“Then how do you plan to handle... us?” Liu Jiayi shrank back into her seat, burying her head between her knees. “...Throw us out of the game, and then what?”
“I’m not throwing you out of the game. You still have something to do for me.” Bai Liu looked at her.
Liu Jiayi lifted her head a little. Her eyes were red as she stared at him. “...What?”
“No one has cleared Ice Age yet, which means no [End] route has appeared. Therefore, the corresponding time in reality is still frozen. The dungeon hasn’t loaded into reality yet, so there’s still room to maneuver.”
Bai Liu said, “I need you to leave the game and stop that plane from crashing in Antarctica.”
Liu Jiayi straightened. She realized the opening here as well, and frowned. “But according to the usual way this game loads into reality, that plane is probably already above Antarctica. The moment we log out, time in reality will start moving again, and it won’t be long before it crashes.”
“We can’t stop a plane that’s already about to crash. Especially not in Antarctica.”
Bai Liu smiled. “No. Someone can.”
Liu Jiayi looked up in confusion. “Who?”
Bai Liu said, “Du Sanying.”
Tang Erda knocked on the helicopter cabin door. “I can faintly see the outline of a small metal box now.”
He breathed out a cloud of white air. His brows and hair were covered in frost, but Tang Erda’s expression was colder than the ice itself.
“—It’s a box from the Dangerous Heretic Management Bureau.”
————————
Reality, over Antarctica.
The twin-engine aircraft preparing to land had been broadcasting a communication signal for a long time, but no reply had come through. The five escorts aboard the plane had already sensed that something was wrong.
They exchanged glances, an ominous premonition rising in their hearts.
“Aircraft—zzt—calling ground communication station—zzt—we have encountered dense cloud cover and turbulence. Please respond if you copy—”
The radio remained silent.
The turbulence slamming against both wings only grew stronger, the aircraft jolting harder and harder. The escorts drew in a deep breath and began preparing for the worst.
“What’s ahead?”
“The Ross Sea region.”
“Prepare for an emergency landing.”
...
Antarctica, the open ground in front of the observation station near Dome A.
A group of observation team members in bright red parkas rubbed their hands together and stamped their feet, looking up at the sky. Unease threaded through their quiet discussion.
“Didn’t they say we were supposed to inspect the ice crevasses today to make sure the plane could land? Why hasn’t it arrived yet...”
“I don’t know. I just came out of the observation station. The liaison inside said they haven’t been able to contact the pilot for a long time. They’ve tried satellite phones and every other method, but there hasn’t been any signal feedback...”
“Nothing bad happened, right?”
...
Dangerous Heretic Management Bureau, District One.
Su Yang, exhausted and tense, wore a captain’s uniform that sat slightly too large on him. He walked through the brightly lit corridor in the middle of the night and turned into a machine room.
The machine room was in complete disarray. Coffee cups were scattered across the tables, and several ground communications staff sat in front of the instrument panels, staring at the large screens with stubbled faces.
They all had dark circles under their eyes. It felt as if their heads might tilt sideways at any moment and they would collapse dead on the spot.
Captain Su placed great importance on the transport of the corpse fragments, so the people beneath him naturally became nervous as well.
From the moment the escorts left port until now, when they had reached the skies above Antarctica, the ground communications staff had maintained constant contact, working overtime for several days without closing their eyes.
But even with such caution, just as the plane was about to arrive in Antarctica and everyone was finally about to breathe a sigh of relief, something suddenly went wrong.
No matter what method they used, they could no longer contact the five escorts on that plane.
A ground communications officer turned back, his face pale. “Captain Su, what should we do?”
Since sending the escorts off, Su Yang likewise had not closed his eyes. He stared at the satellite view of Antarctica on the large screen—an expanse of pure white snow. For a moment, that dazzling whiteness left him dazed.
A sense of powerlessness surged in his chest.
It was the feeling that certain predetermined events could not be stopped no matter what he did.
“So this is the significance of the [Prophet] holding supreme authority in the Dangerous Heretic Management Bureau.”
At some point, Cen Buming had appeared beside the dazed Su Yang.
Su Yang turned to look at him blankly. “Captain Cen...”
Cen Buming crossed his arms. With that hawk-like amber eye, he watched the snowy surface on the screen for a while before turning to Su Yang.
“Because [seeing] is far more important than [doing].”
“—Fate has its arrangements, and we pieces on the board can only obey them.”
