Chapter Six: Absence of Motivation

“Are you the divine guards sent by my god to save Hanlan?”

As the crowd stood in anxious uncertainty, Yan Qiluo rode over on her massive white dog, her face wary as she led the Yan clan forward. The neural control chip’s internal defense protocols meant Yan Qiluo had no fear these so-called “divine guards” could harm her, yet mindful of the unknown, she maintained her guard against the outsiders.

“Is that an NPC?”

As the little girl led a group of able-bodied clansmen toward them, the restless crowd’s attention was immediately drawn to her.

“No way, this can't possibly be a game. If it were, just imagine the server resources it would take to run something like this!”

Someone in the crowd voiced their skepticism.

Before the words finished, another interjected, “Whether this is a game or reality isn’t the point right now. What we really need to understand is: Why did some unknown force bring us here? What’s the purpose?”

He gestured at the assembly line, where bodies were being manufactured without pause.

Only then did the people present realize, whether this was real or virtual, this unknown force was clearly not something they could resist.

“Little sister, did you just say we are the divine guards sent to save Hanlan?”

As the crowd hesitated and argued, Chen Xu, quick to pick up on the information in Yan Qiluo’s words, pressed her for more: “Could you tell us about Hanlan’s situation in detail?”

When someone had previously mentioned the server’s computational power, Chen Xu had awoken to the reality. He finally understood the meaning of “I think, therefore I am.” It didn’t matter whether this was true or false, real or virtual—so long as he himself acknowledged his own existence, that was enough. If a simulation was perfect enough to deceive the entire world, then it was reality.

They were the first wave to arrive here—in the grand reincarnation race, their starting line was a whole seventy billion ahead! Chen Xu was certain this was the turning point of an era. As one influential figure had said: “When you stand at the eye of the storm, even a pig can take flight.” From the aura of this little girl’s entrance, Chen Xu could guarantee she was the most powerful force present. That’s why he stepped forward without hesitation.

Yan Qiluo eyed this man who played by his own rules, her pert nose wrinkling slightly. “You still haven’t answered me. Are you or are you not the divine guards sent by my god to save Hanlan?” Though confident in her own technology, she couldn’t rule out the possibility that someone on Hanlan might break through her firewall. If these people weren’t divine guards but local tech experts hijacking the control chips, she’d be betraying the one who entrusted her with this task.

“My god?”

Seeing Chen Xu take the initiative to communicate with the Hanlan natives, the noisy crowd quieted at once. Chen Xu made a mental note of this key phrase, then put on what he thought was a kindly smile: “We descended here from beyond the heavens—perhaps we are the divine guards you speak of. But as for the task of saving Hanlan, we know nothing of it.”

Chen Xu’s words were artfully ambiguous; he’d used Yan Qiluo’s clues to cloak himself as a divine guard while disclaiming the actual responsibility. If the truth was uncovered, he’d have an escape route.

“If you’re from the heavens, then you must be the divine guards!” Yan Qiluo, seeing that these people were not Hanlan natives and seemed docile enough, relaxed. “I am Yan Qiluo, chieftain of the Yan clan. My god has said you can save Hanlan, so you certainly can!”

With that, she signaled her clansmen to activate the virtual platform and register the brainwave codes of the revived humans.

“Ding! Main quest activated. Would you like to enable the player panel?”

As the virtual platform connected, a prompt flashed in Chen Xu’s mind, followed by a virtual screen appearing at the edge of his vision.

“Damn! Now this is how you launch a game!”

“Activate, activate—damn near scared me to death!”

“It’s confirmed, this is a virtual world!”

“By the way, that little girl is ridiculously cute. What if I think I’m falling in love?”

As the notifications sounded, Chen Xu and those behind him stared wide-eyed in stunned silence for several heartbeats before the crowd erupted in excitement. The anxious, uneasy Earthlings, in the blink of an eye, evolved from trembling novices to laughing, jovial pros.

“Ding! Quest One: Corpse Collector. Animal and plant remains are essential materials for reincarnation after player death. Only by gathering enough remains can the Gene Blood Pool function. Please collect remains freely. (Warning: If the Gene Blood Pool is depleted, players will lose the ability to revive.)

Ding! Quest Two: Reclaim the Invitation. The virtual helmet is the player’s invitation to enter Hanlan, but the manufacturing plant has been overrun by beasts. Please drive out the beasts and reclaim the factory. (Warning: Upon success, players will receive unknown rewards based on participation.)

