Chương 1: Start Reading

1. The Invitation Jordan Yu started his day like any other. That was to say, by repeatedly filling and emptying a cup. He did so from the comfort of his childhood bedroom, clacking away on the cracked screen of a decade-old laptop. The thing was less than a potato as far as gaming capabilities went, but it was more than good enough to run the current object of Jordan's obsession: Vesselia. [Hoarding Mode] activated. Spellcasting is disabled while [Hoarding Mode] is on. VR efficiency bonus in effect (+10%).

Current VR: 800/5, 000 cc (16%) Target VR: 2, 000/5, 000 cc (40%) Vesselia was a free-to-play live-service CRPG. Homebrew D&D with a distinct twist, though a brainlessly simple one at that. Namely, all classes in Vesselia were spellcasters. Each spellcaster came equipped with their own Vessel: a container of some description that acted as this world's version of an arcane focus. Players accumulated VR (Vessel Reserves) by collecting mana through any means necessary.

They then cast spells by spending what was inside their Vessel. These Vessels could take many different forms, from a literal cup to a bucket to even a hat turned upside down. Conventional wisdom said that the bigger the container, the bigger the VC (Vessel Capacity). And bigger VC meant that much more potential to cast stronger spells. In a world where the measure of a person was tied directly to proficiency in spellcraft, your Vessel meant everything.

Your Vessel was your identity—if not to define who you were, then to herald who you could be. Not that anyone could see what their Vessel looked like, what with Vesselia being purely text-based. Yes. Jordan never understood how the developers of Vesselia kept the lights on, when there really was nothing for the players to spend money on. No cosmetics, no pay-to-win microtransactions. Only lines of text describing the filling and emptying of cups.

The devs were either pure hobbyists or being kept afloat by some generous donors. Either way, Jordan wasn't complaining. After all, Vesselia's text-based nature was the only reason it ran flawlessly on a potato. Even now, Jordan cleared out a whole cave full of mana crystals with just a few lines of terminal-font commands. Nothing more than white text on a black screen, yet the dopamine hit just the same. Current VR: 2, 000/5, 000 cc (40%) Target VR achieved. [Hoarding Mode] deactivated.

Spellcasting restriction lifted. VR efficiency restored to baseline. Jordan found himself smiling at his laptop's cracked screen. [Hoarding Mode] could often be more trouble than it was worth. In exchange for more efficient VR accumulation, it disabled the player from casting any spells, leaving them vulnerable to fellow spellcasters or even low-level monsters. Nothing to worry Jordan, however.

As a daily grinder who hadn't missed a login reward for three years and counting, he knew all the best farming spots and their expected yields like the back of his hand. [Hoarding Mode] was your friend as long as you knew when to use it safely and effectively. And now that he had a comfortable VR buffer, it was time to go on the attack. Mug unsuspecting NPCs and plunder their VR. Farm dungeon bosses for rare crafting materials, and so on.

The gameplay loop, therefore, was an endless cycle of filling then emptying a cup. Mind-numbingly simple, and that was just how Jordan liked it. It was therapeutic to track one number and one number alone: inputs and outputs working in perfect predictable harmony. People in the real world liked to say: you get out of life what you pour into it. What a load of horseshit. At least in Vesselia, such an empty platitude actually held true. And that was all Jordan needed out of his favorite pastime." Jordan!"

Mom screeched from somewhere downstairs, loud enough to be heard over the 8-bit soundtrack pumping into Jordan's ears.

"You'll be late for work!" Jordan glanced over at the analog clock on his bedside table. The very same clock that once hastened him to school all those years ago. It currently read 4: 25 pm. Mom was right; he was cutting it a little close. As Jordan tried to log off, however, the game hit him with a pop-up message from the developers: Thank you for playing Vesselia! As a token of our appreciation, we cordially invite you to be a beta tester for our upcoming expansion: THE CAULDRON WARS.