Cen Buming brushed past the distracted Su Yang without looking back.
“Prepare to collect the bodies of those five escorts.”
“Captain Su, what should we do?”
“Captain Su, should we keep trying to contact them?”
“Captain Su...”
“Captain Su...”
Su Yang closed his eyes. He gripped the edge of the table and said in a hoarse voice, “If they’re alive, I want to see them. If they’re dead, I want to see their bodies. Have the people in Antarctica prepare search-and-rescue teams and... body bags.”
“No matter what happens, bring them back to me.”
Inside the game.
Bai Liu and Mu Shicheng took turns continuing the work with Tang Erda. The wind was no longer as fierce as before; in its place was sunlight carrying intense ultraviolet radiation.
As they drew closer to the heart, the temperature on the ice kept rising. Mu Shicheng was even starting to sweat.
“Tsk, what’s going on?” Mu Shicheng tugged at his collar. Sweat and heat rose together. “Why did it suddenly get hot? Can the weather here get any more damn annoying?”
Bai Liu crouched down and looked at the ice, which already showed obvious signs of melting.
“It’s not that the weather suddenly got hot.”
“It’s because we’re about to dig out the heart and complete the main quest, so global warming has begun.”
Tang Erda stuck his head out of the helicopter and shouted, “—Bai Liu, the temperature is rising abnormally. It’s already above zero!”
He jumped down from the helicopter and reached Bai Liu in a few long strides. “At this rate, the ice will melt very quickly.”
Bai Liu shook his head. “I don’t think it will be as simple as melting quickly. This heart is very likely the core device Edmund built for global cooling, and it’s also the final item for the [True End] route.”
“—If we take it out, I suspect this global warming will cause the entire Antarctic ice sheet to melt completely.”
Tang Erda’s brows knitted together. “Then won’t Antarctica become a vast ocean?”
Bai Liu looked up at him. “There’s something even more troublesome than that.”
“If the ice sheet melts completely, Antarctica’s land area will shrink drastically. In addition, the disappearance of large amounts of ice and snowfield will cause severe climate changes. Extreme weather such as blizzards, which obstruct vision and movement, will also decrease significantly. On a map like that, we’ll be much easier to detect.”
Bai Liu paused. “That will speed up Spades finding us.”
Bai Liu’s implication was obvious.
They had to find a way to hide the heart. Otherwise, it was only a matter of time before Spades found them.
Tang Erda frowned deeply. “But where can we hide it? Spades’ attack speed and movement speed are too high. He can search every corner of Antarctica at any time. No matter where you put the heart, it won’t be safe.”
He couldn’t help sighing. “Aside from being bad at solving puzzles, that guy really is a perfect main attacker.”
Bai Liu smiled. “Exactly. So we’ll make him a puzzle.”
Tang Erda was stunned. “What puzzle?”
Bai Liu said, “Hide a leaf in a forest.”
Scott’s Hut.
With the temperature rising rapidly, the snow around the hut had already melted. The hut stood amid the damp slopes, mud splashed across its wooden boards, looking filthy and desolate.
When Bai Liu visited again, Edmund was extremely surprised. “You dug out the heart?”
“Yes.” Bai Liu looked at Edmund and handed him the metal box. “I have something to trouble you with, Professor.”
Edmund took the box, growing more suspicious by the second. “Is this the box holding the heart? Why are you giving it to me?”
Bai Liu smiled. “I need your help with something. Hide this heart so Spades can’t find it.”
Edmund gave a helpless, bitter smile. “Child, Spades is the player who comes here most often. He might be more familiar with every blade of grass and every tree here than I am. I have no confidence in finding a place in Antarctica where I can hide the heart from Spades.”
Bai Liu said, “Perhaps I have a fairly good hiding place. Of course, this place isn’t perfect, and there’s still a chance it will be discovered. But for now, in this game, Ice Age, it should be the place Spades is least familiar with.”
Edmund asked in surprise, “What place?”
Bai Liu looked at him. “Inside my body.”
“Inside your body?” Edmund paused. “You already have a heart in your body. Where would there be room for another?”
He teased him half-jokingly, “Child, when you encounter love, you can’t have two hearts.”
But Bai Liu answered calmly, “There will be room once my heart is dug out.”
Edmund froze for a long while.
Only then did he realize Bai Liu was not joking.
His gaze moved incredulously between Bai Liu and the box in his hand several times. Then he looked up at Bai Liu, trembling.
