched three years ago. His username was both his in-game name and his stream channel’s title.

His real name was Qiao Zhi. He’d picked the name to seem clever. With a youthful, innocent look and decent skills, his lively personality brought a bit of fun to even the simplest storylines.

He had a decent following, not quite in the top ranks of major streamers, but fairly popular.

Today, he’d been ready and waiting, logging into the game immediately after the three-year anniversary update. He was among the first players to enter the Penglai storyline.

Right from the start, he found himself in a bloody, eerie ghost massacre.

It was the first time a game had given him literal goosebumps, and he commented to his viewers, “Endless Sea really outdid themselves this time. This is insanely real.”

The scenes were so lifelike he couldn’t help but hold his breath, sinking naturally into the story. Then came the Feather Clan, descending like saviors, and he saw Chun Yao descend from the sky.

“So gorgeous. Absolute goddess.”

“Alright, alright, I know he’s a guy.”

“I’m straight, I swear! But, I mean, if he looked at me a few more times…”

Keeping things lively was key to a good stream. Since it was a weekday, not all players could log in right away, and some were just watching for the strategy guide. Seeing his viewer count steadily rise, Qiao Zhihui’s mood was high.

After finishing the intro scene, he moved on to the mission.

Players were cast as brave warriors responding to Penglai’s call for help, joining forces with the Feather Clan to battle skeletal ghosts. By killing enough within the time limit and searching specific areas for survivors, they could earn rewards based on their achievements.

After receiving his mission, he was free to explore.

The taskboard showed that Chun Yao and Luo Yin’s storyline hadn’t yet triggered, so Qiao Zhihui began exploring the City Lord’s Manor, which was part of his mission area.

While exploring, he killed a skeletal ghost to test the feel of combat and noted that even the battle experience felt different.

But he had one problem—his terrible sense of direction. Even the minimap couldn’t keep him on track. Chatting with his viewers, he got distracted and wandered off course.

A normal player would have never ended up here. The area wasn’t in the mission-specified search zone and was on the outskirts of the City Lord’s Manor, without a single enemy.

Qiao Zhihui just happened to stop by the wall to check his map and reorient himself when he got hit by a pebble.

Meanwhile, the viewers were jokingly accusing him of faking it, pointing out that no one was around and they hadn’t seen any pebble thrown. And indeed, the pebble was too small for him to spot on the ground even after searching.

Qiao Zhihui’s stubborn streak kicked in.

He had plenty of time, so he wasn’t about to let this go.

“I’m not lying!” he said, his cheeks puffing out in mock anger. “Just you wait—I’m finding whoever threw that at me.”

The viewers laughed and jeered.

Taking their mockery seriously, Qiao Zhihui did a serious sweep around the area.

On closer inspection, he noticed the garden was indeed isolated, with two blocked exits: a fallen tree on one side and a slanted stone on the other, both enclosed by a high wall.

The previous night’s chaos at the manor had made such scenes plausible, but it seemed designed to keep players out.

But Gods and Demons was known for high freedom. How could there be a place players couldn’t enter?

If they didn’t want him in, he’d force his way in.

Streamers had to be a bit rebellious!

He summoned his weapon, an expensive Assassin’s dagger. Plunging it into the wall, he hoisted himself up, pressing against a gap in the wall. With a final push, he used his Assassin skill to leap onto the wall.

As a streamer, his equipment, skills, and technique were all top-tier. Once over the wall, he quickly dropped down onto the garden grass.

But once he looked around, the place still seemed empty.

Meanwhile, Xie Shuangxue, who had been waiting to see what would happen, noted that although the player had entered, the skeletal ghost commander beneath the grass didn’t emerge.

The setup was airtight, he mused. The storyline hadn’t progressed, and the player wasn’t the ghosts’ target. They were lying in wait for the Feather Clan, with Xie Shuangxue still present and no Feather Clan arriving. Naturally, the ghosts wouldn’t break cover.

But Xie Shuangxue wasn’t ready to give up.

He shifted his thinking; if they wouldn’t come out on their own, someone could dig them up.

Outside, after landing in the garden, Qiao Zhihui glanced around twice without finding anything. Just as he prepared to leave, Xie Shuangxue took another well-timed shot, flicking a pebble.

This time, he used a special flick, causing the pebble to bounce off the wall before striking Qiao Zhihui’s lower back, as if it had come from outside the wall.

“Alright, who’s out there?!”

Qiao Zhihui had reduced the pain setting, but the hit still registered clearly.

He felt sure it wasn’t his imagination, feeling a bit spooked.

Following the pebble’s trajectory, he turned toward the wall, starting to inspect.

That’s when he finally noticed something different.

The wall itself looked ordinary, just plain white, but his gaze shifted downward, spotting a few pebbles scattered on the grass.

A perfectly normal sight, but now, the pebbles had his full attention. He adjusted his camera and pointed out the pebbles to his viewers.

“See! Hard evidence!”

But the audience was unsympathetic, with old fans teasing him.

“Alright, the acting’s gone too far. Stop pretending.”

“When did you develop paranoia?”

“Here’s a joke: pebbles on the lawn jumped up and hit my knee.”

It was all in good fun, but then one viewer’s comment caught his attention.

“Wait, why is the grass wrinkled there by the wall?”

Huh?

Qiao Zhihui bent down for a closer look and saw it was true. The grass near the wall was indeed crinkled.

“Is this a texture bug?”

“My OCD is killing me. It’s like a wrinkled sticker—I really want to rip it up. Host, peel it back for me!”

“+1.”

Qiao Zhihui himself felt a strange urge to peel it back.

And the pebbles looked stranger the more he stared, almost like they were positioned deliberately. Lost in thought, he reached out and gave the grass a tug. It lifted easily, peeling back like wallpaper.

He was about to joke to the viewers about the nice texture when, in the next second, he spotted a ghostly white skull beneath.

And not just one—several.

As he lifted more of the grass, the skulls started to move, still buried but turning in unison to look at him.

The biggest skull at the center was twice the size of the others, staring directly at him. Its hollow eye sockets glowed red, with a skeletal body slowly emerging from the ground.

“Holy…!” Qiao Zhihui and his viewers screamed in unison. “A ghost!”

But then he quickly recognized it, finding it familiar.

These weren’t just any ghosts. They looked like the ones he’d just killed—only fiercer.

His previously empty minimap now lit up with several red dots.

Most importantly, as the bones climbed out, health bars appeared above them.

With those health bars, Qiao Zhihui’s fear turned into excitement.

“Oh man, everyone, jackpot! Hidden boss!”