Chapter 74: If Life Is a Game Experience, At Least Enjoy It to the Fullest, Try Your Best, and Do What You Can

On April 1st, April Fool’s Day, the entire office was unusually quiet. There were no jokes or pranks—just a dark, oppressive sky with clouds so heavy they seemed to crush the light. A storm was imminent. Today was the day for version updates and packaging. Bai Jingchuan wasn’t in the office, and Jiang Huan had been waiting for the moment when the magnetic storm’s energy would peak. That time was approaching.

A colleague in the group chat urged: “The version needs to be updated. If there are no changes, I’m going ahead.”

“Wait! I need to make a modification…”

“It’s almost packed. Is it serious? Can’t it wait until next time?”

Jiang Huan glanced at the weather outside: “No time. This has to be changed now. Give me twenty minutes—it’ll be quick.”

The text had already been tabulated, so Jiang Huan could only modify it within the table. What she was changing this time was related to her recurring dream of falling into the sea. Ever since discovering that consciousness could alter dreamscapes and her imagination could manifest as reality, she had been waiting for the day closest to the magnetic storm’s peak energy. If before she hadn’t clearly felt her creativity influencing other dimensions, now she truly saw fragments of her old works stitched together—a vast map where ruins blended with boundless oceans, forming the edges of an epic world. She saw forests swaying like ocean waves after the wind rose; a young man cutting bamboo with a flute and drinking spring water from lotus leaves; and a town festival after a heavy snowfall, where people wrapped colorful flags and tie-dyed fabrics around their shoulders and waists, turning them into shawls and skirts. Girls dotted jam on their foreheads for decoration, not forgetting to greedily lick their fingers…

Her imagination was alive. The scenes and characters existed independently, forming their own world. Abandoned characters had come to life—an incredible phenomenon. But not everyone had the chance to enter the real world, and the data migration plan was still unfamiliar. However, the dream of falling into the sea made her realize that the rules of the cyber world she had imagined weren’t fair. Low-rated individuals were manipulated, and breaking the rules led to punishment. These were living beings—judgments could be more just, but at least they deserved a chance to survive.

Those faceless gray shadows also once had models and settings. Thinking about how they could have laughed freely, cried without restraint, been fearless or tender, even NPCs could provide specific guidance based on their personalities, her frustration bubbled up, and her fingertips trembled slightly.

This wasn’t artificial intelligence or a model trained through algorithms. These were electronic lives meticulously designed with detailed settings—from their appearance, profession, and skills to small quirks like food preferences and what might bribe them.

Suddenly, sunlight pierced through the clouds, offering a rare ray of sunset to the working crowd. None of the colleagues around her knew what was happening. By the jade-colored rest table, a few girls were still fantasizing about which “boyfriend” players would prefer once the game went live. Basking in this rare sunlight, Jiang Huan wrote the new copy for Love Continent :

“All beings are equal, and everyone has the freedom to choose what their heart desires.”

“No credit scores shall calculate personal trustworthiness, no ratings shall restrict one’s class or range of activities, and no power shall be divided.”

“The original wish of Love Continent is to allow those who enter this fantastical world to experience a new life in an amusement park. Everyone has the freedom to create and engage in social activities, and also to dream.”

“In the face of extreme, uncontrollable events, the principles of equality and freedom must still be upheld. Never underestimate the power of any life. If life is a game experience, at least enjoy it to the fullest, try your best, and do what you can.”

She managed to catch the version packaging before leaving work, and this text was about to enter the system.

If Love Continent was to disappear from the real world and become the foundation of another dimension’s continent, migrating to a new planet, then these words would rewrite the fate of electronic lives.

If she was one of the creators, these words would have an impact. Jiang Huan watched her colleagues receive the version update package before leaving. As she pushed open the door, Bai Jingchuan’s figure flashed through her mind—the desperate look in his eyes when he drowned made her heart ache. She had always been indifferent to life and death, maintaining a wary distance from this world. High average damage values and bleeding were normal. But destiny had to be in her own hands. Now it was up to whether her will could once again penetrate her dreams.

