Chapter 17: I Can Temporarily Change Your Destination for You

Enforcer Li Bode had seen countless life stories and criminal records, but he knew very little about Jiang Huan’s past. Addressing the symptoms without resolving the root cause was already enough to make him restless.

The die appeared just in time: “You haven’t watched the film reels you collected earlier.”

“What?” Bai Jingchuan brought up his visor menu, opened his backpack, and found 20 fragments of the same color inside: “These are the dropped video reels?”

“Yes, you now have 20 fragments, all accumulated from previous tasks. It’s time to use them.”

For some reason, discovering something unexplored in his backpack felt like finding a windfall—resources sitting unused brought immense joy. At such a low level, having something to watch was thrilling. But the text that popped up before opening made him furious—”Click confirm to synthesize for 50,000 gold coins?”

“Yes, synthesis requires payment.”

“…So it’s spend in God’s Realm, earn in God’s Realm; not a single coin goes home.”

“Wake up, you don’t even have a home yet.”

Isn’t that your fault! Bai Jingchuan sighed as he looked at the MENU: “Why does this require both grinding and spending?”

“You can choose not to spend gold or watch the footage. There will be other things to unlock later, and you’ll eventually learn about Jiang Huan through subtle hints.”

“You’re saying this just to tempt me to spend.” At least let him finish watching the footage.

The first scene showed a teenage Jiang Huan secretly buying anime stickers, hiding them in the keyboard tray of her old computer desk. After finishing homework, she’d pull them out to admire—Magic Knight Rayearth and Code Geass stickers, the most popular of that era. She also bought NANA manga, repeatedly staring at the plot involving Honjo Ren and Oosaki Nana, mesmerized by Nana’s expressions. He noted a few manga titles, planning to study their content later.

But Honjo Ren didn’t seem like a good man to Bai Jingchuan, who dismissively moved on to the second fragment. It showed Jiang Huan arguing on the phone, trying to convince someone on the other end that virtual lovers truly existed. The other person was skeptical but seemed to be waiting for the official launch, unwilling to shatter Jiang Huan’s dream. Clutching her phone, she pleaded: “Mom, believe me just once. What I’ve created has value. You raised such an excellent daughter—trust me again… Oh, I’m not dating anyone. I only love the male leads I create…”

The third scene caught his attention. Late at night, Jiang Huan received a call from her father, casually mentioning her mother needed surgery. Two days later, her father called again, asking her to return home. Jiang Huan calmly packed her bags, but her expression turned pale. On the airport shuttle, she continued texting: “I hope Mom will be okay this time. I’ll take leave to care for her and then come back. I absolutely can’t let the producer fire me.” Sitting in the VIP lounge redeemed with points, a server suddenly shattered a porcelain bowl. Jiang Huan’s eyes dimmed. After getting off the plane, she received another call and silently sat in a relative’s car, not uttering a word throughout. Amidst eerie music and funeral rites, she mechanically went through numerous procedures. Her usual fighting spirit waned, her hair untidily tied back, dull and yellowed. Standing outside the mortuary, the gloomy sky echoed with crows’ cries. A man approached: “A woman? Find a male relative. Women can’t handle ashes. Pack the ashes into the urn yourself, then bring the key to storage to find me. Go find a man first…”

Jiang Huan’s face resembled the black-and-white photo she held tightly. Bai Jingchuan sensed the subtlety of feudal customs. He had no memory of parents; his persona stated they were deceased, but his impression of them was faint. Just seeing Jiang Huan lost in thought while holding the photo, he understood the profound trauma—it was like a spring compressed to its limit, unable to react.

The fourth scene showed Jiang Huan buying gachapon and merchandise at a secondhand anime shop, often forgetting to scan items. Buying 30-yuan gachapons and opening them, her timid demeanor contrasted sharply with her usual determined self at work. It was as if she finally had a chance to fully relax, letting vulnerability sink into the repetitive cartoon music. Everyone experiences loneliness, but this emptiness felt like a gaping hole carved into her heart, one that would endlessly soak her soul for the rest of her life, making it hard to regain the confidence she once had with support.

[You have finished watching all four segments of Jiang Huan’s story. Earned 2 Prop Boxes, 5000 gold coins, and 3 Wish Tickets.]

Amidst the bleak Han-style winds, Bai Jingchuan, who had just finished watching the footage, saw Jiang Huan exiting the company. The large screen still played VCRs of other games, their glowing lights reflecting on Bai Jingchuan, while Jiang Huan emerged from the shadows as if in a different dimension. The die was puzzled: “Li Bode, I remind you—you still have tasks. Shouldn’t an enforcer focus on completing missions and leveling up?”

“As an enforcer, I serve no purpose in this world. But as a producer, I should at least prevent her from being hurt.”

