Chapter 444: A Happy Life |
[1]
Everything about today felt odd.
The alarm clock on his nightstand had been switched by someone to "Gloomy Sunday." The opening line, "Sunday is gloomy," crackled with the distortion of a last-century cassette tape, a fitting prelude to something spectral.
At breakfast, his father and mother sat perfectly still on the far side of the long table. They wore identical, impeccably polite smiles as they simultaneously lifted dumplings with their chopsticks and placed them in their mouths.
Qi Si took a bite of a dumpling and nearly gagged. The filling was obviously spoiled—sour and rancid—and mixed within it was a sliver of someone's fingernail.
Qi Si silently cursed whoever made the dumpling. The thought that for the rest of his life, the mere sight of a dumpling would trigger this disgusting memory made him consider the careless chef a criminal of the highest order.
In any case, after the wretched breakfast, Qi Si set down his chopsticks and headed to the washroom to rinse his mouth.
He wasn't familiar with the washroom's layout and had to fumble around for a moment before finding the mouthwash. As he leaned over the sink, he glanced instinctively into the mirror. The young man staring back wore a white shirt, its collar speckled with bloodstains.
For a moment, he couldn't remember getting his clothes dirty. He looked down; he was wearing his clean school uniform. When he raised his head again, the figure in the mirror was grinning at him, a bizarre, unnerving smile.
Qi Si was surprised to find his own courage was rather remarkable. Any other high school student in his position would have been scared senseless by the sight, yet he remained perfectly calm. His bravery was, he had to admit, commendable.
Then again, he couldn't help but feel his features were a bit too mature for a sixteen or seventeen-year-old high school student.
"Dad, Mom, we need a new mirror," Qi Si called out, but his voice was met with silence.
He left the washroom, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and jogged downstairs to catch the school bus. The driver shot him a look but said nothing. The bus was filled with unfamiliar students, all of whom fell silent the moment he stepped aboard.
Qi Si pulled a politics textbook from his bag and began to quietly recite passages from memory, his mind simultaneously working to unravel the day's bizarre occurrences.
Before he could reach any conclusions, a translucent, pale gray panel materialized in the upper-left corner of his vision. Lines of silvery text scrolled into view:
[Instance Name: "A Happy Life"]
[Instance Type: Solo Puzzle]
[Main Quest: Kill the creator of this world]
[Preamble: This is a role-playing instance. The memories of the character you are playing have replaced your original memories.]
Qi Si narrowed his eyes.
In the ten minutes he sat on the bus, Qi Si pieced together the situation: he was a player in an "infinite-flow" game called the Weird Game. He was currently inside a solo puzzle instance, his memories temporarily replaced.
His next task was to kill a specific entity. But as for who that was, or whether they would conveniently have a red name floating over their head like in an MMO, he had no clue.
He couldn't even be sure the information on the system panel was real. Perhaps he was simply having a psychotic break, a vivid hallucination.
After all, the memories in his mind—from birth to the present—felt utterly real: his father, an engineer; his mother, a teacher; he, their only son. His life had been a smooth sail from kindergarten through middle school, and now he was a top student at a prestigious high school. The pressure, however, had taken its toll, manifesting as mild anxiety and paranoia that required regular hospital visits...
"You know," Qi Si mused with a flicker of interest, "those mentally ill people you see in the news, the ones who go on stabbing sprees... I wonder if they also saw a kill mission on some game panel?" He subtly unzipped his bag and pulled a sharp drawing compass from his pencil case.
He wasn't opposed to the idea of killing. In fact, he found it rather odd that in his sixteen years of life, he'd never even tried it. A sharp instrument piercing flesh, warm blood seeping through his fingers, a scream muffled by his palm, a vibrant life cut short... what a tragically beautiful image. It would be a pity not to experience it at least once, wouldn't it?
In any case, Qi Si was more than willing to play along and treat this world as a game instance. After all, pleading insanity was a valid defense for murder, wasn't it?
"So, who is the creator of this world?" he wondered. "Assuming the game doesn't assign impossible tasks, it’s unlikely to be some unkillable entity like a god or some abstract concept like Logos or a Philosopher King. It has to be someone I can handle, even with a physique that barely scrapes a passing grade in gym class."