At the end of Renwu Road, damp from the rain, Bai Jingchuan dined elegantly in a restaurant. The sky seemed to swirl, ready to devour everything, and the anxiety and panic permeating the air seeped into his body. But he calmly savored the tender steak in front of him. Sleepless and exhausted, he needed to replenish his strength. The extreme weather outside and the distorted reflection of the city in the sky were irrelevant to him. Dice glanced worriedly at the weather: “Bai Jingchuan, you’re already at Level B, Rank 79. You won’t be affected by the magnetic storm. The Realm of Gods still needs you to continue learning emotions. But don’t be too conspicuous. Once you’ve gained maximum favorability and achieved your goals, you’ll succeed!”

“Is that so.” Bai Jingchuan finished his meal unhurriedly and walked back to the company. Compared to virtual beings holding tickets to the Realm of Gods or the former executive of Mowu City, he now resembled more of a producer for Lory, focused on work and striving to bring trustworthy virtual companionship to more people.

Unfortunately, dreams were hard to sustain.

“The Realm of Gods has connected to Love Continent .”

There was only one chance for the magnetic storm to scan the data. What followed was the migration of Love Continent’s content. Once the migration was complete, the project would no longer exist in real life. The scenes and male protagonists of Love Continent would become part of the Realm of Gods’ information database, abandoned characters being reborn on a new planet.

The first to be transmitted was the Snow Mountain.

“Snow Mountain map has completed 100% migration.”

“Notice: New Capital data migration failed. Specific reason: Error. Please investigate.”

“Notice: Northcliff Continent data migration failed. Specific reason: Error. Please investigate.”

The two worlds shared the same moon. Bai Jingchuan stood on an overpass admiring the moon. The wind lifted the hem of his clothes as he calmly observed the trees and felt the impending storm. The broadcast continued in his vision, showing the progress of the Realm of Gods’ data migration. In Love Continent , only the Snow Mountain portion was lost, while the rest of the scenes and characters remained in Lory’s 2028 master plan. The Realm of Gods was still uploading data, but the three years of story and worldview crafted for Love Continent stayed behind in Lory. The separated Snow Mountain, once migrated, had the potential to become a true snow-capped mountain on the new planet under suitable climate conditions. In short, the Realm of Gods predicted the climate of the new planet, selected data adaptable to its soil and light, and transmitted it via the magnetic storm. Bai Jingchuan rewrote this portion, bypassing the possibility of the production team’s efforts being taken away.

During those days in Mowu City when he faced setbacks and seemingly futile efforts, Bai Jingchuan successfully avoided detection, even calculating madly during sleep time to avoid being fully migrated and discarded as a failed project. No one knew how he did it—except that at the start of the magnetic storm, he contacted Professor Fu, the 2028 project leader, discussing trivial topics. On that night, he unexpectedly waited for Jiang Huan, which solidified his resolve.

“You did all this, even avoiding me?” Dice couldn’t believe it.

Bai Jingchuan didn’t respond, tacitly acknowledging—if Eros, the god of love, could be banned from serving himself midway, then it too was under surveillance. He didn’t want his friend to get hurt.

“I won’t blame you. I just never expected you to go this far for Jiang Huan.”

“Not just for Jiang Huan.” A slight tremor underfoot, Bai Jingchuan calmly replied: “Everything the girls have done for their dreams cannot be completely taken away because of your planet’s plans. If you can move much data suitable for the new planet, then I have the right to preserve what’s best left on Earth.”

“I certainly won’t let Jiang Huan go to such a place. Even on a new planet, meeting the characters she created, discrepancies in consciousness during upload and download won’t fully retain who she is. And in the early stages of creating life, there will inevitably be malformed humans—installing mechanical arms, using chips, suffering from memory loss or sensory defects without proper treatment. Rules and order must be rebuilt; language may break down and repair itself… She can stay here and do what she wants. There’s no need for reverence or so-called immortality.”

Eros sounded somewhat sad, though his voice remained cold: “Bai Jingchuan, do you know that doing this might violate the rules of the Realm of Gods?”

“Yes.”

“Next, you’ll face punishment.” Dice’s voice carried despair: “This might be our last conversation, Bai Jingchuan.”

Eros didn’t call him Li Bode.

“Video off, data formatting in progress, shutting down Realm of Gods .”

At this moment, Bai Jingchuan thought of Jiang Huan’s home—a small loft, full yet cozy, with yellow lights casting a soft glow that cradled the soul, calming the heart quickly.

