Chapter 277: Who Are You Looking Down On? I Like It!
Chapter 277: Who Are You Looking Down On? I Like It!
This was the first time Hu Xiao had ever seen the paid reviewers blend in so naturally among normal players’ comments—it was seamless, practically art.
Originally, he had planned to refund and uninstall the game.
But after reading through all the fierce arguments online, he fell into deep confusion… and, strangely, a bit of curiosity.
The game’s absurd difficulty was clearly intentional.
The tone of the official Weibo post left no doubt—it was basically smacking the players in the face. Aside from using slightly more polite language, it might as well have been saying the seven-word mantra: “It’s not a bug, it’s a feature.”
But why?
Were they deliberately trying to piss off their players?
That didn’t make sense.
What game company in their right mind would choose to alienate paying customers?
Perplexed and curious, Hu Xiao decided to look up some guides for the game. Maybe he’d find some clues there.
He opened the game’s forum and started browsing quickly.
It was just like Weibo and the comment sections—complete chaos.
Clearly, the paid reviewers were active here too, stirring things up. But again, it was impossible to tell who was a paid reviewer and who was just an angry gamer.
Amid all the complaint posts, a few threads shared gameplay experiences.
One particularly popular thread was titled:
“Veteran Action Game Player—Real-Time Progress Updates.”
“At first, I got my ass handed to me too. But after watching carefully, I realized this game isn’t actually as hard as people say. Its difficulty’s been demonized.”
“Sure, monsters kill you in two hits, but you can also kill them in four or five. As long as you play carefully and don’t make mistakes, it’s doable.”
“This game reminds me of those brutal old-school side-scrollers I played as a kid. It actually gets my blood pumping, lol.”
“Still gotta complain—every time you die, all the enemies respawn. That’s just soul-crushing.”
“...I finally cleared the first small area.”
“This elite mob’s already killed me five or six times. I’m gonna beat it this time.”
And the comments under that thread were lively too:
“Holy crap, you’re a god-tier player! Action game genius!”
“I’m still dying to the first mobs at the gate, and this dude’s already made that much progress?”
“You have to record gameplay, man. Upload it to Aili Island so we can watch!”
“Any chance you’ll stream it on YY Live? I wanna study your moves!”
At that time, livestreaming was still in its infancy. Some sites had started experimenting with it, and the technology was just about ready, but the big investors hadn’t yet jumped in.
So for most players, the natural response was to record videos, not to stream live.
The original poster clearly wasn’t planning to stream either—he just uploaded screenshots every now and then, wrote a few sentences about his experience, and shared his thoughts about the game.
Before long, not just threads but also short clips began appearing on Aili Island.
Some showed players getting absolutely destroyed by monsters.
Others proudly showcased someone finally defeating the very first enemy.
The content was diverse, to say the least.
Hu Xiao couldn’t help but sigh. People really were built different, huh?
He watched a few videos—the players were lightning-fast, dodging gracefully, never letting the monsters even touch them. They’d counterattack with perfect timing, finishing the enemies off in just a few well-placed backstabs.
After watching, Hu Xiao fell into deep self-doubt.
Could it be… I was just playing it wrong?
Other people didn’t seem to struggle at all.
Looked like, with the right technique, it wasn’t that hard after all!
Feeling his confidence rekindled, Hu Xiao reopened the game.
He still had plenty of time left before the five-hour refund window closed. He felt safe.
“Heh.”
“Heh.”
“Heh.”
…
An hour later, Hu Xiao sat silently in front of his computer again.
As expected—it had all been an illusion.
This game really wasn’t made for humans to play.
Hu Xiao was speechless. This time he decided no more hesitation—refund and delete the game!
This damned game even costs 128 yuan—outrageous!
Not a second longer on my computer!
Time to spam bad reviews!
Hu Xiao felt furious; he’d known from the start his idea to try the game was wrong. Why did he even bother? He was just asking for trouble!
Still feeling aggrieved, he checked the time—plenty of time left before the refund window closed—and couldn’t wait to go to the forum to vent and find like-minded people.
Irritated, Hu Xiao made a post.
“This game is garbage!”
“They mindlessly cranked up monster damage—it’s deliberately designed to piss people off!”
“Refund immediately. Don’t buy this; it’s a waste of life and money—pay to win? It’s pay to suffer!”
Within two minutes, someone commented.
“Lol~ Another loser who blames the game because he can’t beat it.”
“This game isn’t for the slow. They probably extended the refund window to be considerate of people like you, old-timer.”
“You quit at the slightest setback—in wartime you’d be a traitor, eh? Lololol~~.”
Seeing these comments, Hu Xiao exploded!
