Chapter 53: “After Developing Feelings, You Are Unworthy to Be My Opponent”

[Mission 3-3: Standing before you is the new ID 076831. Protect your identity as “Bai Jingchuan” and compete with him according to the mission prompts. Failure in this mission will result in the complete deletion of your data. Your current level and items will be inherited by the new Li Junzhu, and you will be eliminated from the game.]

The feeling of walking on clouds wasn’t pleasant. Bai Jingchuan detested the unstable sensation of floating, unable to find solid footing. Around him, a background-like melody played—solemn and serene, evoking a sense of blissful belonging but also an overwhelming emptiness, akin to being in heaven. He disliked it intensely. The label “ID 076831” grated on his ears.

Li Junzhu, devoid of emotional memory and equipped only with his initial character settings, stood before him. His physique was similar to Bai’s, though his muscles appeared more defined. He seemed far calmer and colder, even displaying traces of disdain and arrogance.

It was Dice’s first time witnessing such a scene, but he quickly grasped the gravity of the situation: “This time, there are likely bets placed by the AI of the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods on who will win. You should be nervous. Your physical condition is currently far inferior to the other Li Junzhu.”

“It’s him who should be nervous. After all, I’m the only one who can return.”

“The intelligence levels of both versions of Li Bode are the same. The difference might just be luck.”

“There’s no need to blame her. What I’m really wondering is… has Jiang Huan grown tired of me?”

“If you want to know Jiang Huan’s true feelings, survive and go see her. Let me add one thing—Dice, I’m bound to serve 076831. If you die, I’ll be tied to the new Li Junzhu. Don’t we have some history? Can’t you, for the sake of our friendship, try a little harder to survive?”

Was the summoning of the new 076831 due to Jiang Huan genuinely wanting him gone, deeming him useless? From the very beginning, Bai Jingchuan had been wary of the office, often reading employees’ minds to gauge their opinions. Praise or complaints didn’t bother him as long as everything remained stable. But when he overheard the PM mention that Jiang Huan didn’t acknowledge the producer, he felt an unusual surge of anger, his chest tightening. Coupled with her words, “I hope you disappear,” could his current affection score of 63 have been accumulated casually, applicable to any version of Li Junzhu?

The competition began.

Around them, many illusory figures appeared—likely remnants of abandoned characters from closed-down games, discarded in this alternate space as “garbage.” They had no faces or voices, curiously gazing around, unsure of what was happening, anxiously awaiting the next development. Li Junzhu stood atop a raised block. Several meters away was another identical one, and all around were blocks marked with numbers. A math problem appeared on the panel. Bai Jingchuan didn’t find the question difficult, but he soon realized this was a way to eliminate most participants. Within the range of swaying rocking horses, ice formed; touching it would freeze them, slowing their movements until they eventually perished. Fire-breathing dragons moved randomly, their flames fierce enough to burn anyone standing still in their original position.

[Scene 1: Escape from the Frozen Rocking Horse Paradise within 7 minutes. After the first round, choose one of the following items: Flame Flower (Cold Resistance Lv10), Ice Bead (Heat Resistance Lv10), Swift Robe (Speed Boost Lv5). Only one item effect can be chosen. Survive within the time limit after selection.]

The countdown began. The rocking horses swayed slowly, the beautiful music flowed gently, and the illusions seemed to scramble. They appeared frantic, shoving and pulling each other. Though silent, their grotesque expressions could be felt. Being dragged into this survival game as sacrifices was something only the observers would do.

A new problem emerged. Bai Jingchuan quickly calculated the answer. Nearby, floating and sinking number blocks blinked, revealing the solution: “7.” Li Junzhu stepped onto the platform, while the surrounding illusions bent and paused to compute. Correct answers were scarce within a few steps, and freezing was a common fate. Someone else solved it at the same time—another Li Junzhu, dozens of meters away. Finally, others arrived at the answer “7” and began scrambling for the remaining platforms.

By the end of the first round, those who failed to secure a platform were frozen and burned away. The shadows diminished, and the room’s backdrop seemed to lighten. A second question appeared, and the crowd began calculating again. This time, they were visibly more anxious. Those who solved the problem started colliding chaotically, rushing toward platforms upon sight. Those already standing on platforms had an advantage, but driven by the instinct to survive, clashes became brutal—almost life-or-death. Two shadows charged toward Bai Jingchuan. He could feel their strength and trembling, but survival demanded ruthlessness. Bai pushed them away without hesitation. Watching the shadows vanish near his feet, he grew restless—he was no longer the emotionless Executioner who treated lives as expendable.

