Source Star, Death Party rest area.
Night fell.
The night of the fourth day after the “Descent of the Gods” version launched.
Fu Songcheng and Yu Huaiting were outside continuing the kidnapping when he suddenly received word: an uninvited guest had entered the rest room.
An uninvited guest coming to see him at this hour—Fu Songcheng had a vague premonition it was Shen Ning, so he and Yu Huaiting immediately returned.
Pushing open the rest room door, he indeed saw Shen Ning.
She wore a combat suit, as dashing as when Fu Songcheng had encountered her in the instance.
Yu Huaiting’s muscles snapped taut. Almost reflexively, the greatsword was already aimed at the person before him, and he stepped forward, blocking Fu Songcheng behind him.
“What are you doing.”
Killing intent filled the cramped space.
“Don’t be nervous.” Shen Ning stood up from the sofa and looked straight at the two. “I just came to see an old friend.”
“Long time no see.”
Fu Songcheng suddenly let out a soft laugh.
He reached out and lightly patted Yu Huaiting’s shoulder, signaling him to relax.
“Is there something urgent, President Shen?”
The corners of Fu Songcheng’s eyes carried just the right amount of mild smile and attentiveness—identical to Shen Ning’s assistant.
He usually waited until midnight to go see Shen Ning. Now that she’d come uninvited to his rest room, there must be something urgent.
To protect player privacy, the rest room had no cameras.
Shen Ning looked at these two public faces of Death Party—one mild and courteous, one flamboyant and unrestrained—their auras and presence so familiar.
But she just felt something was off.
“Fu Songcheng, what have you two been doing these past few days?”
Shen Ning’s gaze fixed dead on Fu Songcheng’s eyes like a venomous snake, trying to find a flaw there.
How could Fu Songcheng fear her? He lifted his eyelids and met Shen Ning’s gaze.
Their eyes collided in midair, neither willing to yield, neither looking away.
Finally Shen Ning let out a cold humph and continued, “Frantically buying displacement items, using your agility advantage to keep leaping into surveillance blind spots, creating long stretches of empty shots—what are you dodging the cameras for?”
“Fu Songcheng, cooperate with me. Enter instances properly, participate in the game—we can have a win-win.”
Shen Ning pressed toward Fu Songcheng with immense pressure.
“Like before, I lower your instance death risk, you create talking points, help me boost ratings, and together we build a star IP.”
“Work with me, and I’ll send you to the pinnacle of this game. What’s there to be dissatisfied about?”
Her voice carried bewitchment, cutting at Fu Songcheng’s heart, trying to pry open his defenses.
“Fame, profit, power… with me lifting you up, all of it will come naturally. When the metaverse launches, I can even make you and Yu Huaiting permanent NPCs—you can design your own instances yourselves.”
“So tell me, what exactly are you doing?”
Shen Ning finished.
Carrot and stick.
She thought she’d see something on Fu Songcheng’s face, but she was disappointed.
Fu Songcheng didn’t even step back half an inch at Shen Ning’s approach. He listened quietly to Shen Ning’s price, then replied mildly and composedly:
“We haven’t done anything. We’re just waiting for the next instance to arrive.”
Shen Ning’s gaze scraped across Fu Songcheng’s face like a blade. Clearly, she didn’t believe a single punctuation mark of it.
Shen Ning sneered, her high heel tapping the floor with a neither-light-nor-heavy click.
The smile on Fu Songcheng’s face didn’t diminish in the slightest—not even his lashes trembled. He looked quietly at Shen Ning, those deep eyes like a pool of stagnant water: mild on the surface, bottomless beneath.
How could he possibly tell her the truth?
Shen Ning said she favored him, said she’d promote him, even promised permanent NPC privileges.
It sounded utterly tempting, but Fu Songcheng knew better than anyone—Shen Ning was first and foremost a shrewd merchant.
Her “favor” was built on the foundation of Fu Songcheng bringing her high ratings, massive talking points, and endless profit.
To gamble his life and fortune on a capitalist’s “favor”?
Fu Songcheng sneered inwardly. He’d never do such a foolish thing. The power to control his own life and death had to be gripped dead in his own hands to count.
Before Fu Songcheng could speak, Yu Huaiting beside him had already impatiently slammed his greatsword into the ground with a dull crash.
“We like playing however we want in the rest area—is that any of your business? Is there any agreement or game guideline that requires us to maintain camera awareness in Death Party?”
Shen Ning was choked off by this impossible, impervious bastard of a manner, and a nameless fire surged in her heart.
She stared dead at these two before her—one with a knife hidden in his smile, one flamboyant and domineering—and suddenly, Quan Heng’s face flashed eerily through her mind.
Question Quan Heng, understand Quan Heng.
Facing this kind of player who was impervious to both carrot and stick—dishonest but unkillable—really did make one’s teeth itch with hate.
Seeing Shen Ning’s expression darkening, Fu Songcheng stepped forward half a pace at just the right moment, unobtrusively shielding half of Yu Huaiting’s body, his tone turning earnest and natural.
“President Shen, Huaiting speaks bluntly. Please don’t mind him.”
Fu Songcheng reined in his smile slightly, putting on a somewhat helpless expression. “You know we’re now number one and two on the Power Ranking. With such high-intensity mental strain and physical training, the returns are already negligible—they might even backfire.”
He paused, looking into Shen Ning’s eyes, and continued, “We’re not born actors or stars either. Being careful in instances and coordinating with the script is one thing, but if we have to watch the cameras even in the rest area, that’s too harsh.”
This explanation was well-reasoned, both pointing out their cooperation with Shen Ning’s plan and rationalizing their surveillance-dodging behavior—even demonstrating their consistent “obedience.”
Shen Ning’s tightly knitted brows indeed loosened a little.
She scrutinized Fu Songcheng carefully, trying to find traces of a lie, but his expression was flawless.
She’d come on a whim precisely because her intuition felt off; she had no substantive evidence in hand.
If she really tore ties with the two most commercially valuable players over mere suspicion, it would be all harm and no benefit to the show.
“Better be that way.”
Shen Ning let out a cold humph, her tone finally softening, though still carrying a warning. “Perform well in the next instance—it’s fairly dangerous. Broaden your fanbase.”
“Understood.”
Fu Songcheng gave a slight nod, polite beyond reproach.
Shen Ning’s figure suddenly vanished, like logging out of an instance.
The mildness and smile on Fu Songcheng’s face immediately faded. “We need to go faster.”
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