ATIGIBTC Chapter 3

«Landmark that is too demanding»

He Fang had severe social anxiety and hadn’t stepped outside his house for three years. The garbage was taken care of by sanitation workers, meals relied entirely on food delivery, and parcels were handled by errand runners. To avoid social interactions, he’d mastered numerous home-living skills: simple appliance repairs, for instance. He’d basically achieved a lifestyle that kept him completely isolated from the outside world.

As society progressed, He Fang believed it was entirely possible to avoid human interaction forever.

At least, that’s what he thought until three days ago.

Three days ago, a food delivery driver suddenly called his phone. When He Fang didn’t answer, the driver left voice messages with a gentle tone and a voice so perfect it could make someone’s ears pregnant.

He Fang broke out in goosebumps.

When he placed the order, he had specifically left instructions for the delivery to be placed at his doorstep!

To be extra sure, he had also sent a message to the rider!

And as if that wasn’t enough, he had even included his specific order details and copied the order number just in case!

But this delivery driver didn’t bother to read any of it. He insisted on sending voice messages—insisted on doing it! He even insisted on delivering the food directly to his door!

He Fang was both angry and anxious, nearly on the verge of leaving a bad review.

But then, a thought struck him. Wait a second…

He had used a different delivery platform today. Why was it still the same delivery guy?

Had delivery drivers now gotten to the point of working across all platforms?!

Just then, He Fang heard his doorbell ring, and his anxiety spiked to the max. Frozen in place, he stood stiffly at the door, watching the closed door like a soldier on high alert. His mind was already running wild with scenarios of terrorists breaking in. Cold sweat dripped from his forehead.

The doorbell rang for a full minute.

To He Fang, it felt like an entire century.

Finally, he heard the very pleasant voice of the man outside the door: “Sir, I’ve left your food at your doorstep. Please remember to pick it up.”

As he spoke, He Fang’s communicator suddenly chimed. He scrambled to turn off the sound and glanced at the notification. It was a photo message sent through the delivery platform, showing his door and the pitiful-looking food placed neatly on the ground outside.

He Fang fumbled around the entrance, pacing back and forth. He repeatedly checked the peephole to confirm if anyone was still outside.

Suddenly, a thought came to him. He immediately went to the window and stealthily peered outside, trying to see if the delivery guy had left.

Then, a figure came into view.

Although the distance was considerable, He Fang was certain the man had an exceptional physique—broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a tall, upright posture. Even in a delivery uniform, his perfect body lines were unmistakable.

And… was his hair golden?

Dyed, maybe?

The golden color was exceptionally stunning, resembling the sun. Long and curly, yet appearing silky smooth. In He Fang’s mind, the only association he could make was with the blonde beauties he had seen online. But from the voice, it was clearly a man. Moreover, the figure… was obviously very tall.

Suddenly, that person seemed to sense something and began to turn his head. He Fang quickly drew the curtains closed. The already dim room instantly plunged back into darkness.

After waiting for five minutes, He Fang opened a corner of the curtain again. There was no sign of the delivery person.

He checked the peephole—still no one.

In the quiet hallway, a tightly closed door suddenly opened. A pale, slender hand stretched out from the doorway, swiftly pulling the delivery bag inside, accompanied by the loud sound of the door slamming shut.

Staring at the food he had painstakingly ordered, now snatched away, He Fang was on the verge of tears. Could someone please bring back the delivery guy who used to silently place the food in the elevator without saying a word?

While opening the delivery box, He Fang navigated to the official website of 〈〈Ruins Without Restart〉〉 on his computer. He wanted to search for information about the game’s online launch and, in particular, look for data on the “Nightmare Beast Forest”.

〈〈Ruins Without Restart〉〉 was a single-player game. Each account was randomly assigned a plot of land. All scene design, architectural planning, and related tasks had to be done by the players themselves.

The game featured a world progression simulator that could mimic the pace of urban development in real-life scenarios. It even introduced random calamities like sudden plagues. If the player lacked adequate countermeasures, the city could become a dead zone, taking an extended period to restore its ecosystem.

Due to its time-consuming and labor-intensive nature, as well as the lengthy building process, 〈〈Ruins Without Restart〉〉 quickly became a niche game right after its launch.

He Fang was a player who made money by creating game guides. At first, he only intended to create a walkthrough. But as he played, he realized the game was practically unplayable in terms of strategizing.

However, the many random events within the game provided material for amusing videos, which garnered decent viewership. Unfortunately, even this couldn’t halt the dwindling player base.

He Fang was lucky; his starting location was a prime spot, nestled between mountains and water with abundant resources.
In three years, he had replicated the layout of the small city he lived in and developed it into something quite impressive in the game.

Finally, He Fang found a brief introduction about the game’s online launch.

“One hundred years ago, the first Nightmare Beast Seed was discovered in the center of a desert. A renowned botanist brought it to a remote experimental laboratory. Ten days later, the lab suddenly lost contact. Centered around the laboratory, the Nightmare Beast Seed erupted unexpectedly…”

He Fang read it several times before he fully grasped what it meant.

