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[Scene 3: Memory Park. You and the heroine have shared an incredible main storyline, with every memory forming the love in your heart while subtly influencing you. Please choose moments from your time with her and her true preferences. Time limit: 8 minutes.]
The two Li Junzhus stood on the ice rink, bows in hand, their movements agile as they waited for the targets to appear. The first question: “Where did you first meet the heroine?”
Both arrows shot toward “Training Ground.” Li Junzhu, under the alias Li Bode, had been searching for gifted girls at the training ground. Upon discovering one with extraordinary talent, he disguised himself as an injured participant, waiting patiently by her side until the final round before revealing himself. In the process, the girl accidentally cut her chin.
Bai Jingchuan was half a beat slower and failed to secure the first point.
The second question appeared quickly: “What were your thoughts when you decided to save Jiang Huan’s life for the second time in the main storyline?”
“Use her love for Li Junzhu to uncover the list of traitors and erase my name from it.”
To avoid exposing his identity, Li Bode had gained the girl’s trust to obtain the list and removed his name, ensuring his safety within the organization. His reasoning at the time was simple: make her realize he wasn’t a good person, hoping she would push him away and lose faith in him. But this wasn’t his true intention—the target was a misleading option.
This time, Bai was faster, but there was no sense of accomplishment. These storylines were part of the game’s main plot—experiences every male protagonist went through. Even in his initial state, he knew the early stories, having seen them in Jiang Huan’s dreams after entering the real world. The opponent clearly didn’t know this but relied on quick guesses to shoot. Li Bode had always been someone who made rapid judgments.
Bai Jingchuan lost again.
“What was your date that confirmed your feelings for the heroine?”
Bai Jingchuan wasn’t sure of the exact answer. He only remembered that Jiang Huan loved clown-themed things, so he aimed for the card where he removed a clown mask. In the illustration, he knelt on the ground in battle-worn clothes, supporting himself with a wand. The girl removed his mask, revealing blood on his cheek, along with surprise, heartache, and tenderness.
The opponent’s arrow flew faster, seemingly anticipating Bai’s hesitation and shooting ahead of him.
It was the correct answer, but Bai lost again.
After winning three consecutive questions, the man beside him spoke leisurely: “Don’t blame me for being fast. Hesitation leads to defeat.”
“That makes sense, especially when you can act before others. I almost forgot how ruthless I once was.”
“After observing each other for so long, I thought I was looking in a mirror.” The opponent was polite, but Bai could hear the arrogance in his tone: “I’m not as fortunate as you. I heard you scored 4.90 points in Mowu City and have already met her.”
“It’s more than that. I’ve lived in Mowu City for three years, while you’re just a newly born ‘Li Junzhu.’”
“It doesn’t matter. I find this refreshing—a nice challenge.”
“You should consider that only one of us can leave here alive.”
The opponent’s face darkened with jealousy as his arrow pointed toward Bai. With superior confidence and mockery, he said: “There’s no need for this competition. If I replace you by her side, she won’t notice any difference. Being Li Junzhu or 076831 is the same to her—it’s just someone watching over her. Using your identity will save time. Your months in the real world were just about romance—disgusting. If it were me, I think this girl Jiang Huan could die, be reborn in the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods, and I’d stay in the new world. Everyone wins.”
Amidst the eerie music, the villainous aura intensified as the bowstring was drawn taut. This was Li Junzhu’s original personality—calm, decisive, and merciless. The new 076831, who had never been an Executioner or producer, fired his arrow toward a low-resolution billboard in the distance—he despised this life-or-death competition.
“What was the scene of your reunion?”
“A moment of bloodshed.”
“What color was the first gift she gave you, treating you like a mentor figure?”
“White.”
“Before becoming lovers, what did you always see the heroine as?”
“An opponent.”
Bai Jingchuan didn’t know the full main storyline, but these details could be traced in Jiang Huan’s daily life. His shoulder seemed dislocated as he struggled to hit the answers, constantly moving on the ice. This was purely a test of memory and archery skills. Despite fatigue, it didn’t affect the exceptional abilities of the two men. Their arrows flew so fast it was hard to tell whose was whose—only the scoreboard revealed the outcome.
The words before him blurred slightly—something was off.
“In the main storyline, during the confrontation, which talisman she threw away did you give her?”
