Chapter 51: You Are Never a Burden—You’re Only Drawn into Danger Because of Me

Jiang Huan knew she lived on the lowest rung of the auspicious and inauspicious rankings. As a child, she was called a “bad luck magnet.” If she joined a team for games, they were bound to lose. On snowy days when they needed to catch a ride, she’d inevitably end up waiting with her mother in the snow for hours. When it came time for school admissions, she fell short by a single point, costing her family an extra eighteen thousand yuan in school fees… Her childhood nicknames were often linked to misfortune. In class, whenever “comet” or “broom star” was mentioned, people would turn to look at her. But it was hard for her to argue—it seemed like every calamity that felt like the sky falling would land squarely on her head.

Even her mother’s passing followed this pattern. Every autumn, her father would descend into despair, only to go silent after she returned home to console him. Then, a year ago during the Spring Festival, a relative called, saying someone had divined her fate and declared her life carried a malevolent influence—shortening others’ lives, especially during holidays. After that, she stopped returning home for New Year celebrations, and no one seemed to care. She lived quietly.

Now, as she sat in the passenger seat watching Bai Jingchuan navigate the highway with growing anxiety, she wasn’t sure whether to blame herself for their current predicament. A few years ago, Duanmu Xuan had joked that dating him would bring bad luck, advising her not to seek him out unless necessary. Back then, she had indeed encountered frequent misfortunes and reluctantly accepted his explanation. Now, Bai sped through the fast lanes, maneuvering around slower vehicles, each lane change causing her heart to race.

She began to grasp a truth—the problem lay with her. Perhaps fate was reminding her that she was a burden to others.

This trip with Bai was for business negotiations, but on the way, their car’s brakes had failed. They had already passed the twelfth exit ramp, weaving through dense traffic to reach the outermost lane, searching for a safe spot to slow down. At every exit, Bai had refused to take the off-ramp; Jiang Huan checked the map and saw that the roads led either to narrow city streets or congested urban areas—both dangerous options.

Bai had already anticipated this.

The car continued speeding forward. Bai tried to avoid being boxed in, especially by vehicles that could block his path. Suddenly, the lane ahead slowed down, and he swiftly changed lanes, narrowly avoiding a collision. The sound of angry honking filled the air behind them. There was no time to apologize—they could only hope this lane wouldn’t require sudden braking or have four lanes of parallel traffic forcing a rear-end collision. Jiang Huan, now frightened, asked, “Should we call for help…?”

“No need.” Bai reassured her: “I’ve memorized the map. If you’re tired, sleep—I won’t force you.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Bai forcefully shifted to another lane: “Alright, now we’re crossing solid lines. I’ll call to admit our mistake.”

His tone remained light. Jiang Huan could tell he was deliberately trying to comfort her. She grew irritated: “How can I sleep? You’ve been driving for five hours straight without finding an exit. We’re in this together—literally in the same car.”

“You think I can’t handle this?”

“If I weren’t in the car, maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

“Don’t be silly.” Bai’s smile was strained, almost angry: “It has nothing to do with you. Don’t shoulder blame for unforeseen events.”

Bai wasn’t incapable of solving the problem—he could use props to create convenient detours or rely on his innate abilities to force a stop. But all of this needed to happen while Jiang Huan slept—using props or abilities would expose his “abnormality.” The dice urged him: “Bai Jingchuan, use a prop! What are you waiting for!”

Jiang Huan had already made the call. The police required real-time updates to ensure their safety. The dice panicked: “Li Bode, now you can’t use any props.”

“I never planned to.” Bai remained calm, weaving through lanes while rapidly selecting paths in his mind: “Prop boxes can be exchanged for returns to Mowu City—I only have two left. So for this brake failure, I’m going to rely on skill alone.”

“What if there’s a traffic jam ahead? You’re dead!”

“Let’s gamble. If Jiang Huan is destined to face danger, then my ability to turn misfortune into fortune could be seen as a complementary fate.”

Jiang Huan continued her tense conversation with the operator. Bai glanced at the map: “Ahead is a major traffic jam. We need to find an exit quickly.”

