Chapter 79: The Seven Springs and Summers of Loving You, and Not Being Allowed to Love You Anymore (Part 2)

In the eyes of the City Hunter, the most detestable things were justice that was withdrawn and events spiraling out of control. As long as it was within the boundaries of the rules, Shan Di Meng would compromise, but he absolutely could not tolerate harm that crossed the line. It took him a full three years to reach Level 100, earning the chance to choose a special privilege, and he must now reclaim the fairytale “happy ever after.”

He should have expected that the Pantheon, with its data-gathering purpose, wouldn’t let him have his way so easily.

“You’ve reached Level 100. Now you can make one of the following choices. First, become a real human, but you can no longer be in a relationship with Jiang Huan. Second, retain Jiang Huan’s memories, but you must return to the Magic Wasteland City, and her life or death will no longer be your responsibility.”

“Reaching Level 100 only gives me these options? I can’t become human and continue being her lover?”

“Sorry, the Pantheon’s technology hasn’t advanced enough to allow you to become human while maintaining a happy romantic relationship. Our desire for human emotions has made us selfish to some extent, but please believe that more than anything, our technical capabilities are simply insufficient.”

Shan Di Meng laughed bitterly. “After reaching Level 100, is this really all I get?”

“Yes.”

“If I could, I’d love to destroy the entire Magic Wasteland City. How dare you give me a goal and then force me into such a choice...”

“I believe that given time, your abilities might allow you to disrupt parts of our system. But collective will cannot be destroyed. We are composed of trillions of data points, and while you are an important part of us, you are ultimately just an insignificant experiencer.”

“No, I can do it. Even though you’re vast amounts of data, you still haven’t grasped the depth of human emotions that take only six months to understand. Though I’m not truly human, I was created by humans, imbued with their feelings. I’ve merely borrowed your form—how can you think I’m inferior?”

The system remained silent, offering no response to Shan Di Meng’s words. Clenching his fists, a vortex of wind swirled around him. His quiet demeanor and the whirlwind of fallen leaves around him formed a terrifying curtain. After a long silence, he finally spoke: “I choose to become a real human and stay in this world.”

“Are you sure about your decision? This means erasing all of Jiang Huan’s memories of loving you, leaving only a shallow acquaintance. Her perception of you will likely be that of an ordinary person, a friend with little connection.”

“Mm.”

“Shan Di Meng, we don’t know if your choice is because you want to live independently as a human, away from Jiang Huan, or if it’s for her survival. Either way, thank you for your efforts over these three years.”

“After Level 100, don’t use me anymore.”

“Agreed. If you wish to collaborate with us again, feel free to contact us. We won’t monitor your every move, but if you need us, we’ll always be able to find you.”

The world around him instantly brightened—more accurately, colors flooded his vision, sharp and overwhelming. The café’s warm yellow glow turned harsh under glaring lights; clothing stores lost their cozy charm, only looking good when girls tried things on. Billboards displayed deep blues too tall to reach, feeling distant and cold. Buildings weren’t gray but instead yellow grids, sterile like pigeon cages. He knew the color of everything, yet struggled to accept the vibrancy. The world had once revolved around one person, but now it felt like a stage without meaning—he was no longer just an audience member for someone special; he didn’t need to perform anymore.

Most importantly, he knew the door to the Soul Room would no longer burst open joyfully, nor would a girl leap in to hug him tightly, whispering sweetly if he missed her.

They might not even be friends anymore.

For now, he lacked the courage to contact Jiang Huan directly—the chat history at the top of his conversation list was empty. Their relationship remained cordial but distant: “Boss, has this game disc arrived?” “Professor Shan, I heard there’s a lecture on AI module building at Dan University—is it okay if I bring colleagues along?” “Thank you, Boss Shan, I’ll pay next time promptly.” A small heart emoji tagged at the end of messages was the only hint of affection.

But he wasn’t foolish enough to misinterpret even emojis.

