City S.
August in summer, the sun blazes high overhead. Intense ultraviolet rays sear the concrete pavement until it's scalding, and amid the endless, overlapping blare of car horns, the air above the road seems to warp and twist under the swelter.
Inside a roadside milk tea shop, a few high school students huddle together, animatedly debating what lies behind the veil of the gods.
A girl by the window, though, is uninterested in their talk. She'd only been dragged out by friends to fill the group, with no real need to join in. Her small, pink lips clamp around the milk tea straw; her face, etched with boredom, drifts listlessly toward the transparent glass wall outside.
Pedestrians stream by on the sidewalk.
Just then, a figure in the crowd catches the girl's eye.
"Catches" might not be the best word—rather, he stands out like a crane among chickens in the throng.
The girl's pupils mirror his form, and soon, curiosity and puzzlement flicker in her eyes.
She can scarcely fathom how a person with white gauze bound over his eyes manages to stroll unhurried through the crowd without aid. Stranger still: his right hand holds a white cane, from which dangles a bulging shopping bag slung over his shoulder, and beneath his black shorts, half a bare mechanical left leg glints, with no cover at all.
Could they have fitted a smart navigation system in that mechanical leg?
At that moment, her friend notices her distraction.
"Xiaojin, what are you looking at?"
Following Xiaojin's gaze outside, the friend spots the striking boy in the crowd at once, and exclaims in surprise:
"Oh, that's Xu Shi from the class next door… Say, wasn't he supposed to be blind, with those bandages over his eyes? Why's he walking like it's nothing?"
"Xu Shi? Is there someone by that name in the next class?"
"Heh, Xiaojin, you just transferred here not long ago—it's normal you wouldn't know. And though he's technically in the next class, he's really just a name on the roster. He only showed up on the first day of school, then never came back. But there are loads of rumors about him."
The topic sparked, and the boy across from the girl wore a look of recognition as he spoke up: "Xu Shi? Oh, I know him—I'm in the same class, actually. Though to be honest, the guy's had it pretty rough. Word is he's joined the game thirteen times in a row. Thirteen times… and guess what? He lost every single one."
The friend beside her immediately widened her eyes, voice laced with disbelief: "Thirteen times!? And lost all of them? Then… how is he still alive?"
The boy shrugged. "Who knows? Most of us pay with our lifespan as entry fee, but this guy? He uses his own organs. Total death wish, if you ask me."
Xiaojin, as the girl was called, latched onto the key point at once: "Thirteen times? But aren't we only required to enter once every three months? If we're the same age, how could he…?"
Her words trailed off, and her expression froze as a sudden realization hit.
Her friend's next words confirmed her hunch.
"Exactly. He's our age, but he goes in once a month. The guy's a complete, reckless lunatic."
Another boy scoffed at this. "Hmph. What kind of lunatic loses thirteen times in a row? Sounds more like a stubborn fool who can't accept reality."
"A fool…" Xiaojin murmured, her lips barely moving. She watched as that unhurried figure merged into the thicker stream of pedestrians, vanishing from sight.
In a small, humble cottage.
Back home, Xu Shi grabbed the bulging shopping bag hanging from his white cane by its two corners and upended it.
Crash, clatter—
Out tumbled a pile of neatly packaged bento boxes and instant noodles.
These would be his rations for the next few days. After all, you couldn't exactly expect a blind man to cook for himself, could you?
Not that Xu Shi hadn't wanted to try. But this tiny space offered no kitchen to accommodate such attempts.
It's true that he's blind, but in a world where gods truly exist, he couldn't have survived this long without some other tricks up his sleeve.
As the rumors outside go, he's joined the game thirteen times in a row since last June, losing every single one. And what becomes of those who lose? Xu Shi's残破 body is the perfect, grim example.
Yet he's an exception.
By the gods' rules, everyone must play, and the entry fee is unrestricted—anything you own, so long as the Divine Mirror deems it valuable enough, can serve as a ticket.
In this world, most pay with their lifespan. Someone like Xu Shi, who trades his own organs as entry fee, is already an outlier.
Tearing open a package, he made himself a bowl of instant noodles. Seated on a worn, earth-colored sofa with peeling leather, he deftly removed his mechanical left leg, picked up a black towel and lubricant nearby, and began his daily maintenance.
The small cottage echoed only with the creaks and squeaks of the young man adjusting his prosthetic.
Once done, Xu Shi reattached the leg with equal skill, then reached for the bowl of noodles on the table—no need to wash his hands first—and slurped them down.
He ate quickly, for there was no need to savor the flavor. His sense of taste had been lost long ago, in one of those countless games.
After finishing the bowl, Xu Shi felt only emptiness. He tossed the empty container forward; it arced gracefully through the air before landing neatly in the trash can by the corner.
If a stranger had been there, they'd surely have torn off the cloth over his eyes to check if he was truly blind.
Full and sated, Xu Shi leaned back, lying on the sofa with his eyes closed, lost in thought.
In the dimly lit room, an old, yellowed calendar hung on the wall above the young man's head. All the days leading up to the present were marked with red Xs, save for one date two days hence, circled in a bold loop.
That was the opening day of this month's game.
Two days later.
The hall of S City's Game Temple was already thronged with people.
Some strolled in with arms slung over each other's shoulders, grinning broadly.
Some wore furrowed brows, fidgeting aimlessly.
Some looked ashen, yet their eyes blazed with a frantic, unyielding fire.
Some even yawned as they stepped inside.
A rhythmic, mechanical clatter echoed through the air. A figure, starkly out of place amid the crowd, wandered in—yawning, drowsy-looking—cutting through the throng straight toward the front desk.
Gradually, the hubbub in the hall died down. Most people paused, staring at the figure: a white cane, collapsed to a stub, hung at his waist as he sauntered toward the desk. Astonishment filled their eyes.
Xu Shi had no idea when he'd become something of a "celebrity" here, but he paid the stares no mind, stopping at the front desk.
In the next moment, everyone in the hall wondered if their ears were playing tricks on them.
"Hello," he said. "I'd like to sign up for this month's Imperial Rank Game."
The youth's soft voice echoed through the hall.