October was the golden autumn season in the south.
Even in the city, the rich fragrance of flowers filled the air.
Today was clear and bright, with a cloudless azure sky, as if the sea had been lifted into the heavens.
After days of overtime, progress was finally caught up. Today felt easy. Autumn Ease finished the coloring task by noon. During lunch break, he moved a chair to the window and lazily basked in the sun.
The game’s core was nearly complete. Only some UI design and event planning remained.
Autumn Ease knew the story well. It followed a girl who sold dreams.
She wove beautiful dreams for people to enter and enjoy.
But gradually, dreamers refused to wake and face cold reality.
To rouse them, the girl entered different dreams, only to face resistance from layered dreamscapes crafted by their owners.
The most beautiful dream lay wrapped at the very center.
Roughly, that was the tale. In theory, with enough inspiration, the plot could stretch infinitely—letting her wake dreamer after dreamer.
The visuals were pseudo-3D, with turn-based movement like chess pieces.
He still looked forward to its completion. A solid story paired with great art would make it fun.
He stayed here to fulfill a small dream: creating a truly heartfelt game.
At least, most in this studio still dreamed—not just building money-making machines.
The planner was discussing things in the manager’s office.
The manager was the studio’s original owner.
The planner, sent by investors, held nearly equal power.
Lazily basking, Autumn Ease faintly heard arguing from the office.
The voices grew louder. Employees exchanged uneasy glances.
Some looked worried; others seemed to enjoy the spectacle.
“I understand the investors! Games must earn money—but not like this! This won’t last!” the manager roared. Everyone fell silent, listening.
“Investors are businessmen! They never lose money! Recoup first! Then offer perks for reputation!”
“But starting like this—how do we build reputation?!”
“If the game’s fun and microtransactions aren’t greedy, players complain but still spend!”
“So many microtransaction items, messy UI—you’re ruining the art style!!”
“This grabs attention! We need big spenders first!”
“Aren’t regular players human too?!”
“Why count non-spenders as people?!”
“Damn it!” The manager fumed. His hard-built studio, his dream of a meaningful game—it was crumbling here.
Without investors, he’d never have funded this game…
Life was full of helplessness.
“Free costumes? Who’ll spend then? They’ll seem cheap! Even the cheapest must cost something! A $1 first purchase is easiest to get!”
“Damn—you added VIP to level 20—what the hell?!”
“Spend money, get better service—that’s fair!”
“What about balance? Selling dungeon drops in the shop…!”
“If we don’t sell, players hire power-leveling studios. That money’s lost. Why not earn it ourselves!”
“Damn it… I disagree!”
“You must agree. Investors demand quick recoup and double profits. It’s my task.”
“What’s all this noise?” A slow voice came from the entrance. A fat man with a big belly, squinting, walked in.
Employees lowered their heads, deathly quiet.
This was the investor—the one who funded their polished game.
Autumn Ease sighed. This painstaking project would likely be ruined by capital.
“Boss,” the planner fawned, stepping out with a smile. His eager demeanor mirrored an ancient court eunuch.
“Ah, Xiao Zeng,” the boss said, handing him an imported cigarette. “I heard you. Dreams matter, but money does too. Chase dreams after you’re rich. Everyone eats—you and your staff. Right?” He exhaled smoke. “First, avoid losses. Then profit. Once rich, give players perks. People are fickle: treat them well always, and they hate small slips; treat them poorly, and they’re grateful for crumbs.”
“…I understand.” Manager Zeng clenched his fists. Capital forced his compromise.
The boss and planner left. The office atmosphere slowly normalized.
Only Manager Zeng sat alone, expressionless, gazing blankly out the window.
Others returned to their desks. Only Autumn Ease stayed seated, as if wanting to speak.
“Autumn Ease.” Manager Zeng looked at him. “Must one always cater to the majority to live?”
“Not always. But you must survive first.” Autumn Ease hesitated. “Manager Zeng… uh…”
“Call me Zifan. I haven’t talked much with you.”
“Ah, okay… True dream-chasing is lonely, misunderstood. Your game is beautiful, but… it’s not your true masterpiece.”
“Why?”
“It’s full of commercial compromises… So don’t grieve. It’s just a commercial game. Thinking that helps, maybe?”
“…”
“Well, Zifan—I’m just rambling. Don’t let others sway your true self. Back to work…”
“Go ahead.”
That day, Manager Zeng gave everyone a half-day off. At 1:30 PM, he announced no overtime.
Perhaps he wanted to sit alone in the empty office, pondering.
These weren’t Autumn Ease’s worries.
He cared more about going home early—to game or rest properly.
Just as he reached for headphones to dive into his game, his phone screen lit up. It unlocked itself without his password and displayed a new screen.
Autumn Ease was certain he’d never installed this app…
“An app I forgot to delete after the funeral?” he muttered. He tried closing it, but the phone wouldn’t respond—not even forced shutdown worked.
The screen showed tangled, colorful lines with no clear meaning. After a moment, they faded, revealing text:
“Do you believe in parallel worlds?”
No options. No skipping. Like a fixed animation—impossible to interact with.
“What if I believe or not…” Autumn Ease mumbled. “Strange things happen to me anyway. Parallel worlds wouldn’t surprise me.”
“In truth, beyond our reality, no other complete parallel universes exist.”
He didn’t know what this app meant. It felt like a game—or just a prank.
He watched silently.
“Though no parallel worlds exist, Anomaly Points do—nodes formed by spacetime distortions, separate from the main universe. And you… you travel between Anomaly Points and reality.”
“Among all observed people, only you can do this. You enter Anomaly Points unconsciously in dreams—even while awake.”
Autumn Ease recalled recent events. It felt true.
He’d thought them illusions. Perhaps they were real events from twisted spacetimes.
“If you ever can’t return, you’ll be trapped forever in these nodes. When conditions align, they merge into the main universe… altering history…”
“If you enter a distorted spacetime node (Anomaly Point) again, record what happens. We might help.”
The screen vanished. Autumn Ease frantically searched for the hidden app but found nothing.
He wasn’t a programmer. He didn’t understand embedded code. Hours on Baidu yielded nothing.
Was this a prank? Or a message from some real organization?
Autumn Ease didn’t know. Events around him only grew more mysterious…
