After just finishing looting a small wild area and heading toward the next big house, a series of explosions suddenly erupted around him, and right after, the area he was in on the map inexplicably turned red.

He didn’t have time to react before—boom!—the screen turned gray.

—Next time I’ll definitely win the chicken dinner!!

“……”

With a grim face, he opened a social app he hadn’t used in ages, found a duck meme avatar among his few friends, took a screenshot, and sent it.

1: No one shot, how did I die?

Then he saw the “The other party is typing…” appear briefly after the other person’s username.

But he still didn’t get a reply.

Just as he was getting impatient, his phone rang.

“Bro!” Ryan Foster’s voice was urgent, “Your QQ got hacked! Did you have any important files on there??”

Ethan Foster just felt a faint ache in his temples.

“I wouldn’t put files on a social app owned by another company,” he said. “And my QQ wasn’t hacked.”

“How is that possible! You just sent me a chicken dinner screenshot on QQ…” Ryan Foster paused, then asked, “…Bro, are you playing yourself?”

Three minutes later.

“In your case, you were killed by the bombing zone,” Ryan Foster explained. “It’s a random area, and a red zone gets bombed.”

But the odds of dying from it aren’t high—unless you’re really unlucky, you usually won’t get killed by it—of course, he didn’t dare say that out loud.

“Bro, why didn’t you tell me you were playing? I’ll play with you! I’m super good!”

Ethan Foster didn’t really believe his cousin: “Really?”

“Really, would I lie to you? I’ve been playing this game for over half a year,” Ryan Foster said. “I’m playing right now, send me your game ID and I’ll add you.”

Of course, he knew Ryan Foster played this game—he saw his game screenshots on his Moments every few days; otherwise, he wouldn’t have thought to ask him.

Ethan Foster hesitated for a moment, but still sent over his ID.

Soon, the two entered a game room. Ryan Foster said, “Bro, your outfit is way too shabby. Let me buy you some clothes before we start, okay?”

Ethan Foster glanced at Ryan Foster’s game character.

Red scarf, jeans, black jacket.

…A familiar outfit.

“No need,” he said. “Start.”

Ryan Foster set it to duo mode, and before Ethan Foster could ask, he started explaining: “Bro, hold W when you parachute to go faster. Let’s land in the city area, not many people, lots of houses, safer.”

“Mm.”

This time, they finally landed smoothly. He checked—counting them, there were only three teams including theirs, not many.

“Bro, just loot the houses, and if you hear footsteps, run,” Ryan Foster said smugly. “I’ll kill everyone, then you come out and loot the boxes.”

Ethan Foster ignored him and went into the nearest house.

A burst of gunfire rang out, and the teammate’s health bar in the lower left corner of the screen instantly dimmed.

Ryan Foster: “…Damn, that guy camped me—”

Ethan Foster had just entered the first room: “You died?”

“Mistake, mistake!” Ryan Foster defended himself. “That guy landed on the second-floor balcony and never moved from the room, so I got camped!”

Three minutes later, Ethan Foster died to a grenade.

Ryan Foster: “One more round, bro, I’ll definitely do better.”

Second round, Ryan Foster wanted to prove himself and landed at P City.

But as soon as they landed, they died again.

“Bro, mistake, mistake! I didn’t get a gun!” Ryan Foster’s voice weakened. “Again, this time let’s go to the wild area.”

Third round, they finally survived ten minutes in the game.

But on the way to the next wild area, Ryan Foster got headshotted.

Fourth round, fifth round, sixth round…

Forget about winning the chicken dinner, Ethan Foster basically never made it out alive from the landing spot. Maybe it was just bad luck—even when they landed in wild areas, there were always one or two teams right on their heels.

Ryan Foster: “Bro…”

Ethan Foster: “Been playing for over half a year? Super good?”

“It’s just bad luck…” Ryan Foster said. “Really, I’m not usually like this—would I lie to you?”

“You wouldn’t dare lie to me,” Ethan Foster said coolly. “You just don’t have much self-awareness.”

——

Eric Clark put another piece of fish on his nephew’s plate: “Eat some fish, don’t just eat vegetables, or you’ll end up malnourished again.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

“Xiao Yan.” The middle-aged woman sitting across the table smiled kindly. “Auntie says, you should really think about it. I can’t read much, but I can cook. If you’re willing to move in, I’ll make your favorite food every day, you won’t be wronged.”

This was Eric Clark bringing in reinforcements after seeing he couldn’t persuade his nephew.

Unfortunately, after half an hour, the other party was still unmoved.

“No need, Auntie,” Brian Clark said. “It’s more convenient for me to live by myself. You really don’t need to worry about me.”