And so it went.
Constant battles, constant troubleshooting, constant inquiries...
Along the way, another hundred employees from the company were brought in.
This time, they weren’t from the security firm but were instead selected from Miracle Group—men and women, some even with pre-existing conditions.
But they all signed confidentiality agreements.
...
A full month passed like this.
Most of the testing was completed.
No major issues were found.
Even people with heart conditions could use it—their heart rates just fluctuated a bit more.
To put it bluntly,
this thing was a virtual world, just like dreaming.
No one’s ever heard of someone with a heart condition dying from a nightmare.
Though the company’s medical researchers did note that nightmares could pose a risk for heart patients.
But deaths from being scared into cardiac arrest were rare.
At worst, sympathetic nerve excitement would raise certain hormones, speeding up the heart rate and causing a sudden spike in blood pressure.
And even that depended on the type of heart condition.
In short,
given the current state of the Core of the Pivot, fatal incidents were highly unlikely.
Even if they happened,
they’d be isolated cases.
But that wasn’t a big deal.
After all, this virtual space wasn’t limited to just combat.
You could even develop farming games.
Tilling the land could improve physical fitness too.
And after a month of research, people with chronic illnesses or obesity saw significant improvements—all their health metrics were trending upward.
It was remarkably effective for weight loss and disease management.
After all, severely obese people in the real world would be out of breath after just a few steps.
But in the virtual space, they could sprint like the wind—just feeling a bit tired. The neural feedback alone was immensely beneficial for them.
...
In the blink of an eye,
another month passed.
This time, they tested for chronic and age-related conditions.
All in all, the entire process took about three months.
Every test was completed.
Tens of thousands of reports were generated.
Data on the helmets’ feedback and wear-and-tear were all recorded.
Production had also finished setting up the factory, with assembly lines ready to churn out thousands of helmets daily.
There was no fear of overstocking.
Demand would far outstrip supply—no way these helmets would gather dust in a warehouse.
May arrived.
Cao Cheng finally had some downtime.
He took off the helmet, still craving more.
Trash.
They were all trash.
Twenty kills in a single match.
If only finding opponents wasn’t so slow, he’d have racked up even more.
Though his real-world physique and abilities couldn’t be fully transferred into the game, about 20% carried over.
That still made Cao Cheng a top-tier force in the virtual world.
Before this, he’d never realized just how strong he was.
Now he knew.
He was basically cheating.
Inside the virtual space, his vision, hearing, and perception were all far sharper than an average person’s.
Even his bodyguards and highly trained security personnel could barely put up a fight.
Actually taking him down? Nearly impossible.
Over the past month, Cao Cheng had only died three times.
Sounds like a lot?
Pure bad luck.
This was a "semi-realistic" battlefield—anything could happen.
Twice, he got ambushed.
Once, someone rigged a car with explosives, and he didn’t notice in time.
Another time, it was a stray bullet.
He was heading over to break up a distant firefight when—bam—a random shot hit him square in the face. Game over.
Funny thing, though.
That sensation of dying? It eerily mimicked the terror he’d felt passing away in his previous life back in 2099.
Not as intense, but still enough to jolt the soul.
Dying once changes a person.
And that’s a good thing.
Also,
this virtual world couldn’t be treated like a regular game.
In normal games, you could hop into vehicles and roam freely—cars, speedboats, motorcycles...
But here? If you dared to use one, you’d just be a loud, attention-grabbing target.
You’d get dropped in seconds.
Who knew where some sneaky bastard was hiding?
And with heavy weapons like rocket launchers in play?
Extremely dangerous.
So,
after losing two lives to vehicles, Cao Cheng avoided them entirely.
This wasn’t something you could play casually.
...
The Fourth had been playing a lot lately—this game was addictive.
And good for the body, too.
Even Old Cao was hooked.
Only Ren's mother didn’t like it. Gentle by nature, she couldn’t stand the bloodshed.
Games like farming or pet-raising would suit her better.
While pushing his game company to develop more titles, Cao Cheng also took a helmet to the capital.
...
...
