PTM 95
Extra 4 Shen Jing’s perspective Part 3
After that, everything went very smoothly.
Wuxi Chen ultimately paid the price for his cruelty and arrogance. After the human hunt incident was completely ignited, public opinion flooded the Wuxi family, and Wuxi Kunpeng was also dragged into the center of the vortex by this foolish son.
The only unexpected thing was Zhong Xiaoshan’s son. He was found dead during that human hunt.
Zhong Xiaoshan and Wuxi Kunpeng, two important officials from Penglai, one a civil official and the other a military one, had been embroiled in frequent conflicts in recent years. Shen Jing originally thought that this matter would completely ignite the powder keg between the two, making them irreconcilable enemies.
However, Zhong Xiaoshan held back. He not only tacitly approved Wuxi Kunpeng’s declaration of martial law, but even publicly stated that he would not interfere with the operation to capture WRA.
This didn’t make sense. Although he was a playboy, the one who died was Zhong Xiaoshan’s only son, and Shen Jing had some understanding of the high-ranking officials in Penglai. This didn’t fit the other party’s character.
“Could it be that the king is mediating between them, leaving Zhong Xiaoshan with no choice but to endure?” he wondered.
In Zong Yanlei’s office, Shen Jing, taking advantage of his position as the head of security technology, held a secret meeting with Chu Luo and Zong Yanlei under the guise of “reporting on daily work.”
“When my father was young, he was not a favored prince. He only secured the throne by marrying into the Wuxi family.” Chu Luo’s upper body image floated above the desk as she spoke. “When he was weak, Wuxi Kunpeng might have been a capable assistant. But as time went on, the Wuxi family’s power grew and their reach expanded. The trust they once had has long since turned into suspicion and disgust.”
She paused, then added, “Plus, my two brothers died under mysterious circumstances. Perhaps there was some fear and hatred involved?”
The king had three marriages.
The first marriage was a political alliance; he married the younger sister of Wuxi Kunpeng, and they had Chu Shengcheng. This marriage lasted for more than ten years, ultimately ending with the woman’s death.
The second marriage was his true love; he married his childhood sweetheart, his white moonlight. The two had a very good relationship and had twin princes. However, when the woman was traveling abroad with the children, they were involved in a serious car accident, and all three died instantly.
The third marriage was Chu Luo’s mother.
“Zhong Xiaoshan won’t let this go so easily.” Zong Yanlei sat in his leather office chair, his long fingers rhythmically tapping the armrest. “This is a golden opportunity for us to win him over.”
Chu Luo raised a hand: “I’ll do it. My mother and Madam Zhong used to have a good relationship, so I can start with her.”
Zong Yanlei nodded: “After our divorce, it will be less likely to arouse suspicion if you approach her as an ordinary citizen.”
“Yes, that’s what I think too.”
Shen Jing looked at this one, then at that one, and asked, “Are you sure you want a divorce? When?”
“I’m available anytime.” Chu Luo stretched her hand to the side, out of the frame.
Soon, a bigger hand grasped her fingers.
She held his hand tightly, smiling as she asked, “And you, darling?”
“I’ll do whatever you say.” A gentle, deep male voice said.
Shen Jing recognized the voice. It belonged to Han Zhe, the bodyguard who was always by the princess’s side.
“Then let’s do it after Zengcheng Station.” Zong Yanlei made the final decision and set the time.
There were three advantages to Chu Luo’s divorce from Zong Yanlei. First, she could completely shed her noble title, a crucial prerequisite for the success of their subsequent plans. Second, by leaving the royal family and becoming a commoner, her threat to the throne would decrease, and the probability of her being assassinated would be greatly reduced. Third, and this was Shen Jing’s humble opinion, Zong Yanlei could now more legitimately date Jiang Man.
That’s right, Shen Jing had completely figured it out.
Zong Yanlei was dating Jiang Man. His absent-mindedness in meetings, the way he constantly checked his phone and then put it down, the subtle changes in his tone when mentioning a certain name… even a blind person could see it.
Shen Jing felt uneasy about him dating someone whose motives were a mystery.
He had once confided his concerns to Li Muxian. Li Muxian didn’t even look up and only repeated the same old phrase: “Mind your own business.”
Shen Jing originally thought that, at this rate, Xiao Mitang might have a younger brother or sister next year. But less than two months later, the two broke up.
