A distant sigh was carried by the wind, mixed with countless drops of blood and radiant magical energy, flowing out of her body without restraint — this was the price of manipulating time. Returning to the past, Yuki-onna was still a mortal. When the village’s prosperity was restored to its former glory, Yuki-onna fell to the ground with a thud, snowflakes trembling on her eyelashes as she opened her eyes to see her once-killed fiancé standing before her. She looked at him, offering a weak smile.
But the man did not help her; instead, he stepped back in fear. Someone from the crowd shouted, “It’s a monster!” In an instant, all the hoes, shoulder poles, axes… every weapon the villagers had was swung at the fallen Snow Maiden. The girl cried out and tried to push through, but she couldn’t break through the circle of burly men. One of the men swung a wooden stick, sweeping the ground; the girl, a priest by profession and powerless to fight back, was sent flying ten meters away, collapsing on the ground. The animation played out with a cruel plot where every character was at the mercy of fate’s whims.
Su Yao couldn’t operate or control anything, and in the end, she could only watch helplessly as the humans, driven by fear and madness, buried the Snow Maiden alive, who had kindly saved them but had lost her powers. The last thing she stretched out from the earth were hands pale from crying so much that tears wouldn’t come anymore. History moved on, the world changed, and later the village migrated. The stars shifted, the land evolved, and the only constant was the snow. Is this… the outcome of forgiveness? If you knew this would happen, Snow Maiden, would you still choose to forgive and save?
The animation finally ended, and some previously gray buttons in the Snow Mountain Lord’s control panel were activated, signifying the completion of all tasks. She had truly become the ruler of this land, but why didn’t this fulfillment bring any joy? People on the world channel were still lamenting the tragedy of the annihilation of the 200,000-strong army. However, after a thousand years, looking back, no one could see little Mary in her white and red attire, as if two lives had diverged from that point, immortality merely a jest. Wang Shenmu… Su Yao looked at the screen and sighed.
This guy, always stirring things up, even at the last moment of the plot with a touch of irony; what vast world must he hold in his mind?
Shaking her head, Su Yao logged out of the game, deleted the client, and shut down her computer, lying in bed. She wouldn’t hesitate to delete the account of Red Medicine Hall, but little Mary, her last memory with Qin Chuan, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy. So, let the story remain there, in a time unreachable by others, at the chaotic end of all youthful beginnings. After wiping away her tears, the sun would still rise from the horizon.
After sleeping until morning, Su Yao got up, freshened up, got dressed, and went to work. Her new job was steady and stable, her boss favored her, her colleagues liked her, and the days passed quietly, eventually smoothing over the pain and memories. Chen Wang was doing well too, leading the pirate group to expand the Changsheng Island several times over. With their natural advantages in piracy and mining, they became a dominant force at sea. Ji Canghai had sent troops to suppress Changsheng Island several times, but always returned defeated, unable to do anything about these pirates who were nibbling at his territory. Later on, under Chen Wang and others’ leadership, Changsheng Island became a maritime power, rivaling the weakened Yan and Xia nations after the loss of their 200,000-strong army.
Chen Wang, looking at the national strength rankings, excitedly called Su Yao: “Sister Yao, Changsheng Island finally ranks first alongside them today, haha. Without you as the national advisor for Xia, and Luo Zishang as the military strategist for Yan, it’s like the claws of lions and tigers have been cut off, leaving just a bunch of idiots piled up with money, no longer a threat to us. And that bastard Xiao Ding, who insisted on becoming the national advisor, actually did quite well, reminiscent of your style back in the day. Oh, Sister Yao, Changsheng Island is so prosperous now; we’ve built three Sea Dragon ships, and next month, after integrating some resources, we can upgrade to the Ultimate Sea God ship. Its durability will match the walls of Tianya City, then we’ll truly rule the seas, unchallenged. Those lunatics even talk about setting sail to find artifacts once the Sea God ship is ready. Luckily, the treasury is full now; supporting them isn’t a strain. Maybe with some luck, we might actually stumble upon something good, haha, Sister Yao…”
After a long speech, Chen Wang finally asked, “Aren’t you coming back to take a look?” Su Yao, sitting by the large window in the afternoon sun, just smiled and reminded him through the phone, “Remember to avoid the black whirlpools in the deep sea.” Then, she hung up. These kids had grown up, now capable of standing on their own.
Wang Shenmu sat across from Su Yao, his brows furrowing the moment she answered the call. When he had the tech department trace the last login IP of Changsheng Hall, he rushed there only to find the place deserted. For days, Wang Shenmu hadn’t given up trying to find more information about Qin Chuan online. He knew that guy wouldn’t return to the game, but he might still visit forums, keeping an eye on Red Medicine Hall, checking if she had been affected, if she was living a bit happier… The more resolute the departure, the harder it was to endure and let go. In this afternoon routine, Wang Shenmu browsed through forums, trying to find useful information amidst the constant attacks and condemnations against Qin Chuan. These malicious posts, with a bizarre frequency, rose daily, revealing the latest scandals to attract attention, with numerous anonymous accounts promoting the “justice” of eradicating scum. Wang Shenmu was puzzled. Who would be so persistent? This goes against historical norms unless someone was truly manipulating things behind the scenes, intent on driving the protagonist to ruin. How much hatred would that take? Wang Shenmu, who had long harbored suspicions, called upon his friends from the technical department to begin a covert investigation.
They discovered that all the accounts used by individuals who posted derogatory remarks about Qin Chuan on gaming forums, major BBS, and SNS communities were brand new. If this wasn’t a premeditated and organized effort, Wang Shenmu would have eaten his computer. However, prior to this, they hadn’t found anything significant; the puppet masters behind the scenes were very cunning. Wang Shenmu had considered checking IP addresses, but all the posters’ addresses traced back to proxy servers in the United States. Proxy servers are like buses, with thousands of people boarding daily, making it nearly impossible to trace the true identity of the manipulator. Perhaps only the scoundrels from the China Hackers Association could manage it. Wang Shenmu would not go to them; he had a fallout with the site owner over development philosophy four years ago, resulting in a cold war after which he left with nothing.
Wang Shenmu, in a fit of pique, moved north to join Renjian Company, working as the main game designer for four years. But now, there was no going back, nothing could be undone. The young man with white robes and white hair stood atop the pinnacle of the Eastern Forest, looking up as the dawn breeze swept over the keyboard. This “calm, obsessive, insane, terrifying” idiot could now only help those who might still return—if the word “friend” still existed in his dictionary.