This Taoist priest is so unprofessional!

Zhang Chen dusted off the dust on his Taoist robe, glanced at the fat man, and his face was somewhat inscrutable.

"Do you think I'm wearing this Taoist robe as performance art?"

"This is my profession."

He pointed to the screen.

"Get to work quickly."

The fat man swallowed hard, his gaze towards Zhang Chen shifting from that of someone looking at a lunatic to someone looking at a living god.

He hurriedly returned to his seat, and when he put his hands back on the keyboard, he was even a little cautious.

With the protection of the "mystical firewall," everything became exceptionally smooth.

The fat man restarted the virtual environment.

This time, no more strange phenomena occurred.

The data was imported smoothly, and the system ran perfectly.

The familiar login screen for "Tales of the Underworld" finally appeared on Fatty's computer screen in the internet cafe.

The ancient bronze gate, the swirling will-o'-the-wisps, the eerie background music—everything is exactly the same as it was ten years ago.

But this time, the fat man didn't look at the glamorous "outer shell".

His gaze was fixed intently on another surveillance window.

In that window, dense lines of code were scrolling upwards at an alarming speed, recording every move of this "virus" in the background.

The vast majority of the code consists of normal program calls.

But soon, the fat man noticed something was wrong.

He pointed to a line of error codes that kept repeating and were marked in red by the system, and his brows furrowed.

On the screen, the red error code was like an unhealable wound, repeatedly tearing open and reappearing.

Data flows rush past it, yet it can never get around this stubborn obstacle.

The fat man's ten fingers hovered over the keyboard, his brows furrowed in a frown.

"Something's wrong, something's really wrong!"

He muttered to himself, his eyes behind his glasses filled with confusion.

"All defense mechanisms have failed; it's not attacking at all."

Zhang Chen stood behind him, arms crossed, his expression equally solemn.

He couldn't understand the rapidly scrolling characters, but he could sense them.

The obsession that seeped through the screen was stronger than ever before, like a wild beast trapped in a cage, pacing back and forth restlessly.

"It looks agitated, but I can sense that it means no harm."

Zhang Chen said in a deep voice.

"It seems to be repeating the same thing."

The fat man nodded and pointed to the line of red code.

"This is it."

"The system logs show that it keeps executing 'file search' commands, targeting the root directory of the hard drive, but it fails every time."

That's why the system keeps popping up the "file not found" error message.

The two reached a stalemate.

One person felt "obsession" from a metaphysical perspective.

One interpretation of "search failed" is from a technical perspective.

But what is the connection between these two?

Wang Xiaoer stood aside, completely bewildered.

He didn't understand code, nor could he sense any yin energy or obsession.

He felt that the small shop was stuffy and hot, and the smell of the fat man's sweat mixed with the unique smell of electronic components made him feel a little dizzy.

He stared at the screen listlessly, his gaze sweeping over the line of code that kept repeating itself.

"My…artifact…"

He carefully examined each word, finding the string of English somewhat familiar.

In my mind, Song Jianguo's wrinkled face and his cloudy, sorrowful eyes appeared without warning.

The old man's words echoed in my ears.

"That kid, Xiaowen, played video games day and night back then for that competition..."

"He said that if we win, we can get the only artifact on the entire server..."

Wang Xiaoer's mind went blank for a moment.

An absurd idea flashed through the fog of my mind like lightning.

He looked at the string of "filenames" on the screen that Fatty and Zhang Chen had selectively ignored. Although he had dropped out of school a long time ago, he still subconsciously translated those two simple words.

"My artifact...my divine weapon?"

He continued muttering, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching the ears of the other two.

"Item...Data...Blueprint...Item-Data-Blueprint?"

"This...this is something from a game, isn't it?"

The words fell.

Zhang Chen and the fat man were stunned.

The two men turned around abruptly and stared at Wang Xiaoer with eyes that looked as if they had seen a ghost.

The fat man's face twitched. He straightened his glasses, which were about to slip off, and practically lunged at the screen.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, bringing up the database for the old game "Tales from the Underworld".

Search, filter, compare.

A few seconds later, he zoomed in on a screenshot of the equipment's attributes to full screen.

The screenshot shows a magnificent, shimmering virtual longsword.

Below the longsword, a line of golden equipment names caught everyone's eye.

【Netherworld Demon Blade】!

"I see!"

The fat man slammed his hand on the table, and the gaming chair groaned.

His expression was a mixture of realization and a hint of excitement.

"I fucking get it!"

He pointed at the screen, his voice trembling slightly.

"This isn't a virus! This isn't some kind of attack program at all!"

"It has no malice, it doesn't even have logic; it's just frantically executing the last command given—find its equipment!"

A word to wake up the dreamer!

Upon hearing this, Wang Xiaoer and Zhang Chen blurted out almost simultaneously, "And that divine artifact we haven't obtained yet!"

All the clues were connected at this moment.

Song Wen's death, the strange program on the hard drive, and that lingering obsession.

"really……"

Zhang Chen's voice was a little hoarse. He looked at the cold code on the screen and seemed to see that desperate night ten years ago.

"The murderer back then didn't accidentally push him off the building during the argument."

"He first used a virus to delete Song Wen's game items, destroying all his hard work and hope!"

"Then, amidst Song Wen's questioning and despair, he ruthlessly struck!"

No wonder Song Wen's resentment was so strong that it lingered for ten years.

He wasn't seeking revenge.

He was simply endlessly searching for the glory that had been taken from him.

The shop was eerily silent.

All that remained was the low hum of the server fans.

After a long while, Zhang Chen slowly turned around and looked at Wang Xiaoer, who had a blank expression on his face.

His eyes were complex, showing surprise, approval, and a hint of self-mockery.

"I've been thinking about how to 'get rid of' it."

He paused, then glanced at the fat man again.

"The fat man was thinking about how to 'crack' it."

"Only you can figure out what it really 'wants'."

Wang Xiaoer felt a little embarrassed by his gaze and scratched his head.

"I...I was just guessing."

"No, you're not just guessing."

Zhang Chen shook his head.

"You're just not trapped by our preconceived notions."

"Those involved are often confused, while bystanders see things clearly."

The truth came out, and the huge weight on my heart was finally lifted.

But a new problem arose.

Now that we know what it wants, what should we do?

Those items were deleted long ago, ten years ago. The game itself has been shut down, so there's no way they can be retrieved.

If the file cannot be found, this "search program" will continue to run indefinitely, and Song Wen's obsession will never dissipate.

This is an endless loop.