In the distance, the exit loomed. The swaying rocking horses and randomly moving fire dragons made escape perilous. To reach the exit, one had to move carefully while solving problems and competing against others. The repetitive, monotonous melody played on, like a dying radio stuck on a loop of seemingly happy music. On the platforms, the two Li Junzhues stood motionless. From afar, the surrounding shadows resembled wisps of oddly shaped smoke—a striking image.

Though seemingly childish, the scene was actually a race against time, completely at odds with the room’s current tranquil atmosphere.

Bai Jingchuan grew weary of this stark contrast, but the surrounding shadows were gradually disappearing—one by one, innocent lives unable to solve the problems. Some jumped onto incorrect blocks to avoid the freezing rocking horses, instantly frozen and erased. Others, exhausted and resigned, stood outside the platforms, waiting for their demise. Bai watched coldly. His voice couldn’t be heard by the illusions, and his footsteps were completely silenced. The only sound was the calm music, draining him emotionally. Logically, he should’ve chosen speed to approach the exit as quickly as possible. But instead, he opted for the Ice Bead. Before the next question began, he charged toward the fire dragons.

He stumbled, the Ice Bead’s effects combined with the freezing from the rocking horses rendering him numb. Still, he slashed at the fire dragon. Almost simultaneously, another shadow appeared beside him—the other Li Junzhu. Time was running out. Both, having consumed the Ice Bead, lunged at the fire dragon, using its extreme cold to extinguish the flames. Enduring the dual torment of freezing and burning, they opened their eyes to find themselves back on the quiet cloud platform.

The other Li Junzhu, not far away, looked at him as if silently approving their earlier coordination. It wasn’t difficult for someone with the same character design to see through the game mechanics, and Bai knew this wouldn’t happen again.

The two competitors, though silent, understood the need to replace each other. Yet, realizing the necessity of cooperation, they acted simultaneously. As Eros had said, Li Junzhu was Li Junzhu—his elegance lay in avoiding direct conflict and slaughter.

But the initial, unpolished version of Li Junzhu, untouched by Mowu City and the real world, showed no mercy to things deemed worthless. If he judged an opponent unworthy of competition, he would eliminate them swiftly—no false hope, no wasted time. His patience for useless things was extremely low.

The scene quickly changed. The clouds began transforming into flowing light sources, and egg-shaped glows appeared on the ground. The accompanying sounds were more unsettling than before. Li Junzhu observed the egg-like objects, gradually guessing the next scene.

As expected, the eggs rose and transformed into balloons tethered by strings. Li Junzhu grabbed a string, his hand tightening instinctively. The ground turned into a pink pool, seemingly clear and reflecting the balloons’ ripples on the ceiling. However, the overpowering stench of corrosive chemicals filled the air. His fingers holding the balloons quickly grew sore. He noticed the spheres expanding rapidly, exploding silently and causing those who didn’t switch fast enough to plummet into the pool. Merely brushing the liquid burned through shoes. He tried switching balloons quickly—three exploded in seconds. Suspended mid-air, he barely managed to grab the rope of a suitable balloon, curling his legs to avoid corrosion.

The balloons varied in size, making it difficult to hold one securely while switching strings. Li Junzhu scanned his surroundings for a path back to the pool’s edge. Finding one blindly would waste energy and steps.

Especially with the dreamlike, asynchronous background music grating on his nerves.

A second challenge appeared.

[Scene 2: Escape the Dream Balloon Pool. Choose balloons capable of bearing your weight and find the fastest route to the pool’s edge within 5 minutes. Fewer balloons selected grant skill boosts in the next scene. Current usable item: Winding Path—receive highlighted prompts for non-explosive balloons or enter the Chamber of Commerce to purchase items and skill upgrades.]

Unable to end quickly, Li Junzhu glanced at his opponent in the gray overcoat, switching balloons nearby. The opponent clenched and unclenched his fists, the overcoat’s hem already scorched off, leaving him lightly clad. Like himself, the opponent was likely frantically calculating the route to the pool’s edge. Using an item now could expedite the process and provide buffs in the next scene.

“No thanks.”

Winning ungracefully held no appeal, especially in a contest of intellect and endurance. Rarely did he encounter an opponent of equal caliber—cheating would ruin the experience.