The car maneuvered into the innermost lane, still a kilometer from the exit. With cars in every lane moving at varying speeds, Bai had almost no room to maneuver. He spoke into the phone: “Sorry, time’s running out. I might need to force a lane change.”

Bai swiftly switched lanes. Cars in adjacent lanes braked cautiously, giving way, but the vehicle on the far right was unprepared. It hadn’t expected this car from the innermost lane to cut across so aggressively. The sudden braking caused screeching tires audible throughout the road. Bai sharply turned the wheel, narrowly missing the stopped car, drifted through the guide lines, and faced a white railing.

The car lurched violently. Jiang Huan gripped the overhead handle tightly, shutting her eyes.

Her body swung heavily to the right, pressing against the door before snapping back. When she opened her eyes again, the car was already heading toward the exit, driving toward an unfamiliar development zone. The voice on the phone persisted: “Are you at the exit now? We’ve contacted the car manufacturer—they mentioned an emergency brake button in the system settings. Can you locate it?”

Following the instructions, Jiang Huan found the button. Seeing the blocked lanes ahead, Bai told her, “Hold tight,” and sharply turned the wheel, steering into an undeveloped green area. She pressed the button, and the brakes finally engaged. The car slowed just before exiting the green space. On the other end of the line, relief seemed palpable.

Through the windshield, stars were still visible. The tension in her body eased, replaced by a strange mix of excitement and melancholy, spreading slowly like the effects of a drug. Danger wasn’t insurmountable—he didn’t entirely rely on Mowu City’s props as magic.

Jiang Huan gripped Bai Jingchuan’s wrist; her palm was damp with sweat: “That was intense—it’s my first time experiencing something like that in real life. I thought we were filming a movie.”

“Aren’t you used to being the lead in such ‘movies’?”

“Yes.” Jiang Huan laughed bitterly: “When I was little, everyone always associated comets with broom stars—and thought of me.”

“But in reality, comets are remnants of ice and dust from 4.6 billion years ago in the solar system—a blessing from the ancient universe, not bad luck. In other words, problems that can be solved aren’t burdens. I’ll never see you as a burden.”

“…”

“Now, you really need to rest. Let’s find a hotel and get some sleep. Leave the rest to me.”

Jiang Huan vaguely sensed they would split up: “And you?”

“I’ll head back tonight. This car has caused too much trouble. Stay here, rest, and return to the company slowly. Protect yourself, alright?”

She clenched her fists: “Of course. But I could accompany you to file a repair report and ride back together—we could discuss work along the way…”

“After just facing danger, how can you recover so quickly to a working state?” Bai gently patted her head, then turned away: “I once thought that having me by your side could ensure your safety. But now I realize it’s because of me that your life has become unsettled.”

He said the same thing Duanmu Xuan had…

________________________________________

Bai opened his eyes, his consciousness gradually returning. He must have failed to gather information in Mowu City and was chased by SWAT and military police into the Repairman’s workshop. Without bandages or bruises, he recovered faster than usual. This time, Duanmu Xuan was beside him, quietly sketching a blueprint. The glow of blue-green light filtered into the workshop—it was daytime in Mowu City. Duanmu Xuan turned his head, exuding calm control.

“I heard you wanted to see me last time.”

“Which work do you belong to?”

Duanmu Xuan didn’t answer, adjusting his thick-framed glasses—he was farsighted. His ability to gaze far must be his talent.

“Who exactly are you in the Realm of Gods? I’ve never heard your name or seen you on the ranking lists. If you can enter Mowu City, it means you’re not truly human—or are you part of the Realm of Gods, responsible for issuing tasks, which is why I don’t know of your existence?”

“I only provide necessary assistance, handling repairs. I’m not someone with high status—far from it, even lower than you once were.”

“Assistance?” Bai sneered: “Frequently putting a girl in mortal danger and waiting to seize what she treasures most…” He mockingly smiled: “Romantic Continent hasn’t even officially launched to accompany anyone, yet you keep talking about fulfilling Jiang Huan’s dreams.”

“It’s regrettable. It has too many reasons in the real world preventing its launch. But the Realm of Gods discovered it and recognized its immense emotional value. You unknowingly chose to become the producer to continue this project, and thanks to you, it operates well for Jiang Huan. We are grateful.”

