Chapter 8: Life is Like Choosing a Seat on the Titanic—I’m Already in Third Class; What’s Wrong with Fantasizing About Meeting My True Love?

[Jiang Huan’s affection towards you: +50. Lv 7 upgraded to Lv 8. Earned 5,000 gold coins. Note: Special training at the training grounds has been activated, triggered by Jiang Huan’s emotional fluctuations. Please upgrade your abilities accordingly.]

The first half of the message struck Bai Jingchuan as absurd, but the second half filled him with determination. Completing ten rapid-trigger missions consecutively would earn him a house—no more living out of the standby space for changing clothes and showers, or sleeping in the office. Shooting? What’s so difficult about that? He picked up the familiar handgun, fully loaded, in perfect condition, his vision clear. Bring it on.

But what appeared before him wasn’t a target—it was… love letters?

“The following letters are confessions about to be sent online. Based on your judgment, decide whether to pull the trigger. If the bullet hits the letter, the confession will be destroyed, potentially affecting the relationship between the two individuals.”

“Hey, are you there? Let me know if you’re interested or not. I feel something for you, and my parents think we’re a good match. The first time I saw you, I already imagined celebrating the New Year together—you holding our child while setting off fireworks, my parents waiting for you to cook dumplings and set the table. That’s what ‘peaceful years’ mean.”

Bai Jingchuan frowned and quickly pulled the trigger. He didn’t see how this scenario had anything to do with love.

“Target hit. Interception successful. Gold coins: +500.”

“Baby, if I could go back in time, I’d never let you slip away. It was all my fault. Can you forgive me?”

What kind of confession was this?

“Target hit. Gold coins: +500.”

“The moonlight tonight is beautiful! Tomorrow afternoon, I’ve invited Old Wang and the others to watch my basketball game. Are your close friends coming? You’ll come, right? If you’re there, I’m sure to win. But remember, even if I lose, you can’t leave early.”

……

“No shot fired. Gold coins: +500.”

Quickly judging whether to pull the trigger—Enforcer Li Bode had handled far more cases in court, no matter how bizarre or morally outrageous the stories were. Yet, he had never judged whether such small actions were reasonable. He relied on instinct to evaluate these confessions, most of which had little to do with love. From just a few lines of text, he could sense human nature. Out of a hundred messages, perhaps all were declarations of love, but Bai Jingchuan felt a rebellious urge. Intercepting insincere, goal-oriented confessions felt like doing the public a favor.

“Mom knows you best. She thinks this boy isn’t right for you. You argued with me when you ran off to his city. Give it some time—you’ll regret it. I’ve been worried because you’ve never dated, which is why I said those harsh things. Your brother using your room is only temporary—it’s not like we don’t want you to come back… Mom feels so distant from you now. Can you reply to me?”

“Target hit. Gold coins: +500.”

He clearly hesitated for a few seconds on that last one. This wasn’t a typical letter between lovers—it was a mother writing to her disobedient daughter. Though Li Bode had never experienced parental love, the sorrowful yet humble tone made his chest ache. He disliked this feeling but still pulled the trigger. Still, he felt he had made a mistake.

“Can I retract the bullet I just fired?”

“No.”

He uneasily lowered the gun.

“Next, please complete the emotional fluctuation mission. Leave the training grounds.”

“I can’t understand why my life is tied to hers after becoming a real person. What is our relationship?”

“Please find the answers through daily life and assigned missions.”

“Did she create me? Delete me? Or did she like me during some film screening, or was I originally a figurine she broke and couldn’t afford to replace? I searched for ‘Li Bode,’ but there’s no information online.”

“Please explore on your own.”

He was abruptly forced out of the training grounds and into the office. On his computer was an email from Jiang Huan containing a report on the new character themes for the holographic project, along with dozens of pages of information he had searched online. There was very little content about “Li Bode,” and none of the fictional characters online bore that name. Bai Jingchuan resembled a real, native thirty-year-old man—fluent in Mandarin, with a superior image and impressive qualifications—but “Li Bode” simply didn’t exist in the real world.

The boundary between reality and virtuality was stark.

