Name: Nan Jin

Background: Shadow

Race: Human

Level: 30

HP: 8900/8900

MP: 2300/2300

Attack: 6421

Defense: 330

Spirit: 230

Agility: 4210

Damn—their stats spike like a sheer mountain cliff.

With Nan Jin’s dagger at her throat like a cold crescent, Nana Toki glanced at the lower-left HUD and went paper-pale.

Level thirty, over six thousand attack—like thunder rolling off a cliff.

How the hell am I supposed to fight that? It’s like throwing pebbles at a waterfall.

She mentally flipped the table, dice scattering like hail.

With a full set of Golden Legend gear, she barely broke 5,000.

The other girl, in starter rags with a chipped dagger, still outstripped her—straw sandals beating silk boots.

Does the dev team not care?

The barn’s on fire and no one hauls water.

This character’s stats were a blizzard of glitches, worse than her, a bug NPC.

System: “...”

“If the devs had any leash on this, Host, you wouldn’t be here,” the System murmured, like a lost boat in fog.

The System’s words hid smoke; Nana hadn’t parsed them yet.

At that same moment, the dagger-girl’s vibe flipped like a sky after rain.

She opened her arms and pulled the distracted Nana into a net-tight hug.

As she held her, she murmured a name, a bell ringing in mist.

“Yuzu!”

Nana blinked, a carp leaping from a pond.

No. What was happening?

Blindsided by a suspicious girl in newbie gear, even storm-hardened Nana went blank, mind like fresh snow.

What was this girl doing?

She’d just critted me—thunder cut off mid-roll—so why stop?

And who’s Yuzu—a name dropping like a plum into a well?

Does she grab people and slap names on them?

Is she some event NPC from the latest patch, banners fluttering like flags?

As her questions bubbled up, the System spoke to pop one, bubbles bursting in air.

“Emmm, you might not believe this, Host.

The girl hugging you is the Shadow player recorded in the Protagonist Lord’s file—the one who died,” the voice carved like cold script.

Ah… so someone actually died in this game?

Temple candles guttered in her chest.

Held tight, Nana’s eyes widened like a deer in torchlight.

Wait.

If she’s dead, why is she still in the game?

A ghost, mist clinging to old stones?

“In a sense, yes,” the voice rippled like moonlight on water.

How broken is this plane to spawn a haunting?

Threads fraying like spider silk in the wind.

“By the way, Host, this map isn’t on the original server,” the System drifted, a raft cut loose.

“It’s a standalone server outside the map, an island in black sea.

I only had the right to send you here; getting back’s on you—find your own bridge.”

This shameless System was clearly digging her grave, a spade biting cold earth.

“Of course.

Since it’s your first time, here’s a friendly tip—a lantern in fog.

The girl hugging you decides whether your main and side quests can be completed.

Build that bond; tie a red thread.”

It thinks I can still finish those quests?

Nana listened, suspicion sharp as knives, and lifted her gaze to the girl.

The girl’s brows were willows, her eyes spring water.

Not a nation-toppling beauty, but tea that deepens the longer it steeps—an older-sister kind.

Quietly holding her, nothing looked ghostly, warmth like a quilt.

“Before this starts, let me ask—she’s not Nesting Phoenix, right?” Nana’s thought flashed, a phoenix feather singeing air.

“Of course not. I told you ages ago,” sighed the System, wind through reeds.

“Nesting Phoenix is from a higher plane and can’t appear in your low-tier plane—stars beyond this sky.

If you want to see her, finish your tasks and cross the river.”

“Who… who’s missing her? Don’t make things up!” Nana bristled, a porcupine of sparks.

“Careful, I’ll report you to your master for slacking—whip cracking on empty air!”

“...” The System lifted its hands, surrender like a drifting leaf.

“Fine, Host, whatever makes you happy.”

Anyway—dust settled like snow.

Water cleared after rain.

Nana refocused on the girl, a needle pointing north.

The System called the girl a ghost; given the scene, Nana didn’t care, lake unruffled.

This was just a game; between them lay a wall of code, glass between aquariums.

Even a ghost couldn’t kill a string of data—numbers flickering like fireflies.

Priority now: find a gate in the fog and leave this haunted place.

The System had said it: Nan Jin was the key to her future quests, a key turning in a lacquered lock.

Nana needed to invest, a seed tucked in good soil.

“Ahem.

Lady benefactor, could you hold back a little?

I’ve got something important to discuss,” she chimed, a gong’s soft strike.

Nana took her shoulders and eased a safe distance, palms settling like leaves.