Jiang Man disappeared without a trace. The 300th anniversary celebration was also postponed due to the Pope’s poor health.
Zong Yanlei revealed Jiang Man’s identity in detail, his relationship with Free Will, his relationship with Yu Xuan and Ye Shuer, and everything else.
Shen Jing had considered that Jiang Man was not simple, but he never expected that with such an innocent face, he would be plotting something so big.
The blockade of Free Will was fully implemented. At the same time, Zong Yanlei began to use Balaka to conduct simulations.
Once, twice, three times.
Shen Jing stayed nearby during each simulation. The death toll might vary slightly, and the development path might deviate a little, but the outcome was invariably the same: as long as the Wo people initiated reform, war would break out in Penglai.
Millions would die, tens of millions would be displaced, the economy would come to a complete standstill, and Penglai would be reduced from a great power to a meal for other countries.
After each simulation ended, the numbers on the screen were shocking. Although Shen Jing was not from Penglai, he felt the same weight of sorrow, those numbers also contained the lives of the Wo people.
“We need to think of a way.” Zong Yanlei stared at the war-torn scene on the big screen with a grim face, his hands resting on the control panel.
Simply suppressing events that could ignite a popular uprising was not enough. The sparks hadn’t been extinguished; they’d only been temporarily smothered and could reignite at any moment.
Not long after, good news came from Chu Luo: Zhong Xiaoshan had been recruited into their side.
When Shen Jing heard the news, his first reaction was to breathe a sigh of relief. Zhong Xiaoshan commanded the most elite military force in Penglai, and with his addition, they had essentially completed the last piece of the puzzle.
But Zong Yanlei’s reaction wasn’t one of relief; instead, he took a giant leap forward. He conceived an even more insane plan. So insane that Shen Jing wondered if Jiang Man had triggered some kind of mental breakdown in him.
“You mean, you’re going to pull thousands of people into the metaverse on the day of the celebration for a final sandbox simulation?” Shen Jing asked incredulously. “And you’re going to go in yourself too?”
Zong Yanlei did not deny it.
“This is too dangerous.” For the first time since joining the group, Shen Jing directly questioned Zong Yanlei’s decision. “If you don’t want to affect the course of events, you have to erase all memories related to this plan. This means that in the metaverse, you will experience war, time, and even death just like everyone else.”
“Your data exists in the metaverse. If your goal is simply to make Jiang Man see the consequences of war firsthand and change his mind to negotiate peace with us, you could simply watch the monitor from the outside. The version of you created by Balaka is no different from the real you; there would be no flaws.”
He paused for a moment, then spoke his last sentence slowly and clearly: “Jiang Man won’t find out.”
Zong Yanlei listened to the previous remarks with a calm expression, his gaze fixed on the documents in his hands. He neither refuted nor argued, as if he were listening to a weather forecast that had nothing to do with him.
But as Shen Jing finished speaking, he suddenly looked up.
Shen Jing felt as if he had become the prey of a wild beast. His throat tightened, his body stiffened, and even the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Danger. That was the intuition he had developed over the years of escaping death.
“I’ve made up my mind, there’s no point in saying more.” Zong Yanlei gave him no room for further persuasion and directly ordered him. “Leave.”
Shen Jing wisely stopped trying to persuade him and went out the door.
After leaving the office, he skipped work and went to Li Muxian to complain. Li Muxian was at the time preparing medicine in the laboratory that Zong Yanlei had built for him. Upon hearing this, he didn’t even look up and gave him his usual advice: “Mind your own business.”
Shen Jing almost dropped the coffee cup in his hand.
How could he mind his own business? Has he gone mad from experimenting with drugs?
He didn’t understand. Zong Yan could have safely watched the monitor from outside, allowing the data substitute generated by Balaka to go through the entire process. The result would have been exactly the same, with zero risk.
But he refused. He insisted on going in himself. He erased his memories, entered the simulation with his real body, and experienced that destined-to-be-tragic war with Jiang Man.
Shen Jing couldn’t understand it.
If he was only staying for a year or two, that would fine, not a big problem. But what if it was five or ten years? Shen Jing couldn’t even empathize with his past self from ten years ago. Would Zong Yanlei ten years from now still be the same Zong Yanlei?
With these concerns in mind, the day of the celebration arrived.