"By the same token, the creator can’t be a complete stranger. If I have no way to interact with them, no connection whatsoever, the notion of killing them would be nonsensical. Random murder would violate the game’s sense of fairness and make it a test of luck rather than a challenge of intellect and deduction."
"And if we apply the theory that criminals often return to the scene of the crime, then whoever created this world wouldn’t just abandon their creation. Assuming I’m special in some way, they’re bound to be nearby, observing my every move."
As Qi Si calmly deduced these points, he was struck by a sudden realization. His subconscious had automatically supplied the concepts of ‘game fairness’ and a ‘challenge of intellect and deduction,’ as if he were intimately familiar with this game and its fundamental rules.
He couldn't tell if this was just the overactive imagination of a mentally ill person, or, as the system suggested, a remnant of a latent memory that hadn't been fully wiped.
Either way, he had narrowed down the possibilities. Now he had to consider the potential difficulties.
For most people, the greatest hurdle would be the psychological barrier to murder, followed by the challenge of disposing of the body and destroying the evidence. For Qi Si, however, none of that was a problem.
Qi Si consulted his memories and quickly realized he was in a world with a robust legal system. If someone turned up dead, the police would undoubtedly launch an investigation within forty-eight hours. Given the extensive surveillance coverage, they’d probably trace it back to him in a day, tops. After all, he was just an ordinary high school student with no connections, whose only available weapons were a drawing compass and a paper cutter.
Simply put, from the moment he killed his first target, assuming he chose wrong, he would have only three days to complete his mission. The risk of exposure would increase with each passing hour. A single misstep, and he could end up in a police station or a psychiatric hospital.
This design effectively prevented players from killing indiscriminately without a second thought.
"So it really is a puzzle game that prioritizes brains over brawn," Qi Si concluded, feeling rather pleased.
Only a truly challenging game could distinguish the capable players. He had no desire to see simple-minded brutes among those who succeeded. It wasn’t just his faith in intellect; he was well aware that such physically powerful players could overpower him with one hand. Better they perish in a puzzle instance now than for him to be crushed by them in a multiplayer instance later.
"Physically powerful players"... "multiplayer instance"... Qi Si plucked two more specialized terms from his subconscious.
Well now, it seemed this Weird Game was more complex than he’d thought, with a surprisingly expansive world.
[2]
As he stepped off the school bus and made his way to his classroom, Qi Si spotted Zhu Ming.
Zhu Ming was a friend from elementary school. Back then, a group of older kids had declared, "We’ll ignore anyone who plays with Qi Si." In response, Zhu Ming had publicly distanced himself from Qi Si for a time, even taking back the gifts they had once exchanged.
They were in different classes for all three years of middle school and never saw each other, allowing the unpleasant memory to fade. When they both ended up in the same high school, and by some coincidence in the same class, they brushed off their childhood falling-out. In fact, coming from the same hometown, they grew even closer than before.
"Qi Si, did you finish the politics worksheet? You gotta help me out, man, just lend it to me for ten minutes!" Zhu Ming slapped Qi Si’s shoulder familiarly and began to rifle through his backpack.
Qi Si remained silent, letting him search. He replayed his history with this ‘friend’: disappearing for three years only to abruptly re-enter his life, acting as if nothing had happened. It was suspicious from every angle. And the fact that Qi Si hadn't killed him back in elementary school... that was suspicious too.
"Thanks, man! I’ll buy you a chicken wrap during the long break!" Zhu Ming found the worksheet, his round face wrinkling into a grin. He turned and made a break for the small garden behind the academic building.
The high school operated under a military-style disciplinary system that strictly prohibited students from finishing homework during the morning self-study period. Consequently, students with incomplete assignments would find secluded spots to hide from patrolling teachers and scribble furiously. The small garden hid an abandoned, vine-covered warehouse—a favorite spot for such clandestine work.
Qi Si stared at the back of Zhu Ming’s neck. "I just remembered I made a mistake on one of the questions," he said suddenly. "I might need to change it. How about I come with you?"
Zhu Ming stopped in his tracks and gave him a knowing look. "Well, well, the star student has to sneak off to do his homework too? What would the teachers and our classmates say if they saw..."
"Exactly," Qi Si said, lowering his gaze. "So we should probably find somewhere more secluded. No teachers, no students." He paused, tracing a line on his finger. "I have a reputation to maintain."
