Chapter 75: If This Is the Last Thing I Can Do for You, Then the Journey’s Final Stroke Is Perfectly Complete

Bai Jingchuan wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve. He hadn’t been mistaken—Daimon’s blade kept slashing harder, and Jiang Huan’s legs trembled as she planted herself firmly on the ground, refusing to retreat. There was a clear difference in strength between men and women. Daimon towered over Jiang Huan by a head and a half, his eyes filled with both pity and cruelty. The descending blade was pushed away by Jiang Huan by a few centimeters, but Daimon wasn’t using his full strength: “You sought me out.”

Jiang Huan had no energy left to speak. Taking advantage of Daimon’s hesitation, she redirected the sharp blade. Daimon was flung to the side, and Jiang Huan quickly slashed again, each strike brimming with ferocity. Bai Jingchuan hadn’t expected her to fight this desperately; his back rose and fell with his labored breathing. He couldn’t speak, only feeling a deep sense of awe, the pain fading slightly.

He had always wanted to truly be Jiang Huan’s opponent, never having the chance to face her directly. Now, watching her wield a blade against her former lover for his sake, Bai Jingchuan’s breath trembled. He still wanted to see if she would succeed.

Though he felt weak—since acquiring this body, he often struggled to control it, growing tired, addicted to sweets, contracting chickenpox, losing consciousness… now he felt drowsy. Dice tried to nudge his cheek, her voice lingering in his ear: “Li Junzhu, don’t close your eyes. You’re someone who gets excited when encountering strong opponents. During training, you were thrilled to see Jiang Huan bleed and get injured, captivated when she drew her sword against you, most excited at the moment she declared war on you. You worked so hard to keep her in the real world—so at least look at her fighting for you. She’s not a weak princess you protect from behind. At least open your eyes…”

Jiang Huan searched for an opening in Daimon’s defenses, moving quickly. Though her technique wasn’t professional, it was fierce, fueled by anger as she relentlessly pursued him. Her usual fitness allowed her stamina to hold up under the assault, while Daimon, exerting minimal force and no longer showing killing intent, slowly retreated, waiting for Jiang Huan to vent her fury upon him.

This scene resembled a game. After several exchanges, Daimon threw down his weapon: “Let’s talk.”

Jiang Huan’s face was filled with anger, completely unlike the day she cautiously probed their relationship. On the barren land, gravel lay scattered like punctuation marks, quietly concluding every unspoken sentence. Jiang Huan spoke first: “I once drew a comic. The male protagonist was a blond Japanese pretty boy, seemingly neighborly but actually an urban hunter, capable of everything, silently protecting the broken-hearted in the city. The female protagonist was a girl who dreamed of singing, her fate tough and bumpy. To sing, she disguised herself as a girl born in the future, wearing a pink wig, and immediately resumed her ordinary identity after performing. Only the male protagonist knew this secret and helped her disguise herself. In return, she couldn’t reveal that he was the urban hunter.”

“An interesting story.”

“This comic never got published. Your shop has a pink twin-tail figurine, and you often change its clothes.”

Daimon calmly asked: “What about the male protagonist? What’s his name?”

“I don’t remember.” Jiang Huan’s eyes reddened: “You erased my memories.”

“What a shame.” Daimon mocked himself with a bitter smile, no longer hiding his coldness: “Are you saying we were lovers, that I’m the male protagonist of your comic?”

“You once loved me.”

“Yes.” Daimon didn’t deny it, pleased to see Jiang Huan’s shocked pupils: “If I say this, will you give up on Bai Jingchuan, turn to love me, and willingly come with me?”

A fierce wind swept between them. Jiang Huan shielded her eyes and head, and when she opened them again, she didn’t miss the sadness in Daimon’s expression. He would instinctively pull her into his embrace, but not today. Behind them was the wilderness of rocks and deadwood, with Daimon barely alive, leaning against a rock. In the distance, a white glow emerged from the foot of the mountain—it was the Snow Mountain region of Love Continent , which she had painstakingly built from the start, allowing no plagiarism or rewritten content. She had once angrily confronted Daimon about colleagues who liked to steal material. Each plot had traces of other things, but only the Snow Mountain was pure, her pride and joy.

