Chapter 14

Bigmouth Luo made sure to download the game the moment it was released and started recording right away. He wanted to work hard in secret and crush everyone else.

This time, Jiang Qiubai had released a simple game playable on both mobile and PC, with an odd name: “The Infuriating Adventure.” It seemed like just another adventure game.

Bigmouth Luo opened the freshly installed game absentmindedly and tapped to enter. A pixelated little figure in a cloak appeared on the screen. The interface was simple, offering only “Start Game” and “Select Difficulty.”

It really looked like a regular adventure game. Luo felt a bit disappointed. He’d expected this studio to pull another strange stunt, but apparently, he’d overthought it. Maybe it truly was just an ordinary adventure game, like Mario.

Since he’d already downloaded it, Luo decided to give it a try, pondering what topic he should cover for his next video.

It’s exactly like other adventure games, isn’t it? That’s all? Seeing the familiar red bricks floating midair, Luo let down his guard completely. Maybe he should just make fun of the last game they released—wait, what?!

The pixelated little figure exploded into a cloud of red, and Luo’s eyes widened.

What just happened? What was that?

The little figure reappeared at the starting point. Luo sat up straight, slowed down, and moved forward carefully—

Half an hour later, he slammed his phone onto the bed in a fit of rage.

Useless piece of junk! Why do I even have you?!

He collapsed onto the bed, drained.

At this moment, Luo finally understood the warning on the game's official site about controlling your emotions. He had to admit, they were right; in just half an hour, he’d at least considered smashing his phone hundreds of times. If his temper were any worse...

Luo didn’t dare think further.

Making a rant video was out of the question. The game was devious—no, incredibly devious—but not in the way he’d expected. There was indeed nowhere to spend money in the game.

At certain moments, Luo even wished the game would pop up an in-app purchase screen to tell him he could buy items to clear the level more easily.

But to just leave it at that would be too much of a waste... He felt an even stronger urge to rant about this game than the last one.

The last game only wanted your money; this one wanted your life!

Maybe he could change his angle for the rant? Luo pondered, eyes lighting up with a cunning grin as he sent the game installer to the group chat.

Whether or not he made a rant video, how could he keep such a “wonderful” game to himself?

“Strange, this time the game really doesn’t cost a penny.” After sending the installer, Luo added another message.

His friends all knew he planned to roast the game, so they crowded in to ask, “How is it?”

Luo grinned, but typed seriously: “It’s actually pretty good—a simple adventure game, but a bit different from the usual ones.”

“What’s different about it?” Someone took the bait.

“It’s hard to describe, just... special. Very exciting. You can save your progress, but playing it still gets your adrenaline pumping,” Luo replied vaguely.

“Try it yourselves, it really is free this time.”

“Alright, I’ll check it out.” His friends found his words convincing and hurried off to download it.

After a while, someone returned to report, “Bigmouth’s a straight shooter—this game is pretty interesting.”

“Yeah, my heart’s racing,” chimed in another who’d tried it.

And then, in private chats, they both furiously complained about how Luo had set them up.

Luo just chuckled and muted them.

Did he say anything untrue?

Not at all!

Feeling justified, Luo continued recommending the game in the group, with his freshly “duped” friends eagerly backing him up.

Curious group members jumped into the trap one after another, then came back gritting their teeth and raving about the game.

No way only I’m going to suffer!

Scenes like this played out across gaming groups everywhere.

Once the group had been thoroughly “corrupted,” someone, still unsatisfied, turned their focus to streamers.

And that’s how Tuge, a streamer on Panda Live, got pulled in.

Tuge, true to his nickname “Baldy,” was a top adventure game streamer—highly skilled, and very bald. His quick reflexes and sharp gameplay had once earned him a four-and-a-half-minute Mario speedrun record, making him a standout among adventure streamers.

He’d just finished a new adventure game, speaking with relaxed confidence: “Game over, job done. These adventure games are all the same, just old wine in a new bottle. No matter how the levels change, the basic mechanics stay the same—nothing too hard.”

He glanced at the clock. “Fifty-eight minutes... Nearly an hour. Tsk, still a bit slow.” He shook his head, not entirely satisfied with clearing a new game on his first try in under an hour.

“What should I play next?” He looked at his chat, only to see everyone spamming the same title.

“‘The Infuriating Adventure’? That’s an interesting name.” Seeing his fans so united, Tuge didn’t want to let them down and immediately searched for and downloaded the game.

