Chapter 63: The Justice Bringer Who Cannot Reveal His Name

At eight in the evening, Wen Li rushed to the new product launch event. She arrived a bit late, and her outfit didn’t quite fit the dress code—fluorescent pink boots paired with a black coat, fresh from the Aranya Fashion Week. The designer understood Wen Li well: “No worries, I’ve always known there’s something reserved for you, the big sister.”

Her minimalist style earned her the nickname “big sister,” not because of recent fame gained from handling a male celebrity scandal but due to admiration from both fans and colleagues. Beneath her kindness, however, lay deep-seated insecurities and self-loathing, often leaving her expression sorrowful or on the verge of collapse—a bittersweet title given affectionately.

Soon, she changed into a deep khaki suit with cropped pants. Fashion was cyclical; her boots were thick-soled suede with tassels, yet their square toes and heels gave them a timeless feel. She signed with this brand because its sharp edges reminded her of the desert landscapes in post-apocalyptic games, perfectly aligning with her avant-garde yet grounded philosophy.

She was an excellent brand packager—successful, wealthy—but consumed by the absence of love.

The team worked overnight to design a venue with gray, subdued tones, projecting light onto steps and walls. Two entrances flanked the space, while a large pendulum hung centrally at the highest point, swinging left and right as models exited one door and entered another, evoking a sense of traversing time. Jiang Huan couldn’t attend, which secretly irked Wen Li—not that anyone expected her to come just for idle chatter about Love Continent. If she didn’t show up, it meant production was ongoing, and she could see Duanmu Xuan sooner.

After the show ended, unsurprisingly, magazine editors and bloggers swarmed her. Despite her current success, Wen Li had once been a worker herself—rejected by these very editors and ghosted by bloggers. Yet she said nothing, watching silently as clowns performed.

“Since you called out that male celebrity last time, wow, how satisfying! So many of us cheered, but he’s too famous—we can’t afford to offend him. You’re fearless, truly the new generation’s disciplinary committee!”

“It was nothing. Anyone would have stood up for justice.”

The other two exchanged glances, shifting topics: “We often collaborate with magazines. All those celebrity outfits are styled by you. How humble! You should’ve blown up earlier. What were you doing before?”

Predictably, no genuine conversation ensued. Tiring of the endless small talk, Wen Li found an opportunity to slip away. Instinctively, she opened Love Continent on her phone. The message popped up again: “Testing has ended. We look forward to meeting you again.” It reminded her that she could only watch recorded gameplay now—she couldn’t touch the protagonist’s face or interact anymore.

Even a month ago, Wen Li wouldn’t have believed games could become real. Yet after finding joy in gaming, especially after experiencing Love Continent, she bought every otome game available. Losing interest within half an hour, she found the male leads dull, plots poorly adapted, and characters devoid of charm. Her curiosity quickly waned, leaving her longing for Duanmu Xuan’s puppy-dog eyes.

If such things could manifest, someone like Duanmu Xuan… Even though she hadn’t abandoned Bright entirely, it hadn’t resonated deeply enough to make her disdain real men or view male models merely as human hangers.

A mere open-world dating sim—yet upon seeing the Twitter news, unable to verify its authenticity or find photos confirming it, she began searching for flight tickets.

Unanswered suffocating messages lingered on her phone. Closing her eyes against the light revealed a fiery red hue.

Games appeared dangerous and harmful, marketed as toxic poison. In reality, they served as anesthetic for adult life—smoking and drinking were harmful, but games provided more dazzling fantasies than tar and alcohol ever could. For those who needed it, addiction levels were mysterious, but undeniable.

After mingling backstage briefly, she couldn’t leave early. Sitting in the models’ dressing room, she pulled the curtain shut and scrolled through Instagram. Her followers increased by 77—all ordinary fans—but she cared more about celebrities and influencers noticing her. While aimlessly refreshing, she spotted… the chef who had kindly offered her a meal abroad. The chef posted a story featuring her work packaging a brand’s fashion show, tagging numerous labels, striving to break into the fashion scene. Unaware that the photographer behind the scenes was the same person who’d shared a meal with her, the poster simply praised the brand and PR.

Thinking it over, Wen Li didn’t repost but gave it a like as acknowledgment.

Work unfinished, her assistant already off duty, Wen Li grabbed a salad to-go, preparing for an all-nighter back at the office.

