Xia Ran lay on the bed, her fingers lazily scrolling across the phone screen. On it was a short video she had just come across—a kitten happily rolling in the snow. She let out a soft chuckle, about to tap the like button, when a cold, mechanical voice suddenly rang in her ears.

The voice seemed to come from all directions, piercing the silence of the room and drilling straight into her mind.

"Welcome to the Endless Cycle Game. Survival is your only goal."

She froze, her finger stiffening on the screen. The phone display inexplicably went dark, leaving only a pitch-black void. She rubbed her ears, thinking she might have misheard, but the voice didn’t stop. Like a relentless machine, it continued to spit out rules.

"For each game you clear, you will earn 20 points."

"For each teammate you keep alive, you gain an additional 2 points."

Xia Ran sat up, frowning as she glanced around. The room was still her familiar bedroom, but what was that voice? She grabbed her phone to make a call, only to find the screen completely unresponsive.

"After clearing a game, you’ll enter the lounge for a 48-hour rest period. Injuries will automatically heal, and you must exchange resources in the lounge to maintain your stats."

Her heartbeat quickened. She tried to take deep breaths, telling herself to stay calm, but the voice pressed on, hammering each word into her consciousness like nails.

"Stats consist of three categories: Hunger, Thirst, and Cleanliness, starting at 100%. You must ensure three meals and drinks daily, plus one cleaning session per day."

"In game instances, players must find their own food and water sources. Cleanliness can also be maintained using methods available within the instance."

Xia Ran couldn’t help but mutter under her breath, “What the hell is this?”

She jumped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor, and rushed to the window to pull back the curtains. Outside should have been the city lights of midnight, but now it was pitch black, with only the faint sound of drizzling rain tapping against the glass like countless tiny needles.

"Skipping a meal or drink reduces Hunger or Thirst by 5%. Skipping cleaning reduces Cleanliness by 10%. Below 50% Hunger, physical strength decreases. Below 50% Thirst, reaction speed slows. Below 50% Cleanliness, injury probability increases. If any stat reaches zero, you enter a low-activity state. If all three stats hit zero, you will be immediately erased."

"Erased?" Xia Ran's voice caught in her throat, her hand unconsciously gripping the curtain tighter.

Her mind raced with possibilities—was this a dream? A mental breakdown? Had she driven herself crazy staying up late streaming? But the clarity of that voice, its chilling realism, made it impossible to dismiss.

"Using a recovery pack can increase any stat by 10%."

"This instance is ‘Torrential Rain Descends.’ Survive 90 days to clear it. Call the system to view your stats."

"Best wishes to all players for a long, long survival."

The voice abruptly cut off, plunging the room into dead silence.

Just as she thought it was over, the scene before her began to warp. The makeup mirror on the wall blurred, the water glass and lipstick on her nightstand vanished into thin air, and the floor beneath her feet cracked open, as if torn apart by an invisible hand.

She let out a scream, but her voice was swallowed up. A wave of intense dizziness hit her, and when she opened her eyes again, cold raindrops were already pelting her face.

Looking down, she realized she was still in her thin pajamas—a white cotton camisole dress with small daisies printed along the hem. The rain had soaked through the fabric, clinging to her skin, the chill biting deep.

Around her was a dark city. Pedestrians hurried along the streets with umbrellas, and neon signs flickered in the rain, casting blurred halos of light. The rain wasn’t heavy, more like a typical rainy season drizzle—fine and persistent, splashing tiny, almost imperceptible droplets onto the ground.

The people on the street didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. Some scrolled through their phones, others carried plastic bags from convenience stores, all moving as if it were just another ordinary day.

Wearing flip-flops, her feet splashed against the wet, cold pavement. She quickly darted a few steps forward, ducking under the awning of a nearby convenience store to take shelter.

The awning wasn’t wide, and occasional raindrops still drifted in, wetting her shoulders. The warm yellow light from the store’s glass window spilled onto her, giving Xia Ran a moment to catch her breath.

Rubbing her arms to warm herself, she began to organize her thoughts. Whether this was a dream or reality, the voice had made it clear: survive 90 days. The instance was called “Torrential Rain Descends,” and this light rain was likely just the beginning. It could escalate, maybe even flood the entire city. Flash floods, power outages, resource shortages—images from apocalyptic movies flashed through her mind.

“Calm down, Xia Ran. You have to survive,” she whispered to herself, giving herself a pep talk. Then she recalled the instruction: “Call the system to view your stats.” Hesitating for a moment, she lowered her voice and tentatively said, “System?”

The moment the word left her lips, a translucent panel appeared before her eyes, like a holographic projection from a sci-fi movie, hovering in front of her. It displayed her personal information clearly:

**Name:** Xia Ran

**Age:** 25

**Height:** 155 cm

**Weight:** 80 jin (40 kg)

**Talent Skill:** Personal Space, 1 cubic meter (space resets after instance ends)

**Hunger:** 100%

**Thirst:** 100%

**Cleanliness:** 100%

Xia Ran stared at the panel, her eyes locking onto the “Talent Skill” line, widening in shock. Personal Space? The kind that could store supplies and be accessed anytime? Her heart raced, a mix of disbelief and excitement surging through her.

