Her son's voice rang out from the kitchen, loud and clear:
"Mom, your memory's off! They haven't delivered meat in ages! They moved away long ago!"
"They moved? Where to?"
"Who knows? They didn't even settle the bill for that month's meat. Probably made a fortune and stopped caring about small clients like us."
"Nonsense!" the shopkeeper's wife snapped. "That couple wasn't like that. Something's not right…"
Shirley fell silent. She had no intention of letting casual chatter spark a quarrel between mother and son.
Later that night, after closing shop, the shopkeeper's wife beckoned Shirley.
"Xiaoyuan, come with me. Let's pay Little flower's place a visit."
As they stepped out, the woman's son reminded Shirley:
"Please accompany my mom. Her memory's not what it used to be. She gets stubborn sometimes. Once you've taken a look, bring her back, alright?"
"Got it," Shirley replied.
She followed the shopkeeper's wife through the quiet streets all the way to Jianghuahai. The older woman pointed to a wooden house perched on the hillside.
"See that? That's where Little flower's family lived. Let's go have a look."
The cabin was in utter disrepair, a ghost of habitation past. Cobwebs veiled the doorway, and yellowed leaves cluttered the floor. The shopkeeper's wife pushed the door open and stood in dazed silence, staring at the long-abandoned home.
"Ma'am, shall we head back?" Shirley asked gently.
"They're really gone…" she murmured. "I thought I was just misremembering… I really am getting old." She turned and walked away.
A rusted string of bells dangled from the doorframe. As Shirley shut the door, the bells trembled faintly, ringing out a silent farewell.
For reasons she couldn't explain, a wave of sorrow swept over Shirley.
She shook her head, puzzled by her sudden sentimentality. *Why am I even mourning the lives of NPCs? My own future is still so uncertain…*
She helped the shopkeeper's wife walk slowly back.
Suddenly, the older woman spoke. "I just remembered—they entrusted me with a letter!"
"A letter? For whom?"
"You're not from around here either, are you, Xiaoyuan?"
Shirley froze, her hand stiffening mid-support.
*What did she just say…?*
The shopkeeper's wife turned to look at her. In her eyes flashed a shrewdness, no longer the forgetful elder but the calculating businesswoman once more.
"When are you leaving?" she asked.
"I… I don't know…" Shirley stammered, avoiding that gaze which seemed to pierce through her very soul. Her heart raced wildly. *This isn't a supernatural instance, right? Why would an NPC ask that question?*
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
"If you ever meet their daughter, Elika, after you leave, please give her this letter."
Shirley could barely keep her expression steady. "A… a letter?"
"Yes. Just a letter."
"O-okay."
Seeing her agree, the shopkeeper's wife looked sorrowful, pulling a neatly folded sheet of paper from her bosom and pressing it into Shirley's hands.
"My memory is failing, and time is slipping through my fingers. I have a feeling this is our only chance. Xiaoyuan… you must survive."
Shirley's fear dissolved in an instant. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
"I'll do my best. I'll fight with everything I've got." She clutched the yellowing letter.
"If I can leave this instance alive, I swear I'll deliver it."
"Thank you," the old woman said, and turned to leave. A few steps ahead, she looked back and called,
"Xiaoyuan? Aren't you coming? You must be tired. Let's go home and rest."
"Coming!" Shirley answered, taking a deep breath and hurrying forward.
She never opened the letter. Instead, she sewed a small pouch just for it, carrying it close to her heart—
Even though she knew: nothing could be brought out of an instance. That was a rule every player understood.
And yet, she wanted to try.
There was no doubt now—Little flower's parents had been players.
They had once been trapped in this very instance, and eventually escaped. Before they left, they managed to send their daughter away.
If things had gone smoothly, why the letter?
And if Little flower's parents were players…
Then what about Little flower? She was just a child. Had she also entered this game?
Where had they sent her?
Where had her parents gone?
Even if Shirley did carry this letter out of the instance, she couldn't carry it beyond the game itself.
Where would she even begin to search for Little flower?
Driven by a rush of emotion, she whispered an apology—and finally opened the letter. She was determined to memorize it.
But inside, she found nothing but a thick smear of dried blood. Not a single word.
"How strange…"
The mysteries piled up, robbing Shirley of sleep. Eventually, she couldn't resist probing the shopkeeper's wife for more.
But the woman's response stunned her.
"Who? I don't know anyone by that name. Are you sure this happened?"