Bai understood: Realm of Gods wouldn’t officially launch. Its purpose wasn’t that—the abandoned projects became raw materials entering the Realm of Gods. The snow-capped mountains visible in Mowu City were projections of the future, though the exact timing was unknown—perhaps Duanmu Xuan knew. The Realm of Gods hadn’t collected enough emotional value, so it needed him to continue earning favorability to progress the project, even creating perilous situations to heighten tension. It also needed more complete maps and emotional models for their new world.

“Do you know Jiang Huan will face danger? She’s destined to die one day in the future. I need to know the exact time so I can try to change it.”

“What happens if you can’t find it?”

Bai didn’t answer. If Jiang Huan died, she would enter the Realm of Gods as an electronic soul in a treasure chest, restarted in the new world. Currently at level 63, he didn’t qualify to return to Mowu City and couldn’t reunite with Jiang Huan in the new world.

He was a gear; Jiang Huan was a tool. They were precious, rare individuals—but their fates were far from perfect. Rising to his feet despite a splitting headache, Bai focused: “You know all of this, don’t you?”

Duanmu Xuan simply measured the height of the tower on his blueprint with a ruler.

“The Realm of Gods’ plan is open to everyone—no gender, age, or experience barriers. But finding the perfect person is difficult. Extracting creators’ emotional energy is the fastest way to build the foundation of a fantasy world. They possess scene comprehension, workplace progress, and richer emotions. Everyone contributes in their own way, but Jiang Huan is fully committed to this work, with stronger imagination and visual sensibilities. Her emotional fluctuations are more complete, making her emotional value higher than others’. Most importantly, her devotion to this project and Li Junzhu is absolute. A girl’s sincerity reaching 100% grants Li Junzhu the right to be summoned.”

“Isn’t this too cruel for the rest of the team? An entire production group—all the teams—are tied to her alone. Doesn’t it feel cruel to her?”

Duanmu Xuan turned, his face half-lit by the glow: “As an executor, you understand the importance of sacrificing partial interests to achieve a plan.”

“Forcing one person above others reflects your rejection of the greatness of emotional value. This team consists entirely of girls. Regardless of their external pressures, they struggle to fully enjoy the joy of work.”

“Li Junzhu, we can only express admiration for your rapidly growing empathy. Other girls can still survive, so it’s not that the entire plan is tied to her—it’s that this plan inherently belongs to someone as gifted as her.”

“Are you staying by her side just to achieve this goal? Sacrificing Jiang Huan for the artificial intelligence’s interstellar migration plan? Didn’t you once like her?”

Duanmu Xuan smiled: “I have no goals. I’m simply guarding her dream—it’s that simple.”

The wind chimes outside jingled. Behind that door lay Renwu Road in the real world. A customer entered the shop, asking, “Is anyone here? I want to buy something.” Bai stared at him, attempting to read his mind for lies but failed. Duanmu Xuan set aside the blueprint, greeted the customer, and haggled over a ten-yuan overseas shipping fee, laughing heartily. Chatting with Bai was like a brief respite from mental labor.

In his three years as an executor, Bai had never felt at the mercy of fate. If reaching level 100 fulfilled his wish, he’d focus on achieving it. With that thought, he pushed open the door and stepped into the Soul Chamber. Amidst customers’ astonished gazes, he entered Renwu Road, needing temporary rest.

Exhausted, Jiang Huan quickly fell asleep in the hotel. In her dream, she revisited the cyberpunk city. The urban landscape resembled scenes from abandoned projects—towering skyscrapers, black vinyl records playing in slums, children playing with cats in makeshift bases, climbable ventilation shafts, and zip lines leading to stations. These were story settings she’d personally imagined, sketched with simple perspective lines for Akira. She drew the animation storyboards too—no one else in the copywriting team could storyboard, let alone draw manga or create “four-panel comics” for the male protagonist.

