Ch 161: Guide to Running a Shop in Another World II

Lu Yao stared at the short message Pei Qi had sent, noting the term “Mingshi City” for the world outside the game.

Pei Qi’s tone was so absolute—how could he be so certain she would appear in Mingshi City? Was Mingshi City a city, or perhaps a nation? Could all the players in Ghost Street really come from the same city?

Lu Yao struggled to make sense of it.

At least Pei Qi’s message confirmed his success. He must have logged out of the game.

It made sense. The players of Ghost Street had been trapped for an unknown amount of time, constantly at risk of losing themselves to the game. The chance to leave would naturally fill them with urgency.

Lu Yao attempted to message Pei Qi, but there was no reply—he was truly gone.

She rested briefly at the entrance before stepping into the control room, sword in hand. She decided to confirm the situation personally.

The control room resembled a massive tomb chamber—silent and devoid of any trace of life, its structure akin to the interior of a spaceship from a sci-fi film.

Lu Yao wandered through the “tomb” up and down, eventually finding the basement and what appeared to be the logout terminal. There was no sign of Pei Qi.

Satisfied that he had indeed logged out, Lu Yao decided to return to her store. She intended to go to Mingshi City eventually, but her hasty departure earlier meant she hadn’t informed her staff.

Mingshi City was an unfamiliar place. She didn’t know what to expect, how long she’d be away, or the conditions she’d face. At the very least, she needed to explain things to her store’s staff and arrange for the daily affairs of the various shops.

As she exited the central city, she noticed the “purification” rays that once hovered over the management-exclusive pathways were now gone.

Lu Yao returned to the northern district. The narrow lanes, alleys, and streets were deserted. The shop doors were wide open, neon signs flickered, but silence reigned. It felt as though she were the only one left in the world.

It seemed all the players of Ghost Street had successfully logged out.

The door to DIY Workshop was wide open too. Inside, it was empty—the staff and customers must have all logged out as well.

The moment she stepped inside, an alarm rang in her mind—there was still someone in the shop.

…

In the Mingshi City control room, He Baiheng and his colleagues were troubleshooting the bug in Ghost Street when the game’s interface and operations suddenly lagged.

For several minutes, the system froze. When it resumed, the previously bustling streets were empty. The server data showed an anomaly: the current number of online players was zero.

Colleague One: “In just five minutes, nearly 100,000 people logged out of Ghost Street. Not a single person remained. Was the system hacked?”

He Baiheng’s fingers flew over the keyboard, but no matter how thoroughly he searched, he found no sign of a bug in the system.

The situation reeked of something unnatural.

Colleague Two: “Should we escalate this to Polaris for assistance?”

The three of them were questioning their own expertise. They were top computer science graduates from Mingshi City’s most prestigious university. Maintaining Ghost Street was usually a straightforward job, yet they couldn’t locate this mysterious little bug.

Whatever had caused it, the entire game world of Ghost Street now seemed on the verge of collapse.

…

Mingshi City, E60 District

In a high-rise building of dark gray residential blocks, an old and slightly damaged medical pod sat near a narrow, square window. The curtains had been deliberately pulled back, allowing sunlight to pour in.

The boy lying in the medical pod had a pale face, sunken cheeks, and skin so thin it clung to his bones.

“Lu Yao, Lu Yao.”

“Lu Yao, Lu Yao, Lu Yao.”

His eyelashes quivered slightly, and after a few minutes, he slowly opened his eyes, staring blankly at the slightly yellowed ceiling above.

Song Wen stared at the ceiling for a long time before realizing that his surroundings were unfamiliar. Struggling to sit up, he found himself too weak to move.

The voice in his head hadn’t disappeared—

“Where is Lu Yao? Why hasn’t Lu Yao come?”

Song Wen’s thoughts instinctively followed the voice: “Lu Yao? The owner of the DIY Workshop?”

The voice sounded delighted: “So, you’ve met Lu Yao. I knew it—you’re wearing a ring with her aura.”

Song Wen asked, “Where is this? Who are you?”

“This is Mingshi City. You can call me Xiao Meng—I’m a friend of Lu Yao’s.”

Mingshi City… Mingshi City… Mingshi City…

Song Wen’s eyes widened. He mustered all his strength to turn his head and saw the room’s familiar yet slightly aged furniture. He almost couldn’t believe it.

This was his room, his home in Mingshi City.

Although the furniture looked older, it was still arranged in the same way as it had been years ago.

Could it be that they had really logged out of Ghost Street?

Song Wen’s mind was still sluggish, his thoughts slow.

He only remembered the rain pouring down that morning as he and his grandmother, along with a few companions, decided to head to the northern district of Ghost Street to complete the task issued by the ghost bracelet.

When they arrived, they found the place crowded with people.