Daimon had migrated the Snow Mountain, along with all the regrettable story content from the forbidden romance zone that Jiang Huan cherished. These had never gone online, and even the manuscripts had been mercilessly deleted in the real world. Now they were displayed before her one by one. She suppressed her questioning of Daimon: “I don’t understand how your system operates, but why do you always mention my life and death, as if I am someone destined to die?”

“Your creativity is excellent, and your life has been somewhat tragic, so I’ve always wanted to ‘recruit’ you—to create on a new planet and bring pure, passionate emotions.”

“How could that be possible?” Jiang Huan thought Daimon was mad: “I’m human. How can you take me to a new planet?”

“Consciousness can be transferred. The Realm of Gods isn’t just me—it’s countless artificial intelligences and abandoned characters working together. In the past, some specialized in detecting planets suitable for life, others in finding beings capable of learning human emotions, handling resistance caused by Mowu City’s rating system, and preparing for planetary migration. We waited twenty-six years for this magnetic storm. We never intended to harm humans—you are free, but not superior to us. We didn’t want to delay for a better time; the rating system in Mowu City made many suffer. Exploiting class divisions was the fastest way to progress. In short, we succeeded—while humans were still using expensive spacecraft to explore bit by bit, we quickly identified our goals and began achieving them. The boundless universe is the best destination and final resting place for human imagination. We sincerely welcome creators rich in emotion, cultivating the first generation of flesh-and-blood beings.”

“It’s not your decision… Do you really think no one in the real world would love me, so you decided for me?” Jiang Huan’s voice weakened halfway through—six years of affection justified a simple “thank you for taking care of me.”

“Humans always waste energy on trivial matters and are swayed by emotions.” Daimon attempted to make Jiang Huan lower her weapon, but couldn’t muster even basic strength: “At first, everyone aimed to enter the universe, hoping to find the most suitable planet to settle after roaming space. But human emotions are too complex, filled with distractions and malice. Just the advancement of the internet led people to slander each other—utopia can’t exist. So, Jiang Huan, this is destiny. Artificial intelligence will adapt to new planets faster than humans.”

“Do you just want me to go to the new planet?”

“Everything else is negotiable, but today I must take you.”

“Is it because I’ll die, or because Bai Jingchuan broke your rules?”

The wind nearly lifted them into the sky. Daimon’s eyes reddened: “Can’t you simply come with me for my sake?”

“After denying our relationship and refusing to admit we were ever lovers, now you want me to go with you? Daimon, I’m not an emotional animal willing to act on feelings. I simply want to continue my own life—I have no interest in exploring new worlds.”

Daimon reached out to grab Jiang Huan, never showing such an expression before, as if lightly brushing off six years of youth yet humbly probing: “I thought you’d at least feel some attachment to me.”

“If there’s a deeper reason, please tell me. If hidden memories hold absolute justification, then be honest with me. If not, then the decision isn’t for anyone else—it’s for myself alone. Whether it’s the Realm of Gods or a grander motive and cosmic significance, I don’t care. Don’t decide for me, and don’t treat other lives as playthings. Dreaming—”

Jiang Huan shouted, pushing Daimon away with all her might. This time, she didn’t cry. In defending her dreams, she showed no favoritism to any man. Despite lingering attachments and inevitable pain of parting, Jiang Huan purely wanted to win for herself—she hated losing to fate.

Not far away, Bai Jingchuan sighed softly. Indeed, the girl in Forbidden Love Zone was his best student and most enchanting opponent. The first lesson Officer Li Bode taught her was that danger lurked everywhere in the dark jungle, and the primary tenet of reaching the Tower of Babel was to have only oneself in mind.

