Instance Goes Live

Lu Xiu finished the remaining steamed egg custard, wiped her hands, then ran over to the sofa and sat down, ready to properly study how to put the instance online.

Since all the prerequisites had already been met, Lu Xiu had assumed putting the instance online would be simple.

But in reality, there were quite a few steps involved in actually launching it...

"Public type? Designated type? What do these mean?"

"Role-playing instances can use forgetting as a clearance condition?"

"You can also designate an offline location for the instance and its entrance?"

"..."

As Lu Xiu looked through the explanatory document that had popped up on the instance launch page, her head started to ache... but she patiently continued reading.

In fact, Even the final step of launching an instance involved quite a lot of considerations. First of all, private instances were different from system instances... While some system instances also had entry requirements, they generally did not discriminate between players.

Private instances, however, could be kept non-public. In other words, only designated players could enter them.

These were designated instances.

Furthermore, the [Resident Evil] instance Lu Xiu had created was a pure role-playing instance. Although the system would vary the instance as much as possible without deviating from its original progression, ensuring the players' experience—

The overall flow of the instance was still fixed. No matter how it changed, those changes were limited.

That meant that if someone cleared the instance and selflessly shared their strategies and experience, then as long as players had strong enough nerves, anyone could clear the [Resident Evil] instance.

That clearly did not align with an instance architect's interests.

Therefore, for role-playing instances with limited variations like this, instance architects could add "forget all key content of the instance" as a clearance restriction, ensuring that everyone entering the instance experienced it for the first time.

This could effectively preserve the instance's uniqueness.

Lastly, The so-called option to designate an offline location for the instance and its entrance was even simpler. It meant choosing a real-world location to place the instance and its entrance... The location where the instance was placed seemed to undergo a certain degree of mutation, and the final clearance rewards would also be better.

This was also how many system instances worked. Basically, the entrances to high-difficulty system instances were all offline.

However, once an offline entrance was designated, the number of daily online entry slots for the instance... would be restricted.

So Lu Xiu immediately rejected the idea of placing [Resident Evil] offline. As for whether to make it a designated instance, that choice was even easier... Lu Xiu did not even have a single friend, so it could only be a public instance.

What did leave Lu Xiu somewhat conflicted, however...

Was whether to add "forget all key content of the instance" as a clearance restriction.

She stared at the option for a long time, her finger hovering above the screen without pressing it.

Honestly, Lu Xiu did want to add that restriction.

After all, if someone wrote out the full process as a guide, then the instance would turn into something players could clear just by memorizing the answers.

The more she thought about it, the more annoyed Lu Xiu became. Her malicious impulse grew wildly like weeds.

I got drenched in the rain when I cleared it, and you people want to hold up umbrellas? Dream on...

I'm definitely tearing all your umbrellas apart...

But considering this was her first instance, and that she was launching it with a loan—Survival Points borrowed from the authorities—

Lu Xiu was genuinely afraid that once the instance went live, people would see the memory-loss clearance condition and think her instance was no different from other private instances... all cut from the same cloth... and be too afraid to enter.

After all, she had heard that quite a few private instances used this condition to trick people. Some architects even specialized in fleecing players through this mechanism.

Lu Xiu had no such intentions, but other people did not know that. If the instance went live and failed to earn back even the Survival Points she had borrowed, that would be far too embarrassing.

"Forget it."

After thinking for a moment, Lu Xiu gently shook her head.

Her long black hair was loosely tied into a ponytail, and with that shake, several loose strands slipped down from beside her ears and rested against her cheeks.

She tucked the stray strands behind her ears, then removed "forget all key content of the instance" as a clearance restriction.

Very soon, Lu Xiu filled out all the information and officially submitted the application to launch the instance.

[Instance information submitted]

[The system is conducting a final structural scan...]

Lu Xiu leaned back against the chair and waited patiently.

A few seconds later, A new notification appeared.

[Detected that this instance is a fixed-progression role-playing instance]

[For role-playing instances, the first clearance grants full rewards. Rewards for subsequent clearances will gradually decrease, and no rewards will be granted after the third clearance.]

[Detected a clear optimal solution in the instance progression]

[If players obtain complete instance information, the estimated clear rate will rise significantly.]

[Detected that the instance has not activated the "clear-memory erasure mechanism."]

[To ensure the instance's long-term fairness, the system will automatically apply "blurring treatment" to players' memories of clearing it.]

[Processing details are as follows:]

[After clearing the instance, players will retain a general memory of the clear.]

[However, specific key procedures, event trigger points, puzzle-solving details, and similar information will be automatically blurred.]

[This mechanism will not affect the player's personal experience. It is used solely to maintain fairness in instance challenges.]

"Well, that wasn't my fault."

Lu Xiu looked at the latest prompt and grinned.

It seemed that for role-playing instances with an optimal solution, even if the architect did not impose restrictions, the system would still make certain adjustments for the sake of fairness.

And just then—

The final system prompt popped up.

[Instance evaluation complete.]

[Go live?]

Lu Xiu casually tapped Confirm.

After the world had been digitized and gamified, many people had been forced to change the way they lived.

Everyone went through a painful process of accepting reality.

But Lu Xiu had no such problem, because she was an outsider and had the original owner's memories to help her.

That allowed her to skip the painful adjustment period entirely... though the period of physical adaptation did not count.

But that was not all upside. There were downsides too.

For example—

Before transmigrating, Lu Xiu had already grown accustomed to the relentless bombardment of the short-video era. So she had never considered that, in this digitized world, every person's system interface contained an entrance that was almost impossible to overlook.

That was the forum portal.

It was a system-provided community platform, with each country operating independently.

