Chapter 32

Chapter 32

After leaving the cultivation world, Yaoguang crashed onto his bed, grabbed his phone to send a message asking a colleague to cover for him on sick leave, then promptly fell asleep. It wasn't until eleven o'clock that Little Ya's urgent voice roused him.

"Yaoguang? Yaoguang!"

"Wake up! Are you okay? Did you take that many pills?"

"Little Ya?" Yaoguang jerked awake in surprise.

Little Ya was seated by the bed, shaking him. For some reason, she had come alone to the old house and found the pill bottles Yaoguang had discarded on the floor.

"I forgot to clean up last week," Yaoguang explained. "Sorry about that. Where's Liang Jue?"

Startled, Little Ya explained, "I sneaked out with a friend this morning to go fishing, and when we passed by your shop, your colleague said you were sick, so I came to check on you."

Yaoguang had only managed to fall asleep around five, and now he was plagued with a splitting headache. He dug out some painkillers, took them, then went to freshen up. He stopped Little Ya from tidying up his room, saying, "I'll do a deep clean in a couple of days. I've got it covered."

Without Liang Jue around, Little Ya didn't dare tidy Yaoguang's room on her own. After all, their relationship wasn't that close, so she suggested, "Why don't we go downstairs for lunch? My friend is waiting below—would that bother you?"

"Not at all."

Yaoguang's mind was in disarray at the moment. He had planned to sleep until two in the afternoon and then sort out his thoughts about the recent events. However, Little Ya's unexpected visit disrupted his plans, forcing him to tidy himself up before descending the stairs with her, who was brimming with concern.

Little Ya brought along a close female colleague. Yaoguang could tell they had already shared quite a conversation, as her friend looked at him with a curious glint in her eyes.

They had lunch at a restaurant by the roadside. Upon learning that Yaoguang was an author, the colleague became even more intrigued, for it's not every day one encounters a living writer in real life. Yaoguang struggled to appear enthusiastic, drawing upon every scrap of wit he could muster. Yet, being the person he was, he occasionally lost focus during conversations, especially given the turmoil of the previous night that left his thoughts jumbled.

He made a concerted effort to re-engage with the present reality. Lunchtime fell into awkward silences, with the two lovely ladies smiling at him. This made him feel uneasy, so he resorted to sipping his drink repeatedly.

Fortunately, his good looks saved him from the awkwardness. Yaoguang used to be a 7 out of 10 in terms of appearance; with some effort, he could even edge close to an 8. High school had been his peak, but college life with its irregular schedule and reversed day and night cycles had taken a toll on his face, adding a melancholic air that lowered his score to consistently hover between 6.5 and 7 points.

Despite the deduction, he still packed a punch visually, or else how would he have been chosen as an emotional companion?

The aura of a dispirited yet artistic youth, combined with Yaoguang's perpetual expression of world-weariness and lack of interest in anything, made him resemble a character straight out of a work by Osamu Dazai. This was a fatal attraction for many.

While they chatted away, Yaoguang's mind was occupied by only one person—Long Jianlu.

Be it a devil or a great knight, all that mattered now was his desperate need for the other's companionship.

Yaoguang seized an opportunity to slip away and pay the bill discreetly. His royalties had just arrived, ensuring he wasn't too financially strained. He couldn't let Little Ya treat them. "I need to head back to work. Let's hang out again when we're all free."

"Go on then!" Little Ya understood and hurriedly said.

Yaoguang wondered if Little Ya wanted to introduce her close friend to him, perhaps for them to get to know each other. Or was she testing if he was gay? He tried to think positively, maybe she just thought he needed love and didn't harbor any suspicions... It could be both reasons. He hoped Little Ya didn't have such intentions; otherwise, it would put a lot of pressure on him.

Regardless, there was indeed a motive behind her desire to introduce them.

But right now, Yaoguang desperately needed to calm down and sort through the events of recent days.

Since he was awake, he decided to go to work.

Surprisingly, the cafe was bustling with customers that day. Dragging his exhausted body and wearing a detached expression, Yaoguang accompanied a group playing tabletop games as their Dungeon Master, his mind wandering. Liang Jue sent several messages asking about his illness during his shift. By the end of the night, after serving four tables, Yaoguang was swamped with work.

On the bus, amidst the weary office workers gazing at the streetlights, Yaoguang's thoughts returned to himself.

His pendant refracted the night light, casting a spot on the backrest of the seat in front.