With that, Zhu Ming had no reason to refuse. He slung an arm over Qi Si’s shoulder and grinned. "Then it’s gotta be the foot of the outer wall. I’ve checked it out before. It’s super secluded, but the mosquitoes are killer."
A faint smile touched Qi Si’s lips. "Perfect. Let’s go there."
He gripped the compass tightly in his palm, the sharp point concealed within his sleeve. He followed Zhu Ming toward the base of the wall, step by step. The distant chatter of students faded, and soon, they were completely alone. At the foot of the weed-choked concrete wall, it was just the two of them.
Qi Si stood extremely close to Zhu Ming, only half a step behind. The moment the other boy crouched down and spread the worksheet out on the ground, Qi Si raised the compass high and plunged it down with all his strength.
Fresh blood spattered his cheek. An instant before it could trickle down his neck and onto his collar, Qi Si swiftly wiped it away with a tissue. Perhaps because he’d found the perfect angle, not a single drop had touched his uniform, saving him the trouble of a change of clothes.
Qi Si looked down at Zhu Ming’s disbelieving eyes. He couldn’t be bothered to monologue like some cliché villain from a movie, explaining his motives to the victim. He simply crouched beside the boy, waiting quietly for him to draw his last breath, waiting for the final spark of light in his eyes to die.
No completion notice appeared. The system interface remained unchanged. Qi Si’s luck, it seemed, was abysmal. He’d guessed wrong on the multiple-choice question yet again; his first target was not the correct answer.
He wasn't particularly discouraged. The chances for trial and error were limited, but he still had more. Besides, this was a perfectly good opportunity to eliminate a few people he’d long despised but never gotten around to killing.
Like the person before him, who had once abandoned him only to shamelessly return and pretend they were the dearest of friends.
There was a small pond near the wall. Qi Si dragged the heavy corpse over to it, leaving a meandering trail of blood. He dumped the body into the water, then found a bucket left by the cleaning staff, filled it, and walked back along the blood trail, splashing water as he went. He watched with satisfaction as the crimson faded to a light red, then a pale pink, before vanishing completely into the asphalt.
He returned to his classroom as if nothing had happened. The morning self-study session had just begun. The student leading the recitation glanced at him, then quickly looked away, an unreadable expression in their eyes. After mumbling along with the text for a few minutes, the class president started the roll call. "Qi Si... Cai Kaiwen... Qiu Mingli... Zhu Ming..."
"Here," a chilling voice responded from Zhu Ming’s seat.
Qi Si turned his head. Zhu Ming was sitting stiffly in his seat, soaking wet. The puncture wound in his neck was horribly conspicuous, dark, brackish blood gushing from it. The blood mingled with the water, creating a reddish fluid that quickly saturated his uniform and dripped to the floor, forming a spreading, blood-tinged pool...
No one seemed to notice anything amiss. Perhaps to everyone but Qi Si, he was still perfectly fine. The ghost realized Qi Si was watching him. Its dull, black eyes swiveled to fix on Qi Si, filled with the venomous hatred of a vengeful spirit.
Qi Si watched as the pool of blood on the floor began to writhe like maggots, coalescing into a series of crooked words: "Tonight... I... will... kill... you..."
It was then that Qi Si understood: this world had ghosts. The people he killed would return as vengeful spirits, creating yet another obstacle to his mission.
"Then again," he thought, "if ghosts are an integral part of this world..."
It was still morning; nightfall was at least twelve hours away. Qi Si expressionlessly tore his gaze away. He glanced down and saw that an open notebook had appeared on his desk. Its crumpled pages were covered in messy scrawl:
[Zhu Ming ignores me now. He’s started spitting at me with the others, throwing mud, and he even tore up my book. I’m so unhappy. I can’t stand the way he looks at me. I want... to kill him.]
[But I can’t. Killing someone means paying with your own life. I have a bright future ahead of me; I can’t throw it away on him... Besides, Mother always told me some things are just forbidden.]
Qi Si found the first half of the entry quite relatable. But when his eyes fell on the second part, he was struck by a profound sense of absurdity, momentarily at a loss for words.
Who in their right mind even keeps a diary? And was this really his writing? He had no memory of it. That phrase, "some things are just forbidden," did ring a bell, though—one that felt uncomfortably like a PTSD trigger...