As everyone lay unsuspectingly inside the neuro-navigation pods, a silent coup was about to begin.
Wuxi Li oversaw the overall situation outside, while Zhong Xiaoshan’s army took control of Zhongyang District. Shen Jing’s task was to sit in a monitoring room filled with screens, ensuring that everything within the metaverse operated according to plan.
He immediately switched the main perspective to Zong Yanlei.
The flow of time in the metaverse was much faster than in reality. In order to allow both sides to observe synchronously, Balaka compressed and edited the flow of time in the metaverse.
Shen Jing sat in his office chair, looking up at the huge screen composed of hundreds of electronic displays.
In reality, less than half an hour had passed, but in the metaverse, more than a month had gone by.
With the Pope dead, Wuxi Kunpeng convened a meeting of various people to discuss the selection of the next Pope. In the elegant study, despite the extraordinary circumstances and the important matters being discussed, fine wine, delicious food, and the best cigars were still indispensable.
Among the group of nobles and religious leaders in their fifties and sixties, Zong Yanlei’s appearance at the Prime Minister’s residence was out of place, both in terms of age and status.
“Jiang Man is in another study now. You two are old acquaintances, why don’t you go and catch up?” Wuxi Kunpeng said to Zong Yanlei with a kind expression. “And please try to persuade him for me as well.”
Zong Yanlei raised his head and said nothing. He got up from the sofa, gracefully bowed to the elders present, and then turned and left.
Then, Shen Jing, who was watching from outside the screen, took a hard blow.
He didn’t know why, but Zong Yanlei and Jiang Man started kissing as they were talking.
Before he could see any more explicit content, Shen Jing clenched his teeth and lunged at the microphone on the control panel, demanding that Balaka skip all the intimate scenes according to film and television standards.
On the big screen, the image faded out. Shen Jing relaxed his shoulders, picked up his coffee cup, blew on it, and took a big gulp.
Perhaps because Shen Jing mentioned “film and television,” Balaka incorporated a lot of montage techniques into the subsequent editing style.
He saw Jiang Man vomit blood and collapse in the crowd, and he saw Zong Yanlei rush out of the Prime Minister’s residence, trying to get through the excited, grieving, and angry crowd to reach the other person’s side.
They pulled him, pushed him, and restrained him.
But there was no anger or humiliation in his eyes, only Jiang Man.
The scene shifted from a wide shot to a close-up of Zong Yanlei. His handsome face suddenly magnified, filling the entire wall of the screen, with every single eyelash visible. At the same time, a poignant and sorrowful string melody began to play softly.
Shen Jing almost spilled his coffee.
What is this…?
A vein throbbed twice on his forehead. He set his coffee cup aside, slid his chair back to the control panel, and grabbed the microphone.
“This isn’t an idol drama,” he took a deep breath, “please turn off the music.”
The next moment, the background noise disappeared, and Shen Jing immediately felt that the world was quiet.
A week after Jiang Man’s “death,” Baiyujing was thrown into chaos.
It was not only a group disorder between the Wo and Penglai people, but also a personal disorder for Zong Yanlei.
For the first two days, he dialed Jiang Man’s number repeatedly, without eating, drinking, or resting. At the same time, he led his men into the Wo people’s stronghold time and again to find out Jiang Man’s whereabouts. On the third day, he ignored the bodyguards’ advice and forced his way into Jiang Man’s farewell ceremony to see the body with his own eyes.
However, there were too many people present. He was surrounded, and tensions rose between the two sides, almost causing a riot. His bodyguards had to forcibly remove him from the scene.
“Let me go!”
He struggled desperately, his gaze fixed on the building where the farewell ceremony was being held, and on the hate-filled faces of the Wo people standing at the entrance. His eyes were bloodshot, and from straining so hard, the corners of his eyes looked as if they were about to burst.
“Get lost! Murderer!” the Wo people shouted at him. “You’re the ones who killed Mr. Jiang!”
“Murderer! How dare you come here!”
“It’s all your fault!”
Zong Yanlei’s struggles gradually ceased.
“He is not dead.” After a moment, he refuted those people with unusual seriousness, his voice not loud, but rather very soft.
Back in the car, the sturdy doors blocked out all the noise.
“He’s not dead.” Zong Yanlei murmured again, his gaze fixed on the window as his fingers dug into the leather trim of the handrail.