Both arrows hit “Clown Brooch,” but the scoreboard didn’t show Bai Jingchuan’s name. The pixelated flipping scoreboard was more grating than the music, and Bai was at a disadvantage due to his dislocated shoulder. As the next question appeared, the two arrows collided mid-air. Bai, unsteady, faltered, while the other man swiftly fired a second arrow, hitting the bullseye.
Twenty questions, with a score of 36 to 24. Such a large gap was unexpected. The opponent looked smug, gripping his bow and quietly awaiting victory.
At this rate, Bai would lose. Cold sweat dripped down his face, and the words blurred further. It felt like a self-inflicted punishment, enduring the entire mission solely through sheer willpower. Dice whispered softly in his ear: “Li Bode, if I was just joking around with you before, I’m now certain—no one is more suited to return to the real world than you. Remember The Shawshank Redemption ? Andy dug a tunnel bit by bit every day until he broke through the wall and gained freedom. Maybe the analogy isn’t perfect, but the effort he discarded wasn’t wasted—it brought immense results. You’re inching closer to Jiang Huan. The emotional value she gives you outweighs the plans you want to achieve. Hold on, just hold on!”
So talkative.
[Next are questions about the girl’s real-life scenarios. Please answer carefully.]
“What is Jiang Huan’s spiritual pillar?”
“Love Continent.” Bai Jingchuan shot without hesitation.
“When she makes desserts, what ingredient does she like to add?”
He hit “Lemon peel” and waited for the target to turn green. Bai gained some confidence—this was a unique recipe he had personally witnessed, thanks to his love for sweets.
The opponent narrowed his eyes. These questions hadn’t appeared in the storyline, meaning he was panicking now.
[The opponent has used the option to erase your choice. This question will not be scored.]
“How many draws did you use to get Jiang Huan’s date card?”
“732.”
“What is Jiang Huan’s most prominent personality trait?”
Bai pulled back his bow, nervously scanning the targets labeled with various traits. As the other man hit “Thoughtful and kind,” Bai’s arrow struck “Hypocritical.”
When “Hypocritical” lit up as correct, his lingering doubts unraveled. Pushing people away wasn’t sincere—it was all a facade. He hadn’t fully understood the main storyline before, but in Jiang Huan’s daily life, he could piece together answers from colors and preferences. For the questions about meeting Jiang Huan in the real world, he had puzzled over every enigmatic thought, deciphering them repeatedly. Finding the correct answers made him realize: the path Andy dug in The Shawshank Redemption might still hold Jiang Huan’s memories of him. They were digging in different directions, discarding a bag of dirt each day. What others couldn’t understand was their steadfast belief.
The score was 36 to 48. He won. The match ended, the skating rink disappeared, and his corroded shoes returned. The two men faced each other in the clouds, the final conversation time.
“Is she cute?”
“Very.”
“We shuttle through one task after another just to compete for a spot to return.”
“Yes.” Li Junzhu pinched the bridge of his nose. “Especially the music—it’s too sanity-draining.”
The opponent frowned, understanding the implication, and quickly realized this was something learned in the real world. He asked: “Did Jiang Huan teach you this?”
Li Junzhu shook his head—it was simply osmosis from the new environment. While his focus remained on Jiang Huan, he was still influenced by the lively, unpredictable young people around him. He was becoming vivid because of these fresh collisions—plushies rolling off desks, drained game controllers, interns’ sticky notes venting frustrations. He had absorbed so much.
It wasn’t just Jiang Huan—everything around him was affecting him.
“Why do you know her so well?”
Bai Jingchuan didn’t answer. The peaceful music now sounded deeply sorrowful.
“As data, having a strong desire to see your lover leads to this fate. What about you? After coming to the real world, have you ever regretted it?”
He wanted to respond with a kind lie, but Bai shook his head: “No, not for a single second.”
The opponent fully understood: “Even as data, I really want to know—why can’t I have the same chance?”
“I’m sorry.”
Not every game character could peacefully accept the cruelty of reality. Some carried resentment, and the other Li Junzhu remained calm, but he couldn’t return to Mowu City—his data would be erased. Watching him fade, becoming transparent and disappearing, Bai felt immense sadness. More than anyone, he knew his victory was just luck. Someone had loved him from the day he was created until now.
“I won’t say to love her on my behalf, but… blessings to you.”
“Yes.”
Bai Jingchuan didn’t feel relieved. Realizing he was just a character in a phone game, he understood that prolonged silence meant the other party no longer needed the joy of companionship in the game. There was only one reason he would let the girl go: she no longer loved him.