He was indeed more curious about his “origins,” but being forcibly bound to Jiang Huan irritated him. The sadness he felt while shooting the love letters returned, and he couldn’t comprehend this emotion. In Magu City, all he needed was rational judgment based on the law. But now, every mission required him to make decisions based on emotions, forcing him into tasks he neither liked nor excelled at.

So, why had this function been triggered by Jiang Huan? The last time her emotional fluctuations activated, he had just arrived in the real world and saved her from being crushed by a car. Now, with the function reactivated, did it mean he needed to restore more strength and acquire tools to rescue her again? While Jiang Huan constrained him, could he also be the key to her life?

Frustrated by his slow progress in upgrading and restoring abilities, he realized that moving from F to A was an objective evaluation—he truly lacked empathy. If he removed the “born for love” aspect of his persona, could he still make the right judgments?

Troublesome.

Thinking about this, Li Bode summoned Eros. The die emerged, cheerful: “Friend, did you miss me?”

“Jiang Huan’s creations disappeared because they were abandoned and entered Magu City, correct?”

“Yes. Specifically, the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods values all creators but must prevent their creations from growing independently in Magu City, which could harm the creators. Magu City grants Enforcer Li Bode authority to terminate certain lives, avoiding high-scoring entities from gaining real-world experience and disturbing creators. That’s your job in Magu City.”

“The lives I judge are cherished characters created by their creators.”

“Dangerous electronic lives might threaten creators, Li Bode. What you do is justice. The richer your emotions, the better your judgment. We gave you this role because of your ‘born for love’ persona. If you want to remove it, fine—but first, protect Jiang Huan. Everything in the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods and the real world is interconnected. Whether it’s arranged coincidence or fate binding Jiang Huan and you, you shouldn’t allow danger near her.”

With that, Eros fell silent. Bai Jingchuan looked down from upstairs. The visible area was shrouded in thick fog, the lights of buildings flickering hazily through the mist, like breathing eyes. Whatever the mission, Jiang Huan should stay away from him. System-assigned tasks might be dangerous, and as an enforcer, he didn’t want unrelated people getting involved.

“Teacher Bai, I’ll bring the handwritten drafts from the past three years tomorrow. Meet me by the artificial lake downstairs at 3 PM.” Bai Jingchuan replied simply, “Okay.”

Bai Jingchuan solemnly arrived on the fourteenth floor. As soon as he stepped into the office area, two loud pops echoed, and colorful ribbons floated in the air—but the people pulling the ribbons were already three meters away. “Wait, wasn’t I just at the door? How did I end up in the pantry?”

The die was nervous too: “Bai Jingchuan, don’t be paranoid! You teleported them away!”

“You have used a prop. Your talent has been revoked.”

The employees who had pulled the ribbons were pale with shock: “You really didn’t see us move? We ended up three meters away!”

Ribbons littered the floor. Bai Jingchuan struggled to control his emotions, tightening his tie: “What’s going on?”

“It says in the employee system that it’s your birthday today. Come cut the cake!”

“I don’t celebrate birthdays.”

“But we already bought a 10-inch cake, Teacher Bai. We haven’t had afternoon tea in a while. After your immersive work marathon saving Love Continent , this is our way of thanking you.”

The die whispered in Bai Jingchuan’s ear: “Since it’s come to this, just pretend it’s your birthday today.”

The Realm of Ten Thousand Gods was thoughtful, assigning Bai Jingchuan a random “birthday” written into his resume, which HR discovered. Bai Jingchuan silently wished—for what else could he wish but for Jiang Huan to stay away from him? But the sweet scent of cream invaded his brain’s command system. During the customary moment of closing his eyes and remaining silent, all he thought about was how to control his hand while cutting the cake.

And the way he cut the cake was unlike usual. First, he sliced diagonally at one-third of the cake, then vertically through the middle of the left half. Next, he made two more seemingly random cuts, resulting in an odd… ten pieces of cake. Everyone fell silent, momentarily stunned by this bizarre cutting method. Akira clapped awkwardly: “Teacher Bai’s cutting style is… unique, unlike anyone else’s.”