He had a short fuse—how could he stand that?
Hu Xiao often argued online; he couldn’t tolerate that insult. He slammed his keyboard and started trash-talking like crazy.
The other side didn’t back down either, and the two went into a high-intensity back-and-forth.
They argued from physical health to relatives and friends, eventually dragging in debates about the origin of life and humanity.
While arguing, Hu Xiao suddenly felt something off.
Why did this feel so familiar?
He rarely met such evenly matched opponents—most people have real jobs and can’t spend all day typing online like him.
This opponent not only had a rich vocabulary and sarcastic style, but also typed fast—high quality and high quantity at the same time.
Puzzled, Hu Xiao shared his post in the group.
“Anyone following this thread, brothers?”
Soon someone replied.
Jaiedg_0: “Don’t worry, Brother Hu. I’m trolling that brain-dead OP right now—task done and we pissed off that hand-crippled guy, hehe.”
【Jaiedg_0 has been muted for 24 hours.】
Hu Xiao’s hands trembled with anger—damn it, it really was one of the brothers from his group!
No wonder the opposing skills were so polished.
But since it was his own brother, Hu Xiao couldn’t do much—it was a misunderstanding, and kicking him out would chill the others’ hearts.
So all he could do was mute him for 24 hours to vent his frustration.
After the confusing exchange with his own brother, Hu Xiao checked the time. He hadn’t closed the game, so about two hours remained for refunds.
“Fine, fine—I’ll refund.”
But looking at the refund button, he hesitated again.
Should I really refund it?
Would that mean I give up at the first sign of difficulty and admit I’m just bad?
No way—try once more!
The more Hu Xiao thought, the more unwilling he felt. If he gave up now, wouldn’t that prove his incompetence?
At the very least, he had to deal with the small mobs at the mass grave!
He launched the game again.
After dying many times, Hu Xiao finally learned a few lessons.
Pull enemies one at a time.
Attack one strike at a time.
When a monster raises its hand, dodge first and find a chance to strike.
In short—never be greedy!
Hu Xiao followed the tips from the pro player’s video, proceeding carefully and steadily.
After taking one hit, he finally managed to clear the few monsters around the mass grave.
No “Heh.”
“I’m amazing!!”
After slaying those few mobs, Hu Xiao could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest, his hands trembling nonstop.
Too tense. Too exciting.
So this is what an adrenaline rush feels like?
Maybe this game isn’t as hard as he thought!
Feeling a sudden surge of confidence, Hu Xiao controlled his character and pressed on.
Three minutes later, a butcher wielding a massive cleaver appeared before him—the first elite monster in the game.
“Heh.”
“Heh.”
“Heh.”
…
Some time later.
Sitting before the computer, Hu Xiao silently put down his mouse and lit a cigarette.
Ah… what the hell am I even doing with my life…
He’d spent who knows how long dying over and over again in this damned game. He’d grown numb to it; he wasn’t even sure how many times he’d been killed anymore.
All he could feel now was emptiness.
Endless emptiness.
“Forget it, I’ll just refund the game.”
“There’s no reason to waste so much time on this.”
He checked the clock—it was about time. If he delayed any longer, he’d pass the refund window.
Once you get caught up in something, time flies frighteningly fast.
Just as Hu Xiao was about to exit the game, a line of small text appeared on the screen.
“Go ahead and refund. At your level, there’s no way you’ll ever finish this game. There’s no need to be so stubborn. Life has so many better things to pursue, why waste your precious time and money here?”
Hu Xiao: “???”
Who the hell are you looking down on!?
He was going to refund—but now? He changed his mind!
To be fair, the message sounded polite, even sincere.
And it wasn’t wrong.
He’d spent nearly five hours and still hadn’t even left the starting village. For a player like him, clearing the whole game really was next to impossible.
And yes, life did have better things to pursue—this game only made him angry, frustrated, and poorer. Not worth it at all.
From Pei Qian’s point of view, that message was practically heartfelt advice—any self-aware player should have been persuaded by it.
Plus, it gently reminded players that their refund window was almost up—perfect timing to encourage them to act fast.
But to Hu Xiao?
He saw it completely differently.
No way I can finish it?
Then what if I do finish it?
Why waste your precious time and money here?
I’ve got plenty of both—I’ll waste them however I damn well please!
Heck no, I’m not refunding!
Once Hu Xiao’s stubborn streak kicked in, not even nine oxen could drag him back.
He was going to fight this game to the bitter end.
Driven by rage, Hu Xiao dove back into the game.
“Wait, how much was this game again?”
“Oh, right—128 yuan.”
“Meh, it’s just 128. Whatever.”
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