The Seventh Day

01
I’ve been stuck in this world for two days now. The person who assigned me the task said that if I can survive here for a week, I’ll be sent back to the real world—provided I stay alive for the entire seven days. Outside, the rain is pouring relentlessly, the sound of it hammering against the glass is sharp, rhythmic, and unyielding. I huddle in one corner of the single bed, my body trembling involuntarily. The room smells faintly of mildew, and I try to breathe as little as possible, feeling like if I take in too much of this air, it will taint me. I try to recall what I was doing before I ended up in this hellhole. I think I was on my way to grab a late-night bowl of three-flavor rice noodles. That night, the streetlights along the road were all out, and only one bulb on the other side flickered intermittently, like a malfunctioning electrical wire. The cobblestones were still slick from the recent rain. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking, and then my foot slipped with a splash—my pant leg soaked and cold water creeping up to my ankle. I felt a moment of frustration, but when I looked up, the scene in front of me had changed completely.
It was a place darker and more ominous than the world I knew—everything seemed to have a hazy, foggy filter. What had once been a food stall just ahead now looked like a run-down hotel, its walls peeling and most of the plaster gone, revealing a grey concrete shell. The neon sign flickered weakly, and the second character was burned out, leaving only the word "Scales Inn" glowing dimly. As I walked closer, I realized the hotel was called Scales Inn—a strange name. I was almost frozen with fear, but somehow, I managed to push through my shock and stepped closer. There was nothing around this building except emptiness. My left sock, soaked from stepping into a puddle, clung to my foot. I hesitated and, trying not to make any noise, pushed open the door.
Just as I cracked it open, something unexpected happened. A voice—sharp and mechanical—echoed in my mind, like the buzz of an old system booting up. A man’s voice suddenly rang out, “Hello, Mr. Zhang.”
I froze. “Who are you?” I asked, looking around the empty space, seeing nothing unusual.
“I am your task assigner, L990.”
“Task? What do you mean?” I asked, but before I could process the words, a small LCD screen materialized in front of me, displaying bold, jarring text: “Your main task is to survive for seven days in this world. Complete it, and you can return to your original world.”
“Main task? Are there side tasks? And what do you mean, 'this world'? Is this not my real world?” I asked, my confusion deepening.
“You can explore side tasks, but be warned: triggering a side task might lead to your death. And yes, this is not your original world. Think of it as a game, Mr. Zhang.”
“… What?” I was stunned. How did I, a 25-year-old unemployed guy who was just walking out for a late-night snack, suddenly end up here, with my life on the line? Had I been knocked out, stuffed into a bag, and dragged into some twisted rich man's live-action game?
“Good luck, Mr. Zhang,” L990 interrupted my spiraling thoughts. An emoji with a thumbs-up appeared on the screen, followed by the message: “I’ve sent you a gift—a task assigner’s virtual hug.”
I could choose: Hug or Don’t Hug. I rolled my eyes and refused.
The screen vanished, and I swallowed, my throat dry. I pushed open the door and found a man standing just to the right. He seemed startled by my sudden appearance and staggered back a step, muttering curses under his breath. “Damn, you scared the hell out of me. Don’t you know to knock?”
He had a dark complexion, with a stubbled chin and a menacing look that made it clear he wasn’t someone to mess with. I hurriedly apologized, “Sorry, sorry.”
“You looking for a place to stay?” he asked, waving his hand dismissively, signaling that it was fine. I couldn’t read his intentions, so I nodded awkwardly.
“Then you’ll need to register,” he said, walking behind a wooden front desk and powering up an old computer. I leaned forward and saw that the desktop was attached to a bulky CRT monitor. It was the kind of computer I used back in elementary school for IT class. It was 2021, yet this place was stuck in the past.
I reached into my pockets, realizing I didn’t even have my ID with me.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice deep and gruff.
I hesitated. There was an eerie silence in the air, and then it hit me—the system said this wasn’t my original world, it was a game.
“Mr. Guest, your name?” the man asked again.
In that moment, I thought, “If this is a game, why not give myself a game name? I can’t tell him my real name.” So I just made one up. “Zhang San,” I said.
He typed it into the computer without reacting, though he gave me a strange, knowing look before handing me the room key. The plastic cover on the card was half torn off, and it looked grimy, so I pinched it between my fingers.
“Do I owe you anything? Like... coins or something?” I asked.
He looked puzzled and shook his head.
Just as I was about to go upstairs to my room, I had a sudden thought—why would I need a room? I wasn’t here for a vacation. My immediate concern was figuring out where the hell I was and what dangers lay ahead. So I turned back, only to find the man had moved again, now standing at the door.
“Sorry… I need to ask you something,” I stammered.
He took a step back, that same irritated look crossing his face, and repeated, “Damn, you scared me. Why didn’t you knock?”
I froze in place. What the hell was going on here? Was he… an NPC?
“You looking to stay here?” He asked again. "Then you need to register."
It was like I was stuck in an endless loop.

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