What exactly was this? Yaoguang instinctively looked at the hexagonal pendant. Now, he had no doubt that it was this crystal that had powered his entire experience.

Is this world truly real?

Could it all be mere inexplicable memories? Did I genuinely live through the events of the book?

If both the apocalypse and the cultivation world were merely fabricated recollections, then what about so-called reality? Is reality itself genuine?

Back in the real world, Yaoguang was on the verge of forgetting everything that had transpired twelve hours ago – Long Jianlu, Shan Rong, Sky Sword Sect, demonic races, Grand Knights, Doctor Flash, the World Tree… All those experiences felt like dreams, layers in a coffee cup. Once stirred, they blended into a single, indistinguishable mixture, erasing the boundary between illusion and reality.

This device allowed one to traverse between thoughts and reality. Yaoguang first sorted through the information, telling himself: Yes, this is surreal, something that only happens in novels, but it has indeed happened to me.

Yet, he instantly questioned the scene before his eyes, just as Shan Rong had suggested – could it all be an endless nesting of worlds within worlds? – Is my world real? Or am I currently merely existing within another story?

He promptly shook his head, banishing the terrifying thought from his mind.

He noticed that after returning to reality, the crystal pendant hadn't glowed in the real world, and he was also unaware of how his life would proceed next. Thus… the present was likely authentic.

This was a device that could penetrate one's thoughts.

Holding the crystal, Yaoguang gazed at the faint smoke within as it was illuminated by the car's exterior light. He realized that the crystal's power infiltrated his thoughts, his invented experiences, not the novel itself. After all, "the book" or "the story" was merely an extension of the realm of thoughts, a record of ideas.

It must be somehow connected to his brainwaves. What could this possibly be?

Yaoguang recalled how he had obtained it. The details were hazy now, but it was during his summer break when he was eight or nine, wasn't it? His grandmother lived in the countryside, and he went on an adventure with his friends, flashlight in hand, exploring a cave in the mountains. The cave was deep, and there was water pooling at its bottom.

Yaoguang remembered the scene vividly – the strange machine was submerged beneath the black water. Rumor had it that during the war, the mountain had been home to a biological research facility. Perhaps something had been left behind?

He had always been brave. He plucked the hexagonal crystal, which was embedded right in the center of what appeared to be a cubic metal structure.

In retrospect, what could that have been – a thought experiment station? No... Yaoguang felt his imagination could stretch a bit further. Could humans have created such a thing? Perhaps it was an artifact from an extraterrestrial civilization? That would be the most rational explanation. With the scientific level of humanity during the war, it was impossible to have produced such an object.

If it were a highly complex, energy-consuming electronic or mechanical device, Yaoguang might have suspected it to be man-made. However, it seemed too organic: encapsulated within the crystal was a peculiar mist, and the device was so simple that it appeared seamless, without any wires or activation buttons. It couldn't have been human craftsmanship.

Later, due to mass relocation, the entire area, spanning nearly a hundred square miles, became submerged under a reservoir. The once-valley turned into a massive water storage, and his grandmother had long since passed away. Even if he wanted to find the place again, it was impossible.

Should I take this to the Chinese Academy of Sciences for analysis?

As the bus arrived at his stop, Yaoguang alighted with his backpack, strolling slowly towards home. But a new problem arose. This extraordinary object, suspected to be of extraterrestrial origin, should ideally be handed over to scientists for study. However, that would bring about more complications; he would have to provide explanations for a series of questions.

Moreover, how could he prove its extraordinary function? The crystal currently only interacted with his own brain. Hence, if he submitted the crystal for research, he would also have to offer himself up for examination and demonstration... telling them he was a writer, and the crystal allowed him to travel into the world of his books?

Madness! The researchers would surely think him insane! After all, from their perspective, he merely sat in front of his computer for a few seconds, or even less, embarking on a lengthy adventure in the book's world without leaving any trace in reality, let alone being observable throughout the process!

Yaoguang instantly dismissed any thoughts of studying the crystal, for it was fundamentally unapproachable.

The question arose: Could others use the crystal besides me? As Yaoguang entered his apartment building, he instinctively turned his head, as if fearful that someone might suddenly emerge from the darkness and snatch away his accessory.

This was a profound and intricate matter. To Yaoguang, it might be an invaluable treasure, but since it had no effect on reality, it held no actual value.