Jiang Huan often felt she had drawn manga, but her memory lacked specifics. She boarded a bus to the high-speed rail station. On the animated screen at the bus stop, a best-selling comic was advertised. She stared at it for a long time, but her mind drew a blank. The road from downtown to the station felt like patchwork fabric—sometimes bustling, sometimes desolate. Shadows stretched behind her, disappearing under bridges, plunging her surroundings into darkness. Memories of last night’s peril and fragmented dreams returned—Bai navigating the city stealthily, evading capture, covered in wounds yet unable to escape, alarms blaring. Desperate to know what happened next, she woke up.

Arriving in Shanghai after exiting the subway, night enveloped the city. Walking toward Renwu Road, she grew increasingly dispirited. Whether due to fatigue, lack of sleep, or rapid aging, she felt as if slices of her memory had been excised, making it hard to piece together the past. Bai’s dreams troubled her. Passing familiar shop windows, owners greeted her warmly, knowing she was close to Duanmu Xuan. Her comforting, official eye-smile originated from Duanmu Xuan. Yet, glancing at her reflection in the window, her serious and silent demeanor resembled Bai Jingchuan—or rather, Li Junzhu.

The past hadn’t vanished completely—it overflowed in her expressions and movements. Encounters, pressures endured, and intimate relationships left traces, manifesting in her expressions. Much about Duanmu Xuan was unknowable, but everything about Bai Jingchuan was transforming her. Each instance of change erased fragments of memory, consuming parts of her past and reshaping her into a new self. For example, she once hated Duanmu Xuan for pushing her away, so she remembered him as a grim reaper and refused to date. Now Bai had said similar words—they undoubtedly shared secrets.

She often waited silently for outcomes, accepting both good and bad without question. During their Disneyland visit, she watched the fireworks silently, waiting for Bai to return without pressing him. Weak princesses wait endlessly, but this time, she needed to ask in her own way—even if it might hurt Bai. Whether to act, she hadn’t decided.

Just then, she saw Bai emerge from the Soul Chamber, dressed in his familiar suit and shirt but visibly exhausted. He didn’t notice her, walking straight ahead and disappearing around the corner. Pushing the door open, Duanmu Xuan was drawing a perspective diagram—a beautiful, towering magic fortress.

He smiled: “You’re here?”

After spending a week in Mowu City, Bai had exhausted all his prop boxes and ammunition. Returning to the office, dragging himself despite no internal testing notification, a group awaited his commands. Bai still refused, quickly shaving and washing his face in the restroom, unable to hide his weariness.

Back in the office, Bai took a deep breath, his legs trembling as he sat on the sofa. He had rehearsed every possible dangerous scenario, but the results were unsatisfactory—otherwise, he wouldn’t have been trapped in the virtual world for an entire week. The dice sighed: “Thank goodness you’re out, Bai Jingchuan. If you’d died in Mowu City, who knows how we’d save you.”

“The Realm of Gods won’t let me die—they’d only torture me, making Jiang Huan心疼 (heartache), increasing emotional value.”

“But you don’t need to bypass her to consider leveling up. If you must endure pain, she’ll surely suffer alongside you. You should understand—you’re born of love, here for her. You two are one.”

Bai remained silent.

There was a knock at the door. Jiang Huan peeked in, holding a large folder, a stuffed teddy bear, sandwiches, and a coffee cup. She approached: “Here’s hot cocoa for you. Did you take the red-eye flight back? The teddy bear contains chamomile and sage scents—I made it myself to help with sleep…”

“I see. Leave the files here and go.”

“Why dismiss me so directly?”

He couldn’t keep Jiang Huan around. Though the office was safe, any ill-timed remark could summon him into a mission. Exhausted and without prop boxes, he couldn’t afford a new task immediately. Without props in Mowu City, he’d likely be overwhelmed by talented individuals and AI.

“You want Romantic Continent to launch smoothly, right?”

“Yes, absolutely…”

“Then don’t disturb me.”

“What?” Jiang Huan stomped her foot angrily: “I’m the main writer—at least I need to coordinate with you…”

“The story’s already written. Can you handle it independently? I need to deal with some things. Unless there’s an emergency, don’t come looking for me.”

His tone was gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument.

PS: Zhang’s here! I returned with plenty of material but unfortunately tested positive… I’ll do my best to update on time! Thanks for your support. Feel free to add to your bookshelf and vote. Looking forward to chatting with you all today!