The bodyguard didn’t hear him clearly: “What did you say?”
Zong Yanlei didn’t repeat himself this time. He looked away, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
Six days after Jiang Man’s “death,” the screen displayed a scene that Shen Jing had never seen in any of the previous simulations, Wuxi Kunpeng had escaped.
The scene began with a panoramic view: the Penglai railway line at night, with a silver-gray high-speed train traversing the wilderness. Its headlights cast two pale white streaks in the darkness.
The camera cut to the interior of the carriage. Wuxi Kunpeng sat in his private carriage, several documents spread out in front of him, and a cup of cold tea in his hand. He looked terrible, with dark circles under his eyes and his lips pursed into a thin line.
Public discontent with him had reached its peak due to the accumulation of negative public opinion. A politician who once wielded immense power was now like a fish pulled from the water, its gills still twitching, but it was not far from death.
The train entered a tunnel. The camera zoomed out, and a dazzling orange light flashed deep into the mountains, like someone striking a match in the dark, only to have it suddenly go out.
The next scene showed the wrecked carriage, still glowing with fire and thick smoke, after the explosion.
Several tall figures wearing gas masks and holding silenced pistols stepped over the large hole blown into the carriage and went inside.
The carriage was filled with Wuxi Kunpeng’s bodyguards lying haphazardly. Some of them were still able to move, and upon seeing this group of uninvited guests, they knew something was wrong. Just as they were about to get up and reach for their guns, the newcomers raised their hands and sent them to their deaths.
“Who…who are you?”
Deep inside the private room, Wuxi Kunpeng, with a streak of blood on his face, clutched his injured forehead. He backed away to distance himself from the white-clad man approaching him.
The man in white coldly stared at him through his gas mask, then raised his pistol and fired a shot into his calf.
“Ah!” Wuxi Kunpeng cried out in pain and curled up into a ball.
“Was it you who poisoned him?” The man in white moved the gun barrel and aimed it at his other leg.
Wuxi Kunpeng’s lips trembled, and cold sweat trickled down his face: “No, it wasn’t me! I didn’t poison him! Even if I wanted to, how could I do it to him in my own residence? Someone else killed Jiang Man, I’m innocent!”
He blinked, struggling to focus on the person in front of him through his blood-red, blurred vision. Behind the gas mask visor, a pair of blue-green eyes coldly stared at him.
“You…you are?!” His eyes went wide in shock, “Zong…”
He wasn’t given a chance to continue. The man in white moved the gun again and fired a shot between his eyebrows.
Wuxi Kunpeng’s eyes were wide open as he fell straight backward.
“I knew it… he wasn’t dead,” the man in white said softly.
He holstered his gun back at his waist, then drew a dagger. The blade flashed in the dim carriage light, and without hesitation, he plunged into Wuxi Kunpeng’s neck.
The next scene was early morning.
In front of the Prime Minister’s residence, a wooden box was placed on the steps. The box was opened, and inside lay the head of the Wuxi Kunpeng. The letters WRA were carved on its forehead, the cuts already blackened. The eye sockets were empty, and the mouth was slightly open, but no tongue was inside.
The crowd of onlookers screamed in surprise.
Shen Jing held the coffee cup, the rim of which was pressed against his lower lip. He did not take a sip for a long time.
This was how Yi Yingzhen died back then.
For a moment, the faces of his eldest and third brothers flashed through Shen Jing’s mind. His eyes gradually welled up with tears. He put down his cup, covered his eyes with one hand, and briefly lost control of his emotions.
Finally. After all these years, this person had finally paid the price.
He took a deep breath to calm himself down.
Although this was only revenge within the metaverse, Wuxi Kunpeng’s fear and pain were real. That was enough. And this was not the end, far from it. In reality, after tonight, another true reckoning awaited him.
In the blink of an eye, many days had passed in the metaverse.
Sun God Group issued an announcement stating that Zong Yanlei had resigned from all administrative positions. Ostensibly due to “health reasons,” Shen Jing felt that he was actually completely trapped in an obsession.
He abandoned his allies, disregarded the future of Penglai, and cared nothing for his own future. The only thing he did was search for Jiang Man.
But his search was so futile and aimless, entirely based on his “belief that Jiang Man was still alive.” There were no clues, no evidence, only intuition.