“I know this studio—their last game was called Dragon Slayer. I heard it was free but really money-hungry. You guys aren’t trying to trick me into spending money, are you?” While waiting for the download, he joked with his viewers.

“Don’t worry, Tuge, this game doesn’t have it—there’s nowhere to spend money at all,” his fans assured him with utmost sincerity.

“Really?” Tuge replied casually, opening the game and frowning, “This interface... pretty minimalistic.”

They made so much from Dragon Slayer, and they can’t even put some of that into the game’s design? Tuge’s impression of the studio dropped a notch.

“Don’t judge by the graphics—this game is a blast. You might not even finish it tonight,” his channel moderator chimed in.

“Oh?” Tuge’s interest was piqued. “Is it really that hard?”

“Well, the controls aren’t different from other adventure games, but it’s... it’s just very... special,” the mod struggled to describe it.

“How special?” Tuge entered the game. A pixelated figure stood at the far left of the screen, red bricks beneath its feet, a floating patch of green grass above.

Isn’t this just like every other game? Tuge dismissed it with a laugh, “If you play enough adventure games, you know—if the controls don’t change, it can’t be that hard... what the—?!”

As he spoke, he moved the figure forward. After only a few steps, the brick underfoot slid away, and the figure plunged straight down. “Game Over” filled the screen.

Tuge was dumbfounded. “Wait, you can do that?!”

All he felt was confusion.

He tried again, more cautiously this time, but kept his bravado: “It just caught me off guard once. Now, on the second run, I can just jump over it—wait, what the—?!”

He’d planned to jump over the red brick, but as he hit the jump, a spike shot down from the grass above, and the figure collided with it, blood splattering.

“Game Over.”

The familiar prompt appeared again.

Back at the starting point, Tuge fell silent, lips pressed into a straight line.

The smile never disappears—it just transfers to someone else.

“Hahahahahaha, that’s the feeling!!”
“My blood pressure spiked playing it myself, but watching others is so therapeutic.”
“Hang in there, Tuge—don’t back down!”
“Who’s backing down?” Tuge gritted his teeth. “Just wait, I’ll beat this tonight!”

A true gaming veteran, Tuge quickly devised a new plan—if the lower path was a trap, why not try the upper?

On his third attempt, he guided the figure up onto the floating grass.

It landed safely.

Perfect! Tuge smirked and started across. “See? Change your approach and—get lost!!”

At the same spot as before, another spike shot out from above the grass.

Tuge slapped the table, unable to hold back a curse.

“Tuge, where’d you go? You just stopped mid-sentence!”
“Tuge putting on a brave face is tragic, but watching him blow up over and over is hilarious.”
“That’s three tries—he hasn’t even seen what comes next.”
“Tuge, this isn’t working.”
“Tuge, this isn’t working.”

His fans showed him no mercy, building their joy on his suffering. The endless barrage of “this isn’t working” made Tuge even more frustrated. He grabbed his phone again: “I don’t believe this! I won’t sleep until I beat it!”

On his fourth try, Tuge took a deep breath and carefully avoided the spike-trap area. He finally made it past the grass and saw a new scene.

But not for long.

“What the—?! Why is the apple flying out at me?! Isn’t that just part of the background?!”

Tuge couldn’t help it—he slammed his phone onto the table.

It was a night he’d never forget. Over and over, he stormed away in anger, only to be coaxed back by his viewers.

Back and forth, Tuge created countless classic moments:

“This banana looks suspicious. Let me check—huh, it’s not falling? So it’s just—wait, what? Who’s ever seen a banana fly upward?! Does Newton know about your game design?”

“There has to be a trick here. Let me probe it—slow and steady... Oh no, run, run! Too slow—damn it! Why are the bricks above my head falling down?! Isn’t there any regulation against illegal construction?!”

“Finally made it to the end of stage one. The castle, the princess? This storyline is so—wait, what the—?! Why does the princess open the castle door and knock me off?!”

“She has the nerve to ask me for help?! How dare she!”

“Forget it! I don’t want this princess—someone else can save her!”

At the end of the stream, viewers only heard that furious shout and a sharp crack before the screen went black and the broadcast abruptly ended.

Did he run off?

A few minutes later, Tuge returned, looking haggard. “I accidentally broke my phone just now. Borrowed a friend’s phone for now—no streams for the next few days.”

His viewers sympathetically understood.

The game was great—just a little hard on your phone.