[Mission 3-3 complete. Jiang Huan’s affection for you +500. Level 64 → Level 65. Item crates x5 dropped. Please exit within 30 seconds.]
Bai Jingchuan leaped over the vortex in the final seconds. A dense, itching pain spread across his body like shedding fur. His organs squeezed, his limbs ached, and the sensation of his body being remodeled returned. A burning sensation traveled from his limbs to his chest, then his throat, as if his eyeballs were being pushed out of their sockets. His soul was stripped and reinfused, and in the moment his consciousness detached, he thought: The big ordeal is over—I absolutely cannot die here.
But a familiar voice appeared—not offering random advice or mocking laughter. The six-sided dice, each face a different color, spoke earnestly in his ear: “Run, return to your body—Jiang Huan is waiting for you.”
On the boundary of consciousness, he reached out and grabbed the dice.
[Successfully used item “Flowing Flower of Elevation,” significantly reducing pain levels. Stamina cap +150.]
“Li Bode, this is the last time I’ll help you! Don’t think you can exploit me after returning—I’m expensive…”
It was the voice of the dice.
His eyelashes trembled, like peeling away a fine layer of gray gauze. When he opened his eyes again, the room buzzed with shouts: “He’s awake! Teacher Bai, can you hear us?”
This noisy sound… it was the feeling of returning to reality.
“What happened? What’s wrong?”
“You were lying unconscious on the carpet—we were terrified…”
Bai Jingchuan had clearly been lying on a leather sofa, a neatly folded damp towel placed on his forehead. He had no memory of lying on the floor. Exhausted, he could fall asleep the moment he closed his eyes, but his colleagues shook him forcefully: “Teacher Bai, you can’t sleep! If you lose consciousness again, we’ll call 120!”
“How did I end up here?”
“It was Jiang Huan who found you. We thought you were drunk, but you had no smell of alcohol and were just frowning… By the time I went to call for help, she had already dragged you onto the sofa. She was frantic because you had a fever and lost consciousness. She’s probably on her way to buy fever patches…”
“I’m fine.” Bai sat up straight, regaining his usual composure. His bangs were damp, and his palm held a small, warmed wet towel. The suffocating and powerless feeling of his soul returning to his body slowly faded. He didn’t feel particularly unwell, but the towel tugged at his heart, a bittersweet ache spreading in his chest.
The sound of hurried footsteps approached. Jiang Huan burst in, panting and holding a plastic bag: “I called a delivery guy to get medicine—it requires a prescription, but hopefully physical cooling works… You’re awake?”
The atmosphere grew subtle. Four or five people in the room fell silent for a few seconds. Bai broke the silence first: “Sorry for troubling everyone. Go rest early—she can take care of me.”
He gestured toward Jiang Huan, making the atmosphere even more awkward. Intern Akira asked, “Are you sure we shouldn’t wait for hotel medical staff?”
“Leave. Just her.”
His tone was assertive, cold, and left no room for refusal, hiding his urgency—even he didn’t realize it.
The guest room returned to silence. Bai’s pain gradually subsided, but it was still hard to recover quickly from his exhaustion. He tried to stand, managing it only after two or three attempts. On the table was only sugary drinks—he ignored them, gulping one down in one go. Finally regaining enough strength to joke: “You caught me—I do need rest. It wasn’t your words that made me faint, don’t think of me as weak and sickly…”
Turning back, tears welled in her eyes. Her gaze mirrored the one hours earlier when he wished she would disappear. Only he could read it—if he admitted it now, it would resolve all her doubts.
In the abandoned project’s main storyline, the heroine shed tears easily, almost moving him with them. But in reality, she was a hardworking girl who rarely admitted defeat—strong and resilient, speaking without tears. This was progress. Women no longer needed fragility to gain attention—they could fight side by side or face challenges head-on.
But it didn’t mean they couldn’t cry. Showing vulnerability to someone close was a privilege of happiness. Bai Jingchuan looked at Jiang Huan, recalling when he first came to the real world. Opening the window, the clear scenery and vibrant life felt unrelated to him. Like dangling beside the view, swaying in the wind, someone accustomed to control had lost his balance. The “past” and “future” here were irrelevant to him. No matter how special the scenery, he would eventually leave. Jiang Huan had probed into secrets she shouldn’t know, and now the curtain became her—she began to internalize the inability to fully possess the beautiful scenery.