“Messiah” from Free Will delivered a speech in the Wanshu Church, his voice processed to sound like a cold, impersonal broadcast. The believers knelt or sat on the pews, holding candles in their hands as they listened devoutly.
Then the scene cut to Zong Yanlei.
He was also in the Wanshu Church. He wore a hood and held a nearly burnt-out candle. He sat quietly on the bench closest to the statue with his head bowed.
For the past month, he attended every single speech. Sometimes he stayed until the last person left, and sometimes he would just sit for a short while before logging off.
Looking at the increasingly haggard figure on the screen, Shen Jing lamented Jiang Man’s heartlessness.
“This kind of person is incapable of love.” He crossed his arms and looked at the gray stone statue, whose face was obscured by the close-up shot, and commented, “Boss, you’ve really misplaced your trust.”
On the screen, Zong Yanlei in the metaverse finally erupted.
He abruptly stood up and hurled the burning candle at the statue. The wick snapped and sparks flew everywhere.
“Where is he?!”
With his head tilted back, he roared at the silent stone statue. The sound echoed through the church dome, over and over again.
“Make him come out and see me! I know he’s not dead! How could he die so easily? He must be lying to me again! You’re all lying to me!!”
He rushed forward angrily. He trampled and kicked the flowers and candles at the base of the statue.
The believers scattered in fear. Some tried to step forward and stop him.
But the next second, Zong Yanlei’s figure began to flicker. Starting from his feet, he gradually turned into dust.
He was forced to logout.
This situation typically occurs when the user’s vital signs become abnormal, forcing the neuro-navigation pod to eject the user.
Shen Jing immediately checked Zong Yanlei’s vital signs monitoring in the real world. Fortunately, although his heart rate was fluctuating, it was far from dangerous.
“Tell him that his child is waiting for him.”
On the screen, before his figure completely disappeared, Zong Yanlei said those words.
The next scene. In a dimly lit room, the lid of the neuro-navigation pod opened, and the entire machine emitted a piercing, high-pitched alarm.
Zong Yanlei lay inside, pale-faced and turned to the side, eyes closed, motionless. He was already unconscious.
“Mr. Zong!”
The servant heard the commotion and went inside to check. They rushed to the side of the pod in terror. After a while, they hurriedly ran out again.
“Help! Help!”
In the year that followed, Zong Yanlei never visited the Wanshu Church again in the metaverse.
For the first two months, he became withdrawn. He refused to see anyone and simply stayed in his room.
Although Zong Yinzhuo was young, he sensed his father’s unusual mood and became increasingly clingy. Fortunately, his companionship prevented Zong Yanlei from becoming too depressed.
By the third month, the uprising of the Wo people had intensified, peace talks broke down, and the king of Penglai appointed Zhong Xiaoshan to lead an army south to quell the rebellion. Wo Province had complex terrain, and Zhong Xiaoshan, unaccustomed to the local climate, found himself in a bitter struggle.
These major events were quickly glossed over in Balaka’s editing, each given only a few seconds of screen time, reported coldly like a news summary, before switching back to the main storyline.
In the video, Zong Yanlei finally drew back the bedroom curtains.
The sunlight streamed in and illuminated his entire body. He squinted slightly. Although he was bathed in the intense sunlight, his blue-green eyes were like unyielding ice, filled only with numbness and lifelessness.
After a period of self-reflection, he embarked on his journey to find Jiang Man once again. This time, however, he had no bodyguards. He traveled alone to the places where the Wo people gathered, often for one or two months at a time.
Every time they parted, Zong Yinzhuo would cry until his face was red. He would clutch his clothes tightly with his little hands and refuse to let go. Every time he returned, Zong Yanlei would have various injuries, big and small, on his body.
Shen Jing, watching from the screen, frowned. Fortunately, Balaka used long fast-forwards here, allowing this long and repetitive year to pass in just a few minutes.
Then… Chu Shengcheng and his son died, Yu Xuan went mad, and Jin Ke came to power. In just a few days, the landscape of Penglai and Wo Province completely changed.
If there was still a sliver of room for maneuver in the previous battles, then after this, the bottom line was completely shattered. War broke out in full force, and the people of Penglai and the people of Wo were locked in a bloody and relentless struggle to the death.
Three words were displayed on the screen.
One year later
The camera then focused back on Zong Yanlei.
