Lifting the Curtain on a New World

[Game Loading, Please Do Not Turn Off the Power…]

The game being loaded was a semi-finished product, not fully optimized yet, so the initial loading time was longer than expected. Cen Jiu counted her heartbeat, waiting for the black loading screen to end. Although it had been less than a minute, it felt like an eternity.

Finally, when the spindle icon of the developer “Seven-Color Strings” appeared, Cen Jiu’s eyes brightened as she officially entered the game’s start interface.

First, a confidentiality agreement for test users popped up. Cen Jiu skimmed it quickly with quantum speed reading and clicked “Agree” at the bottom. The content was nearly identical to the contract she had signed offline at Seven-Color Strings, forbidding players from leaking any game content to third parties.

What a pity. If she could have secured the exclusive first release rights for this new Seven-Color Strings game, it would bring tremendous traffic to her account.

Cen Jiu’s main occupation was a gaming video creator, sharing gameplay and walkthroughs of games she liked. One big reason Seven-Color Strings invited her to test the game was her reputation among players.

She was an old fan of Seven-Color Strings.

The first game she had played as a child was developed by Seven-Color Strings, a true guide that sparked her interest in video games.

Seven-Color Strings was a small company, having developed only three games since its founding, and their last release had been twelve years ago.

After a series of acquisitions and investments, the company’s social media finally stirred with activity—

New game “The Measure of Life” teaser.

Only a few in-development screenshots were leaked, but they instantly ignited the player community, drawing massive attention from RPG enthusiasts.

“Grandma, the new Seven-Color Strings game you’ve been waiting for finally has news!”

Yet, some veteran players were skeptical if Seven-Color Strings could handle holographic technology. The company hadn’t hired many new staff; with just a small team of a dozen or so, could they really master holography? Even major studios with twelve years of tech accumulation had managed to bring ultra-realistic perspectives to players.

Cen Jiu felt both anticipation and concern. When she received the testing qualification, she was so happy she cooked a celebratory meal that night.

This was also why she accepted the invitation from Seven-Color Strings and signed on for the confidentiality-heavy testing feedback work, which could drain a player’s enthusiasm.

Seeing others speculate and analyze was no match for firsthand experience. Excited, Cen Jiu used her mind to click “Start New Game.”

Upon entry, the first screen was the character interface, generated from her real physical data. There was nothing to adjust here—holographic games defaulted to an unchangeable first-person view, and Cen Jiu wasn’t obsessed with appearance; for single-player games, default looks were fine.

Instead, the stats panel was what really mattered.

The official teaser was styled like an ancient parchment, and players speculated the setting was just before humanity’s industrial age, with one image of a church hinting at supernatural elements.

This matched the promotional materials Cen Jiu had received offline at Seven-Color Strings.

The physical test special edition bore the slogan: “In an age of ignorance and darkness, how will you survive?”—a cryptic riddle.

Since Seven-Color Strings had a history of role-playing simulators with balanced story and gameplay, and their previous three titles were grounded life simulators, Cen Jiu guessed this might be another survival management game about paying off debts.

When she signed the NDA at the company, she asked an employee, Xiao An, about the game’s theme. He gave a somewhat evasive answer.

“It… still has high freedom but focuses more on life simulation. How you play depends on your personal choices.”

They were tight-lipped.

Cen Jiu pondered over the stats panel, which closely matched her real attributes, then distributed the available points with a 70/30 split between Constitution and Luck.

If Seven-Color Strings had incorporated current holographic tech, a player’s real-life skills would influence in-game data to some extent.

As a gaming enthusiast who kept up with fitness and combat training, Cen Jiu knew a healthy body could enhance extraordinary performance—a legal real-world cheat that could bring a better experience in a holographic game.

The panel showed six main attributes: Constitution, Strength, Dexterity, Perception, Charisma, and the highly mystical Luck.

Opening the detailed descriptions, Cen Jiu was clear on her choices.

“Constitution” linked to stamina and health, affecting initial exploration time and survival limits, enabling her to push the map’s boundaries.

“Strength” and “Dexterity” she could compensate with her years of fitness skills.

“Perception” influenced the chance to discover hidden details—a sort of official cheat, but mostly reliant on player attentiveness, so the starting value was sufficient.

The last attribute, “Luck,” was a pure in-game mystical cheat, affecting all character actions.

It could make events tilt favorably: finding more and better items, higher quality loot, accidentally hitting an enemy’s vital spot during combat…

In other words, Luck could cause enemies to unwittingly move into the weapon’s reach—a worry-free choice.

Though Seven-Color Strings’ past games suggested combat was not the focus, a realistic farming and management sim couldn’t lack a combat system.

Cen Jiu guessed that combat would be close to reality—unlike holographic action games with flashy effects, this would be straightforward: wield a weapon, poke back and forth, and end when one hits the other.

Plain but practical, it gave the player’s character self-defense capabilities in a high-freedom game.