Thanks to the ghost bracelet and the large number of participants, the task went smoothly. Especially later, when the staff from the DIY Workshop, the church, and street patrol team joined the fight, the once-terrifying and oppressive abhorrents of Ghost Street became surprisingly fragile.

As they successfully purified the last octopus-like monster, the buggy logout button in Ghost Street’s system—previously unselectable—suddenly became active.

Song Wen wasn’t sure if logging out would work, but he instinctively pressed the button. The next thing he knew, his consciousness went dark.

When he woke up, he was back in Mingshi City.

He had really escaped Ghost Street?

But what about his grandmother? And his companions?

Song Wen fumbled around the sides of the medical pod, finally finding the button to open it. He struggled to climb out.

Dressed in sleepwear, he leaned against the window frame. His reflection showed a youthful, slightly gaunt face. Outside, the gray residential buildings seemed denser than before.

Song Wen stood there in a daze for a while. Remembering his grandmother and companions, he steadied himself and slowly shuffled toward the door, leaning against the wall for support.

The medical pod he had been using was clearly an old, second-hand model. It wasn’t very effective, barely maintaining his basic bodily functions during his coma.

The journey from the pod to the door must have taken him over ten minutes.

Opening the door, he heard the faint clatter of dishes. He shuffled into the hallway and looked into the living room, where his parents were eating at a low table. Tears streamed down his face as he choked out, “Dad, Mom.”

His parents looked up, their chopsticks and bowls clattering to the floor as they rushed to embrace him.

“Son, you’ve finally come back,” his mother cried, holding him tightly and sobbing uncontrollably.

From his mother’s arms, Song Wen raised his head to look at his father, who stood nearby, unsure of what to do. “Dad, where’s Grandma?” he asked.

Years ago, Song Wen and his grandmother had entered Ghost Street one after the other.

If he was awake, his grandmother must be too.

“Grandma is old, and her body isn’t as strong as yours. Our home medical pod wasn’t enough, so we sent her to the hospital,” his father explained.

“Quick, contact the hospital! She might already be awake,” Song Wen urged.

…

Mingshi City, H80 District, Private Advanced Nursing Home

It was lunchtime, and several nurses were enjoying their meals on the rooftop.

“Why isn’t the head nurse here?” one asked.

“Sister Zhou didn’t come either?”

“I heard someone on the 30th floor woke up, and it’s chaos upstairs. The head nurse and Sister Zhou were called up to help.”

“No way. Isn’t the 30th floor entirely for net-blind patients? No one’s woken up in years—how could someone suddenly wake up?”

“It’s true. The first patient to wake up is named Ren You. I was on the 30th floor when it happened. He hasn’t been here long, but he climbed out of the medical pod on his own, went to the nurse’s station to borrow a communicator, and said his own communicator got accidentally crushed when he woke up.”

“Just woke up and already needs to go online? Net-blind patients are really hopeless.”

…

About ten years ago, holographic technology and artificial intelligence began to integrate into the daily lives of Mingshi City residents.

Two years later, these technologies became highly advanced: AI brought unprecedented convenience and accuracy to life, while holographic tech was broadly adopted for entertainment, especially gaming. It was during this period that holographic games began to infiltrate people’s daily routines.

In less than a year, virtual life started taking precedence over real life for many people, blurring the line between reality and simulation.

Some began showing symptoms of net blindness, a condition that initially manifested as an inability to distinguish between virtual and real life. Over time, these individuals prioritized virtual existence, becoming increasingly immersed in the thrilling, novel game worlds created by holographic technology.

At its most severe stage, net blindness caused people to reject real life altogether, leaving their consciousness trapped in virtual worlds while their bodies remained in the real world.

Families with financial means often sought medical intervention for affected loved ones, but most net-blind patients eventually ended up in private nursing homes.

In these facilities, caregivers ensured basic bodily maintenance for patients—regular massages, hygiene, nutrition, and prevention of muscle atrophy and organ failure—all at a steep cost.

Families with less financial stability opted to care for patients at home, using second-hand medical pods to sustain their basic functions.

Since the first year of the Ghost Calendar (a post-technological benchmark), tens or even hundreds of thousands of people annually succumbed to virtual addiction. Nursing homes became a booming industry in Mingshi City over the past five years, creating countless jobs.

In contrast, instances of recovery among net-blind patients were virtually nonexistent. Many caregivers and families privately considered these patients brain-dead.

The news that someone had woken up came as a shock and was nothing short of groundbreaking in Mingshi City.

The caregivers on the rooftop quickly set aside their idle chatter and opened their communicators to search for more information.

Modern communicators in Mingshi City resembled Bluetooth headsets in size but offered the full functionality of a smartphone. After setting up iris, fingerprint, and facial recognition, the device linked directly to a user’s consciousness, displaying a virtual blue screen in their field of vision whenever activated.

The caregivers found they didn’t need to search manually—news about the net-blind patient’s awakening was everywhere.