He no longer focused on finding Jiang Man, but instead devoted himself to humanitarian aid for civilians. He repeatedly traveled between the border areas controlled by Free Will, transporting supplies and bringing some small comfort to those suffering from the pain of war.
And Jiang Man, who had faked his death, finally reappeared at this moment as “Messiah”.
Shen Jing saw him wearing a mask and hood. He stood on an industrial walkway of an abandoned chemical plant, looking down at the refugee camp below.
Next, the camera panned to the panoramic view below.
A tall figure wearing a hood and a scarf walked towards a Wo child who had fallen to the ground. He squatted down in front of the child and magically pulled a brightly colored lollipop from his pocket.
Two scenes appeared on the screen simultaneously, the top scene showed Jiang Man standing on a high place looking down, while the bottom scene showed Zong Yanlei squatting on the ground treating the child’s wounds.
Balaka even thoughtfully created a split-screen mode.
They were less than fifty meters apart, separated by the height of an entire floor.
Shen Jing saw Jiang Man standing motionless in the corridor, staring at that figure for a long time. So long that Wen Fu, who was beside him, asked him if there was a problem.
He looked away and shook his head.
The image lingered there for a few seconds, then slowly dimmed before moving into the next time point.
Three years have passed in the blink of an eye.
Balaka’s editing skills became increasingly skillful and smooth. The war scenes were drastically compressed, the fall of cities was shown only in a distant shot, and casualty figures were displayed as subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the screen. It devoted the most shots to two people.
Zong Yanlei’s supply convoy went to Yaochi every few months.
Each time, the camera focused on a fixed, wide shot: in the refugee camp square, crates of supplies were being unloaded, and the crowd surged. At opposite ends of the crowd, a thin, masked figure stood on higher ground, while a tall, hooded figure stood below.
Their gazes would always meet from a distance across those people, then drift away. Like two parallel lines, they extended infinitely on the same plane yet never intersected.
Shen Jing wasn’t sure if Zong Yanlei had recognized Messiah as Jiang Man. Maybe he had, maybe he hadn’t. But from beginning to end, he didn’t go up to ask him.
Every so often, Li Muxian would examine Jiang Man’s pulse and then briefly relay the results to Zong Yanlei.
“His stomach problems have been recurring, but they are improving.”
“This time the frequency has decreased, it only occurs once every one or two months.”
“He asked me to thank you on his behalf.”
After listening, Zong Yanlei would usually just nod and not ask any questions. Occasionally, he would say something like, “Is there enough medicine?” or “If you need anything, have Shen Jing go and buy it,” in a businesslike tone, as if he were arranging a routine allocation of supplies.
However, Shen Jing noticed that every time Li Muxian finished reporting on Jiang Man’s situation, Zong Yanlei would sleep more soundly that night.
The closest the two had been in three years was when a stray shell struck a plot of land next to the refugee camp, shattering the windows instantly. Before Jiang Man could react, Zong Yanlei tackled him to the ground. After a while, seeing that the bombing had stopped, Zong Yanlei slowly released him and got up.
“Are you alright?” He stepped aside and did not touch him again.
Jiang Man shook his head silently, got up from the ground, and nodded to him in thanks.
That was all the interaction between the two.
The fourth winter.
The video suddenly switched from fast-forwarding to normal speed.
On the screen, Zong Yanlei’s supply convoy was traveling on a narrow valley road.
Without warning, a loud bang came from ahead.
Shen Jing watched as the lead SUV was blown away by a landmine. It body tumbled and crashed into the rocks. Immediately afterward, rows of gun barrels lit up in the dense forest on both sides, and a hail of bullets rained down.
The convoy began to fight back, but the firepower difference was too great.
“Damn it, Jin Ke’s men.” Shen Jing frowned.
He subconsciously leaned forward, placed his hands on the control panel, and stared at the screen.
The firefight didn’t last long. The scene swayed a few times amidst the smoke before stabilizing. Zong Yanlei stood up from behind the overturned truck, the barrel of his gun still smoking. He clutched his side; his ribs were broken, and there was no way he could escape.
Jin Ke’s men surrounded them, and the leader walked over with a gun, shouting, “Zong Yanlei! If you come with us, the others can live!”
