Ah'Ming was once again spat out unceremoniously onto the resort floor. His eyes took a little while to adjust. Though he could see well in the dark, this ability made adjusting to light a lot harder.
The air was a lot cleaner, which relaxed his muscles.
He was pretty happy to see this nice and posh resort decor, compared to the dreary and ugly scenery of the other world. Mirror world. Whatever.
Around him, other players walked around and chattered about their most recent substory clearances. Two women, in particular, were complaining loudly and gossiping.
"I don't know why, but I just have so many newspaper clippings now. It's so, so annoying!"
"I know! I've heard some people have just set up a recycling center."
"Really? Which guild?"
"I think supernova? They've figured out how to break down some instance junk and turn it into energy."
"Cool!"
The hoarder in Ah'Ming activated.
"How much for the newspaper? I want to collect the full item." He asked them. The note in the inventory had said that the item couldn't be brought out of the instance, unless it was completed. Understanding dawned in their eyes.
"Oh! You must be one of those 'full clearance people'. But, what will you give for it?" One woman asked. A vein in Ah'Ming's forehead twitched. They'd just been complaining about how useless the items were, and were now charging him for it.
Capitalists.
He considered it, then checked his inventory. Most of it was random junk, but he did have some good food.
"How about instant hotpot?"
The woman's eyes went wide. "You have instant hotpots? Where'd you get it? Deal."
Ah'Ming smiled. "I bought it off of an NPC. Now, how many substory newspapers did you complete?"
The woman reached over, and took the hotpot. Since she couldn't eat spicy food, she'd asked specifically for tomato flavored. "I've cleared four so far, one a day. Pretty good, huh?"
The other woman also tried to broker a deal. "I've done all different substories to her. I've done five. I'd like a MaLa Hotpot, please."
They finished the transaction. Holding two pieces of newspaper in his hands, Ah'Ming watched, transfixed, as they turned gold and merged into one. He took out his own one from the inventory (which only had four on it as well). It also merged into one single newspaper.
Ah'Ming opened the newspaper, and saw it filled out a lot more. It was still mostly black, though.
"Hey system? Do I need to do every single substory to fill out this newspaper?"
|No. Broadcaster only needs to complete twenty five to bring it out of the Main instance: RESENTFUL RESORT.
|However, completing more than the necessary amount will bring additional rewards, and may impact final evaluation grade.
"Nice." Ah'Ming nodded. He now had thirteen substory, well, stories. That was halfway there! He messaged the BlackShadowblade(?) guild, and asked them how many newspaper clippings they had.
The message didn't send all the way through, though, so they were probably in a substory. He'd asked earlier. If they died, their names and profiles would grey for a day. After that, the names and profiles would just disappear completely.
If they weren't recorded on some sort of media, they'd just disappear completely, even from the record lists. The only exception was the Hall of fame, or Hall of the paragons.
As he walked to the reception, Ah'Ming asked the system all sorts of questions. It was really nice having a personal assistant.
"Why aren't broadcasters registered as dead and deleted the moment they die in an instance?"
It was an important question.
|Some instances incorporate story-patterns in which the dead have a chance to revive. Others involve story-patterns where the dead are still considered players, albeit on a different faction. As long as the broadcasters still possess sanity, they will be brought back to the Broadcast and healed for a price.
"Oh, so like, if I turned into a zombie, would I be fine?"
|Zombification costs two thousand points to cure
"Two thousand?!?!"
Ah'Ming gulped.
"What if I don't have two thousand?"
|The system will evaluate the Broadcaster's ability to earn points. If the broadcaster is deemed to not be able to pay the points back, it will result in immediate termination. Else, the broadcaster will receive debt to pay back.
"Oh."
He stood at the receptionists desk.
…
"Yeah, makes sense."
He'd just have to not get zombified. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, no problem!
He chuckled nervously.
|Finally, Broadcaster is beginning to show some sense.
Ah'Ming brightened, and put on a faux-shy schoolgirl grin. "Really? UwU." He twiddled his thumbs, and dragged his foot across the ground, playing up the cheesy romance lines from a dating sim.
|System takes it back.
|Host is possesses an IQ range of below water's freezing level.
Ah'Ming paused.
"In celsius or fahrenheit?"
|Celsius.
...
"But isn't that a zero? I think it's statistically impossible to have an iq of zero, though, sinc---"
"Ah'Ming? Ah, come here, let Jiejie pinch your face!" Came a bright voice. Ah'Ming turned to look at her. The receptionist had abandoned the other broadcasters who she had just been talking to, and came over. She tsked.
"It's been two days! How have you lost so much weight? What are your secrets?" She pestered.
Ah'Ming blinked, then touched his waist. "I lost weight?" He asked.
"Yep. Just your waist though. How?" She demanded.
Ah'Ming paused for a moment. "Is… is losing weight good?"
Receptionist Jiejie was baffled. "I suppose, well, yes. For most people. I guess some professions would prefer having extra energy?"
He shrugged. "I don't think I did anything special, though. Maybe it was just stress. Oh! I have something for you!"
The receptionist's smile reached even wider. Her mouth split her face from ear to ear, which was pretty creepy. Ah'ming was unfazed. He took a pearly incandescent box from his inventory. "Here, I traded it with a different player. It's all new."
She gingerly took it, and gasped in delight. "HuaZhi! Oh, I've wanted this for a while. I never got around to buying it. Thanks!"
He coughed.
"So, do you know where the Xie Offices are? I have some business there."
The receptionist Jiejie paused, and thought about it. "Of course! The offices… the offices are, wait, why can't I remember?"
Stupid system lock.
"It's okay," Ah'Ming comforted. "Do you have any hints?"
"I think the offices should be somewhere high. So, the top floor of one of the buildings."
One of the many, many buildings in the resort.
Ah'Ming's smile cracked.
Drats.