Bai Jingchuan glanced at the balloons. Their sizes differed in every direction. To the average eye, they appeared similar, but he was already calculating furiously—how to minimize balloon switches while bearing his weight. His fingers and wrists ached, and the lingering effects of the Ice Bead left his joints stiff with cold. Frustration gnawed at him. He avoided looking at his opponent, equally matched and provoked in this crisis. Winning might simply come down to luck.

But no matter the direction, his hands were nearing their limit. Following the routine strategy would trap him in the anxiety of “minimizing balloons” versus “weight restrictions preventing speed.” After switching three balloons, Bai’s grip slipped, and a foot plunged into the pool. The scorching sensation hit his sole, and without thinking, he kicked off his shoe, which bubbled and disappeared in the liquid. Now, two handsome men dangled above the pool—one shirtless, the other barefoot—still far from the edge. With a minute and a half left, there was no time to waste.

He could’ve used an item—an advantage over the initial Li Junzhu—but the prop box was grayed out, depleted after creating snow for Jiang Huan.

Time accelerated, and the balloons inflated faster, requiring shorter stays. With 45 seconds left, fewer balloons remained as more exploded. Despite the increasing distance, he could choose directions more swiftly.

Though his fingers struggled to grip thin strings, he relied on sheer stamina!

Li Junzhu clung to the string, moving toward the pool’s edge. His body bobbed up and down, stabilizing just enough to counteract the swaying. In the distance, his opponent also chose a route with swift, agile movements. Nearing the edge, some balloons were too far. He swung his body to grab them, performing pull-ups but wincing at the pain of gripping thin strings. Two steps from the edge, only one medium-sized balloon remained. With five seconds left, failure to leave the balloon in time meant it would explode, undoing all progress.

Bai Jingchuan swung hard. The balloon expanded further. Swinging like a pendulum, he leaned back slightly and leaped forward like a long jumper. His foot landed on the edge, knees slamming into the ground with a thud, finally reaching solid footing. The nauseating sensation of swaying finally ended. A fleeting thought crossed his mind: What kind of divine romance was worth enduring this torment? Completing missions felt like climbing a mountain of knives and plunging into boiling oil, absurdly devoid of accomplishment. Regret pills, where were they?

He chuckled, shaking his head forcefully. Spending time with Jiang Huan must’ve taught him how to joke. Only then did he notice the distant Li Junzhu, silently observing him with hostility. Yes, this was his aloof demeanor before meeting Jiang Huan.

He understood why the other wore such an expression—in the initial settings, love was deeply despised. Heartbeats were irrational fluctuations, and love was an unclear taming of humans. In his eyes, Bai Jingchuan was exhausted, physically drained, and prone to foolish smiles because of emotions—disgusting.

But Bai found it increasingly difficult to face more missions. His willpower could endure, but the relentless chases in Mowu City left him physically depleted and weary. Nearby, the stoic Li Junzhu awaited the results, gradually unwilling to even look at him. Such a person, disturbed by emotions, needed to be replaced. Victory was inevitable.

[ID 067831 switched balloons 51 times, while the opponent switched 48 times. One item choice opportunity granted in the next scene. Scene 3 will begin shortly. Prepare yourselves…]

He lost.

Exhausted, Bai Jingchuan paid no heed. These dreamlike scenarios crafted by the subconscious required no conventional strategies. No matter how long he persisted, the gap between him and the other Li Junzhu remained insurmountable.

Perhaps this was the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods’ way of testing resolve.

When the scene shifted to an ice-skating rink, Bai Jingchuan sighed in relief. At least this round didn’t require him to hobble around in one shoe. Targets lined the walls, and spotting a bow and arrows beside his shoes, he understood—it was a test of aim.

Hearing the ethereal yet repetitive melody, Bai swallowed his nausea—the endless loop occupying his brain in critical situations caused a maddening rise in intracranial pressure. “No Man’s Land” sounded romantic, but he now understood: enjoying solitude didn’t equate to desiring extreme discomfort masked as comfort. Quiet with people present was soulful; quiet in isolation led to tinnitus. He needed to return to a lively place. Enough of this paradise—it wasn’t meant for humans.

After developing feelings, even this maddening music became unbearable. The other Li Junzhu watched coldly, sneering at Bai’s pained expression, as if saying, “Someone ruled by emotions is unworthy to be my opponent.”

In a place like Mowu City, ruthlessness reigned supreme. The more he was affected, the likelier his defeat. This competition already had him at a disadvantage. If tested further on stamina, his loss was guaranteed.

And this time, the final round involved shooting answers while skating.

PS: Xiao Zhang is here! Welcome to join the bookshelf and cast recommendation votes. I’m waiting for everyone to chat today!