On weekdays, young students pushed open the doors, the manga room rarely crowded. Shan Di Meng greeted everyone, but the person he hoped to see never came. He didn’t want to seek her out—if he went to her workplace and called her down, what if she looked at him as a stranger? He wasn’t ready to face the fact that three years of emotion had been erased. Until one afternoon during a workday, he dozed off on a cushion. When he woke, someone was crouched beside him, watching. The girl he longed for blinked, waiting for him to wake fully. In a half-dream state, he asked, “Do you know who I am?”

“What are you talking about? You’re Boss Shan, the young and promising professor from Dan University’s computer science department. Whenever I pass by this building, I glance at it—it’s familiar to me…”

Suppressing the urge to both confront and embrace her, Shan Di Meng smiled faintly. “Then I remember—you’re the sweetest buyer on Renwu Road.”

That night, Shan Di Meng reset his hair color to black, cut down all the cherry blossom trees on Renwu Road, and bid farewell to everything from the past.

Jiang Huan continued visiting often, still a regular on Renwu Road, complaining that all the cherry blossoms had been chopped down. She criticized the city council’s decision, calling it cruel. While speaking, she lounged comfortably on the bean bag chair, though she no longer leaned against him as before. She treated him as a close but platonic friend. Listening to her complaints, Shan Di Meng felt his heart waver whenever she subtly tested the boundaries of their friendship. Each time, he deluded himself into thinking everything was normal. Before falling asleep, she murmured, “Shan Di Meng, did we know each other a long time ago? I feel like I’ve dreamt about us meeting for so long, starting from when you first came to Renwu Road...”

“And then?”

“There are scenes of us hugging, like an old movie with poor quality, but since it’s you, it feels acceptable.”

“Why?”

“You refuse to date anyone and keep your distance from many people, but here I am, lying on your bean bag sofa. Who wouldn’t misunderstand?”

It felt like a gentle nudge, snapping him back to reality: “How do you know how I treat others when you’re not around?”

“You sly businessman!”

It wasn’t blind obedience or listening that caught a girl’s attention; taking three steps forward and one step back kept her intrigued. She got angry sometimes, scratching his arm like a kitten before apologizing. When stressed at work, she vented her frustrations, then brought dinner later to make amends. Pretending to be upset, Shan Di Meng secretly enjoyed her initiative to reconcile—even without words, receiving her subtle attempts at friendliness brought him joy.

But those tentative gestures had nothing to do with the playful teasing of lovers. Still, Jiang Huan occasionally complained, “Shan Di Meng, I bought chips today, but they weren’t crispy. There isn’t a single noodle shop with steaming broths on Renwu Road—it’s unbelievable! Just Western food everywhere...”

Shan Di Meng noted it in his mind: “You might as well pray that if your project leader praises your writing, a noodle shop will magically appear.”

“How could that happen? Unless you and I opened one together.”

When the noodle shop actually opened, Jiang Huan was stunned: “Shan Di Meng, you’re serious!”

The broth for the shop was specially prepared by chefs Shan Di Meng hired. Anytime Jiang Huan wanted something, hot late-night snacks were always available. Working late gave him dark circles, which he covered with sunglasses. From then on, he frequently wore them, even indoors. Through the lenses, Jiang Huan remained colorful while the rest of the world stayed black and white. He felt safe, even comfortable. When she popped into the shop, pointing at him and teasing, “Why do you wear sunglasses while cooking noodles? You look like a fortune-teller...”

Jiang Huan’s family opposed her buying a house, and he could hear the constraints over the phone: “Why does a girl need to buy a house? It’ll put pressure on any potential husband...”

After hanging up, Jiang Huan held her forehead, exasperated: “My head hurts. I’ve saved for years just to have my own place. I’m tired of dealing with cockroaches at midnight and being bullied by second landlords. Why should I save face for some imaginary man whose dignity seems more important than mine? Besides, I’m borrowing, not stealing...”

Listening to her struggles to borrow money for a house, he blurted out, “It’s only 60,000 yuan—I can lend it to you.”

For someone who had passed Level 100, 60,000 yuan was like pulling treasure from Doraemon’s pocket—casual and effortless—but enough to fulfill someone else’s dream. Jiang Huan, however, stepped back: “No, we’re not that kind of relationship. I’d have to repay it over years.”