Staring at her blank face, Shirley felt her heart deflate like a punctured balloon. She swallowed hard.
"Um… that wooden house near Jianghuahai… Little flower's parents used to deliver meat to the restaurant. They never settled the last bill…"
"There's no such thing. We've always had a regular supplier. Xiaoyuan, focus on your job. You're still young—save up. Maybe one day you'll get the chance to enter the Inner City…"
Shirley turned to the woman's son, only to receive the same denial.
He had no recollection of the family at all—as if they had never existed.
If not for the letter in her possession, Shirley would've thought she was losing her mind.
What had happened that day seemed more like a data glitch—an NPC gone off-script.
No… perhaps it wasn't a glitch, but a correction.
The entire family vanished, and with them, every NPC's memory of them was erased.
That was why the shopkeeper's wife had said her time was running out.
This letter—
It was the last shred of proof that Little flower's parents had ever lived.
And their daughter might still be waiting for a sign from them.
The mystery haunted Shirley.
She grew increasingly curious about the family who had once lived in that wooden house.
Whenever she had time, she'd visit—but always returned empty-handed.
Then, one day, she arrived to find even the cabin gone. In its place, wild shrubs had sprung up.
Something clicked in her mind. She ran to Jianghuahai, to the old stone she remembered.
She crouched down, searching for the childish doodles and crooked letters once etched into its surface.
But they were gone. As if they'd never existed.
No trace of a little girl's drawings scratched out with a pebble or knife remained.
She stood frozen for a long time, knees going numb before she collapsed onto the ground.
Zhang Xiyuan shivered.
She didn't want to disappear too.
She wanted to live.
She wanted to leave a mark of her existence.
She *had* to survive.
From that day forward, Shirley stopped contenting herself with menial labor just to scrape by.
She had to prepare.
If the instance restarted during the next growth season, she needed to be ready.
This world held a mysterious power. Those born with a "spirit bone" possessed magic.
She was sure she didn't have one, so she pinned her hopes on amassing enough wealth to buy protective gear.
Outdoor armor came in many forms—
In this dangerous age, adventuring and hunting parties ventured out often. Armor was a necessity.
With enough points to purchase basic medical kits and an uncanny ability to "not quite die,"
She quit her restaurant job and applied for a logistics role in an adventuring party.
The mortality rate was staggering, but so was the pay.
After countless brushes with death, Shirley finally saved enough to buy a set of armor.
By then, four years had passed since she was first trapped in the instance.
She bought the gear just as the growth season reached its peak. There was a month left until hibernation.
Shirley prayed night and day: *Please let the instance restart during hibernation… I'll stand a better chance.*
Fate had other plans.
One day, while working part-time at the restaurant, her vision spun—
And she found herself on a verdant hillside, grass swaying in the breeze.
The instance had restarted!
After four years, it had finally restarted!
Her luck was abysmal—the new cycle had resumed mid-growth season.
Panic surged, then quickly gave way to focus.
She touched the letter sewn into her clothes, felt the armor and weapon by her side, and her gaze steeled.
She had worked hard these past years—not only saving enough for armor,
But learning wilderness survival skills that gave her an edge over other players.
After another perilous trial, only Shirley made it back to Baicheng alive.
She glanced toward the restaurant and exhaled deeply before stepping into the glowing circle.
Back in the Stone Pillar Forest, emotions overwhelmed her. She couldn't help but sob.
It wasn't unusual for players to break down here.
After a cathartic cry, she wiped her face and left.
She missed her tiny room—the one she'd finally earned through points.
She needed sleep.
Back at the inn, as she undressed for a bath, a thought struck her.
She grabbed her clothes and opened the hidden pouch.
The letter should've vanished—
She never expected it to come out with her.
Besides, it had no words. She had planned to memorize it—
"Huh?" Shirley's eyes widened.
She felt something.
The letter was still there.
Somehow, impossibly, it had followed her out of the instance.
She carefully opened the pouch.
There it was—the same bloodstained paper. The same letter.
It defied everything she knew.
In her two months of gameplay, she'd memorized every rule.
You couldn't bring anything out of an instance.
She had tried herself.
She hadn't yet learned about "items" bound to a player's inventory,
But even then—this was different. This letter wasn't bound to anything.
"Little flower's parents… must've been extraordinary players," Shirley whispered, eyes full of reverence.
She carefully stored the letter.
"Where are you now, Little flower? Are you still in the game? Or… have you already revived and escaped?"
Shirley made up her mind—
When the time came,
She would watch for her.