AUS Chapter 52: “He” is Not Liu Jiang

It wasn’t that Liu Jiang’s growth made me timid.

It was because seeing how far Liu Jiang could grow made me regret even more that I didn’t wait for him in the past.

It made me regret even more that I didn’t let him go back then, to give him a life that was better, freer, more respectable, and more like the Liu Jiang he was meant to be than the one in my memory.

I know this might also sound like a hollow, sweet nothing. Given Liu Jiang’s personality, he might throw a tantrum over a sentence like this.

But I just wanted to say something willful.

—Alright, I’ve vented. I’m ready to start coaxing him now.

However, before I could turn my face to kiss him, his hands suddenly reached over my shoulders and pushed me away.

Now it was my turn to be astonished, because I saw a flicker of an expression on Liu Jiang’s face that was different from any I had seen before.

If I had to describe it, it was like the him from back when we were sitting in the sports equipment storeroom.

The Liu Jiang who had suddenly taken the initiative to break the fourth wall with me, revealing a heavenly secret.

Now, that “him” had crossed through time, walked out of the storeroom, and traveled all the way to the capital, hundreds of kilometers away. Once again, he had replaced the Liu Jiang by my side who was supposed to know nothing, and was now looking me in the eye.

It really was “him.” “He” was back again.

“He” said, “This isn’t fun anymore.”

The window was closed, but I could hear the sound of fallen leaves tapping against the windowpane.

Something was also knocking from within me, making me want to suddenly rush forward and pour out all the words I didn’t get to say back then.

But I didn’t.

My hand was blocked by “him,” hanging powerlessly in the air. In the end, I just let my hand fall, waiting for “him” to continue speaking.

“He” sighed, facing me directly with a helpless smile. 

“I’ve already tried so hard to become this good, to become so worthy of you. Why are you still so obstinately unenlightened?”

It sounded like a rhetorical question meant to provoke my rebellious spirit, but it was more like a statement of fact.

Indeed, the “him” right now was outstanding. This Liu Jiang was outstanding.

I admit, this was the beautiful future I once dreamed he and I could reach.

Back then, he and I had just graduated. We were still in the tentative phase of our relationship. One night, where no one could see, I imagined the future we could achieve.

It was a brief and restrained thought. Roughly, it was that I could freely pursue my studies, and he could have a successful career. We wouldn’t have to be excessively glamorous; just enough to live respectably would be fine.

But I like pretty things.

Part of the reason I agreed to give it a try with Liu Jiang was because he was pretty.

But as it turned out, being just pretty wasn’t enough. I always felt that he didn’t live with enough dignity.

When my dad contacted me, he would ask if I wanted to consider a position he recommended. When my mom contacted me, she would tell me to go to a beauty clinic she recommended for some image management, saying that girls from rich families liked men who were clean and neat.

And when Liu Jiang contacted me?

He would just talk about boring daily topics, show me his minor achievements that I couldn’t understand, and expect me to empathize with his sudden emotional whims—that was what I thought back then.

Thinking about it now, what would have happened if I had been a little more patient?

I stood opposite “him,” lowered my voice, and asked, “Who are you?”

I once thought he was the Liu Jiang who had been humble before me, the real Liu Jiang. But now, I felt “he” wasn’t.

“He” was taken aback, then smiled and shook his head. 

“I am Liu Jiang. The person you love and want to see the most.”

“No, you’re not,” I replied.

It was the only thing I could say. If I said any more, I was afraid my voice would tremble.

I felt my stomach was like a piece of scratch paper that had been crumpled into a ball, and as it was smoothed out again, even my heart was trembling along with it.

I continued speaking anyway.

I said, “Liu Jiang would never hang the words ‘I became better for you’ on his lips.”

The sound of leaves tapping on the window grew louder. 

“His” smile faded slightly, replaced by an inscrutable, sinister look.

I continued, “Liu Jiang would never change for anyone, not even for me.”

As the words fell, I suddenly realized the sound outside the window wasn’t just falling leaves, but someone was actually tapping on something with their hand.

Once, twice.

I could feel darkness surging rapidly from the distance, surrounding the building I was in. The darkness seeped through the window, approaching us silently.

It’s happening again.

This was the precursor to exiting the game.

In the rapidly approaching darkness, I could only clearly see “him” still standing face to face with me. His expression slowly shifted to astonishment. Then he reached out, as if trying to grab me.

I thought of the Liu Jiang in the school hallway during my first time in the As Usual Project.

He had looked at me just like that back then.

Could it be that—

My lower body landed hard on a soft foam cushion, but the thin pad couldn’t absorb the impact of falling out of the simulation. I winced instantly, instinctively wanting to stand up, but a force pressed down firmly on my shoulders.

Someone was holding my shoulders.

I snapped my eyes open and found that I hadn’t exited the simulation. Instead, I was in the “Lobby.” I was sitting on a chair near the front desk’s rest area, and the person holding my shoulders was, unsurprisingly, the Attendant.

The Attendant’s hands were on my shoulders, not using force, but they felt heavy and steady.

His voice was equally calm. 

“System malfunction. We will now perform repairs for you.”

The Attendant’s voice was above my head. We were facing the hotel corridor. I could hear a din like that of many tourists walking by. The sound was distant, but I could clearly make out its direction.