"A diary... I suppose it’s a new clue, in a way." Qi Si stroked his chin. He propped up his literature textbook and, using it for cover, began to flip through the mysterious journal.
The second entry was about his cousin and her family...
[3]
[During summer break, I stayed at my uncle’s place in the countryside. My cousin hates me. She’s always making sarcastic comments... I really want to kill her.]
[Every time my cousin and I argue, my uncle and aunt call my father without even asking what happened. They complain in that passive-aggressive way that I’ve been corrupted by the city... I really want to kill them.] If this world truly was a game and the diary was a collection of clues, then choosing targets based on its entries seemed logical. The next on the list should be his uncle’s family.
However, considering that killing Zhu Ming—the first person mentioned in the diary—had yielded no positive results, it was questionable whether killing anyone else on the list would advance his progress.
Qi Si flipped to the first page of the diary. Emblazoned on the clean title page were the words "Qi Si’s Happy Life." The title was an exact match for the instance name on the game panel.
On the reverse side, an inscription was written in a smaller font: "A life of peace and joy, smooth and untroubled. I have a happy life. If only all the people I hate would just disappear."
It was his handwriting, yet he couldn't imagine himself writing such sentimental nonsense. Nor could he see any value in pursuing such a bland version of "happiness."
To abandon one’s uniqueness, to follow the trodden path of the masses, to live as a featureless, ordinary person in compliance with social norms... like some mediocre trinket off an assembly line...
To Qi Si, such a life was the stuff of nightmares. The mere thought of it sent a cold sweat down his back. If this was the Weird Game... well, it was certainly living up to its name.
"Judging by the instance name and the preamble, my role is to be the owner of this ‘Happy Life’ diary. It seems I’m supposed to help him fulfill his wishes by getting rid of the people he hates. But from the main quest’s perspective... if you can’t solve the problem, you eliminate the source of the problem. I just need to find the diary’s owner and kill him. Since the diary’s title matches the instance name, it’s almost certain he’s the creator of this world."
Qi Si considered this with mock seriousness, quickly deciding to focus on the main quest. Helping some mediocrity content with a mundane existence achieve his so-called happy life... the mere thought of performing such a good deed made his skin crawl. Better to stick to the mission.
Of course, there was one serious complication. "To kill the diary’s owner," he mused, "does that mean I have to kill myself?"
The dead Zhu Ming continued to stare coldly at him. One by one, teachers entered the classroom, mechanically reciting from their lesson plans. Without exception, their gazes were viscous and heavy, settling on Qi Si, scrutinizing him with unnerving detachment.
Water dripped onto the floor with an unvarying rhythm. *Drip. Drip.* The clock’s second hand crawled from one mark to the next. Outside, the immense shadow of a dark cloud slowly crept across the classroom floor. More and more eyes converged on his back, a palpable weight suggesting something momentous was about to happen—and he was at the center of it all.
Every corner of this world felt palpably distorted, like a subjectively constructed dream or a conceptualized mental space.
Qi Si recalled the main quest’s wording. It used the term "creator." If this world was a dream or a mental space, then even though he was *playing* the role of the diary’s owner, the *real* owner could be hidden somewhere, watching to see how he would break the game.
Based on that theory, his next move was clear: he had to force the diary’s owner to reveal himself.
Qi Si began to leisurely flip through the rest of the diary.
[I got good grades on my exam, and Father bought me the electronic dictionary I always wanted...]
[Mother heard I wasn't getting along with my classmates, so she specially rented an apartment near the school so I could live off-campus...]
[Every Friday, I start looking forward to the weekend, because Father and Mother always take me to Tianxiang House for a big meal...]
The trivial entries painted a picture of a happy family of three, perfectly matching the diary’s title.
Qi Si tried to recall these moments, but his memories felt shrouded in a thick, white fog that obscured every detail.
He remembered having loving parents in the abstract, but he couldn't recall a single specific instance that demonstrated their affection. It was as if they were concepts rather than real people in his life.
In contrast, his memories of Zhu Ming and his uncle’s family were sharp and clear. He was only puzzled as to why, having developed the urge to kill them long ago, he had let them live this long.
Yes, Qi Si had always been one to hold a grudge.
He closed the diary and let out a soft laugh. "Such a happy life. But tell me," he whispered to the empty room, "if I were to destroy this so-called happiness of yours, could you still bear to stay hidden?"
