Chapter 1: The Most Terrifying Part of the Game is Just the Rookie Village (Part One)

Shen Lian could not control his hand holding the knife.

He filled the bathtub with hot water and lay down inside.

Locating the position of the artery, he cut vertically downward; this would enlarge the wound, increasing the difficulty for rescue efforts accordingly.

The hot water would prevent blood from clotting.

In truth, most people had been deceived by movies and dramas. The success rate of suicide by cutting one’s wrists was far lower than jumping from a building or lying on railway tracks.

But Shen Lian no longer felt like climbing up ten floors or searching for railroad tracks.

Sertraline hydrochloride is an antidepressant where just 1.5 grams can be fatal. Given each tablet contains 50 milligrams, thirty tablets would suffice to send someone off to Heaven. Two weeks ago, he swallowed exactly forty tablets, then clung to the toilet bowl while violently vomiting. Unfortunately, his friend discovered him and rushed him to the hospital—again thwarting his attempt at dying successfully.

This marked another failed suicide method following his previous attempts with sleeping pills mixed in alcohol and bitter apricot kernels.

If even slicing his wrist didn’t work this time, all that remained was burning charcoal. However, if he chose that route, whoever entered the room to retrieve his body afterward would face greater danger themselves.

Feeling the loss of blood was wonderful; Shen Lian even experienced a long-lost sense of happiness and joy as consciousness gradually faded away.

Yet amidst his fading awareness, it seemed as though he heard the sound of someone forcefully entering through the door.

His last thought before losing consciousness was “I’ll fuck your grandmother.”

On the hospital bed, Shen Lian glanced at his bandaged left arm, then cast another glance at his friend who was peeling an apple for him.

The friend shot him an irritated glare and said, “It’s fortunate it didn’t damage the tendons; otherwise you’d be crying right now.”

Shen Lian remained silent.

“Have you stopped taking your medication again without permission?”

“I forgot to take it.”

“Then why haven’t you forgotten about seeking death!”

After a long silence, Shen Lian finally spoke up, “Did you know? Self-harm and suicide can become addictive.”

His friend handed him the knife used for peeling apples. “Here, let’s do it once more.”

Shen Lian set down the knife.

So his friend stuffed the sliced apple into Shen Lian’s mouth and muttered, “Look at how skilled you are.”

Chewing on the apple, Shen Lian mumbled indistinctly, “What do you think is the meaning of life for humans?”

“Responsibility,” replied his friend.

“And who bestows this responsibility upon us?”

“I do,” answered his friend.

“Can you stay by my side forever?”

“No.” His tone was both gentle and cold.

A hint of a smile tugged across Shen Lian’s expressionless face. “This humble one truly appreciates your pure and unpretentious nature—so different from those seductive vixens out there.”

The friend also laughed.

“Ah,” Shen Lian sighed, “This humble one is tired; I wish to set myself free.”

His friend’s laughter grew even more radiant. “Right now, I feel like hitting you.”

Shen Lian continued to sigh. “You want to hit me, yet I want to embrace you instead.”

They completed a brief hug, adopting an awkward posture to prevent pressing on his left arm.

“I saw your suicide note left on the tea table.”

“Oh.”

“What does that single string of numbers at the end mean?”

“It’s the password for my bank card.”

“… Your Majesty, you truly are innocent and unpretentious.”

With little sincerity, Shen Lian bowed his hands in acknowledgment. “You flatter me too much.”

“I’m off to work. Stay well here, alright?”

“Mm-hmm.” Shen Lian nodded very obediently.

Thus, he half-closed his eyes, listening as his friend’s footsteps gradually receded into the distance.

Life indeed.

After a moment of silence, he used his sole remaining hand to pick up his phone, preparing to refine his plan for the next suicide attempt in the notepad app.

“Huh.”

He let out a sound resembling surprise, but his face remained expressionless as always.

A dialogue box appeared on the screen:

Do you wish to know the meaning of life?

Yes or No.

“What a truly foolish question.”

Then he tapped “Yes”.

At 3:37 PM, that pale, emaciated hand opened up another destiny.

The hospital seemed still like the same hospital.

Shen Lian put down his phone and got off the sickbed.

He drew back the curtains; outside the window, stars filled the sky.

“Wow.”

Who has stolen my time?

He turned on his phone again.

It was exactly 9 PM.

A new message popped up on his phone: 

Please arrive at the outpatient hall before 10 o’clock.

However, Shen Lian suddenly found this message less interesting than before.

On the bedside table lay a pile of antidepressant medications.