The domestic forum had a simple layout. At the top were several permanent sections, such as—the Domestic Instance Zone, Overseas Instance Zone, Trading Zone, Intelligence Zone, and so on.

There was also one place that was always lively—the General Chat Zone.

Every day, a huge number of posts appeared there.

Some people had just emerged from an instance and immediately made a post to vent.

Some shared the items they had just bought.

Others simply came to chat because they were bored.

But among all the topics, the most closely watched were always instance-related intelligence.

After all, instances were now the most important resource in the world.

The appearance of a new instance, a new mechanic, or the clear of a new high-rated instance... all stirred up considerable discussion on the forum.

And at this moment—

The system forum's General Chat Zone was as bustling as ever, with new posts constantly appearing.

All kinds of information mixed together, and new discussions popped up almost every few seconds.

[Chen Capital coordinates—Is the Coordination Bureau planning to open the offline S-rank instance in West City New District?]

[Has anyone entered the A-rank instance [Ashen Station]? How exactly does the broadcast mechanic trigger?]

[Has anyone counted how many new instances the system has generated over the past month? It feels like there are noticeably more.]

[Does the second floor of the B-rank instance [Deep Sea Storage Tank] have an unavoidable death mechanic? Looking for confirmation!]

[Is it true that someone's selling A-rank instance items in the Trading Zone lately? The prices are insane!]

These posts were constantly bumped to the top, only to be quickly pushed down by newer ones.

Some people discussed instance mechanics.

Some analyzed the Coordination Bureau's recent movements.

Others specialized in tracking newly appeared instance entrances across various regions. The entire forum was like a massive intelligence market.

Information of every kind flowed continuously through it.

And among all the posts, the hottest one stood head and shoulders above the rest, pinned at the very top of the forum.

Its view count had already surpassed one million, and its title was simple—[S-rank Instance Mist City Corridor—Cleared!]

The poster was none other than a fairly well-known ID on the forum.

Zhao Heng.

Beside his ID hung a conspicuous verification badge: [Longsword Guild Core Member].

On the forum, Zhao Heng was the kind of top player with celebrity status. Not only was he strong, but he was also flamboyant enough to personally mingle with ordinary players and shoot the breeze. After all, players capable of clearing high-difficulty dungeons usually kept their distance and rarely appeared on the forums.

And in every era, every world, there was its own Heavenly Palace.

This game world was no exception. To the vast majority of ordinary people still struggling through C-rank dungeons, Zhao Heng was that "Heavenly Palace."

So it was hardly surprising that he was popular.

Zhao Heng's post was short, but its wording was extremely high-profile.

[I've cleared the S-rank dungeon Mist City Corridor. I've already figured out its mechanics. Honestly, the S-rank dungeon was far less difficult than expected—one could even call it easy. When I have time, I'll organize a complete guide. Anyone interested is welcome to join the Longsword Guild.]

Beneath the post, huge numbers of players poured in to congratulate him.

"Holy shit, he really cleared it?"

"An S-rank dungeon!"

"Brother Zhao is awesome!"

"Another domestic S-rank clear record."

"The prestige of this is insane."

Of course.

A place like the forum was never short of sarcastic troublemakers.

Very quickly.

Another kind of voice emerged.

However.

Those replies were soon drowned beneath even more discussion.

After all—

Clearing an S-rank dungeon was itself more than enough to prove one's strength.

And Zhao Heng seemed to enjoy the attention. He even added another line to the post: "S-rank dungeons are indeed a little more complicated, but they're nowhere near as exaggerated as everyone imagines. They're really quite easy. S-rank dungeons can't challenge me anymore. Next, I'll be taking on SS-rank dungeons. Wait for my good news."

The moment those words came out, the comments were once again filled with "Brother Zhao is awesome."

Zhao Heng made it sound casual, but four years had already passed since the world became gamified. Everyone knew what an S-rank dungeon meant.

Those were peak-tier dungeons.

Perhaps to the Strategy Group, to Zhao Heng, they were nothing much.

But the overwhelming majority of ordinary people still had not even cleared an A-rank dungeon once.

Let alone an S-rank one.

Just as everyone was still chatting.

A new post quietly appeared on the forum.

The title of the post was very ordinary.

[Did anyone else see this while refreshing the dungeon database?]

At first.

Almost no one clicked on it.

But soon, bored people came in and saw what the original poster had written—I was refreshing the list in the dungeon database just now, and I think I saw a player-created dungeon rated S-rank.

The post fell silent for several seconds.

Then someone replied.

"You saw it wrong."

"How could a player-created dungeon be S-rank?"

"Must've been a system dungeon."

"..."

Every reply said the original poster had made a mistake.

But the original poster quickly replied again, insisting that it was not a system dungeon. It was called [Resident Evil], and the name of the architect was clearly written above it.

Once the original poster said that.

Someone finally took it seriously.

"Where's the screenshot?"

"No proof, no talk."

The original poster vanished. Just when everyone else thought they were fishing for reactions.

One minute later.

The original poster reappeared.

This time.

He posted a screenshot.

In the screenshot.

The dungeon's basic information was clearly displayed—

[Dungeon Name: Resident Evil]

[Dungeon Rating: S]

[Dungeon Type: Horror/Survival/Puzzle-Solving]

[Creator: Lu Xiu]

Less than ten minutes after the screenshot was posted.

...the thread exploded!

"???"

"Wait."

"Is this for real?"

"An S-rank civilian dungeon?"

"Bro, you Photoshopped this, didn't you?"

"I just checked the dungeon database..."

"It actually seems to be there."

The next second.

A new reply popped up—"Holy shit?????"