If you would like to participate, find the nearest … What a happy surprise! Like any Vesselia player worth his salt, Jordan had scoured the Internet for any morsel of information about the rumored major expansion. Well, not only did he now have confirmation of it, he'd also been invited to join the venture from the ground floor. How could he say no to this? The lower half of the text box explained how to actually join the beta test, but Jordan was pressed for time.

He kept the game open as he AFK'd, intending to read the message after he returned from work. He then put on a weeks-unwashed hoodie, gave it a cursory sniff test, then rushed downstairs. The kitchen was deserted. On the counter sat a toasted sandwich that had already gone cold. Out the window, Mom could be seen bending over a tomato plant in her backyard garden. Jordan wolfed down the sandwich in several bites (too dry, as always), then washed it down with tap water.

He then hesitated, mind caught between the back door or the front. He opted for the front—the path of least resistance. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. There was a time, not too long ago, when his mother would take the choice out of his hands. When she would wait in the kitchen before he left the house. A hug, a word of encouragement, followed by a 'take care' in Mandarin. He couldn't blame her for dropping the habit.

He knew how thankless it was to hug someone who wouldn't hug you back. He knew also that empty platitudes could wear on anyone. Even a mother who still believed in her son, long after everyone else—especially the son himself—had given up hope. The museum Jordan worked at was on university grounds, within walking distance of the Yu household. An admittedly handy perk of having a tenured professor for a dad. So, despite the delay, Jordan could still make his shift on time by picking up the pace.

At 4: 50 pm, he burst through the museum's rear entrance, slightly out of breath. He then would've made a beeline for the staff room, had his attention not drifted toward a voice he knew well.

"—and so, when it came time for Ying Zheng to unify the Warring States and crown himself the First Emperor of Qin, it was only natural that he sought to collect the nine tripod cauldrons. To symbolize his authority over a unified China, as mandated by heaven." The fact that Kaede Masuda was giving a talk to a rapt audience wasn't at all surprising. Though the talk dragging on until closing time was somewhat unusual.

So was the exhibit in question: a faded-bronze cauldron covered in intricate patterns and ancient hieroglyphics. The thing was quite large, roughly the size of a streetside trash can. It stood on three stocky legs, true to the 'tripod' in its moniker. If the whole thing was indeed solid bronze, it must be heavy as all get-out. It would've required considerable manpower and machinery to drag this thing into the museum overnight. The exhibit was new and vaguely interesting.

But Jordan's attention honed in on a much more familiar stimulus. He listened (and watched) as Kaede continued her talk.

"However, near the end of the war when Ying Zheng's plans were finally coming to fruition, all nine cauldrons vanished without a trace. There are various theories on what happened to them. Some say lost in a river on the way to the capital, others that they were stolen by brigands. It's fair to say that the disappearance of the nine tripod cauldrons has since become one of the great ancient mysteries." Here, Kaede paused for effect. For an archaeologist by trade, she did have a flair for the dramatic.

Jordan appreciated that about her. And judging by the intent gazes centered on Kaede, so did her intended audience.

"How could these magnificent artifacts—passed down from king to king for the previous two thousand years—suddenly go missing on the eve of the first emperor's coronation? And for another two thousand years afterward, all efforts to recover them had turned up nothing… until, of course, this." Kaede turned to the cauldron with a flourish, beaming from ear to ear. The gathered crowd murmured dutifully. Jordan held his breath as his pulse quickened a touch. That was when an announcement came over the PA.

The museum was about to close. The crowd dispersed bit by bit, some lingering to ask Kaede questions. She stayed and answered them all, her enthusiastic smile never faltering. Soon, Kaede was the only one left at the exhibit. Well, Kaede and Jordan who—he realized too late—had stood there like an idiot for far too long. And before he could make his escape, their eyes met.

"I'm sorry," she said, still smiling, "but the museum is closed. Did you still have questions about the exhibit?" Jordan blinked at her, slightly confused. Then realization hit him like a ton of bricks—or perhaps like a solid bronze cauldron. She doesn't know who I am.