Jiang Huan turned around to see Bai Jingchuan—still wearing the same suit, but his demeanor wasn’t as arrogant as before, instead appearing somewhat endearing. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing: “Teacher Bai, there are many styles of suits you could wear—you don’t need to buy so many identical ones.”

It’s because my money is spent on you. Bai Jingchuan didn’t say it aloud, but Jiang Huan seemed distracted and asked: “Teacher Bai, have you ever had regrets?”

“Rarely.” Bai Jingchuan pondered—removing his persona remained an unfulfilled wish.

“There was a message I never received, probably two years ago? From someone very important to me. I didn’t think much of the retracted message in the chat box, but it turned out to be the last message I received from her. She retracted her final words—I still don’t know what they were, but it must have been something she thought I wouldn’t like or couldn’t handle.”

He suddenly recalled the intercepted text message task. That SMS interception occurred in real-time, unrelated to Jiang Huan, and his interception erased the signal transmission entirely, unlike a retraction. Yet, the message she cared about, actively retracted, became her regret—a mystery she kept pondering over. Jiang Huan looked up as large raindrops fell on her nose from the eaves, startling her into closing her eyes. She seemed amused by the sudden rain but hadn’t fully hidden her sadness yet. In the misty rain, she resembled someone constantly drenched after losing someone dear.

“Wait a moment.”

“What do you mean?”

Li Bode, who rarely used umbrellas, walked into a convenience store and grabbed a transparent one. When needing to maintain appearances, he carried an umbrella—Magu City’s neon lights were perfect patterns for it. Now, he held it over Jiang Huan’s head. Outside the umbrella, blurry yellow sycamore trees created a dreamlike atmosphere.

“This umbrella may not weigh much or be valuable. I don’t usually carry one, but the rain in your heart… I hope this umbrella can shield you from the rain right now, even if just for a moment, providing temporary companionship to pause this endless downpour.”

“No need…”

“You lent me clothes before; consider this me lending you.”

“Then take off your clothes.” Jiang Huan replied bluntly.

“…I’ll get cold too.”

“You really are straightforward.”

“After all, I’m human.” Bai Jingchuan sighed—he couldn’t bear to play the unconscious prince again. Under the cramped umbrella, his shoulder and ear exposed, rain trickled down his hair into his collar—he paid no mind. Jiang Huan said Shanghai’s rainy season was long, often coinciding with bad moods, fitting the mood perfectly. As she spoke, she subtly shifted closer to Bai Jingchuan, craving sweets burning his mind—surely it was the sweets’ fault. He discreetly glanced at Jiang Huan—her yellow-tipped hair seemed unhealthy, but her dark roots gleamed. Up close, her long lashes and mole on her nose made her quite pleasing to look at, especially the resilience she exuded despite the wind piercing through her. Irritated by his curiosity, he reminded himself—this isn’t unique. Wait, did my breath brush her ear? I stared too long!

Before Jiang Huan pretended to check a ride-hailing app to move away, Bai Jingchuan reached out—forget it, so what if it wasn’t insightful.

“No taxis available.” Bai Jingchuan swiftly closed the umbrella, pulling Jiang Huan onto the arriving bus. The narrow door trapped them in the same coat—sideways entry got stuck, forward entry made both nervous. Neither managed to step aboard. Bai Jingchuan gripped the umbrella through the coat, tightening his hold on Jiang Huan’s waist, lifting her onto the bus. Inside the coat, Jiang Huan saw the driver close his eyes in disdain.

Jiang Huan never expected her well-exercised muscles to fail her while boarding with Bai Jingchuan, losing direction and slipping. Lifted by the waist, her hoodie rode up, exposing half her waist. Her face flushed red against his chest, heart racing wildly… Unexpected, truly unexpected.

Her body temperature distribution was irrational—face flushed red, fingers icy, knees numb with cold, yet the part pressed against Jiang Huan was warm, reluctant to leave. Half her waist exposed, though hidden by the coat, any movement would let in the cold. Adjusting now might make Jiang Huan think she minded being hugged, ending the rare gesture prematurely. She gently shifted, Jiang Huan tightened her arm, blocking the draft. She exhaled deeply as shadows outside fell across her vision, tree silhouettes dancing on her fingers, as if capturing lace patterns of leaves.

“The coat… is very warm.”

“Then close your eyes and rest a bit longer.”

“Even if our destinations differ?”

“I can temporarily change your destination.”

Jiang Huan smiled, her breath slightly warm against his shirt. Bai Jingchuan felt that warmth—the girl in his arms murmured, so the destinations are still different, you won’t even deceive me temporarily.

“If truly different paths, there’s no need to numb you for trust.”

“Mm. So living next door to me, is that temporarily changing my destination too?”

Not yet living next to you—but Bai Jingchuan couldn’t say it. Upon arrival, he resolved to remove his persona, refusing to live next to this randomly assigned target—it was his principle.

