God's Imitator

That evening, Lin Sizhi returned to his room and opened his laptop to check it.

This time, more than one notification appeared on the screen.

The first was related to the previous Role-Play Game.

[The format and basic framework rules for Role-Play Game proposals have been finalised. Please review and confirm.]

Lin Sizhi took a blank Role-Play Game proposal template from his desk drawer. Like the templates for other game types, it consisted of several distinct tables in a specific format.

Most of this format matched exactly what he had submitted by hand.

Only in a few very specific places had there been minor adjustments.

Overall, when filling out the form, an Imitator was required to provide information such as the story background, the list of main characters, and the detailed contents of the setting document.

In addition, within the main character list table, the Imitator also had to assign each main character specific identity tags, which could include profession, personality traits, or physical characteristics. These served primarily as criteria for selecting which players would be cast as actors.

In other words, only players who matched a given identity tag could possibly be selected for the corresponding role.An Imitator could not directly assign a specific named player to a role.

There were also additional notes appended to the form.

For instance: [Actor players must strictly portray their character according to the contents of the setting document. Explicitly written storylines must be ’strictly followed.’ Storylines not explicitly written may be ’improvised.’]

This particular clause was fixed text written directly into the proposal template, and an Imitator was absolutely forbidden from altering it.

But in the blank field beneath it, the Imitator could specify exactly what punishment an actor would face for breaking this rule, in other words, for causing the audience to feel the performance had broken character.

There were several similar fixed clauses. On the whole, the basic format of the proposal required an Imitator to design within this framework, and any violation would mean automatic rejection.

That said, meeting these baseline requirements didn’t guarantee a high rating either, since they were only the minimum threshold.

Whether a game earned a high rating depended on a further set of hidden criteria.

Other players might not have understood why the ‘Jury Game’ had received an S rating, but Lin Sizhi had a rough sense of why.

Originality was certainly a major factor in its favour, but it wasn’t the whole story.

The most important factor was that the core mechanism, or trick, of the ‘Jury Game’, the entire system built around evidence and testimony, had been entirely original to that Imitator.

The basic framework Lin Sizhi had originally provided didn’t include anything like it.

In other words, under the basic framework Lin Sizhi had submitted, a Role-Play Game only established the fundamental code of conduct for how players performed their roles. But when this particular Imitator designed the ‘Jury Game’, they hadn’t confined themselves strictly to performance. They had built a far more complex derivative mechanism on top of that foundation.

It had, in effect, opened up far more possibilities for Role-Play Games at a very early stage, and would likely serve as inspiration for other Imitators going forward.

That was probably one of the factors behind the Gallery’s high rating for it.

Regardless, Lin Sizhi held genuine respect for the ‘Jury Game’, and found himself increasingly curious who this particular Imitator actually was.

He closed that notification, and the second message turned out to be a new game invitation.

[Hello, Lin Sizhi.]

[This game invitation will be extended only to a select group of Imitators. The theme of this game is Elimination and Judgment.]

[At the start of the Second Stage, you may choose to reselect your stance once more.]

[Will you accept this invitation? Please make your choice.]

Reading this, Lin Sizhi’s brow drew together slightly.

His first reaction was surprise, followed quickly by a strange, unsettled feeling.

What was being called Elimination and Judgment was, in effect, an Elimination-type game, similar to the ‘Shelter Game’ and the ‘Lifting Game’ that had appeared earlier.

It resembled a Judgment Game in that it also drew on a player’s offender file, allowing the Imitator to design around the offender’s crime.

But the key difference was that an Elimination-type game could spread its impact widely, affecting players entirely unconnected to the offender, resulting in large numbers of deaths or near-deaths, meaning visa time stripped to zero.

Based on how the first stage had unfolded, the Gallery appeared to sort Imitators into two categories based on whether their motives were benevolent or malicious, and adjusted the type of game invitations issued depending on the relative balance of power between the two sides, presumably to ensure the contest dragged on for as long as possible.

Throughout the entire first stage, there had never been a single instance where the Gallery seemed to favour the side of benevolent Imitators.

Lin Sizhi had originally assumed this was simply because his own choices had kept the overall strength of the benevolent side consistently higher, meaning the malicious side had never genuinely gained the upper hand, and so there had never been any need for the Gallery to tip the scales in favour of the benevolent ones.

But now it seemed that might not have been the whole truth.

Because if you looked at the second stage, claiming the benevolent Imitators currently held the upper hand felt like a real stretch.

The ‘Pain Game’ had been malicious.

‘A Single Word to Settle a Case’ had been malicious.

The ‘Prison Factory’ had been benevolent.

The ‘Jury Game’ was difficult to categorise cleanly, closer to neutral, though carrying a trace of malice.

On the whole, the games that had been selected leaned heavily malicious, and the impact they had had on the various communities had leaned heavily malicious as well.

Even so, the Gallery was still extending an invitation for an Elimination-type game, and that invitation remained restricted to malicious Imitators only.

If Lin Sizhi wanted to participate, he would still need to change his stance.

”If I remember correctly, you sent me a similar invitation just before the Lifting Game.

”What was it that you said back then?

”Something about how the Gallery wouldn’t promise there would be another opportunity to change stance.

”And yet here we are, with no shortage of opportunities after all.

”Is this really you giving me a choice, or is this you wanting me to make the choice you’re hoping for?”

Lin Sizhi did consider one possibility, that perhaps the Gallery offered an opportunity like this at the start of every stage as a matter of course, which would make perfect sense on its own.

Even so, he could sense clearly that, in this particular moment, the Gallery’s intent seemed to be surfacing more visibly than usual.

”Whatever. My decision stays the same as before.

”Whether an opportunity to choose is rare or not shouldn’t be what decides the choice itself.

”If you don’t want me designing games, that’s fine. I could use the rest.”

Lin Sizhi closed the laptop screen, stretched, and went to sleep as he normally would.