The so-called "Dark Box" was a mobile app that suddenly went viral on Valentine's Day two years ago.
Dark Box also adopted a fully immersive experience. By attaching the access device to either side of the user’s temple and closing their eyes, it would load for 30 seconds—just enough time to watch an ad—before reaching the registration page.
Every adult in the world without a criminal record could register on Dark Box. After submitting identity information, the rapid review process took two hours at most, though it usually only required 10 minutes. After all, modern people were busy, and their patience was practically nonexistent.
Once approved, users entered the initial character creation scene of the game.
By default, players were given a small room with only a full-length mirror. Above the mirror were various free and paid appearance features, allowing users to customize their ideal look by selecting traits.
From gender to body type, from hair to pupils, from voice to muscle definition—everything was entirely up to the player. After setting up their virtual avatar, they then selected the traits they desired in a potential partner. As long as both parties matched each other’s selected traits, the system would automatically send an electronic invitation to the mailbox outside the room.
Once opened, the electronic invitation would project the other player’s virtual avatar in full inside the room. Some flirtatious players even included personal quirks and preferences to increase the chances of a successful match.
After confirming a date, the pair could choose to explore different scenarios together—KTV, amusement parks, gardens—and even unlock simple bonus easter eggs.
Rumor had it that the team behind Dark Box originally intended to create an ordinary dating app. The initial version had limited features and few dating scenarios.
Unexpectedly, the app became wildly popular upon release, with active users surpassing 100,000 in no time.
Within half a year, the user base exploded, forcing Dark Box to upgrade its servers repeatedly before finally stabilizing.
What the Dark Box team hadn’t anticipated was that their self-proclaimed "dating app" was rapidly descending into more… *adult* territory.
Taking advantage of Dark Box’s popularity, many players sought to meet in real life, sparking a wave of "Dark Box hookups."
Unfortunately, this trend couldn’t withstand reality and quickly fizzled out.
The reason for its decline wasn’t external intervention, but irreconcilable contradictions among users.
A burly, charming man who could chat nonstop for three days in the app might turn out to be a scrawny, socially awkward chicken in real life.
That sweet, adorable, coquettish girlfriend? Actually the elderly Mrs. Zhang from next door.
The way online meetups inevitably crashed and burned in the past? No different by the year 2035.
After incidents like accidentally matching with one’s own father, Dark Box’s real-life hookups became utterly pointless. Having tasted the bitterness of reality, players who didn’t want to torture themselves decided to shift their focus back to the virtual world.
Xu Youyuan had deliberately tracked Dark Box’s fluctuating data back then. After the initial hype, both user numbers and online time plummeted. Just as the industry assumed Dark Box was halfway in the grave, the team launched a major update alongside a new access device—and it was the new features in this update that truly propelled Dark Box into viral, global dominance in the years to come.
In addition to a series of new scenarios, the update introduced the "Dark Box Sensory Chip."
Priced at just 66 yuan, the chip was deliberately affordable—the team wanted every Dark Box user to be able to buy it.
In truth, given the chip’s powerful and practical functions, many would have paid 666 yuan, or even 6,666 yuan, bankrupting themselves for it.
The chip was *that* tempting.
As the name suggested, the sensory chip maximized tactile immersion in the game. Once inserted into the access device, players could experience every sensation in the game to the fullest.
According to the official description, the sensory chip was an expansion feature designed to deepen immersion. Every sensation felt real, unlocking sensory experiences for every part of the body—without any actual danger.
The key point was obvious: *every part of the body.*
They might as well have spelled out the subtext: *Stop bothering with real-life meetups—they’re just disappointing. We’ve got you covered. Just arrange everything in the app. Use your preferred avatar to meet your preferred partner, frolicking freely in all kinds of romantic settings. Hookups? No problem. Not only do we unlock every sensation, but you can even adjust the pace and intensity for the perfect sexual experience.*
The advent of the sensory chip cemented Dark Box’s status as the undisputed king of global apps.
Whether players wanted a perfectly crafted romance or an exhilarating encounter, Dark Box could deliver. From then on, nobody cared whether the person on the other end of the connection was male or female, fat or thin, rich or poor. As long as they clicked in the app and shared a good time, no one dug deeper.
In fact, a new viewpoint emerged online, labeling the three-dimensional world as the "natal body"—a form forced upon people without consent, violating human rights.
Meanwhile, the two-dimensional world was the "spiritual body." The avatars in Dark Box were the truest, fairest representations—after all, the app provided an abundance of free, attractive appearance options, allowing players to craft their ideal look and express their aesthetic tastes. Therefore, *those* should be considered their real identities.