Three men blocked her path—two walking, kicking bike wheels, occasionally glancing at her while riding shared bikes across the street. Wen Li’s first thought—Shanghai’s security wasn’t so bad that three thugs would ambush her near the company. A river separated this area from the affluent district. Yanqing Lane, though old with weathered walls under construction nearby, was unfamiliar territory. Had she never taken this shortcut?

Slightly afraid but mostly disdainful, she wondered what three thugs could possibly do to her. Back in parking garages, she used to go wild—losing composure was routine. With a crazy mother, madness was her default weapon. Besides, dressed in fluorescent pink boots, a black coat, blonde hair, and gaunt figure, she looked untouchable—too fashionable to approach.

As the three thugs approached, Wen Li felt a flicker of surprise. Ahead lay a dead-end alley. Were they really daring enough to corner a girl in downtown Shanghai? Her hand hovered over the emergency hotline, instinctively pondering whether having a boyfriend might prevent such situations.

Most importantly, loneliness wouldn’t exist.

“Hey, pretty sis—” The thugs spoke with accents, appearing taller and more imposing close-up, seemingly oblivious to consequences. Now genuinely frightened, even craziness couldn’t overpower three young, strong men. Nearly trapped in the dead end, she turned to retreat but was blocked: “Sis, lend us some cash…”

Suddenly, someone landed between the thugs and her. Wind lagged behind, obscuring her vision. A boy wearing a red hat—it resembled Duanmu Xuan, though impossible, yet strikingly similar. Pinching herself lightly, Wen Li confirmed she wasn’t dreaming.

But what difference did it make…

The man fought barehanded, clearly disadvantaged against three. No cameras in the dark corners—if these were desperate criminals, he might die here. When one pulled out a knife, Wen Li felt both fear and absurdity. Words matching thoughts seemed prophetic.

The sound of fabric tearing—the red-clad man’s shirt ripped, yet he remained unafraid. Before the next strike, he swiftly seized the attacker’s wrist, twisting it forcefully in the opposite direction. Bones cracked audibly. Another lunged from the front while another wielded a metal rod behind him. Gracefully dodging both attacks, the man snatched the rod mid-motion, executing fluid, practiced moves evident of martial arts training. Coming to his senses, a thug clutching his stomach, bloodied nose and mouth, pointed accusingly: “If we die, you’ll go to jail!”

“Sounds like I acted first. Why bother with jail when I don’t plan to kill you?”

“If anything, add me. Isn’t it always women,” sneered another.

“Enough disgusting talk,” Duanmu Xuan delivered an elbow strike to the punk’s cheek. “I’m allergic to vile words.”

“Idiots. Brothers, no surveillance here. Teach him a lesson.”

Hiding behind, Wen Li watched amusedly, thrilled to witness the scene up close.

“I heard you mention money. Worth committing crimes for?”

“You…” The thug crawled up. “Do you value your life? Know where you are?”

“I know exactly where this is. You and I hail from the same place, making you doubly despicable. This degenerate city—you commit crimes without fearing punishment. Ugly structures housing more exploitable souls—no pleasing scenery anywhere, rules followed superficially but steeped in darkness. People lack desire, humanity, driven only by lust and inequality. I fail to understand—monsters recognize hatred stems from unfair systems and uneven wealth, yet you prey on weaker kin. Monsters leave useful items behind; what do you leave besides trash?”

Finally lifting the last thug, water stains beneath his feet. The man didn’t let go: “Oh, excrement. Truly unworthy garbage. Pity I lack authority to execute you. Hurry and leave.”

Once they fled far, the man turned, stepping into the light. Wen Li finally saw his face—pitch-black pupils drawing her in, faint blood vessels crisscrossing skin scraped by snow and sand. His red attire and cloak clashed with the neighborhood, dirtied and torn, revealing unblemished chest skin. Still youthful, his features retained boyish charm, fingers cracking audibly—he clearly knew how to fight. Wanting to touch and confirm reality, she heard his heavy breathing and coughs; no illusion.

His opening line surprised her—her thanks unspoken.

“When meeting people for the first time, I usually start like this. Feel free to avoid me if scared.”

“Should I fear you?”

“I merely do my duty. Your feelings are your choice.”

Wen Li’s mind swirled with classic TV drama theme songs about encounters. Then, a distant electric scooter fell, emitting a honk. Lines and visuals worthy of a hot blood comics transformed instantly into comedy.