"I work here," he blurted.

"I'm the sanitation—um, I'm the janitor."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She looked genuinely embarrassed, which only made him feel worse.

"Well, I mean, if you were curious about the cauldron, we could—""No, no. I shouldn't take any more of your time." He put his head down and walked past her, back the way he'd originally intended to go. Kaede turned to say something, but Jordan didn't give her the chance. By the time he'd changed into a pair of overalls and re-emerged from the staff room, he was alone in the museum. Jordan got down to work, though he found it hard to concentrate. He kept replaying the interaction in his head.

And every time he did, he shuddered anew in mortification. There was a time— very long ago, it now seemed—when things would've gone very differently. Jordan, like most other high-achieving burnouts of his generation, had gone to university, gotten a degree, and even secured a promising white-collar job at one point. He used to date women like Kaede: smart, driven, building toward a happy and fulfilling future. Where had it gone wrong for him? That bad break-up during the COVID lockdown?

The summer Rudolf the family dog died? Or the day he'd called in sick even though he wasn't sick at all… then proceeded to spend the whole day doomscrolling in a darkened bedroom… then one sick day became two and two became three and… He had book smarts, a loving family, and even above-average work ethic when it really mattered. Yet all that and more had gone to waste. Nothing he did ever felt like it led anywhere. If he were to put it in D&D terms, it was like he couldn't roll anything but nat 1s. So…

at some point, he stopped trying. Stopped rolling the dice altogether. Yeah. That was it. Blame bad luck. Blame the shitty state of the world. Blame anything but himself. It was a loser's way of looking at life, and Jordan knew it. But what could he do? He was a loser, and he knew that too. The evening wore on as Jordan worked through the museum. Eventually, he made his way back to the new exhibit. To the tripod cauldron. The thing was now shrouded by a protective cover.

Only roped stanchions stood between the precious artifact and a would-be thief or vandal. Well, that and the security cameras. As Jordan neared the roped-off area, mop in hand, he began to consider the cauldron in earnest. Come to think of it, wasn't it rather strange that an ancient artifact—one deemed missing for over two millennia, no less—had traveled all the way from China to be discovered in his neck of the woods? And if this was just one of nine, what happened to the other eight?

All that aside, what a weird coincidence… that a bona fide real-life cauldron would show up in Jordan's life on the same day Vesselia invited him to their— Jordan froze mid-mop, staring at the muslin sheet that was draped over the cauldron. What was that? He was sure he'd heard something, and it seemed to have come from— He heard it again. A kind of chittering susurrus. Like a bunch of small animals whispering among themselves. Had a family of rats moved into the cauldron? Impossible. Jordan set aside his mop.

He drew closer to the display as if in a trance. Before he knew it, he'd ducked under the stanchion and stepped onto the pedestal. He hesitated for just a beat, then pulled open the cover. At first, he didn't notice anything unusual. Yet the chittering voices —for that was what they were—only grew louder. Jordan leaned over and peered into the cauldron itself. Slowly, fearfully. As though he knew he was making another mistake in a life full of them. His first thought was to marvel at the cauldron's cavernous basin.

This bad boy could fit sooo much more than 5, 000 cc. Which was quickly displaced and dwarfed by his second thought: just what the hell is going on? The bottom of the basin was glowing. Shimmering, iridescent, and vaguely pink. It reminded Jordan, bizarrely enough, of how he'd pictured mana to look like in the world of Vesselia. As if in response to his gaze, the voices grew louder still. They now spoke directly to him, in a language utterly foreign yet somehow intelligible. It sounded to Jordan…

like an invitation. He reached down and touched the light. Instantly, the light spread, filling Jordan's vision and indeed his every sense with its rosy iridescence. His mind went blank. With shock and wonder, yes. But also to make room for a message beamed directly into his consciousness: Welcome to Vesselia.