“I’m absolutely not selling sex appeal. Absolutely not.”

In his room, Dongfang Chen sat knotted with nerves, eyes locked on two envelopes like autumn leaf and gold coin. The red one bulged, packed with police files on the Red Wine Bar murder. The gold one was empty, a bright shell waiting for whatever he dared to put inside.

What goes in would be his call alone, a pebble dropped into a still pond.

“Underwear is a hard no. Secret photos are creep behavior. I won’t do that.”

He paced in circles, mind a swarm of sparrows. A swimwear photo set felt barely acceptable, less rotten than the other ideas.

“Great. That means I’ve gotta hit a swim shop later… and return Dixue’s dress.”

He glanced at the white little dress drying on the balcony rail, light as frost on plum. A sour-sweet mix rose in his chest. Tonight, no matter what, he’d have to turn into Yue Liuyi again. He refused to buy swimwear as a guy—now that would be pure humiliation, a drumbeat of shame.

“Zaocun’s been moved. I just hope she’s okay.”

Before coming back, he’d swung by the detention center. After last night’s attack, the task force had already transferred Zaocun to a safer place. The officers had changed, too. No useful leads, only closed doors.

Gong Linxun’s intel said Chulei kept a stall in the Sky World’s junk market. That stall might be a lantern on a fogged path.

“What was the Sky World password again? Oh… 23339531!”

He opened the nightstand and pulled out a full-coverage holo-helmet. He slipped it on. His room slid away like tidewater. After a blink of darkness, the world rebooted, and he stood in his room again.

But it wasn’t real—the bookshelf of magic texts and the hanging dresses were gone. Only clean bed and plain chairs remained, bare as winter branches.

The scene before him was computer-made. More precisely, it was a virtual world built by the Sky Voyager’s core, mirroring the true Sky Voyager with glassy calm.

Here, nearly every corridor matched the real ship, but people could do low-cost things the real deck wouldn’t allow.

Trade. Games. Doors that opened like paper fans.

On the left, sliders let him tune movement speed and magical form. Even spells he couldn’t cast in reality flared to life here, sparks that drew ordinary folks like moths.

He’d barely linked in when a game invite flashed up.

A fifty-player survival melee. Strength capped at Skilled-tier. Magic capped at Professional-tier. Fifty pros would clash like storms until one stood alone.

One tap on Confirm, and he’d blink to the Sky World’s comm tower and throw himself into a delicious slaughter.

He raised a hand, then tapped Cancel. His heart cooled like quenched steel.

Sky World cost 100 credits an hour. He couldn’t burn cash like incense. He had to find Chulei’s stall fast, like a hawk dropping on prey.

Teleportation in the virtual world was a breeze, wind through bamboo. No fees, no registry. System modules could ferry you to any open zone. Or you could cast your own teleport, spinning a thread between you and your target.

Negative Floor Thirteen—the junk market—arrived in a heartbeat.

Cloaked figures flowed through the aisles, faces hooded, frames honest as shadows. For safety, your avatar’s shape matched your real body. The scanning tech could reproduce your height and heft. Beauty filters existed, yes, but an ogre wouldn’t turn into an angel, and a burly bro wouldn’t shrink into a loli.

“Gear for sale! Fresh orange-tier drops from the Sky Abyss, compatible with Master-tier modules!”

“Little Umbrella General Store clearance! We can deliver right to your real-room door!”

“New Land—eastern wilds group-up! Final rally point at Gelven!”

In a place like this, merchants only needed to set an echo spell to hawk forever, a bell that never stopped ringing.

Chulei’s stall waited in the market’s corner, a black square like a chess piece. Small, but it held plenty. Since the counter was simulated, Chen could pick a tablecloth color by number, and the inventory on the table would update at once—a magician’s flourish.

“Chulei the bartender isn’t here… the counter’s only selling booze.”

He could tell Chulei loved his craft. The displayed goods were either aged bottles dusted by time or magic cocktails bright as stained glass. Place an order, and the Sky Voyager’s cargo system would send it to your room, a silver fish darting upstream.

“Kid, you here to sell liquor too? Black Hawk’s shop hasn’t updated for a whole day.”

A beer-bellied older man waddled over, like a kettle steaming.

“A whole day… that’s a long time?”

“Of course! For cocktails, time is life. You drink it when it’s most colorful, when the ice is at perfect hardness. I ordered last night, and it still hasn’t arrived. That’s not normal.”

So the old man didn’t know Black Hawk was Chulei, or that a murder shadowed the Red Wine Bar.

“Do you know how to contact Black Hawk? I want to ask him about liquor and ice.”

“Just write a buyer’s note… though a complaint’s faster. But that’ll ding the shop’s rating…”

He shook his head, a loyal patron unwilling to bruise a favorite stall.

“Thank you.”

Chen skimmed the half-lit beers and picked a blue one. In the floating buyer-note window, he typed:

“Mr. Chulei, Ms. Zaocun is currently safe. I have information about the Red Wine Bar murder. If convenient, could we meet at the Phantasm Café tomorrow at 3:30 p.m.?”

The message flickered like a firefly and merged into the Sky World’s data stream.

The Phantasm Café was a place for quiet talk. No real coffee, but the mood was elegant, and private rooms let you set your own BGM, a string of notes in your own key.

“That’s done.”

He was about to leave when a private voice ping rose before him, bright as a struck gong.

“Who are you? Why are you so eager about the Red Wine Bar? How did you know I have a stall here?”

Chulei’s reply came fast, a thunderclap across clear sky. It caught Chen off guard.

“I’m an adventurer commissioned by Boss Hong. Here’s our contract.”

Chen sent the proof, clean as a seal on jade.

“Hmph. An adventurer? This isn’t something your kind can handle. Mind your own business.”

Chulei’s tone was sharp. Even with Chen’s calm, anger pricked him like thorns.

“I’m working for you. I’m collecting evidence to clear you and Zaocun.”

“No need. Leave. Now.”

“…”

No use squeezing water from this stone. Odd. In Chen’s memory, Chulei had manners like lacquer. Why so volatile now? Some hidden wound under the sleeve?

With the trail snapped, Chen severed the Sky World link and made other plans. He lifted off the helmet and returned to his room. Sunlight speared his eyes, and the afterimage left him dizzy for a few breaths.

“Huh? What’s this?”

The room’s delivery locker held a fresh package, a fish dropped on the deck.

A beer bottle—fine label, elegant shape. But inside, no liquor.

It was empty.

Appendix: Title Ranks (used across all fields)

For convenience, skills are often ranked from entry to mastery:

Clumsy, Standard, Apprentice-tier, Skilled-tier, Professional-tier, Elite-tier, Master-tier, Exalted-tier, Legendary-tier.