Li Bode existed to correct AI emotions, a goal unwavering. Yet, the bittersweet ache grew addictive—holding a girl in his arms, listening to her murmurings, he felt an illusion: mutual reliance on a journey worth pausing for. If he could read Jiang Huan’s mind, he wondered whether she anticipated or resented it. But Jiang Huan’s heart remained elusive, like answers hidden behind thin veils. Perhaps this could be called… fascination. Startled by the thought, Bai Jingchuan himself was surprised.

“Why aren’t you speaking? I’m still waiting for your answer—no lying, no brushing off.” Jiang Huan poked him lightly through the coat, the gentle force pulling him back.

“No need to wait for my answer; rely on me anytime. My destination is far, the journey possibly short. Sharing the road with you is my fortune—this is my sincere thought.”

Afterward, silence. Jiang Huan hid in the coat, clutching a corner of his shirt, falling asleep in a deeply dependent manner. She lived with many sorrowful secrets, no one else by her side—perhaps typical for young people battling alone in big cities. Warmth filled his embrace. Bai Jingchuan remembered what God’s Realm told him—human emotions become addictive when giving receives reciprocation. He felt this reciprocation—being relied upon, being moved, immersed in it, like taste buds craving sugar being timely comforted, dosage just right, becoming addictive.

**[Jiang Huan’s affection towards you: +50. Task 1-8 complete. Lv 22 upgraded to Lv 24. Muscle strength +3%. Earned 20,000 gold coins, 1 Prop Box. You’ve completed five consecutive affection tasks, unlocking the option to live next door to Jiang Huan. Alternatively, you can continue completing five more tasks to exchange for a luxurious downtown residence. Would you like to choose now?]**

For now, this wasn’t important. Li Bode opened the MENU and searched through his Prop Boxes. The die popped up: “Li Bode, I’ve noticed that all your tasks are completed in a state of reluctance.”

“They’re too forced. If I deliberately try to complete them, it’ll only backfire.”

“Isn’t this precisely proof that you understand love well?”

“No. But I’ve decided to temporarily set aside the grand mission of studying human emotions and focus on being the producer of Love Continent .”

“Oh? Li Bode, did you take the wrong pill? Isn’t reaching max level and removing your persona your biggest goal? Are you really going to become a wage worker? Can you accept that? You’re an enforcer of Magu City!”

“My patience has reached its limit. The real world seems fine on the surface, but from the first day I arrived, I felt uneasy—I can’t quite explain it. In Magu City, the system is explicit; exploitation and oppression are written into the rules, and conflicts are clear. But here, there’s constant scrutiny—men’s lives are easier than women’s, women’s living environments are unsafe, their work constrained by various stereotypes. Even in intimate relationships, they can’t let their guard down. On the surface, life seems stable, but they don’t even have the chance to be treated sincerely. In such an environment, women unconsciously harm each other, exclude one another, and make others uncomfortable. When encountering an attractive member of the opposite sex, they immediately think in terms of romantic connections. This must stem from not being treated equally. Love Continent is made entirely by women, targeting a female audience. I want to test how far I can go in this randomly assigned role.”

“Li Bode, no wonder you’re different! Men created by women are indeed different from other ‘men’!”

Bai Jingchuan didn’t respond. He found the deletion opportunity he’d earned upon leveling up. He marked the negative reviews for deletion, especially those criticizing the script. As for the account persistently posting, he directly flagged the entire account for removal. Perhaps the person behind the account needed a more thorough approach to change their mindset, but for now, he wasn’t willing to interfere with someone else’s life.

After deleting, his finger hovered over the Renwu Road video.

Many groups circulated this absurd yet romantic video, all avoiding him. He didn’t need his subordinate to forward it to him; simply entering the MENU would auto-play it in his visor. He could also delete the annoying brainwashing music and subtitles, though unfortunately, the bar owner couldn’t be erased from the frame. Jiang Huan tripped over her own feet while walking beside him, still supporting his back, bending over to ensure he didn’t bump into anything. After crossing the street, he slumped, and she cradled his face all the way to the shop entrance. This feeling of being cared for… was strange. Especially since he had been unconscious at the time, the video was his only precious record of the event.

But the image of Jiang Huan losing herself to bad reviews and gossip lingered in his mind. As an enforcer, the most ruthless thing he could do was resolve emotional pain without hesitation.

[Confirm use of deletion tool? Note: You only have one tool. Use it wisely.]

[All instances of this video footage have been located. Confirm deletion? Once deleted, this footage will no longer appear anywhere online.]

[Would you like to save this video using your eye’s recording function?]

Allowing others to suffer from rumors because of him went against Enforcer Li Bode’s principles. And keeping it for himself while preventing others from seeing it wouldn’t be fair. Of course, a hint of bitterness arose—it was his first time feeling this way. Still, it didn’t stop Bai Jingchuan from pressing “Confirm Deletion.”