“Are you insane? You want me to remove your heart and put this one in?!”
“You’ll become a monster!” Edmund stared at Bai Liu in disbelief. He raised the box containing the heart and shouted, emphasizing each word. “You are a real person! You have a real life! You’re completely different from a game product like me!”
“Do you understand what it means if you do this?!”
Edmund’s roar shook with emotion.
“If I put this heart into your body, once it completely fuses with you, you will become a... a...”
Edmund panted heavily.
“—A complete and utter monster!”
Bai Liu lifted his eyelids slightly. He looked at the box Edmund was holding high, then shifted his gaze to Edmund’s face.
“I have always been a monster.”
Edmund took two steps back.
He stared at Bai Liu for a long, long time. Finally, as if all his strength had been drained from him, he collapsed into a chair.
“But even if you hide the heart in your body, it still isn’t enough.” Edmund raised his head. “Spades might still find it. You have to understand, that guy is good at everything except solving puzzles...”
“I know,” Bai Liu said. “That’s why I prepared a puzzle for him.”
“Professor, is there any way to prepare a large number of [Bai Lius], perform the same heart surgery on each of them, input the memories [I] had before the surgery, and then let me hide among them?”
Edmund looked at Bai Liu in shock. “You want to... give Spades a multiple-choice question by hiding a leaf in a forest?”
“Correct.” Bai Liu lowered his eyes. “And it will be a multiple-choice question with no answer.”
“—Because every [Bai Liu] in there will believe he is the real Bai Liu, and that the heart he carries is the real heart. Even I won’t know whether I’m real or fake, or who holds the answer.”
Bai Liu looked down at Edmund.
“—As long as we keep continuously producing [Bai Lius], we can fill the gaps left by Spades’ kill rate. This is a puzzle no one can solve.”
“As long as I wear him down until he quits the game, I win.”
Edmund sat on the wooden stool and fell into a long silence.
“Do you know what I see on your face?” Edmund murmured to himself. “I see myself on the eve of that experiment. For the sake of saving what I loved, I see a feverish madness willing to pay any price.”
Edmund looked up, tears in his eyes.
“I will help you, child. Even though this is wrong.”
Bai Liu thanked him seriously. “Thank you, Professor Edmund.”
The coastline rose higher and higher. Under the sun’s rays, the ice grew smoother and smoother, until the final glimmer of sunlight vanished beyond the horizon.
But the temperature was still rising.
—
“It’s almost zero degrees.” Tang Erda took off his parka. He looked around and frowned. “Why isn’t Bai Liu back yet? Didn’t he say he was taking the heart to Edmund’s place to unlock the final plot, then destroy the heart to clear the game and leave?”
Tang Erda had not gone with Bai Liu to the small wooden hut.
He did not know what Edmund had told Bai Liu.
Nor did he know what would happen after the heart was destroyed.
Liu Jiayi pursed her lips and said nothing. Mu Ke glanced at her.
Mu Shicheng asked the same question as Tang Erda. “Yeah. How long has it been?”
“If he doesn’t come back soon, the waterline will reach us.” Tang Erda looked at the floating ice already split apart like cracked tiles. “Get on the helicopter first—!!”
Before Tang Erda’s voice could fade, a pure black whip swept across from the distance with unstoppable force. It wrapped around the helicopter’s landing gear and yanked it backward, throwing Tang Erda off just as he was about to climb aboard.
“Fuck!! It’s Spades!!!”
Mu Shicheng instinctively activated his skill. Monkey claws spread from both hands as he tried to catch the black whip still sweeping toward them.
The whip, which looked almost weightless, smashed into Mu Shicheng’s palms. He felt as if every metacarpal bone in both hands had shattered in an instant. He barely had time to warn the others before he was slammed into the thick ice.
The residual force of the whip caved in Mu Shicheng’s chest, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.
Without hesitation, Tang Erda pulled out his gun and began firing rapidly at Spades. Only then could they clearly see Spades walking out of the mist, flicking his whip.
His expression was cold. Holding the whip in one hand, he flipped his wrist and snapped it rapidly, the whip dancing before him in a near-impenetrable blur. Bullets struck the whip with crisp crackling sounds.
During Tang Erda’s continuous fire, Spades was hit in the shoulder and in the right hand holding the whip.
Tang Erda’s goal was clear: he wanted to disarm Spades.
This was a conditioned reflex when a professional main attacker faced an opponent—control the organs the opponent used to attack.
