AUS Chapter 24: But I Can’t… Liu Jiang

I ran to a quiet alley, opened my phone, searched for the system, and after confirming the exit, my consciousness was abruptly pulled upwards.

When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting in my office.

I hurriedly took off the helmet, put it away, and then continued running.

An hour later, I arrived home. The cardboard box Liu Jiang left was on top of the cabinet. I frantically dragged a stool over and took the box down.

Another hour later, I returned to the floor above my company.

It was now 5:40 pm. Normally, I would have already finished the simulation and be preparing to go home because in less than twenty minutes, the city’s only subway line would stop running.

Darkness is instinctively dangerous for humans, even more so in the apocalypse.

But today, I wanted to understand—no, I had to understand.

The Relive plan restarted. I re-entered the simulation, but this time I didn’t arrive directly in the virtual world; I arrived in the lobby.

The system itself was standing behind the reception desk in the hotel lobby, still in that butler attire. He watched me approach with a courteous expression, calmly meeting my gaze.

I slapped both hands on the counter, leaned my face closer, and asked him, “‘Don’t wake me up,’ what does that mean?”

The system showed a rare expression of confusion. He said, “Please repeat that.”

I realized once again that he couldn’t see what I was thinking. Pressing my fingers against my brow, I organized my thoughts and asked again.

I said, “Liu Jiang in reality wrote me a letter, telling me not to wake him up. What does this mean? So, the Liu Jiang in the simulation can have his consciousness awakened, right?”

The system faced me, opened his hands, then clasped them together again, an expression of uncertainty about how to explain things to me on his face. His smile was awkward but polite.

“I believe you are already aware of this,” he replied. “Any attempt to explain the real world to an NPC, whether through actions or words, will result in a system error, directly terminating the simulation process.”

His calm tone helped me regain some composure. I closed my mouth and listened to him continue.

“Furthermore,” he continued, “you say your friend wrote you a letter, but anything man-made will inevitably introduce errors. Have you considered that your judgment might be mistaken?”

I went from calm and collected to completely speechless, removing my hands from the counter and pressing them against my forehead.

It was indeed possible that I was mistaken.

The Relive plan had its own operating logic, but the real world didn’t. The acrostic in the letter could very well be a coincidence. Although Liu Jiang and I would leave messages in acrostic poems, that only started within the Relive plan.

Did it happen in reality? I couldn’t remember, truly couldn’t remember.

So, this might just be a coincidence.

Or maybe it wasn’t a coincidence, but Liu Jiang didn’t intend it that way. He might have been expressing a happy moment, or simply indulging in past memories.

Don’t wake me up—it could very well be a meaningless joke.

The system looked at me and gestured with his hand. “Please have a lemon drop to calm down.”

I should eat a lemon.

I cursed inwardly, but still took the candy.

The system clasped his hands. “Firstly, whether the world within the simulation can influence the outside world is still under investigation. However, it is certain that the external world will not fundamentally affect the internal world. In other words, you do not possess divine power; you can only do what your role allows.”

So, I couldn’t wake him up.

But I had accurately grasped a blind spot. I asked him, “What do you mean by the internal world being able to influence the external world?”

However, I quickly realized that this was probably a question beyond my access level. I flipped the candy in my mouth with my tongue, waiting for him to refuse to answer.

Yet he didn’t.

He calmly replied, “Because the creation of a simulated world itself generates immense kinetic energy. Let me explain this using modern physics—in material mechanics, excess potential energy will dissipate; in fluid mechanics, areas with high flow velocity will exert an attractive force on areas with low flow velocity.”

Since I was a top student with excellent science scores, I quickly understood what he meant.

Creating a virtual world was like a continuous explosion. Explosions create shockwaves, and similarly, simulations have their aftereffects.

When the Relive plan was still a new development project at my company, we discussed this aspect during product meetings. The R&D department even formed a separate team to study the potential impact of simulated worlds on reality.

Unfortunately, before the Great Catastrophe, they only concluded that simulated worlds might affect the psychology of the testers, similar to addiction to online games, or constantly using internet slang.

This conclusion was presented during a relaxed discussion segment of their R&D progress meeting. Hearing the team’s report, everyone couldn’t help but chuckle, reminding each other not to get addicted to games.

At that time, I was also among those who didn’t take it seriously. Now, I felt like my mind had been taken over by this plan.

Sitting on the subway, walking through the apocalyptic wasteland, listening to the distant gunfire from my cramped dwelling. In these moments, all I could think about was the seemingly endless spring in Liancheng and the figure whose school uniform hem was blown by the wind in that spring.

Perhaps this was the influence I was asking about – the Relive plan was influencing me from the inside out, giving me hope and making me despair.

I suddenly looked up. “Then, is it possible that this letter came from the Liu Jiang in the simulation?”

Okay, I asked a stupid question.

So stupid that I thought the system would laugh the next second, but he didn’t. He said, “I apologize, that is a question beyond my access level.”

What?

I had been leaning against the counter; now I abruptly stood up straight, placing both hands back on the counter.

I asked, “Beyond your access level?”

Okay, I asked another pointless question.

But did this imply something else?

A line of logic quickly formed in my mind. I asked the system, “How much longer until this level ends? How can I succeed quickly?”

As long as I could quickly finish this level, I could immediately find out where the letter came from, and perhaps I could find out where Liu Jiang was!

The system maintained his calm demeanor, dutifully replying, “The time when the level ends depends on when you fulfill the requirements.”