“Hmm, having a new brain does seem useful.”

Bai Jingchuan didn’t understand: “What do you mean?”

Akira gestured: “We usually cut from the center point, creating triangular slices.”

Several girls exchanged glances and burst into laughter. Bai Jingchuan clenched his free fist. Jiang Huan noticed and was quietly amused: “Teacher Bai, have you never cut a cake for your birthday before?”

“No.” Bai Jingchuan tilted his chin: “Who says cakes can only be cut one way? Now you can choose your favorite shapes.”

For the first time, everyone in the office ate differently shaped slices of cake. To be precise, each piece was unique—each one… one of a kind. A young intern took a photo of the cake and posted it on the office photo wall. Everyone passing by commented: Bai Jingchuan was extraordinarily clever, full of strategy, yet utterly unpredictable.

Between the two buildings of Lori was an artificial lake. The buildings were so tall that they created a wind tunnel. On sunny days, the wind was strong enough to blow the black swans away. These swans often became part of the scenery, and this artificial lake was incorporated into the design of Jade City, named “Blown-Away Swan Lake.” When not busy, nearby employees liked to hold meetings here, enjoying afternoon tea as if on a picnic. Jiang Huan waited downstairs, recalling her earlier conversation with a colleague, and shook her head fiercely.

“You seem to have a good impression of Teacher Bai.”

“He’s serious, responsible, and communicates smoothly.” Jiang Huan wasn’t lying.

“I think he’s handsome, sure, but his efficiency is terrifying. He lives in the company, you know. Overnight, he reviewed everything in Unity. When I woke up this morning and saw the latest modification date, I thought he had just clicked to view it—but there were comments everywhere. It’s like he’s the Grim Reaper.”

“…Doesn’t he have a private life?”

“Who knows? Even the anonymous gossip group hasn’t found anything. Someone who looks like him can’t possibly be perpetually single, but he’s definitely clean—suspiciously so. Before that, though, I hope Bai Jingchuan can solve our cyberbullying issue. Some bloggers built their fame by attacking us, and now they have 600,000 followers on TikTok. But don’t you think strange phenomena have increased since Bai Jingchuan arrived? It’s as if he brings some kind of buff.”

Jiang Huan didn’t believe it: “There’s no such person. Give me an example.”

“A-Lin, it rains wherever he goes.”

Jiang Huan was stunned: “That’s true…”

Her colleague’s casual guess sent a chill down Jiang Huan’s spine. Staring at the canvas bag beside her, she muttered—could it be that he really had some superpower that would get her promoted, raise her salary, and make her rich?

…Dream on.

Inside the bag were handwritten drafts from a project stopped three years ago, including the story outline and character settings. If she showed them to Bai Jingchuan, he might reference the previous male protagonist designs and realize how hard the entire team had worked—not slacking off just because the data had been cleared. Purely handwritten drafts, carefully organized for indexing while writing the plot, had never been shown to anyone. Surely showing them to the producer wouldn’t be a problem, right? If the project had launched as planned, it would likely have stable revenue by now. The writing wasn’t bad—it was probably just unlucky. She’d show them to him when he arrived, explain the previous male character designs, and hopefully impress him enough to grant her request for a lucky draw figure standee giveaway. It was just gathering dust in the office anyway…

“What are you muttering about?”

Jiang Huan nervously stood up. Bai Jingchuan was still wearing the same suit—broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs still eye-catching. Even the intelligence of the artificial lake seemed elevated by his presence. But… wasn’t he cold?

A girl nearby was secretly taking photos. Bai Jingchuan didn’t care, standing there scrutinizing Jiang Huan.

“I brought the handwritten drafts. They’re a bit rough, but they include my character relationship maps and settings. I’ve organized them, and aside from you, no one else can see them.”

“Mm.”

As a result, she accidentally dropped the entire stack of drafts. The wind between the two buildings was so strong that the papers scattered into the artificial lake like butterflies in the wind. Jiang Huan froze, watching as over a hundred pages fluttered into the air like flower petals. Only two sheets remained on the shore, and she scrambled desperately to grab them. Before she could reach them, another gust of wind swept the last two pages into the lake.