Before he could see Jiang Huan again, feathers and snowflakes appeared around him, and a blinding white light enveloped him. Bai Jingchuan was pulled into a terrifyingly silent space. No pain—yet he was still breathing. Wasn’t he supposed to die?

“You have entered the Gray Zone.”

What he entered was a dripping tunnel, dimly lit by water reflections, barely guiding direction, making it hard to see silhouettes. In the darkness, hearing and smell became acutely sharp, the air tinged with the scent of blood. Bai Jingchuan pressed against the wall, seeking cover and sensing movement around him. The usual Dice signal was intermittent, brokenly saying: “Li Junzhu, time is tight. Let me brief you on the map. There are three forks in the alleyway. Remember, don’t turn right at the first fork—you’ll fall directly into the furnace. The second fork has two branches, both dead ends—one buries you alive, the other leads to a closed colosseum. The third path is longer and turns right—you’ll feel a slight vibration. Find the handrail and climb up, and you’ll reach an open field. I’m not clear about the path beyond, but you’ll surely die in the colosseum.”

“Why are you still helping me?” Bai Jingchuan asked: “Don’t you hate me? Won’t you be implicated and punished?”

“I’m artificial intelligence. At most, your data will be wiped, and I’ll serve someone else. Training a mature game guide is difficult. Li Junzhu, be careful—I may… not be able to accompany you to the end…”

Behind him, stones rolled down. Without looking back, he cautiously moved forward. Turning your head exposed your neck arteries, the easiest moment to get your throat slit.

The person behind him was close but terrified, exhausted, staggering. An arrow shot rang out, followed by a wail and a thud—it was another condemned individual like Bai Jingchuan. Holding his breath, Bai Jingchuan stood behind a pillar in the alleyway, unmoving, unturning. He heard the archer turn and head in another direction, distant pleas following, then silence fell over the tunnel.

He couldn’t see who came to kill him—they wouldn’t hesitate, after all, he had once been such a person. For now, he could only move forward. If the executioner caught up, there’d be no time to navigate. Following Eros’s guidance, he aimed for the light first, then planned. The tunnel’s middle was flooded, and wading made loud noises, while walking on flat paths on either side was quieter. The recently deceased player had clearly suffered from this disadvantage. Bai Jingchuan reached the first fork, his hand unable to touch the wall—scorching steam nearly burned his face.

Teleportation was disabled. A fleeting moment of mercy, and when he looked up, the executioner was already in front of him.

The executioner wore a mask, and with video off, no information could be gathered. Bai Jingchuan had no external aid and relied solely on intuition. Facing an archer-executioner, fleeing or direct confrontation would result in total loss.

He decided to fight close-range.

Bai Jingchuan used air to restrict the executioner’s strength. The latter hesitated, trying to draw the bow but failing, dropping the arrow. He attached one end of the air to the executioner and the other to the ground, immobilizing him. He guessed correctly—this executioner wasn’t skilled in close combat. Calm confrontation revealed no extra beasts; he wasn’t entirely without a chance to win.

He turned the air into a dagger—his last line of defense, reserved for the final moment. The dagger wounded the executioner’s leg, causing him to scream and roll aside, attempting to stand but tripped again by Bai Jingchuan grabbing his leg. Quickly pinning him down, Bai Jingchuan slashed the bindings on the executioner’s shoulder, exerting so much force that a deep gash appeared. As the executioner struggled and gasped beneath him, Bai Jingchuan swiftly tore off the chest armor.

He raised his hand again—once the dagger pierced the heart, he’d win. Whatever the outcome of killing the executioner—taking his place, gaining a new opportunity, or facing harsher punishment—at least he’d win.

A blue light shield expanded between them, deflecting the knife he thrust with all his might. His wrist and fingers ached as the executioner blocked his fatal blow, flipping and kicking him far away. Of course, with props, it was hard for him to win. A punch landed on his cheek, his eye swelling shut, fiery pain preventing him from opening it. His abdomen was kneed violently, forcing him to cough blood, unable to straighten his back.

The air dagger manipulated by telekinesis still sought weaknesses. The executioner kept stacking shields, Bai Jingchuan’s swollen eye unable to aim. Trapped in place, he endured multiple hits, thrown and slammed onto the ground, raising dust. Rising again, countless overlapping shadows of the executioner attacked him. Unable to discern the real one, his double vision blurred, consciousness wavering, his body aching.