In other words, I still had an indefinite amount of time to make Liu Jiang like me.

My first question had been answered; the system began to answer my second question. “As for how to succeed—I think you would know this better than I do.”

Silence fell between us after he spoke.

Indeed, I couldn’t expect a simulation program to help me chase someone.

Just as I rested my chin on my arms again, the system suddenly moved. He walked to the entrance of the reception area, opened the sliding panel, stepped out, and stopped in front of me.

His sudden approach made me a little nervous. I lifted my chin from my arms and looked at him in confusion.

He stood up straight, looking down at me, still leaning against the reception desk. A glint of cunning seemed to flash in his eyes.

He said, “But I believe you have been consistently attempting to awaken the characters within the simulation.”

His tone remained courteous, but I felt the meaning he wanted to convey was clearly not this. I even sensed a hint of threat.

I slowly straightened up, not flinching, but my peripheral vision was already searching for an escape route. I didn’t know how to wake myself up here, nor did I know what would happen if I got hurt here.

I heard the rumble of a motor in the distant corridor. The corridor lights near the elevator flickered a few times. The flickering frequency resembled footsteps, approaching from afar.

But just as the flickering lights were almost upon us, I suddenly saw the gloom in the system’s eyes disappear. He returned to his gentle and courteous demeanor.

He said, “But that’s alright. I can show you something to fundamentally dispel your concerns.”

Huh?

My hand had already reached the edge of the vase on the counter behind me. If the system had been a second slower to return to normal, I might have taken some countermeasures.

I answered him evasively, moving my hand away from the vase as naturally as possible. Finally, after steadying myself, I took a deep breath and replied, “Show me what?”

The system smiled. “Please follow me. We need to take the elevator to the designated level.”

With that, he turned and walked towards the elevator. I withdrew my arm, and my school uniform sleeve almost knocked over the vase I had just placed back. I hurriedly steadied the vase. The system continued walking forward calmly, not noticing my movements.

Following behind him, I suddenly realized he was very tall.

Tall, with long limbs, his every movement exuded a unique elegance, without the clumsiness that tall people sometimes have. If I hadn’t been standing so close to him, I wouldn’t have noticed how tall he actually was.

Generally, hotels don’t hire particularly tall waiters because they can be intimidating and don’t conform to the other staff.

But the waiter in front of me didn’t give me a strong sense of intimidation—except for those few seconds just now.

And the other staff—I looked around, confirming once again that only he and I were here.

His appearance was probably just a developer’s whim.

He had already stopped in front of the elevator. The doors opened to both sides. He held one door open with his hand, gesturing for me to enter first. I stepped into the elevator as naturally as possible, from the furthest point away from him. The steel cables whirred, and we arrived at the floor marked “1.”

Was he taking me to review the previous levels?

Stepping forward, we stopped at the door marked “Level 1-1.”

He stopped, turned to me, and explained, “This is the level you have already cleared. If you choose to review it, you will re-enter as a tester. The resulting impact will not change your current test progress. You can disregard the previous objectives and explore freely, focusing on your own experience.”

I quickly understood what he meant. I said, “So, I can discover things I didn’t notice before during the review.”

He smiled, noncommittal to my answer. The door opened, and we stepped together onto the seemingly ordinary red-patterned carpet of the room.

In a blink of an eye, we were on the hillside of the first level. This was the day I first met Liu Jiang.

Humans are truly strange creatures. We always imbue ordinary seasons or places with special meaning. For example, me now, after experiencing two springs with swirling willow catkins on this hillside, I always felt that this kind of weather and scene were synonymous with my encounter with Liu Jiang. Perhaps in the next second, that Liu Jiang, who hadn’t yet grown into his good looks, would appear.

But the waiter didn’t give me that chance. He turned and walked in the opposite direction of the school.

As I hurried to catch up with him, he explained, “I’m taking you to the tall building up ahead—the view is broader there.”

Broader?

Indeed, this area was full of unrenovated Western-style buildings. Only the observation tower up ahead was taller, with an elevator that went directly to the top floor, overlooking the entire city of Liancheng.

Walking with him, I quickly noticed something: passersby seemed to be oblivious to his presence.

A tall, fully-dressed waiter suddenly appearing on the street, even in Liancheng, a relatively tolerant tourist city, would surely attract some attention. People would turn their heads to look at someone so uniquely dressed with such a distinct aura.

But they didn’t.

On the road, all the passersby continued as usual. Street vendors chatted, office workers pedaled their bicycles, students on their way to school ran. They only swerved aside just before colliding with us, as if we were mere obstacles, like signposts.

Upon arriving at the observation tower, my suspicions were further confirmed.

This tower required pre-purchased tickets, yet as we approached the ticket gate, the gates opened automatically. The tourists queuing behind us seemed not to see us, just chatting amongst themselves.

Standing in the observation elevator, the waiter seemed to have perceived my confusion. He clasped his white-gloved hands behind his back and said to me, “This is the true form of this world.”

I looked forward. Outside the elevator’s curved viewing glass, the cityscape of Liancheng gradually expanded.

The river flowing through the city, the increasingly dense buildings, and the Western-style houses interspersed among the modern architecture—all of this was familiar to me. This was the Liancheng I grew up in.

However, as our viewpoint rose, I quickly noticed an anomaly.

In the furthest reaches of my vision, I saw a phosphorescent glow in the sky, like light, yet also like pure flames, burning on the ground, reaching up to the sky.

Then I immediately realized that was the boundary of the Relive plan.