Is fate trying to destroy me?!

Jiang Huan made a move to jump in: “No! I’ve kept these for three years. After Unity crashed, the digital files were lost—this was my last copy of the data!”

Most of the papers had flown into the artificial lake, quickly soaking through on the water’s surface. Jiang Huan bent down, preparing to take off her shoes: “I always knew this lake would swallow something of mine someday. Handwritten drafts can just be dried, right? Watch me fish them out…”

Bai Jingchuan instinctively stopped her: “It’s cold now. I’ll retrieve them.”

“No, it’s freezing! Do you even know how to swim? It doesn’t matter if we lose the drafts…”

[Jiang Huan’s affection towards you: +30. Please do not use talents or props. Be mindful of hiding your identity.]

Bai Jingchuan didn’t pay attention—he jumped in almost reflexively.

Before she could finish speaking, Bai Jingchuan had already leapt into the water. Locating the direction of the floating papers, he took a deep breath, dove under, and resurfaced with over a dozen pages clutched in his arms. The entire lake was covered in white sheets of paper. Someone nearby pulled out their phone to take photos, and a young man exclaimed admiringly: “Wow, what skill! He’s like a cleanup crew.”

[Jiang Huan’s affection towards you: +50.]

Bai Jingchuan moved nimbly in the water, one hand grabbing sheets while the other reached for those farther away. By the time he surfaced again, his hands were stiff from the cold, but he simply clenched his fists and continued. The commotion of him jumping into the lake drew the attention of passersby. Even as the papers tore and soaked, he didn’t give up, piling them clumsily into his arms and eventually bringing everything ashore. His shirt clung to his body, his bangs obscured his vision, and when he shook his hair back, he looked… handsome. The security guard rushed over, scolding him harshly: “Do you know how dangerous it is to jump in there?! What’s all this garbage?! The black swans are scared—they’ll cost money to replace if they’re harmed!”

As night fell, Jiang Huan frantically began removing her clothes, pulling off her coat to drape it over Bai Jingchuan’s head, leaving only his eyes exposed. “If your head stays warm, your body might not feel as cold! I’m so sorry…”

Bai Jingchuan stared at her intently, as if searching for the reason behind her gesture of wrapping his head in her coat. He was filled with questions he needed answered, unable to read her mind, so he sought answers in her gaze, staring until she felt uneasy. Shivering, Jiang Huan didn’t give him a chance to protest: “I’m not cold! But you’re completely soaked…”

“I don’t need it. If you catch a cold, though, I’d worry.”

Worry? Worry about what—missing work because of a cold? That wasn’t a serious illness, and it wasn’t something a superior needed to be so considerate about…

[Jiang Huan’s affection towards you: +30.]

Bai Jingchuan didn’t return the coat to her. Instead, after noticing her shiver, he pointed to it: “It’s wet now, so I won’t give it back. Thank you. I thought I could endure the cold, but… ah-choo! This body really isn’t very resistant to the cold.”

“It’s almost like your body is rented.”

Without defending himself, Bai Jingchuan slicked his hair back. Water droplets still clung to his face, his lips pale from the cold, but his expression remained as calm as ever: “I hope these drafts are worth me getting soaked.”

“They absolutely will shock you! They’ll leave exploratory players in awe! Even if they got wet, they were worth rescuing—I promise…” Jiang Huan lowered her head, “…oh no…”

“What’s wrong?”

“The ink has smeared.”

“…”

The two stood in the chilly wind, staring at each other. When Jiang Huan finally looked down again, tears slid down her cheeks, and she sniffled softly: “My luck is truly terrible. I cherished these efforts for so long. The digital versions in Unity were lost, and now the handwritten drafts are gone too. Did they not deserve to survive even once?”

If these characters had been judged and erased by Enforcer Li Bode, he was certain most of them didn’t deserve to continue existing. Still, he didn’t understand: “Are these characters that important to you?”