*Clatter!* The pen on his desk fell to the floor, rolling to a stop by his feet.
Qi Si bent to retrieve it. He noticed the pool of bloody water had crept to within half a meter of his desk and was now spreading even faster.
He ignored it, grabbed the pen, and straightened up. The eyes of his classmates and teachers converged on him from all sides. No one said a word.
The hour hand on the clock began to spin wildly, blurring past the numbers until it finally settled on six. In an instant, the morning light outside the window faded into the dim glow of dusk.
The figures of the teachers and students faded, turning from solid shapes to gray shadows, then to white wisps, before vanishing completely.
Qi Si rose and walked out of the empty classroom. In the hallway, a middle-aged man grabbed his wrist. "Qi Si, your parents had an emergency, they can’t pick you up. Your uncle is here to take you home."
"Is that right?" Qi Si looked up, studying the man’s shifty, rodent-like face, which matched his memory perfectly. His eyes curved into a smile. "All right. Thanks for coming all this way, Uncle."
The uncle’s hand was an iron vise, clamped tight around Qi Si’s wrist, as if he feared the boy would bolt the second he loosened his grip. He practically dragged Qi Si down the stairs and toward the school gate. In the distance, Qi Si heard the wail of a police siren. He subtly tightened his grip on the compass in his right hand.
"Qi Si, Zhu Ming is dead," his uncle said, his tone one of feigned earnestness. "The security footage shows you were with him right before it happened. You need to cooperate fully with the police." But beneath the concerned facade, his eyes glinted with undisguised malice.
It was clear now. The diary’s owner had heard Qi Si’s threat and altered the instance’s script to stop him.
— The police were involved sooner. His uncle had appeared to interfere. Everything was designed to obstruct him.
"Zhu Ming is dead?" Qi Si feigned a look of trembling disbelief. "But he was fine this morning! I... I even lent him my politics worksheet..."
As he spoke, he silently raised the compass and plunged it into the back of his uncle’s neck.
Blood sprayed. Amid the piercing wail of the sirens, he shoved the wide-eyed corpse aside and sprinted for the school’s back gate. He cut through the overgrown garden, heading toward the section of wall where he had killed Zhu Ming.
*Rustle, rustle...* The overgrown weeds stirred on their own, whispering like something slithering through them. The faint, metallic scent of blood grew stronger, and through a curtain of vines, a pale face emerged. It was Zhu Ming.
The dry ground had become slick and damp. In the thin film of water, threads of blood and globules of fat swirled, flowing toward Qi Si’s feet as if alive.
"Qi Si... you killed me... so I’ll kill you..." The mumbled words echoed around him. From every clump of grass, a pale face peered out, their ghostly, venomous gazes weaving a tangible web of malice that made the very air feel thick.
"Heh heh heh... you can’t escape..." A face materialized directly in front of him. Qi Si swung the compass, but as its point sank into the flesh, it felt as if it had been swallowed by a bog, impossible to withdraw.
Qi Si instantly released his grip, sidestepped the spectral obstacle, and broke into a desperate sprint toward the gate.
The iron gate ahead stood wide open. The area was deserted except for a single car parked by the road. As he approached, he saw a pale, middle-aged man’s face in the half-open driver's window. A woman sat in the passenger seat.
"Qi Si, get in, quickly," the man said.
"There’s no time to lose," the woman added.
Qi Si recognized them—his father and mother. He opened the back door, climbed in, and the car sped away from the school.
But... he had just threatened the diary’s owner by targeting his parents. In response, the owner had mobilized the instance’s mechanics to eliminate him. Given that, the owner should be avoiding him at all costs. Why would he allow Qi Si to meet his parents so easily?
"Qi Si, you’re out of breath. Did something happen at school?" his mother asked, her voice filled with concern.
Qi Si casually hugged his backpack to his chest. He unzipped it and pulled out a history book. Under its cover, he retrieved a jade paperweight from his pencil case. He weighed it in his hand; its heft and hardness seemed sufficient to shatter a few things.
"It’s nothing," he replied, his expression unreadable. "But I just thought of a question. Do you two remember how old I am this year?"
"You’re sixteen, Qi Si," his father and mother replied in unison.