Zong Yanlei glanced around at the fallen and injured people around him. Li Muxian slumped beside the wheel, a long gash in one of his legs from shrapnel. He tore off a piece of clothing to tightly bind his thigh to stop the bleeding. The others who were still alive were also injured, and several were on the verge of losing consciousness.
He stared at them for a long time before finally dropping the gun in his hand.
“Don’t hurt them,” he said as he raised his hands.
The screen went dark.
Over the next few days, Balaka focused all its attention on Zong Yanlei. He was tortured, humiliated, and subjected to wanton mockery and abuse by the Wo people.
Shen Jing watched for a while and then had Balaka skip the process.
In the past, he would never have sympathized with a Penglai person. But now, he genuinely couldn’t bear to watch any longer.
Putting aside the friendship forged over the years, Zong Yanlei, as a nobleman, could be considered excessively normal.
He cherished life; focused on his beloved career; never engaged in promiscuous relationships…whether with women or men; though sometimes arrogant, he treated everyone equally; and he adored children. Such a person did not deserve to be treated this way by the Wo people.
But what could he do? This was war. Shen Jing sighed with a heavy heart.
The fifth day, the day of execution.
When Zong Yanlei was beheaded, Balaka probably felt the scene was too bloody, and considering Shen Jing’s viewing habits, it thoughtfully censored it and even turned the red blood black.
Then, just like when a TV series reaches its finale, the screen gradually darkened, and a line of subtitles appeared.
[Zong Yanlei has died in the metaverse. According to preset instructions, the memory recovery process has been initiated. Current status: Consciousness transferred to the preset space.]
Shen Jing checked Zong Yanlei’s physical data in reality. Apart from a slightly high heart rate, all vital signs were normal.
He was a GTC racer after all; he could withstand being beheaded…
Balaka quickly switched the view of the space where Zong Yanlei was currently located.
A small courtyard bursting with blossoms. White roses climbed the semi-circular archway, and pale yellow tulips carpeted the path. In the very center of the courtyard stood a wooden swing.
Zong Yanlei sat on the swing. His toes tapped the ground as he swayed back and forth.
He had changed into a clean white shirt, his hair was neat, and there were no marks on his face. He was completely different from the man who had been tied on a rack and covered in wounds just five minutes ago.
Shen Jing opened the communication channel: “Boss.”
The person on the swing didn’t react, and continued tapping the ground as he swayed back and forth.
“Boss, your memories have returned. Everything in the metaverse was a simulation sandbox; less than a day has passed in the real world. You can exit now.”
Zong Yanlei looked up at the ever-blue sky above the garden.
“Jiang Man is still inside,” he said.
“I know. But according to the rules of the world, he will only be guided here after he ‘dies’ in the metaverse. Whether you wait outside or inside, it’s the same.”
“Not the same.”
Zong Yanlei looked away and continued to swing.
“I need to be here when he comes in.”
Shen Jing opened his mouth. He felt a headache rising at his stubbornness. He wanted to say that the time flow in the metaverse was out of sync with reality, and Jiang Man might have to stay inside for a long time.
He wanted to say that waiting in the garden for one hour might only equal a few seconds outside, and if Jiang Man lived to be eighty or ninety in the metaverse before dying of old age, then he would have to wait alone in this garden for decades.
He wanted to ask why he refused to use a data substitute before entering, and refused to come out. What was he being so stubborn about?
But Shen Jing didn’t say a word in the end. Because he suddenly remembered what he had said to Zong Yanlei a few months ago in his office.
“Jiang Man won’t find out.”
And the fleeting look of displeasure that appeared Zong Yanlei’s face after hearing those words.
Zong Yanlei wasn’t being stubborn. He just felt that if Jiang Man woke up from that darkness and walked into this garden just to see an empty swing… that would be wrong, wrong, and unforgivable.
What he gives Jiang Man – body, soul, emotions – everything has to be real.
“I’ll keep an eye on things from outside,” Shen Jing said in the end. “I’ll let you know if anything unusual happens.”
“Um.”
Communication was shut down. Shen Jing leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.
On the screen, Zong Yanlei sat alone on the swing in a meticulously designed garden that was always in spring, waiting for someone who may arrive at any time.
The sun shone brightly, and the flowers were in full bloom.
Shen Jing reached for the coffee cup, only to find it empty. He stared at the dark brown stains at the bottom of the cup for a moment, then got up to pour himself a new one.
Love is truly a wondrous thing.
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