“Is this… for real?” she muttered, her gaze darting across the panel, afraid she’d missed something. One cubic meter wasn’t huge, but if it worked, it was a game-changer compared to her current empty-handed state.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to test it. She stepped into the convenience store through the glass door. The air conditioning blasted cold air, making goosebumps rise on her damp skin.

Inside, a lone clerk leaned lazily against the counter, engrossed in their phone. The shelves were stocked with snacks and drinks. Xia Ran glanced around, her eyes settling on a box of cookies on the innermost shelf.

Pretending to browse casually, she walked over and touched the box. In her mind, she silently said, “Store.” The next second, she watched as the cookie box vanished into thin air, as if swallowed by the void. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp, her heart pounding.

She quickly bowed her head, pretending to fix her hair, and stole a glance at the clerk—still glued to the phone, oblivious. It was real! She had a space!

Suppressing her excitement, her mind raced. The panel said 1 cubic meter—plenty of room for more. She silently thought, “Open space,” and a transparent cubic image appeared before her eyes, visible only to her. Inside, the box of cookies lay quietly, with plenty of space left.

Forcing herself to calm down, she roughly estimated that 1 cubic meter, if packed efficiently, could hold a decent amount of supplies—but not too much. This “Personal Space” was a cheat code, but with the instance titled “Torrential Rain Descends,” the city could soon be engulfed by heavy rain or floods. She was penniless, dressed in pajamas and flip-flops. Her priorities were clear: hoard supplies and find a safe shelter.

Scanning the convenience store, she eyed the bread, bottled water, and compressed biscuits—perfect choices, but she had no money and couldn’t take them openly. The space gave her confidence, though—she just had to be discreet.

Taking a deep breath, she strolled between the shelves, and when the clerk wasn’t looking, she quietly “stored” a bottle of water and a pack of compressed biscuits. The items vanished into her space, and she immediately turned, pretending she couldn’t find what she wanted, and hurried out the door.

Back under the awning, the drizzle continued, dripping down her face from her wet hair. She looked up at the dark, overcast sky, her mind forming a rough plan. The space was her trump card. Though only 1 cubic meter, if used wisely, it could sustain her through the coming storm.

There weren’t many people on the street, most hurrying under umbrellas. She stopped a passerby and asked softly, “Excuse me, is there a supermarket nearby that’s still open?”

The person glanced at her, their eyes lingering on her thin pajamas with a hint of confusion, but they pointed across the street. “There’s a Le Gou over there. Closes at 11:30. It’s a ten-minute walk.”

Xia Ran nodded, thanked them, and, clutching her soaked pajamas, hurried toward the supermarket. It was 10:00—plenty of time. She decided to stay in the supermarket tonight. It was stocked with supplies and offered shelter. If she could survive the closing time, she could spend the night inside and stock up for the looming rain.

Ten minutes later, she reached the supermarket and darted straight to the restroom. It was empty. Standing in front of the mirror, she rinsed her hands and feet with sink water, wrung out her hair and clothes, and wiped herself down with paper towels. Her reflection showed a pale face and messy hair—no trace of the polished beauty vlogger—but at least she was dry.

After tidying up, she grabbed a shopping basket and began wandering the aisles slowly. She headed to the clothing section first, picking practical items: a tracksuit, a raincoat, a pair of sneakers, and some underwear and socks. She tossed in some oversized clothes and a towel to cover them up.

When she reached a quiet corner with no one around, she reached into the basket and stored the essentials—clothes, shoes, and socks—into her space. The space’s image flashed before her, the items neatly tucked inside with room to spare. Her heart raced, but she kept her face calm.

Next, she moved to the food section, repeating the process with long-shelf-life items: compressed biscuits, chocolate, nuts, and a few bottles of water. She tossed them into the basket, and when no one was watching, stored a few packs of biscuits and two bottles of water. The fresh and cooked food sections were too crowded—she didn’t dare risk it.

Time ticked by. At 11:20, the intercom announced the store was closing soon. Xia Ran returned the decoy items to the shelves one by one, leaving the basket empty. Glancing around to ensure no one noticed, she slipped into the restroom and hid in the innermost stall. Sitting on the toilet lid, she mentally tallied her haul, waiting for the store to close.

At 11:30, the lights dimmed, and the sounds of employees tidying up echoed outside. Xia Ran held her breath, thinking that if she could get through this, she’d have the whole supermarket to herself.

But then, the restroom door swung open, followed by footsteps and a woman’s voice: “Anyone still here? We’re locking up!”

Xia Ran froze. She heard someone knocking on the stalls one by one. Her mind buzzed—she couldn’t hide. Reluctantly, she pushed the door open and stepped out awkwardly. A uniformed employee stood there, holding a walkie-talkie, visibly startled. “Why are you still here? The store’s closed!”

“Uh… I lost track of time in the bathroom,” Xia Ran mumbled, head down, her face burning with embarrassment as she scrambled for an excuse.

The employee frowned, eyeing her pajamas and flip-flops with suspicion, but didn’t press further. “Hurry up and leave. We’re locking the doors.”

With no choice, Xia Ran followed her out. The glass doors locked behind her, and the drizzle hit her again. Standing on the street, she stared at the darkened supermarket, frustration welling up. Her plan had failed, and she’d wasted time—though at least she’d stashed some supplies in her space.