Giving Interstellar Players a Horror Ghost Game Shock - Chapter 21
One week after the launch of Starfall 2: New Era, its download count had already surpassed the hundred-billion mark.
With unstoppable momentum, it overshadowed every other game unfortunate enough to share its release window.
On its exclusive debut platform, FeiXun, Starfall 2 dominated the ratings board, boasting an astonishing 99% five-star review rate. This success once again cemented Yuan Shen’s name as a legend in the gaming world—and even across the galaxy.
However, when Chu Yuanming’s assistant cautiously reported the good news, his face betrayed no sign of joy.
His gaze was fixed intently on a specific icon on his screen.
Unable to resist his curiosity, the assistant stole a glance out of the corner of his eye and was shocked to see the details page for Campus Nightmare on the DouDou platform.
“Are you worried this new game might be a competitor, Brother Yuan? That’s unnecessary. Miss Ye has made no moves so far. It’s safe to assume she’s decided to avoid competing with you for the early October slot.”
“In the industry, no one would dare claim they could snatch the market from your hands.”
Despite the half-flattering, half-genuine remarks, Chu Yuanming remained unmoved.
“Do you like Starfall 2?” he suddenly asked, interrupting the assistant before answering his own question. “I don’t.”
The assistant looked up, startled.
“Brother Yuan…”
Chu Yuanming’s eyelids drooped slightly, his long lashes casting faint shadows on his pale skin.
“All I wanted to create was a large-scale exploratory open-world game. Starfall was enough for that.”
“While making Starfall 2, I felt clumsy and constrained, unable to imagine any meaningful way to further expand the Starfall Universe.”
Hearing this, the assistant grew anxious. He knew his boss had been struggling ever since announcing Starfall 2, falling into creative blockages that worsened his already fragile state. The once-dormant spiritual energy fluctuations had begun to stir again, causing his condition to deteriorate.
Even Chu Yuanming’s elder sister had specifically asked the assistant to keep an eye on his well-being.
“But the players love Starfall 2! They’re calling it a sequel destined to surpass the original!”
“That’s because the public’s passion is easily manipulated. Just stitch together everything they want, show it to them, and success will follow.”
Chu Yuanming turned his head to gaze at the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a faint, mocking glint in his eyes—directed at no one in particular.
The office fell silent.
Then, a crisp notification broke the quiet.
“A game you follow has been updated!”
Chu Yuanming glanced at his screen, his gaze landing on the Campus Nightmare page, where a new video had appeared.
Almost simultaneously, DouDou’s official account reposted the update, their speed revealing just how much they valued the game.
Even so, initial engagement was low. The buzz surrounding the Campus Nightmare teaser had long faded.
In any era—whether the ancient internet age or today’s interstellar networks—staying at the pinnacle of public attention required more than fleeting viral moments.
But for those who clicked on the video, a barrage of pure, unadulterated terror awaited them.
Unlike the earlier straightforward promotional clip, this time Ye Yuxi had pulled out all the stops. The video was a masterfully edited compilation of horror highlights, seamlessly interwoven with glimpses of the main storyline. It tantalized viewers without spoiling anything significant.
Ye Yuxi herself was among the first to watch, eager to admire her own work.
However, just seconds into the video, a message from DouDou popped up, seeking her input on an event.
Sighing in resignation, she dutifully switched her attention to the discussion, leaving the video playing unattended.
Back in the video, an enthusiastic NPC named Qiu Zu suddenly filled the screen with her smiling face, her proximity to the camera startling viewers.
“Hello, freshmen! Look, we’ve arrived at one of May University’s most famous landmarks—May Bridge!”
“What the hell? Face close-up right from the start?”
Just as viewers began to realize the person on screen was an NPC and not a ghost, the entire screen turned blood red.
“An untouchable taboo—a Pandora’s box that lures the living. Those who revel in chasing thrills rarely notice the horrors creeping silently from the abyss.”
The screen glitched twice, then abruptly transitioned to the next scene.
What followed were rapid flashes of scenes, each appearing briefly before fading away. The audience caught glimpses of NPCs running, screaming, and nervously discussing something…
“Help, seniors! There really is a ghost!”
“Run!”
The camera shook violently, as if the person holding it was just as panicked.
It took a moment for viewers to realize that the entire video was being presented as footage captured by a camera.
Which begged the question—was the person holding the camera supposed to be a player?
“Amidst the horrors hidden in the campus at night, do you dare to uncover the truth?”
As the suspenseful montage continued, sticky black liquid began oozing from all corners of the screen, slowly engulfing the image. The effect was deeply unsettling, as if the campus itself was being devoured.
“Shrouded in mystery, layered in fear—are you merely an ignorant survivor of terror, a hopeless victim, or… a brave conqueror?”
In the final moments, through the portion of the lens still untouched by the encroaching liquid, viewers saw Wen Qian sprinting desperately.
She was panting heavily, running through an archway toward May Bridge.
“Huh? Is it just me, or does this scene feel familiar?” Liu Yuling, watching the video as well, adjusted her glasses. Something about it tugged at her memory.
“Wait! Didn’t the last video show a senior who tragically became a ghost years ago? The last path she ran before her death was almost identical to Wen Qian’s right now!”
In the increasingly dark footage, Wen Qian’s ragged breathing became louder and more desperate.
Finally, as the sticky liquid completely consumed the screen, Wen Qian’s terrified scream pierced the silence:
“Ahhhhh—!”
The next second, the screen returned to pristine clarity and brightness, as if everything that had just occurred was an illusion.
A middle-aged man with slicked-back hair stood unnervingly close to the camera, his expression stern. His unnaturally black eyes stared straight into the lens—or perhaps at the player behind it.
“Student, what are you doing wandering around campus so late?”
?
“Huh? What’s going on?”
Liver Bro, a streamer watching the video, was baffled.
“Who’s this guy? A school administrator?”
“And wasn’t it super creepy just now? Why did everything suddenly go back to normal?”
People often cling to hope when terror subsides and the surroundings seem to return to normal. They relax, yet a subtle unease lingers.
Usually, that unease doesn’t stay hidden for long—it soon explodes into outright panic.
The seemingly serious middle-aged man abruptly grinned. His pitch-black eyes filled with blood, then hollowed into gaping sockets!
“Ahhhhh—!” Many viewers screamed in fright at the sudden transformation.
This isn’t right. It doesn’t follow the usual formula! In standard survival horror games, after a period of being hunted, players usually get a break to search for clues or plan a counterattack.
But this game clearly had no intention of playing by the rules. Was the danger not over yet?
“Student, why haven’t you gone to the bridge yet? Everyone’s waiting for you!”
From behind the middle-aged man with hollowed eyes, two withered, skeletal hands suddenly reached toward the camera.