Summarizing the information, He Fang concluded that the Nightmare Beast Seed was essentially a combination of dust and viruses.

The Nightmare Beast Seed was extremely tiny, visible only when present in large quantities.

It grew by using all “life energy” as a base—animals, plants, and even traces of their activity.

Once parasitized, the seed could rapidly draw out life energy, using the host’s activities to spread the seed further. Direct contact with the skin—even the tip of a strand of hair—was enough for it to be planted.

He Fang thought about the “Radish Thief” he had encountered. At the time, the thief was clad in an extremely heavy plant armor.

Did this mean the armor’s function was to block the Nightmare Beast Seeds from being planted? Or perhaps to delay the seed’s planting, giving people more time to fight back?

But if direct skin contact led to planting, could the Radish Thief even take off that armor? How would it be replaced?

He Fang was completely confused, but the official website provided no hints whatsoever.

“A perfectly fine simulation management game—why did they have to add a doomsday scenario?” He Fang complained while pouring himself a glass of water. “Is it not considered a game unless you’re saving the world these days?”

The game’s update introduction was overly simplistic, so He Fang attempted to find guides online. But there was absolutely nothing.

Such a deserted official website.

He Fang grumbled to himself. Was it because the sensory simulation pod was just too expensive? Luckily, his own sensory simulation pod had been a prize from an extraordinary stroke of luck.

Thinking about how realistic the game world felt, He Fang was convinced the developers must have a screw loose. With game scenes this realistic, it was globally unrivaled. If they’d added these features to another game, they could’ve made a fortune. Why squander it on a simulation management game?

Sitting back in the sensory simulation pod, He Fang logged into the game again. A massive panel appeared before him.

The game panel detailed everything that had occurred during his short absence—down to the smallest detail.

One number on the interface caught He Fang’s attention, making him take a second look.

“Why has the resident loyalty gone up again?”

Since He Fang started playing this game, the resident loyalty score has been climbing infinitely. Now it was absurd, with an average loyalty level exceeding 3,000%.

He Fang had reported this issue several times but received no response.

He noticed a new detail on the panel.

At the bottom of the panel, a “Defense Statistics” option had suddenly appeared.

Was this option always here?

He clicked on the Defense Statistics page, which contained three pieces of information.

City Defense: Respected and beloved City Lord, your city is built to perfection! All facilities are balanced and comprehensive, with a 100% occupancy rate and an average happiness level of 3,788%. Such a perfect city is truly one of a kind. You must be the most flawless lord ever! Although the city’s defense is too low to resist external attacks, the beloved City Lord must also be deeply concerned about the safety of the townspeople! With the City Lord’s care, the residents would die without regret!”

Iconic Structures:

Rainbow Squad:

Police Station:

He Fang frowned. “What kind of unnecessarily long and useless introduction is this? Are game scripts now competing to pad word counts?”

Feeling speechless, he clicked on the Iconic Structures tab.

Iconic Structures: The central landmark built by the beloved City Lord in the city, representing the city’s core defense capabilities.

Attack Preference: None. Attacks will occur once sufficient Faith Points are gathered.

Attack Power: Proportional to the amount of available Faith Points, with no upper limit.

Status: Standby.

Faith Points: 10 (Severely lacking. Please, beloved City Lord, actively complete daily tasks to earn more Faith Points).

He Fang: “…”

Faith Points?

Are those even useful?

When he first placed the landmark, he completed two days of tasks, only to find that the sole reward was Faith Points.

Since those Faith Points seemed utterly useless, he stopped bothering with the tasks altogether.

Today, he finally learned that the so-called Faith Points earned from daily tasks were actually the activation funds for his defense facilities.

He Fang immediately felt a pang of regret.

Back then, he had chosen to place this landmark simply because it was the most visually appealing of them all. What had truly drawn him in wasn’t the imposing male deity figure but the majestic and ferocious beast at the deity’s feet, exuding an unparalleled sense of power.

That beast was ridiculously cool.

He Fang opened the shop and discovered, to his dismay, that all the other statues had been locked. He no longer had the authority to unlock them!

His regret was palpable.

Before the game’s online launch, all these structures had been freely available for placement. He had only chosen this one because the others took up too much space, and this one was the best-looking!

Now He Fang wanted to cry.

The other statues all looked far more menacing and powerful!

They radiated strength just from their appearance!

Why had he focused only on looks and ignored their defensive value? How had he ended up choosing such a pretty-boy deity statue?

He Fang stared silently at the deity statue landmark and couldn’t resist muttering, “Pretty boy.”

The moment he spoke, the statue’s image on the display screen subtly shifted.

Was he imagining things?

Why did it feel like the statue looked like it was on the verge of tears?

He Fang attempted to interact with it, but a notification popped up on the interface:

Daily Task Issued: Please gently caress the statue and speak words of praise to it, beloved City Lord.

He Fang: “???”

---