Ding! Quest Three: Rebuild the Base. Hanlan’s spiritual energy is reviving, civilization is in turmoil, and order is collapsing. Please help the Yan clan rebuild the base. (Warning: Upon success, players will receive unknown rewards based on participation.)”

Three mandatory quests appeared in succession.

Yan Qiluo glanced around, somewhat sheepish. The virtual platform was only a half-finished product, technologically trivial, completely out of step with Hanlan’s current mainstream tech. It only had a basic health monitoring module and a communications module—just a barebones intelligent framework. To be honest, even the chip in the virtual helmet was more advanced.

“This Gene Blood Pool keeps us from dying—so what are we afraid of?”

“Did none of you notice this is a virtual helmet factory? Isn’t this a sign of the two-dimensional invading reality?”

“Whatever! With a game this real, if we don’t experience it to the fullest, what a waste!”

“Come on, let’s form teams!”

Watching the noisy Earthlings below, Ye Han frowned slightly. This was different from what he’d imagined. These “players” didn’t seem fully engaged at all—just shoving and squabbling, with few actually taking action.

“These players just don’t cut it!”

Arms folded, chin propped on one hand, Ye Han reflected. The measure of a game’s success is how much players are willing to pay. He’d built Hanlan into a playground—asking nothing of the players so far, which was already generous. Was he supposed to ask them to spend money?

Ye Han considered it, but quickly dismissed the idea. What a joke—both Earth and Hanlan were his. Any money spent was just transferring from one pocket to the other.

Could it be a lack of attraction? But as Ye Han reviewed his ideas, he ruled that out. A fully immersive experience—what could be more compelling? It was practically a second life.

No, the problem was a lack of motivation.

“There’s nothing here to truly ignite their desires!”

At that realization, Ye Han understood at once: desire is the most direct and potent fuel for motivation. Of course, this could also be called potential benefits. Once incentives are in place and can be cashed out, they become an endless source of drive.

“Today is almost over. The college entrance exam is in four days—I don’t have much time left!”

Looking at the “players” below, already treating the place like a tourist attraction, a sharp gleam flashed in Ye Han’s eyes.

…

At the back of the crowd, one of the bodies rolling off the assembly line opened its eyes in silence.

“I can’t believe you all are so useless—I have to step in myself!”

Flexing his wrists and getting used to the body, Ye Han quietly slipped toward the virtual helmet factory while no one was watching.

There were 112 virtual helmets on Earth; the first batch into Hanlan totaled 100 people, and Ye Han still had 12 helmets back in his bedroom on Earth. He’d originally planned for these people to conquer the factory and send out the second batch of helmets after. But seeing the players refuse to act, Ye Han had no choice but to return to Earth and personally take the helmets into the fray.

However, even though most of the first batch were still dawdling, a few people had started to act. Ye Han, moving openly toward the factory, was noticed by a few attentive individuals.

Yang Qi was one of them. He’d majored in warehouse logistics, figuring a niche field would mean less job competition, but lacking connections and money for gifts, he ended up working as a night watchman. After two years, all he'd gained was sharper eyes and little else.

“This guy’s got ideas!”

Eyes glinting, Yang Qi tracked Ye Han’s back, quietly edging toward the periphery of the crowd.

At the same time, Yang Xu also noticed Ye Han. As he faded into the background and edged aside, he happened to spot Yang Qi with the same intent. The two exchanged a knowing nod.

Sometimes, all a directionless crowd needs is someone to lead. The so-called sheep effect: sheep are scattered and aimless until a lead sheep moves, then the rest will blindly follow, heedless of lurking wolves or greener pastures nearby.

On Earth, this vast civilization is never short of sheep, but the lead sheep isn’t always there when needed. Right now, Ye Han was stepping up to lead.

And as for the psychology of comparison—only with contrast comes envy, and only with envy comes desire. Ye Han was diving in himself to model what a top player looked like.

Using the awareness he’d gleaned earlier of the evolved beasts’ distribution in the factory, he quickly found the safe route mapped out by the Yan clan. After a global catastrophe, even if only a few days had passed, whoever survived was elite. With a ready-made safe route, there was no reason for Ye Han to make things unnecessarily difficult.