Tang Erda had indeed hit Spades. Blood kept pouring from Spades’ body. Logically, after being shot, Spades should have stopped attacking.
But Spades acted as if he felt nothing at all. He continued advancing without pause.
Tang Erda fought while retreating. An unprecedented sense of oppression pressed down on him, making his scalp prickle. Forced into a corner, he activated his monster form—[Rose Hunter]—and switched to an elongated revolver for even faster firing.
Spades was struck by bullets again and again. Blood seeped through his clothes and dragged a long trail across the ice.
But he was still approaching, and his attacks were growing faster.
However, his target was not any person.
It was the helicopter on the ice.
With a few lashes, Spades smashed the helicopter into pieces. Then he used his whip to push the wreckage across the ice, as if searching for something.
But he did not seem to find what he wanted.
He turned his head, lowered his whip, and looked at Tang Erda.
“The heart isn’t with you?”
Tang Erda realized this guy had no intention of attacking them. He pretended he couldn’t instantly extinguish his gun and fired two more probing shots at Spades.
Spades was indeed hit, but he did not counterattack. Instead, he looked expressionlessly at Tang Erda, as if waiting for his answer.
Tang Erda said, “The heart isn’t with us.”
“Oh.” Without the slightest hesitation, Spades gave Tang Erda two lashes.
Pa, pa.
He looked up. “I know you could have stopped just now. This is payback for those two shots.”
Tang Erda: “...”
After getting his answer, Spades left again.
Mu Shicheng was helped up while vomiting blood, his head full of question marks.
“He just came to ask a question?! Then why the hell did he hit me?!”
If Spades had been there, perhaps he would have answered: intuition.
He felt that he should beat Mu Shicheng once. Otherwise, Mu Shicheng would charge up later, which would be annoying.
But Spades was not there, so Mu Shicheng did not know the answer to that question. For him, perhaps that was a good thing.
Mu Ke watched Spades’ departing back with worry. “He’s probably going to find Bai Liu.”
“Bai Liu will be fine. He only needs to destroy the heart to clear the game.” Liu Jiayi raised her head. “We need to leave the game before he clears it. That way, for us, time in reality will still be frozen, and we can go resolve the problems in reality.”
Tang Erda abruptly turned toward Liu Jiayi. “Bai Liu told you how to resolve the issues in reality?”
“He told me,” Liu Jiayi said.
Tang Erda let out a long breath. A rare smile appeared on his face. “He always has a way. Then let’s log out first.”
Mu Shicheng also relaxed, cursing with a smile, “Why didn’t you say so earlier? You scared me half to death. I thought something happened to him.”
“But thinking about it, what could happen to a bastard like Bai Liu in a game? It’s much more likely that something would happen to me.”
Liu Jiayi clenched her fists.
No one questioned Bai Liu’s decision.
No one thought Bai Liu would fail to find a way.
He was always omnipotent. He never made mistakes. He had no weaknesses.
She had once believed that too.
That was why she had always... wanted to wait just a little longer.
Maybe Bai Liu would suddenly come back, smiling as he told them everything had been handled, and then everyone would log out together.
But now that Spades had appeared, the peace she had painted inside her mind was shattered. She had to make arrangements immediately.
She needed to prepare for the possibility that Bai Liu would lose.
She had to send the team out of the game before Spades returned.
Bai Liu’s mask-like smile appeared before Liu Jiayi’s eyes. He rubbed her hair, his smile both hypocritical and warm.
[Jiayi, you’re a very smart little girl. You know what to do. When I’m not around, I’m temporarily handing the team over to you.]
[You were originally trained by the Queen of Hearts as a second tactician. Now I think you are fully capable of bearing that identity.]
He smiled and praised her.
[Because no one is more suited to this position than you, Jiayi.]
Liu Jiayi bit down hard and looked up to give the order.
“Log out of the game immediately!!”
By the coast.
Scott’s Hut had already been completely submerged. Spades arrived on a piece of floating ice and looked down at the abandoned wooden house swaying beneath the surface.
Spades took off his heavy parka and spiked shoes, then jumped into the water.
He swam into the small wooden hut and passed through it. A strange sensation seized Spades. He tilted his head nimbly to the side, and a pure white bone whip stabbed out from behind his ear.
Bai Liu, dressed in a white shirt and suit pants, smiled at him underwater. His hand did not pause as he stabbed a second time.
