I Heard I’m a Scummy Alpha? [Transmigration] - Chapter 93

@ImmortalUnseen:

The world’s first holographic game “Immortal Unseen” begins closed beta testing today!

A total of 100,000 testing slots are now open. Players can click the link below to claim a free holographic helmet for trial play.

[Closed Beta Registration Link]

When people saw this post, their first reaction was pure confusion.

“A holographic game? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why do you need a helmet? Don’t you just download the game and start playing?”

Moments later, the game’s official account released a second post.

@ ImmortalUnseen:

Today’s promotional PV [Video Link]

Curious netizens immediately clicked the video, only to be completely stunned by what they saw—breathtakingly realistic, dreamlike landscapes that looked far too vivid to belong to any game.

Comments flooded in:

“Are you telling me these mountains, rivers, flowers, birds, and temples actually exist inside the game?”

“I came for Yan Zui’s face, but now I’m staying for the worldbuilding. I want to cultivate! I want to ascend! Off to register right now!”

“But why isn’t Yan Zui in the PV? I wanted to see the goddess in motion!”

@ ImmortalUnseen:

“You’ll see her once you enter the game.”

“Applying now!”

Many professionals in the gaming industry also watched the PV. Though impressed, most remained skeptical.

They insisted that the footage couldn’t possibly represent real gameplay. To them, “Immortal Unseen” was clearly just a flashy marketing stunt—especially since they had hired Yan Zui as spokesperson. In their eyes, the game was relying on her beauty to draw attention; whether the gameplay was good didn’t even matter anymore.

They casually looked into the company behind it—Yunmengze Network Technology, a total unknown. This was their first game. That alone made them dismiss it entirely.

Still, they decided to wait and see after the beta.

Some cautious executives instructed subordinates to register for the closed beta and claim the so-called holographic helmets.

Within an hour of approval, a delivery arrived at their doorstep—each package containing a sleek, silver-white holographic gaming helmet.

The helmets were loaned for the duration of the closed beta; after testing ended, players could choose to purchase them at half price if they wished to continue playing.

“Eighteen thousand eight hundred? Are they robbing us blind?” many scoffed, staring at the price tag.

“Fine then. Let’s see what kind of divine game could possibly be worth that much.”

Two hours later, one player—who had reluctantly paused only to use the bathroom—posted an ecstatic review on Weibo.

“If not for needing to pee, I wouldn’t have logged out! It’s too real—like I’m actually living in a cultivation world! Every flower, every blade of grass feels tangible. Oh, and Yan Zui is really in the game! She’s stunning, but she’s a celestial—so far above us mortals. I’ll have to train hard if I ever want to reach her! Anyway, no time to talk, back to farming XP!”

Another wrote:

“Unbelievable! I thought games like this only existed in people’s imagination. Never dreamed I’d experience it myself. Say no more, brothers—if you’re not signing up, you’re missing out! I’m off to chop more wood!”

However, none of these testers shared screenshots or videos, which only made the thousands who hadn’t gotten beta access grow increasingly desperate.

“What kind of game makes chopping wood sound fun?”

Online discussions exploded. The entire internet buzzed about “Immortal Unseen”, yet no one could actually describe what it was like.

All they said was—

“Incredible.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Never seen anything like it.”

“I’m losing my mind!”

Finally, on the second day of beta testing, the official account released a concept video explaining what a “holographic game” was and elaborating on Immortal Unseen’s vast worldbuilding.

Curiosity turned into regret. Those who hadn’t registered earlier now wailed in despair.

“Why didn’t I sign up?”

“Why didn’t I get chosen?”

Weibo was filled with lamentations. Every day, crowds flooded the official account’s comment section, begging for the public beta to start soon.

The game’s reputation soared rapidly. Every tester agreed—it was fantastic. The only complaints were oddly physical:

“Refining pills in-game leaves my brain feeling drained in real life!”

“Climbing celestial steps makes my actual legs ache!”

It was as if what happened inside the holographic game truly affected their real bodies.

Yan Zui entered the closed beta using her special identity—the only Immortal in the entire game.

This way, Qi Yunwei didn’t have to worry about her being bullied.

Each day, they went to Yunmengze together. Yan Zui would lie inside the nutrient pod to log in, while Qi Yunwei and the others monitored in-game data, fixing bugs as they arose.

After about ten days, all the early issues had been patched. Only then did Qi Yunwei, Wu Baizhi, and the core developers log in themselves—to experience firsthand the world they had created.

Qi Yunwei’s office had two nutrient pods. Yan Zui used one. The other had never been touched—until today.

It was Qi Yunwei’s first time logging into the game.

She hadn’t told Yan Zui yet, and she wondered if fate would bring them together inside that vast virtual world.

Though the current map wasn’t huge—roughly one-fifth the size of Guangnan City—it could host up to a million players. With only 100,000 beta testers, the odds of randomly encountering each other in the wild were slim.

