“Praise the Moon! Hahahaha...”
Zhou Ping’s voice suddenly exploded, the tail end of his words rising and sliding into a series of morbid laughs.
Everyone turned their heads at once.
They saw Zhou Ping with his hands held high, fingers splayed wide. Bloodshot veins filled the whites of his eyes, and his expression was one of fanaticism—devotion so intense it was twisted. His mouth curled upward, revealing both rows of teeth.
“The Moon is watching me,” he muttered to himself, his voice rising and falling fitfully.
The atmosphere in the research group froze at that moment.
Hearing the commotion, the Section Chief put down the report in his hand and walked quickly over to Zhou Ping.
“Zhou Ping, pull yourself together!”
Zhou Ping’s gaze was unfocused, his pupils rolling slowly in their sockets. His smile didn't fade; instead, it grew even wider. “Section Chief, I’m very clear-headed. I’ve never been this clear-headed in my life.”
“Look, you’re here too. You’re real as well. The Moon shines on everyone; you should go see it for yourself.”
The Section Chief’s brow furrowed into a tight knot. He observed Zhou Ping’s face closely: his pupils were excessively dilated, his response to sound was sluggish, and his facial muscles were twitching uncontrollably.
This looked like a mental breakdown!
“You’re in a very bad state. Stop working for now and go back to rest,” the Section Chief said, his tone softening slightly.
Zhou Ping shook his head violently, the movement so exaggerated that the veins on his neck bulged out. “I don’t need rest. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper as he leaned in close to the Section Chief—so close that the Section Chief could smell an abnormal sourness on his breath, like over-fermented dough.
“Section Chief, let me tell you, I already know the truth. The Moon is truly beautiful. The game isn’t a game; everything about it is real. All our previous research was wrong.” Zhou Ping’s eyes were as bright as two lamps, his pupils reflecting the Section Chief’s stiff face.
The Section Chief didn't speak, only staring at Zhou Ping.
The current Zhou Ping was definitely not in the mental state a researcher should be in.
He’s gone insane!
The moment this thought emerged in the Section Chief’s mind, a layer of cold sweat broke out on his back.
The others in the office also realized that Zhou Ping was losing his mind. Some had already quietly retreated several steps and pulled out their phones to call security.
A young researcher leaned toward a colleague’s ear. “What’s wrong with him?”
The person beside him shook his head. “How should I know?”
The Section Chief was decisive. He couldn't let Zhou Ping continue like this; his condition was too poor and required immediate intervention.
The Section Chief gave a look to two young, strong researchers nearby and nodded toward Zhou Ping.
The two researchers hesitated, seeing the same reluctance on each other's faces, but they still stepped forward, each grabbing one of Zhou Ping’s arms.
Zhou Ping’s reaction was more violent than anyone had anticipated. His body struggled as if he were being electrocuted, and their hands nearly slipped from his arms.
His strength was terrifying, comparable to a cornered beast.
“Don’t touch me! I’m not crazy! It’s you who don't understand!!!”
“Haha, can’t you see? The Moon is right there! He has been watching us ever since the day the Nightmare Sickness appeared!”
Zhou Ping laughed while he struggled, his laughter intermittent. He twisted his arm and elbowed the researcher on the left in the jaw.
The man cried out in pain and loosened his grip, and Zhou Ping immediately broke half of his body free from their control.
The Section Chief acted immediately, taking out a syringe and a sedative.
“Hold him down.”
With several people working together, they forced Zhou Ping into a chair. His body continued to writhe even as he was held down, his shoulders shrugging up and his hips sliding down, while his mouth never stopped spewing incoherent nonsense.
“Praise the Moon.”
“The moonlight is beautiful tonight.”
“You’ll understand sooner or later. The Moon will return!”
The Section Chief found a vein in Zhou Ping’s arm, disinfected it, inserted the needle, and pushed the drug.
The transparent liquid in the syringe slowly diminished, and Zhou Ping’s struggling weakened accordingly. His eyelids grew heavy and gradually closed, his head slumped to one side, his shoulders collapsed, and his breathing eventually became steady.
“Finally quieted down.” The Section Chief wiped the sweat from his forehead, exhausted to his old bones.
The office fell silent. Everyone looked at the deathly pale Zhou Ping with deep concern.
They all knew that Zhou Ping had entered that virtual reality game, but they couldn't understand why he would suddenly go insane.
After settling Zhou Ping and leaving two colleagues to watch over him with specific instructions, the Section Chief turned and returned to his own office.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
The ringing was long and drawn out.
The call connected.
“It’s me,” the Section Chief said, his voice raspy.
“A researcher here has shown an abnormality.”
“Yes, insane.”
“He keeps praising an entity called the ‘Moon’ and saying that the Moon is watching us.”
The person on the other end seemed extremely shocked.
The Section Chief continued, “I believe it is related to that virtual reality game.”
“I need people to investigate exactly what that insane researcher came into contact with in the game. The more detail, the better.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
The call ended.
The Section Chief leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed so tightly that his eyebrows formed a single line.
The Nightmare Sickness had just subsided, and now this was happening to Zhou Ping. Just what was hidden inside that game?
If the content in the game could affect one's mental state in reality, then it wasn't just a problem with the game anymore—it was a public safety threat!
He picked up the report Zhou Ping had submitted earlier. The corners of the pages were curled, and the bottom right of the cover was stamped with the research group's seal. The title of the report was 《Observation Report on the Realism of the Game 〈Deep Red Continent〉》, printed in standard research institute format.
The Section Chief flipped to the last page and saw a paragraph Zhou Ping had scribbled in pencil in the margins. The handwriting was very messy, as if written in a great hurry.
‘The game world might ████, suggest further verification.’
The Section Chief stared at that line for a long time. The crucial part had been scribbled out, making it impossible to read, yet it inexplicably sent a chill down his spine.
“Zhou Ping, just what did you see inside that game?”
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