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If real life were a massive, complex, and unquittable MMORPG (Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game), where players immerse themselves in a vast, virtual world and develop their characters through role-playing mechanics, what would it look like? How might we view the world differently? Chinese netizens have come up with their own answer.
Birth would be “character creation (角色创建 juésè chuàngjiàn),” and childhood would be the “starter town (新手村 xīnshǒu cūn).” The game’s “main questline (主线任务 zhǔxiàn rènwu)” would be the socially expected life path: studying, finding a job, getting married, and raising children.
Players must log in daily to attend classes, work, do household chores, and pay their mortgages to earn “gold (金币 jīnbì)” and gain “experience points (经验值 jīngyànzhí).”
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Whether you’re a “pay-to-win player (氪金玩家 kèjīn wánjiā)”—the kind who spawns into the game with premium gear and plenty of resources, such as a wealthy heir (富二代 fù’èrdài); a “grind king (肝帝玩家 gāndì wánjiā)”—the hardworking striver from an ordinary background, including the stereotypical “small-town exam ace (小镇做题家 xiǎozhèn zuòtíjiā)”; or an “AFK (away from keyboard) player (挂机玩家 guàjī wánjiā)” who prefers lying flat and simply coasting through life, everyone will be hit with some of the same debuffs at some point: illness, fatigue, or accidents.
It is often when you think you’ve mastered the game that the system delivers an unexpected twist. Young Chinese players would complain that the difficulty suddenly spikes at certain levels—such as Level 15 and Level 18—roughly mirroring the high school and college entrance examinations in real life, two major academic milestones that can shape one’s future trajectory. As one player put it:
Why are Levels 15 and 18 filled with horror stages?
为什么15级和18级有恐怖关卡?
For older players, the frustration shifts from exams to employment. After spending years grinding through the “School Dungeon (校园副本 xiàoyuán fùběn),” many discover that unlocking the “Work Questline (工作主线 gōngzuò zhǔxiàn)” is not an immediate guarantee:
Why can’t I unlock the Work Questline after clearing the School Dungeon?
为什么校园副本过完之后进不了工作主线?
And once players enter the game’s long “gold-farming phase (搬砖打金 bānzhuān dǎjīn)”—better known as adulthood—the reviews become even harsher.
My least favorite daily quest is going to the office. It takes forever, earns me little gold, and drains a ridiculous amount of energy.
最讨厌每天去公司做任务,耗那么长时间,金币没多少,能量还掉超级多。
Others joke that their character builds are still missing important skills:
I’ve been downloading the Foreign Language Expansion Pack for decades. Why is it still not installed?
为啥我外语安装包下了几十年还没下好?
Health-related bugs are another frequent source of complaints:
The Hair Loss Bug has existed forever. Developers, get on it.
掉发bug永久存在,官方修复一下啊。
Beyond the daily grind, players also complain that Earth Online suffers from a serious equality problem. Even basic character settings are unevenly distributed:
Why does everyone start with different amounts of gold? And why do female characters automatically lose HP every month?
凭什么每个人的初始金币不一样,女生每个月还自动扣血?
Some players also zoom out from their own character builds and turn their attention to the world map itself:
Why is the Peace Expansion Pack still unavailable in some regions?
为什么有些地区一直不开放和平副本?
Jokes and complaints aside, some players have begun using the game’s logic to cope with the pressure of everyday life. One post reframed emotional well-being as a daily quest:
Earth Online Daily Quest:
Dìqiú Online jīnrì rènwu:
地球Online今日任务:
Reward: Mood +65
Rènwu jiǎnglì: qíngxùzhí jiā liùshíwǔ
任务奖励:情绪值+65
Or you can simply do nothing in the game, as one netizen wrote:
I’m basically AFK. I’m not actively pursuing the main quest or triggering side quests, simply exploring the map.
我就是在地球挂机,不做主线任务也不触发支线任务,只在开放的世界闲逛。
Imagining life as a game inevitably leads players to a deeper question: why are we here in the first place? Some remain skeptical:
I never even asked to play. Why was I forced into character creation?
我没说要玩,为什么强制开局?
Others choose a more optimistic outlook:
Earth Online only gives you one chance to log on. Since I’m already online, I may as well play the hell out of it.
地球Online只有一次登录机会,上线了就狠狠玩。
The metaphor becomes especially poignant when it comes to loss. Many players who have lost loved ones use the language of Earth Online to make sense of grief and find a measure of comfort. As one player whose mother passed away wrote:
The female player who introduced me to the game was incredibly kind. Could the developers please give her a happier storyline in the next patch?
带我入坑的女玩家人超级好,下次能不能给她幸福的剧本?
A reply beneath the post offered a gentler interpretation:
Actually, she just cleared the game and is watching in spectator mode.
其实是游戏通关,在观战席啦。
And life goes on:
Now I’ve even found someone willing to help me invite new players into the game.
我也找到了愿意和我一起邀请新人入坑的玩家。
Eventually, every player will reach the same endgame screen:
You have completed Earth Online. Account terminated.
您已通关地球Online,账号注销。
Yet perhaps that is precisely what makes the metaphor so comforting.
In a game where every player is destined to reach the same ending, there are infinite ways to play. What matters most is not winning, but choosing your own path before the server disconnects.
The philosophy is perhaps best captured by a mock system notification circulating online:
Earth Online reminds you: Please avoid spending excessive time on NPCs, as doing so may negatively affect your emotional status. We wish all players success in completing their own main questlines. Enjoy the game!
地球Online提醒您:请勿在NPC上浪费太多时间,避免影响玩家自身情绪。祝各位玩家顺利完成自己的主线。游戏愉快!