Spades swung his hand and knocked it away. He noticed blood seeping from Bai Liu’s chest, so he simply reached out, grabbed Bai Liu by the collar, and tore open his shirt.
The buttons burst one after another in the water, drifting in every direction.
Across Bai Liu’s thin, pale chest was a long scar spanning the entire right side.
The scar looked as if it had only just been made. It had not healed yet. Dense threads of blood, like loose ends left untrimmed, were being pulled out from the wound.
Spades stared at the scar for a moment, then looked up at Bai Liu.
The instant this Bai Liu rushed at him, Spades grabbed him by the neck and tightened his grip, “killing” him.
The [corpse] sank.
Spades opened his mouth in the water, bubbles spilling from the corners of his lips.
He commented, “Inferior product.”
He surfaced and flipped onto the shore.
Spades looked down into the dark water. For once, he frowned.
“So troublesome...”
This person named Bai Liu had prepared a pile of replicas identical to himself and hidden them at the bottom of the water.
And in this map, where Antarctica had completely melted and water stretched everywhere, these replicas were extremely difficult to kill.
The weaknesses needed to kill these monsters—burning them, or using strong acid—were both conditions very hard to achieve here.
Moreover, Bai Liu had hidden the heart inside [his own] body. But these [Bai Lius] could not be completely killed off. If one died, another would soon resurrect and make a comeback.
...Even if the real Bai Liu were pulled out from this pile of monsters, given that everyone’s memories were the same, even Bai Liu himself probably would not know which [Bai Liu’s] body contained the real heart.
This was a game designed to be unsolvable.
Spades did not like this unsolvable game of whack-a-mole. So he sat on the ice for a while, his gaze empty, water dripping from his chin.
He was not good at this kind of situation.
Just as he was not good at dealing with tacticians.
This person named Bai Liu should be a rather capable tactician, because he was the first tactician who had truly trapped Spades using his own body.
Most of the time, the ones who gave Spades headaches were tacticians.
Whether inside or outside the league.
Spades sat on the shore for a very long time.
Then he stood up. His gaze lingered on the calm surface of the water for a long, long while.
[There is no such thing as an unsolvable game in this world.]
Someone smiled and spoke beside his ear, leaning against his shoulder and looking up at him. In those pitch-black eyes was a wicked yet innocent player of games.
But Spades did not remember his face.
Nor did he remember who he was.
He only remembered that he had once said those words to him.
[A game that is designed and then deliberately placed before someone is made because the designer hopes that person can solve it. Therefore, there is no such thing as an unsolvable game in this world.]
[You will definitely be able to win my game. After all, besides you, no one else comes here to play my games. You are my only player.]
[In other words, my game was designed for your victory.]
Spades plunged into the water.
Guided by some intuition, he dove deeper and deeper. He reached an unknown depth, where countless [Bai Liu] corpses were submerged in tangled layers.
Occasionally, a [Bai Liu] would resurrect and float upward, only to sink again before long from suffocation.
These [Bai Lius] all seemed to dislike water very much. Whether floating or sinking, every movement carried a sense of rejection.
Finding the right one among this vast sea of Bai Lius was truly searching for a needle in a haystack.
Spades hovered in the icy seawater. Bai Lius kept trying to approach and kill him, but he swept them all away.
Finally, his gaze stopped on a Bai Liu buried beneath layers of others.
—This Bai Liu had not attacked him.
He slept peacefully at the bottom of the sea with his eyes closed. Through his open shirt, the wound on his chest was visible.
This Bai Liu carried a strange feeling, a mixture of monster and human, like a transitional body caught halfway through transformation.
Spades had an intensely strong, utterly unreasonable intuition.
This Bai Liu had the heart.
He quickly dove down.
The instant he reached out to touch him, that Bai Liu opened his eyes.
Bubbles floated from Bai Liu’s lips. Then he kicked his legs and swam rapidly through the water.
The other [Bai Lius] at the bottom of the sea were like a startled school of fish, swarming over to surround him at the center. A large group of Bai Lius swayed back and forth, dizzying the eye. In almost an instant, the Bai Liu Spades had just locked onto disappeared.
But Spades quickly locked onto him again.
It was as if Spades had a tracker installed specifically for Bai Liu. Among all these identical Bai Lius, whom even Bai Liu himself could not distinguish, Spades was able to pick out the one he had identified and pursue him without hesitation.
The rippling blue waves shimmered.
Floating above were the melting remains of the world’s largest kingdom of ice and snow. Massive chunks of ice broke away from the land and drifted through the sea. The portions of the icebergs submerged underwater looked like islands suspended in the sky.