At most, it served as an escape into fiction, a comfort from reality.

Arriving home, Yaoguang exhaled in relief. He switched on his computer and gazed at the name "Long Jianlu" on the screen, recalling the past that seemed like another lifetime. He scrolled through the document to find the part describing Shan Rong.

After a moment, he resolutely closed that file and reopened the apocalyptic novel, deleting the words "The End."

The first draft contained the original story he had written. He intended to conduct a simple experiment.

After the World Tree was destroyed, the land was reborn, and Long Jianlu returned to the Holy Temple with the prophet's remains, spending the rest of his days alone...

"One year later, in the silent Holy Temple, Long Jianlu still followed his usual routine, leaving his bedroom at dawn and heading to the dining room. But on this day, he saw a young man standing before the temple. He turned around..."

Yaoguang paused in his writing, momentarily indecisive. The story had reached its conclusion. If he were to enter again, what conditions would be required for him to leave? What if he couldn't return?

The mundane world had wearied him, and these invented realms held a greater allure.

His mind went blank, and like a self-induced hypnotic state, he typed the next line:

"…The hexagonal crystal pendant still shimmered around his neck."

Closing his eyes, Yaoguang counted three seconds –

Nothing happened.

No white light, no sensation of transmigration. When he reopened his eyes, he was still in the old house.

After a moment of silence, Yaoguang deleted the passage and rephrased it, attempting again, but to no avail.

Could it be because the story had ended, preventing further entry?

That seemed to be the only explanation… Yaoguang closed the document and opened his new book, "Heaven's Seal." But he realized that he had merely started this one; it was not yet time to revise its ending.

He took a deep breath and asked himself, should he write it? The initial purpose of writing the book was to make money... Would anyone be interested in a story where the main character turns against his own kind?

Gradually, he calmed down, poured himself a cup of coffee, and revisited his characters, settings, and plot, pondering the rationality behind Shan Rong's actions. Was it reasonable? Actually, yes... Who else could he blame but himself for designing such a path for him?

Shan Rong fell in love with the Flower Bud Bug Master, was infested by the bug, expelled from his sect, and began wandering the world. Upon realizing that she had only been using him, he finally mustered the determination to break free from the pursuit, slaying his beloved amidst a demonic conspiracy that unfolded in a bustling city.

How twisted was this protagonist! In contrast, the Demon King Long Jianlu seemed much more normal... But truthfully, Shan Rong's character was quite compelling. Yaoguang attempted to analyze his emotional journey and found himself oddly moved.

After killing the Flower Bud Bug Master, he seemed to attain enlightenment. He ventured alone into the Black Valley and posed questions about the universal laws before the evil deity...

Yaoguang continued munching on the leftover snacks from the night before, determined to pen the story to its conclusion. He wanted to see what would happen if he altered the ending. Experimenting in various ways, he introduced new characters wearing hexagonal pendants, or placed the pendant on existing non-playable characters (NPCs), or even devoted narrative space to have an NPC discover it, or depicted it adorning the slumbering youth...

...Despite these attempts, the crystal's teleportation function remained inactive.

After much rewriting, another two hours had passed. With work awaiting him in the day, Yaoguang knew he needed sleep. If only he didn't have to work... Now, the torment of his writer's block had seeped into his real life.

For several consecutive days, Liang Jue would message him, inviting him out for meals, but Yaoguang consistently declined.

He was engrossed in this tale, where the plot had taken on a life of its own and characters had embarked on their individual journeys. All he did was document the entire sequence of events, yet during this process, he gained a higher-dimensional perspective, noticing details he had overlooked while immersed in the story.

The concealed fury and frustration within Shan Rong fueled his quest for medicine for his mother, marking the first chapter of his life; his love for Fenhua and betrayal of his sect formed the second; while the murder of his beloved and awakening of an evil deity comprised the third.

He began to question the world, what force had orchestrated his destiny?

This protagonist was morally askew... but Yaoguang couldn't help but adore him. He recalled the final battle when Shan Rong cunningly seized the Heaven Sealing Sword, attempting to break through dimensional constraints and enter the real world.

Even if you succeeded, wouldn't you be disappointed?

Yaoguang imagined Shan Rong standing in his gloomy old house, sword in hand, dressed as a celestial swordsman, with a bewildered expression on his face... It all seemed too absurd.

Throughout the writing process, however, it was Long Jianlu's character that resonated deepest with him.