From above, below, left, and right, it was overwhelming—the sound of footsteps, voices, luggage being dragged on the floor. It was as if, in an instant, this hotel that had only ever contained me was flooded with other players. Or perhaps they had been here all along, overlapping with me, and I just hadn’t known.

The sounds mixed together, crowding each other, growing more intense. The end of the corridor I was facing seemed to start distorting. Accompanied by a sudden creaking sound, the previously straight lines began to tremble.

It was like walking through water, or like I was observing everything through the bottom of a glass bottle. Once again, I had the tangible realization that I was in an unstable simulation.

Then, I heard a crisp sound, like the snap of a finger, and all the distortions before me returned to normal.

The sounds vanished, the flickering lights stabilized, and the building’s interior walls were as straight and true as ever. The hands on my shoulders suddenly released, and the Attendant stepped in front of me.

“My sincerest apologies,” he said with a slight bow. 

“The system simulation experienced a severe malfunction just now. It may have caused you to mistakenly believe that the game character possessed a self-aware consciousness. We have already implemented a fix, and such a misunderstanding will not occur again. We ask for your understanding.”

Wh…at?

Before I could question this statement, which was suspicious in every respect, I first stood up from the chair.

I then realized that the ceiling in the hotel seemed lower than the last few times I had been here.

My current body was that of the adult Yang Pingsheng.

It sounds convoluted, but that was the reality. The last few times I came to the Lobby, I still looked like a high school student in school uniform pants and canvas shoes. This time, my line of sight was visibly higher.

But the Attendant was still much taller than me. He was tall and straight, with graying hair, impeccably dressed. Within his handsome brow, there was actually a hint of apology that matched the words he had just spoken.

I was speechless, and looked up again.

Rather than examining what had changed here, what had just happened was the most pressing question.

“Severe malfunction, what do you mean?” I asked him.

The moment I asked, I suddenly had a bad premonition. Could it be that the self-awareness of the Liu Jiang in the simulation wasn’t part of their design?

“The literal meaning,” the Attendant replied. 

“The characters in the simulation should not have self-awareness, nor should they have memories of the real world. You need not dwell on it.”

Should not have self-awareness—huh?

I once thought “he” was Liu Jiang. Everything that just happened made me start to suspect other possibilities, but when I tried to think deeper, I couldn’t figure it out.

But now, why was the Attendant denying it was their doing right to my face?

I asked directly, “Isn’t ‘he’ a part of the real Liu Jiang?”

I foolishly hoped for an affirmative answer from the Attendant.

“He” was very much like Liu Jiang, but not entirely. I could follow the clues and piece the real Liu Jiang back together.

I was certain I could.

The Attendant paused, then answered me, “He is not.”

A massive, dull blow struck my chest, churning my insides. But then, the Attendant continued speaking.

He said, “But you will meet him in the true ending.”

The dull ache stopped, then transformed into an illusory joy. This was the first time the Attendant had taken the initiative to mention the purpose of the simulation to me, and it confirmed my initial guess—I would get to see him.

He continued to explain, “Because he is not Liu Jiang yet, you don’t need to care about anything he says or does. No matter how genuine a self-awareness he displays to you, he is not Liu Jiang.”

After saying this, he took a step closer to me, his expression turning serious.

But it wasn’t the solemnity and tranquility he usually showed when hearing my unreasonable requests. It was a tone of negotiation, even pleading.

“I have reminded you more than once: please, you must not awaken the game character’s self-awareness,” he said. 

“It’s not because I don’t want you to see the real Liu Jiang, but because if ‘he’ wakes up, everything will become unpredictable.”

I was once again plunged into chaos.

I took a deep breath, then asked the Attendant, “Why can’t you speak plainly?”

Alright, that was a bit aggressive.

Who is ‘he’? A simple game bug? Can’t a bug just be fixed? If the Attendant can’t handle it, he could give it to me; I’m a professional game developer.

I pressed my brow and brought up another point that was bothering me.

“If the awakening of Liu Jiang’s self-awareness in the game is such a serious matter, shouldn’t you have told me at the first opportunity?” I spread my hands. 

“He woke up once before in the game, and it even automatically logged me out. But you didn’t show up at all, you didn’t say a thing, leaving me to get my hopes up for a long time.”

I was talking about the time in the sports equipment storeroom.

That time, Liu Jiang had suddenly appeared, suddenly started talking about the awkward story of our first confession, causing me to get kicked out of the simulation and lie on the dusty ground for a long while afterward, pondering the meaning of it all.

The Attendant was looking at me, his hands behind his back. But the expression on his face changed quickly, first to astonishment, then to a panic I had never seen before.

“When?” he asked me.

“You don’t know?” In terms of reaction, I should have been the more confused one.

“No, this shouldn’t be,” he took a step back, covering his face with one hand. 

“This shouldn’t have happened. ‘He’ has never appeared this early before. No, that’s not right…”

Then, he suddenly fixed his gaze on me.

He opened his mouth and said two words, but I didn’t hear them clearly.

“What… did you say?” I asked, puzzled.

He repeated it. This time, I heard what he said clearly.

He was saying—”Run.”