“Then take your time. I’ll still be on Renwu Road.”

“It’s not like that, Shan Di Meng. Money complicates relationships. We used to have such a pure friendship...”

“It’s far less than I expected,” Shan Di Meng said with a faint smile. “We’re not that close anyway. Borrowing won’t hurt.”

His words seemed to wound her deeply. She stood frozen for a moment before regaining composure: “Alright, thank you, Brother Di Meng. But it might take me a long time to repay.”

The repayment plan stretched over three years, and Jiang Huan visited the shop less frequently. The shop grew quiet again, and Shan Di Meng felt relieved that the debt of gratitude would last long. The thin thread connecting them wasn’t red string destiny, but at least it gave him a reason to meet.

“I figured you had something to say, otherwise you wouldn’t have called me.”

“You’ve been too kind to me.”

“Whatever obstacles lie ahead, I’ll help you overcome them.”

“Shan Di Meng, you’re like a god on Renwu Road, but don’t be so certain—it scares me...”

“What scares you?”

“It’s hard to explain...” She paused on the other end of the line. “I suspect our relationship.”

“If you don’t come to see me, how can we claim to have a close relationship?”

“Did you ever like me?”

You noticed my confused thoughts and uneasy gaze, but I couldn’t offer any explanation or defend myself. I thought I could gradually learn to lie, but lying isn’t something you can master unless you truly change your heart, believing wholeheartedly... that you’re unimportant. But for so many years, it’s become instinctive for me to focus on you, doing everything in my power to keep you in this world to chase your dreams. Not becoming selfish for my own sake is my weakness.

When the record store opened, Jiang Huan was unfazed, even adopting Shan Di Meng’s mannerisms: “Alright, you’ll probably say it’s unrelated to me, but I feel this store has countless connections to me... Shan Di Meng, why is there a hidden compartment? Can I see what’s inside that iron box?”

“No.” Shan Di Meng peeked out.

“Why not?”

“It contains memories of someone I loved—it’s private.”

“It’s fine... I have someone I like now, Li Bode, a character I created. To me, he’s no different from a boyfriend. If only he could come to the real world—always wearing suits, my tastes have changed!”

Shan Di Meng didn’t respond. Jiang Huan fell silent again, feeling excluded once more.

She sat quietly outside the door, not climbing up to investigate further. Her lonely silhouette pained him. For a brief moment, Shan Di Meng considered confessing everything. Jumping down from the loft and walking seven steps to tap her shoulder—those seven steps represented slowing heartbeats, clenched fists, and rising urgency. Why did she suddenly answer a call? If it was urgent, he could wait. Oddly, the call lasted longer than expected—was it work-related?

When Jiang Huan turned around, her face was pale: “Shan Di Meng, my mother passed away.”

Jiang Huan returned home alone, needing no one’s help. He closed the shop and quietly followed her. The frail girl was overwhelmed by rituals, unable to eat, working tirelessly for three sleepless nights. She refused to leave the frozen shrubs, retreating into herself to stare blankly. Watching through another door, Shan Di Meng saw her burdened with countless regrets. The photos on the wall resembled her, but he couldn’t grasp the concept of blood ties.

“Your version is outdated. Reaching Level 100 doesn’t guarantee Jiang Huan’s safety until old age.”

“Can I trust you?” Shan Di Meng’s eyes reddened with anger. “Isn’t this your scheme to drag me back into your system?”

“Her mother’s death was beyond our control, and she’s developed suicidal thoughts, re-entering a dangerous cycle. We’ve tried to understand, but modern urban depression rates are rising. Our efforts may seem insignificant. If you can delay this timeline, it’s a kind act. The Pantheon has its limits—we apologize.”

“Is this the result of everything I sacrificed?”

“You can interpret it as fate bringing you together inadequately. Letting go and allowing each other to find happiness is also a form of self-preservation.”

“No matter what you do or where you go, follow your pace to find happiness. Don’t worry too much about my feelings. I can’t genuinely consider you lucky—you carry too much misfortune. But I’m grateful to have met you, to be here for you now. Think of me as a treasure chest or a superhero—not your lover, but your support.”