He understood Long Jianlu's heart and the hidden meanings behind the flirtatious words of the Demon Emperor. His love was passionate and intense, like the fire that tempered the Heaven Sealing Sword. He waited in the Sky-Hanging Cave Mansion for ninety-nine years, longing for his savior. In those near-century of contemplation, what must he have thought? Did he believe he would wait eternally? Or did he know that someday, someone would come to him?

"Spare it, Yaoguang, come back. There's no need to search anymore."

At the memory of Long Jianlu's words, Yaoguang abruptly paused his typing.

What does this imply?

I await you in the Suspended Heaven Cave, would you grace me with your company here, and share the long eons with me?

What could have swayed him? Was it because he's already fond of me?

Yaoguang fell silent for a moment, involuntarily letting out a long sigh.

Restarting the story, he adopted Shan Rong's perspective, but unintentionally, the narrative kept veering towards Long Jianlu, almost turning it into a dual-protagonist tale. He had to constantly rein in the screen time devoted to the Devil King.

Will anyone even read this book? Yaoguang could almost predict that if he submitted it to his editor, they would insist on turning the "I" character between the Demon King and the protagonist into a female, thus creating a clichéd love triangle with two males and one female. Then they'd have Shan Rong fall in love with the female lead... Did Shan Rong have feelings for me back then? Why do I feel like he might be gay too? Surely not...

Recalling his interactions with Shan Rong, Yaoguang rationalized that: first, Shan Rong was undeniably straight; second, he was merely an accidental savior who appeared at the right moment, holding a special significance for Shan Rong – nothing more than that.

Lost in thoughts of possible revisions and overwhelmed by loan anxieties, Yaoguang's health was suffering. After much contemplation, he decided to condense the plot involving Long Jianlu, avoiding any impression that the Demon King had fallen for an immortal disciple. His aim was to serialize the story online, and he knew that straight readers wouldn't tolerate such blatant depiction of homosexuality, not even if the aggressor was a Demon King.

During these days, Yaoguang devoted himself to writing, averaging nearly ten thousand words daily. He knew his fictional world intimately, functioning as an emotionless recorder, a mere machine of documentation. He punctually clocked in and out of work, rejecting overtime and extra pay, spending every night writing tirelessly and continuing in the morning before getting up.

At the same time, he declined Liang Jue's dinner invitations, simply telling him that he was occupied with writing.

As June arrived, Yaoguang's story had reached a staggering 490,000 words. The climax ended with Shan Rong absorbing the evil deity, attaining the grand mastery realm of power, and wielding the Heaven Sealing Sword, putting him on the precipice of ascending to godhood.

But what now? When Yaoguang reached this point, he found himself stuck once more.

He couldn't kill the protagonist as the villain did in the story; otherwise, the narrative would lose all meaning, and he'd be lambasted by readers. They had followed Shan Rong on his entire revenge journey, experiencing his indulgence in love and his relentless pursuit to avenge his lover, surviving countless assassinations before finally obtaining the Heaven Sealing Sword, rendering him invincible.

What should he do at this juncture? Should he turn around and slaughter everyone? Yaoguang pondered; such a moral stance was unacceptable, and the platform would likely ban the story upon its conclusion.

Or perhaps suicide? Yaoguang considered that Shan Rong could absorb the evil deity and then, with resolve, use the Heaven Sealing Sword to end his own life, restoring eternal peace to the world... This aligned with the general theme of goodness, but it was clear that Shan Rong wasn't such a character.

Staring at the massive, nearly half-a-million-word document, he fell into a state of self-doubt and confusion.

Should I give it an open-ended conclusion?

Unaware that open endings were a major taboo in popular fiction, Yaoguang had only read one in "Snow Mountain Flying Fox" and decided to emulate it.

He attempted to return to the story using his initial approach, but no matter how he tried, the outcome remained unchanged.

Should I try staying in the story at the ending, alongside Long Jianlu? Would time in the book's world not consume real-time, allowing me to exist there for centuries while only a fraction of a second or even an instant passes in reality?

Yaoguang resolved not to ponder further. For his next book, he decided to test out the new function. He sent the completed story to his first reader, Liang Jue.

Liang Jue: "Damn, you wrote all this in just two months?"

Yaoguang: "I'm exhausted. I'm going to sleep."

Liang Jue: "I'm currently entertaining a superior with drinks. Finish it up, and I'll come find you tomorrow."