“Can we start with a quick self-introduction?” she asked, opening a scroll.

“Self-introduction?” Nan Jin tilted her head, a sparrow listening.

“...”

“Your name. What’s your name?” Nana’s patience thinned like paper.

Please don’t be amnesiac, pages torn from a book.

“I’m Nan Jin.”

Her name fell like a jade bead; clean, clear.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Nana asked, a finger pointing at mist.

“Is that part of the introduction?” Nan Jin’s eyes were lake moons, curious and bright.

“... No.”

This ghost felt slow, like molasses.

Are ghosts usually this dumb? A stone rolling then stopping.

System: “...”

“Don’t ask me. I’m going offline,” the screen faded like dusk.

“I don’t know.”

Fog pooled in her eyes; confusion clouded her face, like weather over hills.

“I’ve been here since I woke. I don’t know why I’m here.”

A boat adrift without oars.

It was the answer Nana expected, a coin landing heads again.

In puzzle webnovels, anyone who knows the truth—lead, support, or fodder—always forgets; blossoms shaken off the branch.

To reach the final answer, you gather crumbs and deduce, rice scattered through bamboo.

She’d hopped planes with her trashy System long enough to grow bark-thick numbness.

“Last question: why do you call me Yuzu?”

A single string plucked on a guqin.

It was the one thread Nana cared about, a needle sunk in silk.

If she found Yuzu’s true name, the knot might loosen, ribbon untied.

However—rain on a picnic—results rarely indulge wishes.

“I don’t know.”

Blank page.

After a moment, Nan Jin smiled, sunlight through leaves.

“At first glance, the name Yuzu just popped into my head.

I don’t know why.”

A swallow cutting air, then gone.

“...” Amazing, my ghost—sarcasm like chilly rain.

Now we’re talking about the subconscious, a deep river under ice.

“Do you know what kind of person Yuzu is?” Nana pressed, trying to paint a face in mist.

“You said last question,” Nan Jin scratched her head, a small cat confused.

“Why is there one more?” A second ripple in a pond.

“... This is the last one!”

Denied the answer, Nana drove one more nail into the board.

“Mm… I don’t know that either.”

Her head drooped, a willow hanging; a touch aggrieved.

“I don’t know who Yuzu is.

I must have forgotten… pages warped by water.

Some subconscious voice tells me she’s very important to me—very.

But somehow I’ve forgotten her.”

A name sunk like a stone in a well.

Nana almost applauded the author of this plane’s lore, palms tapping like wooden fish.

Ghosts in a game, classic romance amnesia—old drama sleeves fluttering.

Next up, love and war at Qiong Yao levels—pear blossoms and knives?

She defaulted to unkind speculation, eyes like cold stars.

Back to the point—turn the fan.

She’d scoured the System-fed memories, raking sand in a zen garden.

No trace of Yuzu: no mention, not even a player with that character—empty ledger pages.

How was she supposed to start, fishing in a dry riverbed?

From the current trail, it was clear: Aoto Game Company had trapped players before, flies caught in amber.

For some reason, they buried it—earth shoveled over bones.

To finish the main quest, she’d need to keep digging, a pick on hard ore.

The rumors the Protagonist Lord compiled were probably true, sparrows repeating a temple bell.

Fantastical, yeah—but so far her path matched his dossier, a map overlaying a mountain.

It even felt deliberate—Aoto let those rumors fly to muddy sight, ink spilled in water.

The stories were so sci-fi and baseless that readers would treat them as fiction, paper lanterns drifting downstream.

Finally—closing a fan.

If she kept investigating, priority one was helping Nan Jin recover her memory, stringing scattered beads.

As the only player who lived through the full Hundred-Ghost Cycle, she knew plenty—night parade under a moonlit street.

And why did Nan Jin’s dead soul still haunt the game—cicadas singing in a sealed jar?

Nana let her mind tilt dark, an ink stroke hard.

Maybe Nan Jin uncovered an Aoto secret during open beta and got silenced, a knife in bamboo.

Wronged, her soul became a bound spirit, chained to this place like a shrine ghost.

Of course, it was only a guess—dice still rolling.

If true, her current body in this plane should have been Nan Jin’s, borrowed silk on skin.

Compared to her blank Treasure Imp identity, Nan Jin felt more like cannon fodder, grass cut by a passing blade.

Too many knots to pull, too many threads to chase—a loom bristling.

Nana needed outside help, a kite sent with a message.

Mm. The folks from Moonlit West River might be of use, a river shining under a crescent moon.