To those born in the 2000s or earlier, this idea naturally seemed absurd, but it gained strong support among the younger generation.
For many young people, Dark Box was a paradise of happiness. Yet in broader society, opinions on the app were divided. To some, it symbolized decadence, a place where only the frivolous sought thrills.
Most users would never admit to having a Dark Box account—even if they’d splurged on the latest in-game looks or gone on countless virtual dates.
*"At first, I didn’t intend to hook up. The dating game Sister Lu and I designed was a guided simulation, with no adult elements,"* Xu Youyuan said. *"I joined Dark Box to rediscover the so-called 'feeling of love'—and to avoid any real-world gossip."*
*"At first…? You really shouldn’t have emphasized 'at first.'"* Shi Ye could barely keep her composure. *"So, what happened later? I truly never imagined Little Yue would have a Dark Box account."*
*"What’s the big deal? Don’t you have one too?"*
*"That’s different."*
*"How?"*
Shi Ye thought about it and found herself laughing at the absurdity. *"Maybe because she’s my little sister. I watched her grow up. Suddenly diving into adult topics feels awkward—hard to accept."*
Xu Youyuan understood. Shi Ye had spent a long time in academia, focused on her studies, and was relatively innocent-minded.
In that case, there’s no need to say more about what happened afterward. Xu Youyuan felt a little tired: "Forget it. You can probably guess about 80-90% of what happened next, right? I’m heading back—my legs are sore from standing."
As Xu Youyuan turned to leave, Shi Ye grabbed her arm.
"What do you mean, 'guess 80-90%'?! No one’s leaving until you explain everything clearly today!"
Xu Youyuan was caught between laughter and exasperation, held firmly in place.
Shi Ye demanded a full account, insisting she leave out no detail, no matter how small.
One month earlier, inside *Dark Box*.
Long ago, Xu Youyuan had created an account to stay updated on industry trends, but after a brief experience, she never logged in again.
As a settled middle-aged woman, Xu Youyuan hadn’t changed her phone number in years, making it easy to recover the old account.
With the sensory chip inserted into the access port, she closed her eyes and saw a vast expanse of blue ocean. The sensation of cold seawater lapping at her feet was unmistakable, the sound of wind and waves crashing against each other strikingly real—she could even smell the salt carried by the breeze.
A tiny dot appeared on the horizon, rapidly expanding in her vision before exploding upward with a thunderous roar—a brand-new aerospace vessel, the *Deep Space III-X*, manufactured by CLEAN.
The massive black hull of the *Deep Space III-X* hovered in the sky, blotting out half the azure expanse. Splashed with seawater, Xu Youyuan glared irritably as rows of golden text flashed before her eyes:
**"The first round of in-depth Venus orbital tours is now open for registration! Special social discount—$39,999 per person. Visit our official site now for a 10% early-bird discount, and the fourth family member travels FREE. Click to witness the true face of Venus with your own eyes."**
Xu Youyuan waved at the ad screen, and the golden text drifted closer. She tapped *Details* and skimmed through, genuinely tempted. She had been among the first tourists to visit Mars—back then, with Little An, as part of their honeymoon, though Little An had preferred sunbathing and swimming in the Maldives.
Now, in the blink of an eye, humanity had conquered another planet in the solar system. Xu Youyuan still held a deep fascination for interstellar travel, but the price of Venus exploration was far beyond her current means.
The 30-second ad soon ended, the surroundings dimming before reforming into a new scene. When her vision cleared, she stood before a door.
The room resembled an ordinary hotel suite, its door embedded with a string of numbers: *12312312*—her room name. Many younger users spent considerable effort crafting unique room names and nicknames to stand out. Xu Youyuan had no such inclination. A name was just a label, and this one had been randomly typed with her eyes closed.
Above her head floated a nickname in white text edged with blue—*Nothing*. She entered her never-changing password and stepped inside.
Standing before a full-length mirror, she examined her avatar: a simple white tank top and panties, a face that looked about twenty, pretty but unremarkable. Xu Youyuan had originally planned to randomly adjust a few features and call it a day—but then she hesitated, remembering why she had come to *Dark Box* in the first place.
Creating a truly great game wasn’t just about luring players to spend money.
To immerse others in the experience, the designer had to immerse herself first—to believe in it.
Did she still believe in love? She wasn’t sure.
But she wanted to try—just like she had in her teens and twenties, when the world had been full of desire and curiosity.