“Of course! I gave my youth to these roles. I grew with them, received love from them—how could I accept them leaving no trace in this world? The ink on the handwritten drafts is gone, but the initial names, personality details, quirks, and moments of intersection with players were all clearly written. Even though three years have passed, technology has advanced, and user preferences have changed, does that mean the heavens can just wash away their existence…?”

She cried. Different worlds intertwined, weaving secrets she knew nothing about yet had to endure punishment for. Bai Jingchuan had expected to remain detached while witnessing his subordinate’s anguish, but Jiang Huan’s tears flowed so bitterly, as if mourning the loss of friends or the irretrievable passion of her past. Those characters had indeed lived once, and most importantly—they had first blossomed in the hearts of a few girls in the office. In barren, materialistic soil, they had ignited clear dreams, hoping to give lonely girls perfect lovers who cherished them—but they hadn’t achieved a perfect outcome. Others had more or less accepted this reality, but Jiang Huan hadn’t.

Bai Jingchuan cupped her face earnestly, comforting her: “Look at me.”

Jiang Huan looked at him. Water dripped from the soaked drafts onto her shoes, soaking her sleeves. At that moment, his hands were warm, clumsily wiping away her tears. Though anxious, he patiently waited for her to regain composure enough to listen.

[Jiang Huan’s affection towards you: +30.]

“You wanted to show these to me, but the ink is gone—it’s as if I never saw them. If that’s the case, then fate is reminding you that these characters hold no reference value for your present self. Moving forward isn’t a bad thing. If these memories are trapping you, perhaps they aren’t worth cherishing.” Bai Jingchuan handed her coat back to her. “Turn it inside out—it shouldn’t be too wet. Thank you for warming me.”

[You have opened the prop shop. Would you like to purchase the prop “Warm Glow”?]

The soaked drafts broke Jiang Huan’s heart. The moment they flew into the lake, her heart shattered. But Bai Jingchuan’s words—”These characters hold no reference value for your present self”—felt like a reminder not to dwell on the past. He walked away quickly without looking back, his wet body undoubtedly uncomfortable, his disheveled appearance drawing curious glances from passersby—but he didn’t care.

In truth, he could have taken the coat with him. She wasn’t that cold—was it her imagination? The coat wasn’t as soaked as she’d thought.

During this time, she had changed a lot too. She had attended directing masterclasses organized by the company, enrolled in screenwriting courses at her own expense, seen beautiful landscapes, experienced touching stories, and imagined countless changes in her heart. She wasn’t the same Jiang Huan she had been years ago. Bai Jingchuan didn’t linger on anything, moving forward decisively as if refusing to glance back at passing scenery. If she didn’t hurry and run, she’d lose sight of him.

This scene left an indelible impression on her. The dazzling beauty of the lake under the sunlight, and Bai Jingchuan’s heroic yet somewhat comical actions—his lean, resilient waist revealed as he removed his coat, performing eight hundred actions per second, transforming from a calm mature man into an impulsive youth, like a comedic version of Tuxedo Mask. And despite the loss of the drafts, he didn’t get discouraged, simply telling her to start over, exuding confidence in his ability to guide her. A youthful vigor seemed to emanate from him. The expressions of the bystanders frozen in place resembled… an audience watching a bittersweet comedy. Knowing such a ridiculous fairy tale would be embarrassing, but it hadn’t happened to them.

This scene was uniquely tied to her.

Whether or not she should let go of the past, the soggy pile of paper pulp in her hands was utterly useless. She tossed the soaked stack into the trash bin, slinging the now-empty canvas bag over her shoulder and walking away. Life is like choosing a seat on the Titanic—I’m already in third class; what’s wrong with fantasizing about meeting my true love? The drafts are gone—I’ll just write again!

As long as Bai Jingchuan is here, she feels secure about the project. If she needs to “woo” him to keep the project alive, fine—basic attacks, special skills, close-range ultimate moves, whatever it takes, as long as her health bar is intact.

But why is her heart beating so fast?

[Jiang Huan’s affection towards you: +100. Lv 10 upgraded to Lv 12. Current level: E. Earned 1 self-select box of props and 5,000 gold coins.]