Looking at the character model identical to herself on the creation screen, Cen Jiu felt a rare out-of-body sensation, like the first time she entered a holographic pod, blurring the line between reality and game.

Thankfully, the unavoidable UI helped distinguish game from reality. She blinked and clicked “Next.”

Her avatar was now dressed in a neat cloth-and-leather outfit, her waist-length hair tied back into a low ponytail, matching the teaser’s art style.

The default background showed a string of “???”—no options to choose, likely unfinished.

She searched around but found no character naming, and the next step was to generate a world seed and begin.

Probably unfinished or using a generic “You” reference.

Without overthinking, Cen Jiu selected starting items.

After scanning the list, she chose a “Rusty Key” and an “Elixir of Vigor.”

[Rusty Key: Severely corroded key that can open any one door. Single use only.]

[Elixir of Vigor: Restores full health and stamina and temporarily increases their maximum values.]

After confirming nothing was missed, Cen Jiu pressed “Start Game.”

[Save data established!]

[Generating random world seed…]

[Loading save data…]

The black loading screen ended, and the sound of waves crashing, the salty sea breeze, and dazzling sunlight all flooded her sensory receptors.

Instinctively, Cen Jiu raised a hand to shield her eyes, feeling the bed beneath her sway with the ship’s movement, the wood creaking unpleasantly.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She hadn’t expected to get motion sickness in a holographic game—definitely a bug to report about poor initial adaptation.

She summoned the menu with her mind and noticed her character pulling a notebook from under the pillow, then lying back on the bed to read.

The menu was surprisingly detailed, with sunlight streaming through the window casting shadows.

Quickly adjusting the view sensitivity to sync with her preferences, Cen Jiu closed her eyes and felt her head clear.

The dizziness soon disappeared. Sitting up, she surveyed her surroundings.

It was a cabin of just the right size, furnished with a fixed single bed, a desk, and a hanging chair. By the wall stood a large sealed suitcase with clothes hanging on it, giving a lived-in feel that was neither cramped nor empty. Through the mottled glass window stretched the endless blue sky and sea. The intense sunlight made the cabin warm.

Besides health and stamina stats, a line of text appeared prominently.

[Beginning: You wake up feeling seasick. Dress yourself and go outside for some fresh air.]

[Wear complete adventurer outfit 0/1]

[Reach the deck 0/1]

The task prompts were highly conspicuous.

As she finished reading, the central task disappeared, replaced by another less prominent message in the lower right corner:

[Task details can be accessed anytime by summoning the menu or opening your notebook.]

“A nice baby-friendly tutorial…”

Cen Jiu had seen many developers tacitly agree with veteran players to skip basics, leaving newcomers confused and fumbling, unaware of simple operations.

Seeing Seven-Color Strings’ warm beginner tutorial again filled her with emotion.

The start of games usually involved a tutorial level; she had played games where you had to equip yourself to increase immersion.

The outfit hanging nearby was the same initial set she had seen at character creation, modern and intuitive, no dressing challenges.

She stood, took down the clothes, and dressed. She equipped the initial weapon—the Survival Dagger. The notebook on the bed instantly teleported into her newly worn small waist pouch.

Although she wondered why she needed an oil lamp on the ship during the daytime, when she followed the task instruction and hung the lamp on her belt as the final step, the main quest ticked off with a satisfying sound effect, and an achievement popped up in the lower right corner.

[Achievement: Well-Equipped Adventurer]

Alright, the oil lamp was indeed part of the outfit—couldn’t be missing.

Cen Jiu sat back on the bed, trying to lie down and sleep some more.

[You feel very dizzy after waking. Go outside for some fresh air!]

…Okay, this was not a safe spot. At least not now.

She wasn’t in a hurry to leave. Starting a game on a moving vehicle was a classic trope, especially in high-freedom games where you can’t just sleep anywhere without consequences. Missing the tutorial room now might mean it couldn’t be revisited.

She attempted to pick up the candlestick on the desk and put it into the inventory, as such items would surely fetch some coin in the game’s shop.

However, the system immediately alerted:

[Storage space full!]

“…”

Cen Jiu opened the inventory, a traditional grid-based system with most items unstackable.

Her waist pouch already held the initial items: the key, which took no space, and a large bottle of healing potion occupying three-quarters of the space.

The designers had some conscience—the currency stacked, and the immersive notebook didn’t take up space either.

She summoned the menu again and checked the equipment tab. The simple text-only interface showed tiny storage in pants pockets and jacket, with the waist pouch adding some belt storage slots. Other equipment slots remained empty, presumably for more storage.

For example, a handheld backpack, or even the large suitcase by the wall.

But upon trying to pick it up—even before reaching the door—she gave up.

Not because her strength was insufficient, but because the suitcase was too large and lacked wheels, exceeding her light load capacity. Carrying it would drastically reduce her movement speed.

For a game where running was the default movement, there was no way she could tolerate that!