Spades and Bai Liu dodged and chased through these white icy [islands].
But no matter how Bai Liu fled, how he hid, or what techniques he used to interrupt Spades, Spades was always able to find him among the thousands of identical Bai Lius in this cold, hellish underwater world.
Beneath the melting Dome A, at the darkest bottom of the sea, Spades finally caught Bai Liu.
Spades calmly reached his hand into Bai Liu’s unhealed wound.
Blood vessels twitched and fused around the heart. The warmth of blood filled the spaces between Spades’ fingers. He gripped the cold heart that beat so incongruously within a warm human body and lowered his eyes to look at the Bai Liu he had captured.
For a moment, Spades felt that the expression on this tactician’s face—the tactician who had nearly trapped him to death—was somewhat familiar.
It was as if a long, long time ago, this tactician named Bai Liu had also stared at him from the bottom of the water with such an unwilling yet calm gaze, as though he hated him.
As though Bai Liu had once tied up Spades’ rotting ankles and buried his corpse at the bottom of the water.
Just as Bai Liu had trapped himself now.
Spades slowly tightened his hand.
The instant the heart shattered between Spades’ fingers, for reasons even he did not understand, he bent down and hugged Bai Liu.
He rested his chin on Bai Liu’s shoulder and silently mouthed the words:
[I’m sorry.]
Bai Liu closed his eyes in the water.
A vast cloud of blood mist exploded around him, and his consciousness drifted into nothingness.
Tawil.
Xie Ta...
[Don’t be afraid of the dead me, or the living me.]
[I will forever remain in my own winter, waiting for you.]
[—No matter what choice I make, you will leave me, won’t you?]
[—Yes.]
—
Author’s Note:
This dungeon is almost finished!
What follows is some rambling. Readers who aren’t interested can simply swipe past it.
I hope everyone can discuss things peacefully. It’s all right to criticize my writing. Previously, a reader expressed a negative opinion of this story from an objective standpoint, but I deleted it.
It wasn’t a negative score; that friend still gave it 2 points. But people started arguing underneath it, and I was afraid you would feel unhappy seeing that kind of top comment, so I deleted it.
I’m sorry to that friend. You can post your opinion again. This time, I’ll keep watch over it for you, and I’ll give you the second spot so no one argues with you.
I originally wrote your name, but my friend said that wouldn’t be good for you, so I deleted it. My apologies!! I prostrate myself! You’ll have to realize it yourself—yes, I’m talking about you!
I just hope everyone won’t be too sensitive toward negative reviews. It’s normal for some people to dislike my writing. I can completely accept it, and I don’t think too much about it. If someone posts one, please don’t argue with them. This story isn’t some top-tier web novel; it’s normal for people to think it’s poorly written. Even my best friend often complains that at least two-thirds of this story isn’t very good.
Readers who have spent money have the right to express their opinions, as long as they don’t engage in personal attacks, instigate conflict, intentionally misinterpret things, or overgeneralize. Whether my writing is good, whether everyone likes a character—these are all very normal opinions that can be discussed. Positive or negative, I’m fine with either. I hope everyone won’t take it too seriously.
The comment section is a place for everyone to express their views. I hope there will be less arguing, and I will update more. Happy reading!
P.S. I don’t recommend that everyone “blindly” recommend my story, because it’s actually very easy to step on landmines. Its flaws are very obvious.
If you truly want to recommend it, please explain the flaws first: things like the many typos, the early-stage bullet comments being a turn-off, the character logic being especially “chuunibyou,” the lack of romance, the “ML” being more like a background character, and so on.
Don’t only talk about the good points. When recommending it, I only hope you’ll say it’s relatively interesting. Please don’t say things like it’s “profound,” “deeply moving,” or “the absolute best”! QAQ
On one hand, it doesn’t live up to that kind of praise. On the other hand... I actually think that kind of recommendation is a bit of a turn-off, because I personally don’t read “profound” web novels. I just want to read “cars” and fast-paced face-slapping stories... Hey!
Finally, I hope everyone studies hard and makes progress every day in the new year. Just treat my story as a pastime, and don’t let it interfere with your normal life. Taking your phone to school just to read stories is absolutely, definitely not okay.
Also, I currently do not have, and will not establish in the future, any reader groups.
I have so many things to do. Sorry for troubling your eyes. Thank you, thank you.