“Someone taught me emotions require reciprocity. I need your help.”

Familiar dialogue. A red shadow flashed amidst white snow mountains. Wen Li smiled.

“My clothes are ruined. Can I borrow something?”

Still concerned about appearances.

Wen Li took him—to the company. Riding the elevator, recalling the boy’s words, Wen Li felt stirred—her beloved city and life summarized thus, awakening realization. She poured too much love into surroundings, unable to reclaim it, forgetting this was a degenerating city.

Glancing sideways, the boy pressed his head against the glass, nose and lips squashed flat, playing… exhaling mist.

Fashion PRs never lacked clothes, especially with designers delivering latest samples each season for marketing plans and events. Her office was paradise for the youngest, trendiest crowd. Seeing nothing unusual, the boy remarked: “What’s all this? Unfinished clothes?”

“Fashion.” Fresh metaphor amused Wen Li—is he a wild child unaware?

“Don’t understand.”

“Pick whatever you like.”

“I prefer red.”

Apologies—red was scarce. Most would recommend black, but Wen Li wasn’t ordinary. Understanding brands well, she retrieved two garments: “Change into these.”

No fitting room, the boy undressed on the spot—his physique unsurprisingly athletic, evenly proportioned frame with defined muscles. Arms and abs like finely crafted armor. About to continue undressing, he glanced at Wen Li: “Won’t you turn away? Keep looking, and I’ll proceed.”

“No problem. Seen plenty.”

“…Are you a pervert?”

“It’s part of my job. Ever seen runway shows? People strip and change hurriedly amidst chaos—seen it all. In fashion, gender doesn’t matter.”

“Sounds increasingly perverted.” Despite saying so, he turned to change pants. Wen Li discreetly peeked—not model-like at all. Models prioritized extreme thinness and proportions, needing moldable charisma rather than standout features. Duanmu Xuan differed—traditionally handsome, deep-set eyes, bright teeth, muscles sculpted by divine favor, even intimate areas meticulously outlined.

Blushing slightly, she changed the subject: “You trained?”

“What?”

“Muscles.”

“No, natural. I have my mission. Daily fights tire me enough.”

“What mission?”

“Guarding the world, preserving peace.”

Wen Li burst out laughing: “What?”

“Told you, you wouldn’t believe.” The boy earnestly, truthfully stated. Donning clothes, he stretched legs, arms mimicking archery: “Can’t stretch properly. Sure this allows movement?”

Picking up such a boy left Wen Li feeling peculiar, hard to articulate—different from anyone else encountered. Even calling it ‘picking up’—he indeed resolved trouble. She hadn’t expected such poor security in this city, thinking her environment precluded nearly fatal robberies. Amidst shock, this boy admired himself in the mirror, critiquing other colors confidently, seemingly unfazed.

Claiming to guard the world, severe chuunibyou. She learned “chuunibyou” analyzing players during Love Continent —previously incomprehensible, now vividly embodied before her.

“Where do you live?”

“Have a home. Rest assured.”

“Then hurry along. I’m off work.”

“Wait, give me your contact info.”

“Why?”

“I’m practically your savior.”

Interesting. Wen Li input her number, observing the boy memorizing her name carefully, sensitive: “Think it unlucky?”

“Why think that? Quite special.”

“What should I call you?”

“Not Red Boy, surely.”

“Alright, sounds good.”

Wild boy, ignorant of traditional tales. Wen Li rolled her eyes: “Stop bothering me. Gotta go home.”

“Rude, not even a thank-you. Luckily, I don’t need it.”

Since earlier, she suspected—could Duanmu Xuan have emerged from the game? Such ghostly occurrences unbelievable, yet he scratched his head: “Call me whatever. Names aren’t important. Call me a specific name, and I’ll respond to your signal.”

“Then Red Boy.”

“No problem.” Shaking off snow-like debris: “Thanks.”

Wen Li chuckled: “When will I see you again?”

“When you’re in danger?”

“Red Boy” shook his hair, leaping out the window, leaving a “heroes need no introduction” silhouette. Fourth floor, circular building not tall with open-air corridors—yet jumping directly through windows wasn’t normal behavior. Closing the window, post-rain dampness filled her embrace, yet she felt exhilarated—

A wild life entwined with soulful resonance—finally awaited.