Realizing this, he immediately took off his suit jacket, kneeling halfway and draping it over both of them. The small space beneath the jacket dimmed, leaving only Bai’s gentle voice: “It’s okay, only I can see. You can cry, get angry, be yourself. If you don’t want me to see, I’ll close my eyes. Once I remove the jacket, I’ll forget everything.”
She was pulled close to his lips. Jiang Huan clutched a corner of his shirt: “Where were you just now?”
“Downstairs garden. It got dark, and I got a little lost.”
“How could that happen? I went looking for you—ran three laps and didn’t see your shadow. The streetlights were on; how could you get lost?”
“Hmm.” Bai thought seriously: “You cursed me to disappear, and I was heartbroken, needing some air.”
“Petty.”
Those three short words made him laugh. The last decisive arrow he shot in the match hit “Hypocritical.”
Someone entered, walked past the chairs, paused briefly, then quickly left. They must have mistaken them for an unabashed couple, secretly cuddling in the lounge with a suit jacket, flaunting their affection. But she wasn’t shy—she clung tightly to Bai Jingchuan’s collar, refusing to let go. The collar wrinkled without a pin, and the man with two undone buttons revealing his collarbone was teased into a dazed smile, seemingly moved by her tears. Embarrassment aside, she didn’t care. Bai tried to free a hand to wipe her tears, but she grabbed his hand tightly: “You won’t say it, but I understand.”
[Danger Alert: Be careful not to expose your identity.]
Observers were everywhere. Even after defeating his counterpart and returning, he was still bound by the system’s warnings. Caution, prohibition, alerts—under this confinement, he could never reveal his identity openly.
Restricted by the system from confessing, yet unable to hide all his emotions. He could only glance at her face through the corner of his eye.
[Jiang Huan’s affection for you +1000.]
Her cold hands gripping his gradually warmed. Bai stared at their intertwined hands, entranced: “Seeing how much you care for me, it’s like I forgot everything that happened earlier. But to be honest, I dreamed of participating in a triathlon, and now my whole body aches—I could fall asleep anytime. Yet seeing you, I don’t want to sleep.”
He didn’t speak, his grip still firm. Bai thought: Could the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods understand? Those environments created by the girl, warm yet hollow in her subconscious, might reflect her true imagination. In her life, there had never been anyone close, so even seemingly happy moments felt lonely and strange. Normal people couldn’t endure such isolation—it was a lack of belonging… her norm.
Through the fabric, faint light filtered, and her wet eyes wiped against his hand, unwilling to let go. She blinked several times to see Bai clearly. The man kneeling before her, draped in a suit jacket, exuded a sense of mastering everything yet willingly bowing down for her. His fingers gently rubbed the top of her head as she clung to his hand—a familiar yet strange dependence. His fingers slid softly to the back of her head, a gesture both comforting and confining. Inside the small space of the suit jacket, Bai murmured soothingly, yet firmly.
“Can you say something? You’ve been crying. I’ve never seen you cry before, and you’re saying nothing—it worries me. I’m really fine…”
She stared into his eyes, tears sliding down. Closing her eyes, she kissed him. Her trembling lips brushed against his, carrying anger and grievance. She kissed lightly, saying nothing.
Anyone who truly knew her understood she was sharp and clever, capable of sending him into a life-or-death situation with a single sentence. Wasn’t she afraid he’d die and never return? In that moment, did she also want a new “Li Junzhu” to replace him? It didn’t matter. She had initiated the kiss, pressing her lips lightly yet conveying anger and grievance. But soon, hesitation and unease surfaced, and her force softened. Bai supported her back, responding tenderly, kissing her lips gently, fearing any insincerity would seem deceitful. When she relaxed, he parted her lips with his tongue, holding her tightly, no longer doubting. Unable to decipher her heart, he surrendered his attachment and obsession.
Brushing aside strands of hair from her cheek, he wanted to linger in this embrace but feared causing her more unease. Clutching his shirt corner tightly, her uncertainty hadn’t dissipated easily. In the darkness, he caressed her cheek, his palm full of tears.
The fluttering curtains continued to usher in the coolness and tranquility of the night breeze. He thought: Each day, shifting postures allowed sunlight and moonlight to pour in, creating the most beautiful backdrop. Even if the scenery didn’t belong to him, the intangible air he grasped measured the dimensions of love.
He heard the sound of his own heartbeat.
________________________________________
PS: Xiao Zhang is here! Rare second update within 24 hours—very satisfying! Welcome to join the bookshelf and cast recommendation votes. Waiting for everyone to chat today!
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