Qi Si fell silent for a moment before his lips slowly curled into a strange smile. "But I just remembered. You both died this year, the year I turned sixteen. A car crash. I even had your bodies preserved as taxidermy and displayed them in the master bedroom."
There was no reply. The car accelerated. Before his eyes, the man and woman in the front seats dissolved into dust, leaving behind two black-and-white funeral portraits on the empty seats. Their faces were blurred, but their eyes were starkly clear, staring unblinkingly at Qi Si through the glass frames.
A moment later, Qi Si felt a third pair of eyes on him. He looked up. The rearview mirror reflected his own image, dressed in a white shirt...
[4]
"The moment I killed Zhu Ming and realized this instance included ghosts, I knew the creator wasn’t necessarily human."
He was in the game space now, seated upon a throne behind a long bronze table, casually placing a white stone on the board before him. "It could have been an abstract entity, a fragment of consciousness, a spiritual body, or, of course, the ghost in the mirror. The hints were there from the very beginning. An unusual day, a reflection that’s not your own... To wake from a bizarre dream, you either kill yourself or you kill your other self. The figure in the mirror is a classic symbol for that other self."
"So I decided to shatter the mirror. I got in the car knowing it was a trap because a rearview mirror is an easy-to-break surface that provides a clear reflection. Of course, to make sure my reflection would actually show itself, I had to play dumb. I waited until the car was speeding up, when it thought it had me trapped, before I made my move."
"I can tell you were holding a lot in, considering you spent the first three minutes after the instance ended lambasting its design," Qi remarked. He sat across from Qi Si, materializing a black stone at his fingertip and using it to block a row of three white pieces.
Yes, the god and the mortal were playing Gomoku. Compared to the lofty game of Go, Qi Si much preferred a simple brain-teaser like this, which, in a way, held the same simple appeal as Candy Crush.
"True. I fail to see what purpose that instance served other than to annoy me," Qi Si replied, casually placing a white piece in a new corner of the board, opening another front. "A version of me that abides by the law, that buries his displeasure and hopes someone else will fix things, that pursues a ‘happy life’ above all else... In my view, apart from borrowing my name, my face, and a few biographical details, the character you created had about as much in common with me as a monkey does with a man."
"You don’t find it interesting?" Qi tapped his chin, a smile playing on his lips. "It’s another possibility for ‘Qi Si.’ One where his parents are alive, where he restrains his more... manic impulses, and grows up smoothly. He still encounters malice, of course, but the vast majority of his life is filled with pleasantness..."
Qi Si offered a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "And you saw how that turned out. Even without my memories, all it took was one small push, and I chose to kill without a moment’s hesitation." He seized the opportunity, while Qi’s attention was elsewhere, to place three white pieces in a row in the corner of the board.
"Yes. You are, after all, the incarnation of all my malice," Qi said, his smile widening. With a wave of his hand, the game board vanished, replaced by a floating nebula of suns, moons, and stars. "Sixteen years of a ‘happy life,’ and in less than a day, your intervention puts everything back on its original track. You are the world’s greatest evil. Given the slightest inclination toward darkness, you will unleash a torrent of malice upon the world without hesitation."
"And so?" Qi Si raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in a posture of rapt attention.
"And so," Qi said, raising a finger to his lips as his scarlet gaze fell like a rain of blood, "I can entrust the next phase of the plan to you with complete confidence."
"The world is approaching its end, or perhaps an endless cycle. I want you to face what comes next with the utmost malice."
Qi Si laughed. "That sounds interesting. But I can’t shake the feeling that this is a trap designed specifically for me to walk into."
"But that’s interesting too, isn’t it?" Qi raised his hand, and strokes, words, and symbols materialized in his palm. "I remember I once posed a hypothetical to you: a madman challenges you to a killing contest. Whoever kills the most people in a set amount of time wins. If you win, nothing happens. If you lose, he destroys the entire world."
"Now, it’s your turn to play the madman. The most agonizing deaths breed the densest sin, which will become the bargaining chips for power on the final stage. Whether to forge a new world or return to an old one without rules, all of it will be driven by sin. As for who will control the roulette wheel of fate... that depends on who has the most chips."
A strange smile flickered across Qi Si’s face. "And you? What part will you be playing?"
"Me?" Qi leaned across the table, his smile radiant with delight. "I’ll find a seat with a good view and watch the show with a big bag of popcorn."
[END]
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