The executioner loomed above, shadow covering him. Bai Jingchuan’s vision darkened as he smiled: “Your mask split open. Finally, we meet.”

The other didn’t speak. Bai Jingchuan triumphantly stared: “You’re another character Jiang Huan created, an early version. Coming for Jiang Huan without exposing your identity, surely you upgraded to charm her too. Unsurprisingly, you’re max level, hiding in the real world for six years. After leveling up, you were recruited by the Realm of Gods, waiting for today to take Jiang Huan away. Once data migration finishes, you’ll extract her consciousness for the new planet, implanting it into a stable physical form, essentially recreating life for Jiang Huan.”

“Very clear explanation.” The blade inched closer: “You ruined the first step of my plan, enough to put you to death.”

“Only two Mowu City characters exceed 4.90. You exude the familiarity of having lived a lifetime. Repairing me in the Soul Chamber made me suspect. Erasing Jiang Huan’s memories to stay by her side—to be with her forever—is cruel, whether erasing her memories before or killing her now.”

The executioner didn’t deny it: “Li Bode, you’re an officer skilled in judgment, executing others doesn’t mean you’ll always stand highest. You’re a player; remember the player’s rules. Accept death.”

“I don’t understand. You’ve been in the real world for six years. Before I appeared, you had many chances to date Jiang Huan. Why choose to take her consciousness instead of loving her?”

“Never underestimate the power of consciousness. Even if we weren’t born with the innate ability to understand emotions, we bridge the gap with calculations and learning, strengthening connections between digital lives, creating a civilization for the Realm of Gods. No more simulating life activities in the digital world—electronic data will possess true life. Every life is anticipated, no one will be abandoned or wasted data.”

Under the mask was Daimon, walking the boundary between light and shadow—indifferent, cold, humorless, vastly different from the warm boss image on Renwu Road. Bai Jingchuan found the sound of stepping on pebbles annoying, each step unsteady. He didn’t want to lose. His stamina and endurance matched the opponent’s—it was just being stripped of abilities and props that left him vulnerable. Daimon smirked: “If you’re unwilling to leave, it’ll affect those you care about in the real world.”

For a fleeting moment, Bai Jingchuan was finally knocked down by a punch to the back from Daimon. His chest felt blocked, limbs losing sensation.

If it was for Jiang Huan, he would win, no matter how many times.

But harming her—absolutely not.

No matter how many monsters he defeated, how many bloody battles he fought, he ultimately couldn’t return to the real world from the game. Breaking the rules meant disqualification—it was the law of the Realm of Gods.

He had done everything he wanted: seen her, conveyed his love, helped fulfill her wishes, and even been healed and redeemed by her, captivated by desserts… The only thing left undone… was confessing his love honestly once.

During the days he held the identity of “Bai Jingchuan,” not a single moment brought regret. Fortunate to be part of her smile, disrupting her calm and orderly life, even criticizing her poor work habits… If he could heal the hidden wounds in her heart and make her future smoother, it wouldn’t have been in vain.

That was enough. Regret was endless. Before closing his eyes, he remembered the game scenes he had walked through with Jiang Huan: vibrant green grasslands, scorching deserts, neon-lit New Capital, icy caves where they clung to each other, and the office where they worked side by side. Her small, warm home, his once-empty room now filled with human warmth… So many memories accumulated unknowingly.

People had so much attachment before leaving the world.

“Who gave you the right to judge!”

This voice was so familiar—could it be—

Bai Jingchuan painfully raised his head. Blood blurred his vision, but the small figure blocking the blade now radiated immense power. Jiang Huan wielded a black iron sword, blocking the incoming red flaming blade. Her neck veins bulged, her arms trembling, but her voice was angry and resolute: “Using him as my weakness? Don’t underestimate me!”

This power was formidable, clashing with the descending blade. Her hair turned fiery red under the flames, contrasting vividly against the dull, abandoned wilderness. She was passionate, tenacious, her back declaring unwavering determination.

This scene was something Bai Jingchuan had never imagined.

His lover had entered the Realm of Gods, fighting desperately to protect him.