"So this is the game helmet you mentioned?" His father-in-law eyed it curiously.
Cao Cheng handed him a fresh one.
Smiling, he said, "Father-in-law, I can’t promise much, but safety isn’t an issue. Three months of non-stop testing, every bit of data recorded—tens of thousands of reports. Most importantly, like I told you on the phone, about 20% feedback."
His father-in-law raised an eyebrow. "So our soldiers could just train in this thing and develop real battlefield skills and killer instinct? No more real-world drills—just gaming?"
"No, no, no..." Cao Cheng quickly shook his head. "You’ve got it wrong. The training here maxes out at 20% feedback, and that’s not a fixed rate. Some people might get less than 10%, depending on their neural response. Plus, playing too long leads to fatigue—balance is key."
"Besides..."
"Virtual training at 20% can’t compare to real-world training at 100%."
"So physical drills are still essential. But in-game, they can sharpen their killer instinct—get used to blood."
"In this game, the average player kills at least a few per match. Even just one adds up over time."
"That kind of accumulated lethality? Most soldiers can’t match it."
"At the very least, they’ll be desensitized to violence."
"And even if they don’t kill, dying repeatedly changes a person."
"Not quite enlightenment, but maybe a minor epiphany or two."
"Best part? The data can be adjusted via my terminal. For us, I can set it to 20% realism."
"But for exports? I’ll dial it down to 2%... or even 1%. Or remove feedback entirely."
Cao Cheng grinned mischievously.
His father-in-law shot him a sidelong glance.
The older man understood now.
Some things were too sensitive for phone calls, but here, they could speak freely.
After a moment, his father-in-law asked, "Can I try it?"
"Sure, but if you go up against a real warrior, you’ll get crushed."
"..."
Old Cao snorted coldly. "Looking down on me? I served in my youth. Come on, let’s see what you’ve got."
Cao Cheng grinned. "Alright, let’s do this."
Old Cao, oh Old Cao… today, I’ll show you who the real boss is.
grated, and just when he finally managed to get into an elite academy, he discovered that he actually had a system, and the way to earn rewards was extremely ridiculous. So for the sake of rewards, he had no choice but to start acting ridiculous as well. Su Cheng: "It's nothing but system quests after all." But later, what confused Su Cheng was that while he was already quite ridiculous, he never expected those serious characters to gradually become ridiculous too. And the way they looked at him became increasingly strange... (This synopsis doesn't do it justice, please read the full story)
iaobai: "Councilor Dad, front me some funds. I want to hire ten thousand professional miners for a project!" [Five-Star Mission Issued: Capture the leader of the Blood Heaven Pirate Gang, who is on the run in the Radiant Star Sector. It is said the gang has over a hundred members. Proceed with caution.] Lu Xiaobai: "Councilor Dad, lend me the family's hundred-thousand-strong Lu Army!" [Seven-Star Mission Issued: Subdue a juvenile Void Dragon Beast.] Lu Xiaobai: "Councilor Dad, I'm taking your tamed Void Dragon Beast King out for a family reunion!" I said, System, don't you have any slightly more challenging missions? You're just not up to par! [Nine-Star Mission Issued: Become the Human Councilor.] Lu Xiaobai: "Dad, there's a small matter I'd like to discuss with you..."
u Chenyuan transmigrated into a female-oriented novel about a real and fake heiress, becoming the CEO elder brother of both. Unfortunately, the entire Lu family—including himself, the CEO—were mere cannon fodder in the story. Determined to save himself, Lu Chenyuan took action. The spoiled, attention-seeking fake heiress? Thrown into the harsh realities of the working class to learn humility. The love-struck real heiress? Pushed toward academic excellence, so lofty goals would blind her to trivial romances. As for the betrayed, vengeful arranged marriage wife… the plot hadn’t even begun yet. There was still time—if he couldn’t handle her, he could at least avoid her. "CEO Lu, are you avoiding me?" Mo Qingli fixed her gaze on Lu Chenyuan. For the first time, the shrewd and calculating Lu Chenyuan felt a flicker of unease.
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