After the official launch, the map would expand tenfold, supporting tens of millions of players simultaneously. Each system upgrade would further increase capacity and world size.

Qi Yunwei lay down inside the nutrient pod. The curved glass lid automatically closed, and a gentle hum filled the air. A soft mechanical voice echoed:

[Entering game. Please wait… Loading… Loading complete. Player, please open your eyes.]

She opened them—and found herself floating amid a dazzling sea of stars.

Beside her stood a smiling young girl with twin buns, looking entirely lifelike.

[Hello, player. I’m your guide, Xiao Li. Before you begin, please set up your basic information.]

With a wave of Xiao Li’s hand, a white holographic panel materialized in front of Qi Yunwei, displaying her body’s base stats—automatically analyzed and not manually adjustable.

Her physical and mental attributes were synced to reality but partially hidden for privacy; only she could view them.

Other in-game stats—such as Spiritual Power, Attack, or Cooking Skill—could be improved through quests and training, and were publicly visible.

When prompted to choose a nickname, Qi Yunwei suddenly thought of her and Yan Zui’s couple tag and entered:

“WeiZuiFugitive.”

To her surprise, the system replied:

[Name already taken.]

Qi Yunwei blinked.

“What a coincidence. Don’t tell me I’ll actually run into whoever took this name in-game?”

Amused, she entered her old alias, “BlueWei.” This time it was accepted.

Next came the appearance setup.

To protect privacy, players could choose to use their real appearance or let the system generate a randomized one—especially useful for celebrities who might otherwise be mobbed by fans or attacked by haters in-game.

During the beta, this feature was free, but in the public release, any customization—appearance, voice, body type—would cost money, and not a small amount.

However, players who had facial damage from burns or failed surgeries could modify their appearance for free.

Qi Yunwei chose “randomized appearance.”

Instantly, her reflection changed: she still bore a faint resemblance to herself, but now had a few freckles, rounder eyes, a higher nose bridge, and softer features overall. She looked five or six years younger—like a high school student.

“So youthful.”

Qi Yunwei touched her face thoughtfully—then switched back to her real one.

“I’m not playing with Yan Zui looking like some underage kid.”

[Player “BlueWei,” please confirm use of your real appearance. Once confirmed, you may begin your adventure.]

Qi Yunwei tapped “Confirm.”

In the next instant, everything went black. Then, soft light filtered through leaves overhead. She blinked—and found herself standing in a picturesque ancient village.

All around her, players were materializing—each dressed in simple linen robes, their names hovering above their heads. Some looked amazed; others, completely lost.

Qi Yunwei’s gaze swept across the crowd—then froze.

Two familiar faces stood nearby: Xuan Mingzhu and Xuan Baiquan.

The siblings had been missing for months, ever since returning home to fight over inheritance.

Qi Yunwei recalled hearing that after Xuan Zeming’s death, Xuan Xin had produced a “will” claiming 80% of the family fortune for himself, leaving only 20% to the siblings.

Naturally, Xuan Mingzhu and Xuan Baiquan refused to accept it and tried to contest its validity. But all their uncles and family allies betrayed them, siding with Xuan Xin instead.

In the end, they lost—and, taking their 20%, left Changyuan City to start over.

Surprisingly, the ordeal had reconciled them, and together they launched an export business that was doing fairly well.

Now, hiding behind a tree, Qi Yunwei overheard them whispering.

Xuan Baiquan: “Sis, where’s Yan Zui? Where do we find her?”

Xuan Mingzhu: “Keep your voice down! People can hear you. This place is no different from the real world.”

Xuan Baiquan: “So what if they do? We’re not the only ones looking for her!”

Xuan Mingzhu: “Baiquan, if you can’t follow my lead, we’ll split up.”

Xuan Baiquan: “Okay, okay, my bad. I’ll listen.”

Then he added smugly,

“We already agreed to share, didn’t we? Once we find Yan Zui, we’ll both benefit. She’s not the CEO of Yan Corporation anymore—if we treat her well, she’ll be grateful. Maybe she’ll even fall for us. Honestly, I used to chat with her all the time during business talks. She’d message me first and even told me to call her by her nickname—Xiao Jiu.”

Xuan Mingzhu scoffed.

“Oh really? Then why isn’t she talking to you now?”

“Obviously because Qi Yunwei sabotaged me and threw away the phone I used to contact her! What’s Qi Yunwei anyway? Just an Alpha who runs a chain of restaurants. Yan Zui’s way out of her league. That’s probably why she agreed to join this game as a spokesperson and NPC—to get away from that useless woman.”

“Lucky for us! With our old connections, we’ll definitely win Yan Zui over this time.”

Behind the tree, Qi Yunwei exhaled silently.

“Still the same arrogant fools,” she thought.

They treated Yan Zui like a trophy—something to possess or boast about.

She noted down their in-game usernames and messaged Wu Baizhi’s test account, asking him to flag the two. After logging out, she linked their data to her internal beta profile—so she could monitor their movements anytime she wished.