August 12, 2020. The summer heat was blazing.

At exactly noon that day, everyone around the world who wore a micro smart-brain received an email. The sender was signed as “The Judge” and the subject read “Doomsday Countdown.” Once the email was opened, a twenty-four-hour countdown clock appeared. Its projection hovered constantly beside the wearer of the smart-brain, the virtual clock ticking down second by second.

Very quickly, people discovered that this email—seemingly nothing more than a prank—could not be deleted from the smart-brain, no matter what method was tried.

The smart-brain, which ordinarily accepted any command, simply could not be made to shut off the hovering projected clock.

Not only individuals, but even entire nations were helpless.

Of course, at that time, almost no one took this inexplicable “Judge” seriously.

Just as back in 2018 no one believed that electronic devices like mobile phones and computers would be rapidly phased out within a single year after China’s EG Corporation developed the micro smart-brain in 2019. The more convenient device quickly permeated human life. Worn on the wrist like a watch, lightweight and portable, it could fully replace all the functions of existing electronic products.

Later on, implantable versions of the micro smart-brain appeared, making it even more convenient.

Starting in January 2020, the micro smart-brain was officially adopted for identity verification. In China, ID cards no longer retained their original function; the only valid credential for travel became the real-name smart-brain chip scan card. Nowadays, even newborn babies apply for their own micro smart-brain within twenty-four hours of birth.

Official statements claimed that the micro smart-brain was absolutely secure.

In fact, this was the first time in more than a year since its release that a “virus” had appeared.

Such a powerful “virus” naturally sparked panic across all sectors of society. The entire world was discussing the incident. After all, the micro smart-brain was used so extensively in modern society that any problem with it would have enormous consequences for users.

Fortunately, although the “countdown clock” hovered continuously and could not be turned off, it did not affect the use of other functions.

Most people merely cursed a few times, trusting that the authorities would find a solution, and did not take the matter too seriously.

Gu Yuhuan felt the same way.

Gu Yuhuan’s boyfriend was a programmer at EG Corporation. The impact of this incident on her was limited to the cancellation of her boyfriend’s originally scheduled vacation, forcing him to return to the company on short notice to work overtime. She had already taken time off and was preparing to go on a long trip to Country M with him, but now she could only pass the time at home.

August 12, 2020 passed for Gu Yuhuan no differently than any other day before it. The world itself showed no change on that day either. She only went out after the sun set in the afternoon to buy some fruit. Aside from the fact that everyone had a virtual clock following behind them—which looked somewhat ridiculous—everything seemed no different from usual.

Photos of streets filled with virtual clocks had already flooded forums and chat groups. Ridiculous as it was, Gu Yuhuan did not find it novel at all.

At exactly 12PM on August 13.

The virtual clock rang with a dang, dang, dang. Right before Gu Yuhuan’s eyes, she saw her parents who had been chatting and laughing at the table freeze mid-motion and, in the instant the ringing stopped, turn into dust.

“Mom—”

“Dad—”

The “Judge” was not joking. At exactly 12PM on August 13, the virtual clock rang with unmistakable malice, erasing the first group of those he had deemed unqualified when the doomsday countdown ended.

In this cruel way, the “Judge” told every person who was still alive and breathing: this was not a joke.

Gu Yuhuan stood up, her hands and feet trembling. At that moment, a page popped up on her micro smart-brain, offering her no time at all to process what had just happened.

[Question 1 (Single Choice): Since its launch, the app “Eighty-One Deadly Questions” has been warmly welcomed by players, boasting a perfect 100% positive rating. If you are fortunate enough to obtain the download privilege for the “Eighty-One Deadly Questions” app, which of the following do you believe is the correct choice?]

[A. Yes, download immediately]
[B. No, do not download]
[C. Think it over, delay the download]

A drop of sweat fell onto the dining table with a pat.

The air conditioner had stopped running the moment the virtual clock rang. The thermometer showed that the indoor temperature had reached a full 36° C (96.8° F). The sound of dripping sweat became the only noise in the room. Gradually, the sweat pooled into a small puddle on the tabletop, and another drop fell with a soft tap.

Gu Yuhuan suddenly shuddered, and her mind cleared.

When Gu Yuhuan was still very young, her father used to hold her and half-jokingly boast to the neighbors, “The bigger the crisis, the calmer my daughter becomes.”

And that had always been true.

Although everything happening now had already gone far beyond Gu Yuhuan’s understanding, and the scene of her parents vanishing before her eyes was something she could neither emotionally nor mentally accept, her brain still returned to normal operation within a very short time.

The only thing in the house that could be used to contact the outside world was the micro smart-brain. Now it was as if the device was stuck on this page, completely unusable. None of the doors or windows could be opened, and even violent attempts at destruction proved ineffective.

Gu Yuhuan even began to suspect that she was no longer in the “real” house she had lived in for more than twenty years. This place was more like another space entirely. If this space were simulated, it had even perfectly replicated the scratch she had accidentally left on the tabletop that morning while cutting dragon fruit. Such perfect replication was downright terrifying.

But her intuition told her that this truly was not her living room.

There was no more time to think. The virtual clock that had just reached zero started running again. This time, the remaining time was thirty-six minutes, and she had already used nearly ten minutes.

Gu Yuhuan said, “I choose A.”

With a sharp click, the countdown of the virtual clock froze, as if it had glitched.

Her exposed palms were slick with sweat. She pulled out a tissue to wipe them, leaving a damp stain on the paper. Even after wiping, sweat kept pouring out. Extreme tension had caused her to lose a large amount of bodily fluids, yet she did not feel thirsty at all. This moment of endlessly stretched time felt like a trial.

And she still did not know the verdict.

[Answer correct. Reward: one little red flower.]

The voice was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It was a male voice… but its tone made people deeply uncomfortable, like a clever cat toying with a mouse beneath its paw, brimming with mockery.

Goosebumps broke out all over Gu Yuhuan.

At the same time, a six-petaled little red flower appeared on her exposed wrist. It was about one centimeter in diameter, and looked as though it had been drawn with a cheap watercolor pen, the coloring crooked and uneven.

This suddenly appearing little red flower could not be wiped away.

[Please wait, “Eighty-One Deadly Questions” app downloading…]