The rain fell in utter silence. Moisture hung heavy in the air, pressing down on the tin rooftops of the abandoned industrial district, smoothing the world into a single sheet of damp, cold, and sluggish fabric. Shen Xi walked at the edge of the ruins, his head lowered. Rain dripped from his fingertips, as fine dust crumbled beneath his boots, producing a barely audible rustle. He carried no umbrella. Wore no expression. As if the downpour had nothing to do with him. As if the entire lifeless city had nothing to do with him.

  In the distance, a battered streetlamp trembled in the wind and rain, flickering unsteadily. Distracted, Shen Xi stepped over a crack in the pavement and slipped into the shadow beyond the reach of its light.

  Without warning, the ground beneath his feet gave way. Not in a physical sense, but the very fabric of space itself— as if a tattered curtain had been ripped open. An unseen force seized his body, tearing away his consciousness and every last thread of sensation.

  Just before he was completely swallowed by the darkness, a whisper, faint as a dying breath, brushed past his ear: "...Despair is ready."

  [Instance World Syncing——] [Despair System Activated.]

  A cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind, pulling Shen Xi’s awareness back into his body. He forced his eyes open. In his sight was a half-collapsed hospital— Nightingale Asylum. The rusted gate hung half open, and in the darkness, the plaque above the gate shimmered faintly with a broken character: "Night."

  System prompts appeared in front of his eyes, like a virtual game interface: [Instance Title: "Nightingale Asylum"] [Instance Phase: Exploration Adaptation Period] [Objective: Obtain the Lost Medical Records] [Note: Once the Core Area is triggered, the instance will enter countdown mode.]

  Shen Xi stood before the gate, his fingertips rubbing the cold edge of the interface. His eyes swept over the mission details with indifference. The drizzle struck his shoulders, and his body regained its weight. But he simply adjusted his breathing quietly, then lifted his foot and walked step by step toward the asylum gate.

  Footsteps approached from the other side. Shen Xi tilted his head slightly. A boy stumbled out from the mist. His short golden-brown hair was soaked, plastered to his forehead, a ragged hoodie clinging to his drenched frame, but his smile was bright, his eyes blazing with unreserved warmth.

  A prompt appeared above his head: Lin Yao. Instance ID: P006.

  The boy stopped before Shen Xi, panting, with a kind of blind but sincere trust: "Wanna team up?"

  Shen Xi glanced at him, his gaze cool, evaluating him like a variable in an equation. He neither agreed nor refused, merely shifted slightly to the side— allowing Lin Yao to fall into step half a pace behind him.

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  Lin Yao didn’t notice anything unusual. He grinned, wiping his wet sleeves against his cheek like a happy, clueless puppy. The rain kept falling. The fog thickened.

  Footsteps came from the other side. Shen Xi tilted his head slightly. A boy stumbled out from the mist. His short golden-brown hair was soaked, plastered to the side of his forehead, and a ragged hoodie, long drenched through, clung to his frame. Yet he wore a radiant smile, eyes glowing with unguarded warmth.

  A system prompt appeared above his head: Lin Yao. Instance ID: P006.

  The boy stopped in front of Shen Xi, panting, certain trust shining in his expression, blind yet genuine: "Wanna team up?"

  Shen Xi glanced at him. His gaze was calm, as if evaluating a variable. He didn’t say yes, nor did he say no. He simply shifted his body ever so slightly, allowing Lin Yao to naturally fall into step half a pace behind.

  Lin Yao noticed nothing unusual. He smiled and rubbed his damp sleeve against his cheek, like a big, clueless puppy.

  The rain kept falling. The fog thickened.

  More footsteps approached.

  A middle-aged man in trendy sportswear crept up, his toes splayed slightly outward with each step, casting quick glances around as he tiptoed forward.

  Zhao Yizhou. Instance ID: P002.

  His fingers constantly rubbed the edge of his shirt, and his eyes flicked between Shen Xi and Lin Yao, like he was calculating which one would be the safest to stick with.

  Soon after, a woman stepped into view.

  Song Qiuya. Instance ID: P003.

  She wore a white trench coat, and her wet hair clung to the side of her neck. Her smile was gentle, perfectly timed and measured, but the faint tension in the veins on the back of her hand betrayed the quiet stress she tried to hide.

  Finally, from the deeper part of the mist, a figure in black began to approach with slow, deliberate steps.

  Xu Ming. Instance ID: P004. The brim of his cap hung low, and his entire figure seemed to be swallowed by the mist. Only the faint scuff of his soles against the ground cut through the silence with a subtle, offbeat sense of presence.

  There was one more. Hardly anyone noticed him at first: a vague silhouette already leaning against the gate. He wore the standard black uniform of the instance world, leisurely spinning a silver button between his fingers.

  Li Chuan. Instance ID: P005.

  Unlike the others, he leaned lazily against the gatepost, eyelashes lowered, as if all of this meant nothing to him. Raindrops gathered on his shoulder, but never slid down, as though a thin, invisible membrane separated him from the world.

  Li Chuan lifted his eyes slightly. Amber irises swept lightly over the group, pausing for a second—only briefly—on Shen Xi. Then he withdrew his gaze, and continued spinning the silver button between his fingers, as if none of it held any significance.

  A mechanical voice echoed through the space: [Instance Notice:] [Player synchronization complete.] [You may now freely explore during the adaptation phase. Avoid triggering the core area.] [System Reminder: Player survival status will not be recorded.]

  The voice was cold, utterly devoid of warmth. Like a silent sentence.

  Zhao Yizhou clicked his tongue, muttering a curse. Song Qiuya smiled and whispered something under her breath. Lin Yao scratched his head, still seemingly confused.

  Shen Xi didn’t move, just stood there silently, like a blade not yet unsheathed.

  The asylum gates creaked open with a metallic screech. Fog poured in. From deep within Nightingale Asylum, a faint heartbeat echoed— almost imperceptible.