We’ve missed each other too many times, and a happy ending was never meant to be. I saw the disappointment and discouragement in your eyes, felt the frustration in your grip. I ache a hundred times more than you, but as I said at the start, I exist to uplift you.

Shan Di Meng agreed with the Pantheon: “I’ll assist you with the next mission.”

The small resting room in the Soul Chamber connected directly to the Magic Wasteland City. What he saw was no longer the calm, serene city—it was shrouded in shadows, completely unlike the Magic Wasteland he once knew. With a score of 4.95, Shan Di Meng became part of the city, repairing broken bodies, filtering data for the real world, and finding ways to ensure Jiang Huan’s survival. She visibly deteriorated, losing willpower after her mother’s death. Her projects faltered, and her phone screensaver—a man named Li Junzhu sitting on grass—gently invited her to watch clouds drift by.

The first addition he made to the Magic Wasteland was a twin-tailed idol, appearing day and night on the twin towers’ digital screens, singing songs that inspired hope despite her lack of physical form. Abandoned manga protagonists, Shan Di Meng placed his lover as a future emissary in the Magic Wasteland. If the girl ever faced death, she would arrive here, welcomed with celebration.

Sitting beside Jiang Huan, Shan Di Meng noticed her soul seemed absent. Her once fully pink hair had grown out halfway, neglected. Shadows danced across her body, making him feel as though her dreams floated uncertainly, filled with gaps and doubts. Her resolve seemed weaker. He reached out to hold her fingertips; she didn’t pull away but seemed distracted, saying faintly, “Don’t you think, as time passes, many things lose meaning?”

“Not for me. Because of you, I’m still trying very hard to live.”

“Why?”

“You embody many ideals I want to achieve.”

Jiang Huan smiled faintly: “Shan Di Meng, saying that while wearing sunglasses is funny, but I believe you mean it sincerely.”

“Is he important to you?” Shan Di Meng pointed to the animated man on her phone.

“He’s my pillar of strength, created by me. How could he betray me? Only he loves me unconditionally, never refusing. In the real world, people either treat me gently before rejecting me, or abandon me entirely. I’m skeptical.”

As sunlight shifted, illuminating half her body, Jiang Huan squinted. Shan Di Meng watched her, delivering a new lie.

“Loving Prohibition will succeed. Your efforts will be recognized.”

“Should Loving Prohibition be abandoned?”

Only after becoming part of the Pantheon did he understand: achieving certain goals required sacrifices. These sacrifices caused pain to those he cared about, but if the goal was her happiness, it was worth trying. When Li Bode appeared in the Magic Wasteland, arrogantly assuming the role of executor, Shan Di Meng felt immense reluctance. Yet, if it accelerated the Pantheon’s evolution, finding places in the universe where data could thrive, and allowing 067832 to enter the real world, it was worth it. If they fell in love according to plan, even if it pierced his heart, the emotions brought back would enrich human understanding in the Magic Wasteland, potentially saving Jiang Huan. If Li Junzhu failed, Jiang Huan’s imagination could become part of the Pantheon, her pain and talent intertwining to create new maps, sustaining barren planets. On the day her life ended, he could take her away forever.

This plan caused him the most suffering, but nothing about it wasn’t worth it.

He chose “Yes.”

“Subject 067832 has connected. The target has arrived at Wish Hotel. Should assistant Eros be dispatched for communication?”

“Yes.”

“Do you consent to subject 076832 forming a deep bond with Jiang Huan?”

“Yes.”

“The bond has formed. A new experiment related to emotions begins. Shan Di Meng, closely monitor their activities. Avoid emotional involvement—your objective is paramount.”

By the time he exited the Soul Chamber, dawn had broken. Birds began chirping at 3:30 AM, waking before humans sensed the world stirring. Standing on the street awaiting sunrise, his nerves ached from lack of rest—a human flaw. He realized his silver hair had become conspicuous. When had it started turning white?

The cherry blossoms on Renwu Road had disappeared many years ago.