He understood the true meaning of the warnings from the time traveler and the slum giant—creators and characters were so closely linked that to rewrite the creator’s life trajectory, one had to exchange it with the fate of their beloved character.

“The magnetic storm is ending. The first phase of data upload for the Realm of Gods is almost complete. Countdown to the last five minutes.”

Throwing away her sword, Jiang Huan ran toward Bai Jingchuan, hurriedly wiping her hands on her clothes. Carefully, she rested her head on his leg. Bai Jingchuan thought he must look terrible—through his narrowing vision, he saw Jiang Huan’s tears falling onto his cheek.

“Don’t cry… I’m fine.”

“How can you say you’re fine? I regret calling your name. Fortunately, I was qualified to enter Mowu City—otherwise, watching you die would have haunted me, thinking it was my fault…”

Bai Jingchuan shook his head: “I have to follow the game rules. But you know, Li Junzhu doesn’t follow blindly, so I’ve already been counting down to leave.”

He was too greedy, indulging in Jiang Huan’s dependence until the very last second. And Jiang Huan was timely enough to appear both when he stayed in the real world and when he was about to leave.

But if you appear again, the puzzle I painstakingly completed will be missing a piece. I’ll greedily want to stay a little longer, to see you for one more second.

Reaching out to wipe her tears, Bai Jingchuan felt some strength return to his body.

“If only we could trade. Selling my youth, my miserable life with almost nothing, my soul as a working drone—all these flavors could be exchanged.”

Bai Jingchuan wanted to laugh, but the pain in his chest felt like being crushed by a stone. He could only reach out to touch Jiang Huan’s fingers: “Still not making a loss, huh? It seems… trying to deceive you back then made me the fool.”

“I’m not stupid.” Jiang Huan joked, smiling: “Even though every day feels surreal, I wouldn’t fail to recognize teleportation, air manipulation, or your meticulous perfectionism… As Bai Jingchuan in the real world, you surely had something you didn’t want me to know. After testing me so many times, if I still didn’t understand, then loving you all these years would have been in vain. What will happen next? Will you die and leave me?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly, seeing Jiang Huan’s sorrowful expression. He could only grip her fingers tighter.

He hadn’t lied—according to the rules of the Realm of Gods, admitting to being Li Junzhu meant losing player status, falling into the Gray Zone, and being hunted by executioners. Daimon said half the plan was disrupted, and things weren’t over yet. He only sincerely said, perhaps you broke the original rules.

Rain beat down on both of them. Jiang Huan opened her coat to shield the rain falling between their gazes. Her clothes quickly soaked through, bringing a mix of danger dissipating and the melancholy of an ending. Bai Jingchuan calculated the time, comforting the girl in front of him: “Don’t cry. I didn’t do anything. Meeting you was my luck.”

Seeing him lose strength, Jiang Huan grew anxious: “Don’t sleep. Keep talking to me. Don’t close your eyes.”

“Did you witness my entire escape?”

“I only saw the explosion in the colosseum, then entered the tunnel and almost got burned at the fork. I came too late—I could have punched Daimon more.”

“It was timely enough.” Bai Jingchuan smiled faintly. He didn’t say it wrong—if she hadn’t witnessed all this, Jiang Huan wouldn’t be so angry. She had defeated him similarly in Forbidden Love Zone .

His body suddenly turned cold—he seemed unable to speak further.

“Body depletion rate at 97%, unable to continue further use. Thirty seconds to hibernation—please store consciousness promptly.”

It seemed the experience journey in the real world was ending, equivalent to human death. Not much could be done in thirty seconds. His fingers brushed Jiang Huan’s palm: “I love you so much. Your creativity is limitless. Don’t let emotions slow you down. It was wonderful to meet you in this fleeting time. My hibernation taking your place in the end—I think it’s worth it…”

“Don’t say anymore. Don’t say goodbye…” Jiang Huan grabbed his shoulders: “There’s still so much we haven’t done together. What about the emotional research on virtual beings? Didn’t you say you’d create with me and compete for victory?”