Among the sensational headlines, the name of one particular game kept recurring: Ghost Street.

This was the same holographic simulation game released seven years ago, marketed as “zero negative reviews” in recent years.

…

Meanwhile, the Ghost Street player forums had been overtaken by newly awakened players. The screen was filled with scathing critiques, written in bold red text, almost making one’s scalp tingle.

“I barely survived in the game, and you dare advertise it as having zero negative reviews for seven years? Laughable!”

“Seven years trapped in that hellhole—almost went insane. Then I wake up in a net-blind rehabilitation center? You’re net-blind! Your whole family’s net-blind!”

*“Which rehab center are you at? I woke up in one too, only to find a caregiver changing my adult diaper. I was so mortified I wanted to crawl back into *Ghost Street.”

“Developers, come out and face your judgment!”

*“Help! Why is the food in Mingshi City as terrible as the takeout in *Ghost Street? Am I really out?”

*“Same! Rehab food tastes just like the trash meals in *Ghost Street! What is this?”

Curious players reading through the forum might feel a tinge of intrigue despite the overwhelming negativity. For a management simulation game, a relatively niche genre compared to action, adventure, or competitive games, Ghost Street seemed to have gained significant traction.

Curious netizens witnessed real players flooding the Ghost Street forums with searing critiques. Ignoring warnings, many opened the game interface themselves. To their shock, they encountered a glaring bug: the game was unplayable, and instead of logging in, they were shown an empty street where a pixelated figure was locked in battle with a massive octopus-like monster.

This phenomenon was soon discussed in the forums:

“The person fighting the octopus monster is the DIY shop owner!”
“This monster is absurdly huge—completely different from the ones this morning!”
“Look at all those eyes—it’s terrifying just to watch!”
“Why hasn’t the shop owner logged out? I thought everyone would choose to leave when the system prompted them to.”
“By the way, did anyone hear a voice calling out the DIY shop owner’s name when they woke up?”

“No.”
“No.”
“No.”
“I did. A voice kept calling ‘Lu Yao’ in my ears.”

…

“Am I the only one who thinks the shop owner is crazy strong? She’s been fighting for half an hour, hasn’t she?”
*“Not just strong—where did she get all those weapons? My *Ghost Bracelet* is nothing like that. I’m jealous!”*
“Seriously, why bother fighting? Just run! Log out and leave. Who cares about this broken game anymore? I’m never touching it again!”

…

Mingshi City, Tech Building

From morning onward, He Baiheng and his colleagues had been trying to locate the Ghost Street bug. As negative reviews flooded the forums, the issue made headlines, sparking widespread online discussions. By now, the situation was utterly out of control: nearly a million viewers were actively watching a mysterious player engage in an intense battle with a boss-like creature in Ghost Street.

Despite having access to the game’s backend, He Baiheng and his team, as maintenance staff, found themselves unable to fix the game. Their permissions were restricted, forcing them to watch helplessly as Ghost Street’s reputation crumbled in real-time.

…

Ghost Street, North District

Lu Yao, clad in her Ten Thousand Dragons Battle Armor, wielded the Holy Golden Sword, a transformed version of the Nine-Treasure Magic Staff. With a powerful swing, she cleaved the enormous octopus-like creature’s head in two.

The towering golden octopus collapsed, splitting into halves with a piercing wail that shook the ground. From its disintegrating body, a peculiar object floated out, radiating an ominous aura.

Lu Yao frowned slightly.

Was this grotesque thing the true form of the malevolent god entrenched in Ghost Street?

Earlier that morning, Lu Yao had returned alone from the central city to the Ghost Street North District. When she entered the DIY shop, she was surprised to find someone inside.

Initially assuming it was a player, she soon discovered the bartender rummaging through the storage room, searching for something.

Yes, it was the bartender from Abyss Tavern—the one with the octopus head located across from the DIY shop.

When discovered, his reaction was anything but human. Without hesitation, he extended a tentacle, attempting to attack Lu Yao.

Fortunately, Lu Yao had anticipated trouble, and being in her own shop gave her a significant advantage.

The octopus creature, unable to overpower her, made a desperate escape but managed to get one last hit in—using an invisible tentacle to drag her onto the streets of Ghost Street.

Even then, it couldn’t defeat her.

Pushed to its limits, it was forced to reveal its true form.

A massive, pitch-black entity resembling a cloud—fluffy and amorphous—emerged. Beneath the surface, grotesque features began to materialize: thick goat hooves, deep brown horizontal pupils, and curling horns resembling twisted tree roots. Its piercing, shrill cries filled the air.

Lu Yao tilted her head back, gazing up at the enormous, screeching “black cloud” before her. She couldn’t help but feel a wave of exhaustion. So, the octopus monster’s true form was just a black goat’s fledgling?

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

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