“Have you stopped taking your medication without permission again?”

“I forgot to take it.”

“Then why haven’t you forgotten about seeking death!”

Shen Lian poured himself a glass of water and silently swallowed the pills.

This was the third floor. The windows lacked security grilles—as if they were traps set by Satan to lure believers into hell.

Jump, Shen Lian thought, if luck is with me, I’ll die just fine. If not, then I’ll go to the outpatient hall.

He wrapped himself in a piece of clothing and stuffed various random medications into his pocket, feeling somewhat regretful that his friend had taken all the sharp objects from this hospital room, including the fruit knife.

Opening the window, night wind blew in, carrying an indescribably familiar scent—the smell of blood.

Wonderful, thought someone with mild antisocial tendencies.

With a leap, he seemed to be throwing himself into the embrace of the gods.

Gravity was a good thing. Just like how train and subway speeds were equally excellent.

—I didn’t die; I just sprained my ankle.

I knew it, thought the depression patient. I should have immigrated to Holland and applied for assisted suicide.

Then, he saw a pair of eyes staring straight at him.

Shen Lian’s first reaction was: “The pupils aren’t dilated but contracted instead. Is this morphine or heroin poisoning? Or is it organic phosphorus pesticide poisoning?”

Although the person before him was dead, Shen Lian felt not even the slightest hint of panic. At present, he simply couldn’t muster any extreme fear.

A corpse appearing at the entrance to the hospital ward?

Then that corpse slowly managed a smile.

Shen Lian limped away into the distance.

As he walked, he thought to himself with a wry smile on his face: Brother, do you really think you froze to death?

The hospital ward and outpatient hall were separated by a small garden, a ten-minute walk apart.

The plants in the garden had grown abnormally tall. The stars shone brightly, yet their light cast an unusually eerie shadow over them.

Suddenly, Shen Lian made a random association with that grinning corpse, then even more randomly recalled Plants vs. Zombies.

He finally managed to amuse himself enough to chuckle.

But still, should he enter this garden or not?

Would he live or die?

He touched the medicine in his pocket.

“I feel like I can still be saved for now.”

There were also car keys in his pocket.

His vehicle was parked right below the hospital ward.

He turned back, got into the car, and started it up.

That lifeless body with its contracted pupils had vanished without a trace.

The engine roared to life once again.

After some consideration, he decided against turning on the headlights and instead chose to drive through the darkness.

The garden path was uneven, causing the car to sway left and right. Something struck the windshield repeatedly, producing a series of sharp cracks—one after another—as if in relentless pursuit.

It must have been some kind of flying insect.

Shen Lian cast a glance at the rearview mirror.

On the back seat sat a beauty dressed in a white coat, gazing sorrowfully at him.

He continued driving, mourning his ability to empathize and his dopamine levels.

The beauty then tore off her own face, revealing a blood-soaked visage.

As the car exited the garden, brakes screeched to a halt. Shen Lian observed their surroundings outside the window; when he tried to get out, however, he discovered that the doors wouldn’t open.

That blood-soaked face loomed ever closer to him.

With a smile, Shen Lian retrieved from beneath his seat a small hammer for breaking windows—a precautionary measure for road safety, just in case of emergencies.

After all, he hadn’t yet given up on treatment.

First, the hammer smacked against that blood-soaked face.

Then, taking advantage of the momentary distraction caused by this impact, it struck the car window.

Glass shattered.

In one final blow, the hammer hit that face again before Shen Lian leaped through the broken window.

His already sprained ankle suffered further injury upon landing.

Letting out a hiss of pain, he limped towards the entrance of the outpatient hall.

He glanced at his watch.

9:40 PM.

A transformation occurred across Shen Lian’s expression.

His eyes began to reflect panic and anxiety.

Ever since suffering from depression, he had become adept at summoning such emotions with ease.

Clutching his weapon, he stumbled into the main hall.

Unmindful of the varied expressions on the faces of the crowd within the hall, he rushed towards the trash bin in a corner and retched violently.

As he vomited, he cursed inwardly while also expressing gratitude for those damned drug side effects.

Then he began to break down completely, sobbing uncontrollably.

If he wished, he could cry nonstop for an entire day.

A burly man waved irritably with a fire axe in his hand. “Stop crying already—it’s driving me insane!”

Seemingly startled by this gesture, Shen Lian let out a hiccup and choked back a sob.

Welcome to Chief God TV’s program: The Birth of an Actor.

Shen Lian thought to himself.

Perhaps his depression might be cured by something akin to a Chief God? He optimistically pondered this possibility.