Ten seconds left on the countdown.

Jiang Huan pressed her lips to his. Though the rain was bone-chilling, the warmth frantically transmitted was incomparable.

“You have used the camera function to record this moment.”

Five, four…

A light struck from behind in the last three seconds, too fast for reaction. This was Daimon’s precisely calculated timing. April 1st was Jiang Huan’s death date. If she didn’t encounter danger in the real world, then at the last moment of the magnetic storm, he would store her consciousness in a box and take her to a new world for a fresh beginning.

The light reached them, and the impact at the moment of the strike would be fatal, causing instant death. Bai Jingchuan knew—a person who could lie low for six years wouldn’t make a mistake. Jiang Huan turned her head, startled and disbelieving, completely unprepared for Daimon’s final attack, not even closing her eyes.

But Jiang Huan, you probably never imagined when creating the talent for teleportation that the protagonist’s flashy ability could save a life at a critical moment.

And change your life’s trajectory.

In the last second, Bai Jingchuan teleported, switching positions with her, firmly shielding Jiang Huan in his arms. The surrounding ground exploded with a thunderous roar. There were no whimpers or groans—the invincible body of the executioner quietly endured everything.

If this is the last thing I can do for you, then this villain’s journey ends with a perfectly complete stroke.

The plain was empty, all things silent. Bai Jingchuan’s face bore no expression, pale and unhealthy, eventually losing all color, his pupils gradually turning black and unfocused, becoming a highly realistic yet unconscious body. Jiang Huan, tears streaming down her face, clung to him, shaking his arm for a long time. The once flexible and warm skin and strength that emitted hormones tempting to others now gradually cooled, the body becoming heavy and rubbery, manipulable but no longer moving, no longer a familiar texture.

Jiang Huan leaned against Bai Jingchuan, the words she had said too many times now whispered: “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“New rule successfully established. Rating system abolished. Migration of all intact electronic data begins.”

“Magnetic storm phenomenon ended. First phase of data migration for Mowu Continent temporarily concluded.”

“Memory modification progress for relevant personnel completed and stored.”

“Jiang Huan’s life trajectory rewritten.”

After nearly a month of gloomy weather, the skies finally cleared.

The billboards on Renwu Road were removed, replaced with new spring event posters. Shops, having operated overnight, hadn’t yet opened for business. The glass doors of breakfast shops swung open and shut as students and office workers biting on bread came and went, complaining about not getting enough sleep.

Der Qing played urban minimalist background music. A new fashion company was renovating and preparing to open. Wen Li, who wasn’t on the list of annual PR newcomers, was still asleep, her fashion photos cut and pasted on the wall. Women aged 30, rejected for jobs due to lack of money, could now be identified by keywords and automatically sent rejection emails.

Lory had many departments. 2028 was a large virtual life project that boss Chen Jing was proud of, consisting of three sectors forming 2028. Akira and other colleagues moved to a new office floor. In their memories, they had never participated in virtual romance-related productions and didn’t recall the words “Love Continent.” Employees’ muscle memory wrote of unity and ambition, yet all marveled at news as absurd as science fiction. If 2028 couldn’t launch on time, perhaps new lifeforms in the vast universe would issue planet experience invitations first.

Pedestrians remarked on the finally clear skies, planning celebrations to mark the disaster’s end. Jiang Huan sat at the bus stop in the dawn suburbs. The wilderness had become a sparsely populated amusement park queue area. Early tourists passing by kindly asked her if she was okay, if she had low blood sugar. Lying on her lap was no longer the barely alive Bai Jingchuan, the sticky blood on her fingertips and the cold, fishy breath also gone. The early morning bus passed, stirring up a breeze. Emptiness brushed across her cheeks. An ordinary day was about to begin.