Chapter 7 - The Heaven’s Decree

[Spirit Fragment Collection Progress: 15/1000]

As soon as he returned to the Login Space, the system triggered a reward sequence.

The two items he had carried out of the last scenario began to shimmer, gradually reshaping themselves under the soft, ethereal glow of system magic.

The wine gourd morphed into a rare consumable: [Heaven's Nectar]. According to its description, this elixir could revive the user upon death, automatically activating once per scenario—provided it remained in the user's inventory. Three uses remained.

The system had marked it with a glowing Rare label, perhaps confirming what it had once hinted at: the completion of special conditions in a scenario would unlock hidden rewards.

The second item—the cup—had transformed into a card. A pale, translucent thing with a single word inscribed on it: Rain. A tooltip floated beside it:

[Collect all matching cards to unlock a mysterious item. Current progress: 1/2]

Without much thought, Ruoshui placed the newly obtained rewards onto a table made of polished pearwood. The moment they touched the surface, the table glowed faintly and absorbed them into itself.

Below the transparent tabletop, the items floated freely as if suspended in a void—alongside several other glowing artifacts he'd earned from previous scenarios.

The table, like many things here, had been a gift from the system.

Retrieving any item was as simple as tapping the spot on the surface that corresponded to its location, and calling its name mentally. In response, the item would emerge from the storage field below.

A design reminiscent of ancient cultivation artifacts—clearly inspired by the world the system had modeled the Login Space after.

The room itself resembled a traditional study, an elegant fusion of Eastern classicism and digital minimalism. In its center stood only the table and a single chair—both simple, both exuding the kind of quiet authority one might find in a Daoist's abode.

And yet, as he stood there in silence, a crushing wave of exhaustion came over him. As if everything he had held together until now had suddenly slipped from his grasp.

Ruoshui closed his eyes, fingers trembling slightly.

What had just happened? It all felt like a dream—too vivid, too unreal.

His fingers clenched into a fist.

He didn't want to remember, and yet… couldn't help but recall.

The pale figure in his dreams that always eluded him…The clear-eyed youth inside the scenario…The sudden, inexplicable fragments of memory that didn't belong to the character he was playing.

Was it just faulty scenario design? A glitch in the script?Or... were these fragments from his real past?

He chuckled dryly, shaking his head.

"Am I… losing my mind to these nightmares?"

The words echoed through the empty room.

Yet, something stirred in the back of his mind. A whisper, a breath, a memory—not from the system, not from the game. From somewhere older. Somewhere deeper.

He glanced down at his hands.

Faint blue glyphs shimmered along the back of his fingers. Ancient light, dancing like mist over bone. Cold, yet alive.

Was this the system's doing?Or something innate to himself?

Who am I—truly?

The system said he must collect 1,000 fragments of his spirit. Would he find the answer then?

And if those memory fragments were real, not hallucinations… then the truth awaited him at the end of this road.

His eyes rose slowly to a painting that hung on the far wall—a scroll depicting vast mountains and mystical cities, drawn in elegant strokes of ink wash.

The colors were subdued, yet the atmosphere grand and full of promise.

Beneath one of the mountain villas, a small note read:

[Current Scene Unlock Progress: 1/2]

He stared at the text for a moment. Then nodded, slowly.

More scenarios. More trials.

Perhaps, with enough effort, he could piece together the truth.

A powerful drowsiness overtook him, and as his thoughts blurred into instinct, his form slowly faded from the Login Space.

In the real world, Ruoshui stumbled toward his bed and collapsed onto it.

Just before his consciousness slipped away completely, a strange scent passed beneath his nose—so fleeting it almost seemed imagined. A blend of ancient ink and burning sandalwood.

"This smell…"

He couldn't even finish the thought before sleep claimed him.

Meanwhile, his livestream audience was not pleased.

"Right at the climax? Bro, just restart if you lose!""Junge backed out? Rage-quit and ended the stream?!""My screen's black—he dipped!""This doesn't feel like him at all. Was he… possessed or something?""Didn't he once stream through nine failed runs without flinching?"

In truth, Ruoshui was being wrongly accused.

The one who had forcibly cut the connection was now sitting peacefully in a distant realm—enjoying a meal.

He delicately picked up a piece of chilled tofu seasoned with scallions, chewing slowly. His robes were deep indigo, and his demeanor serene.

"Mmm, tofu from Xinghua Village. Cool and crisp," he said. "Would you care for some, Brother Pingzi?"

Across from him, an elder wearing a scholar's cap gave a slight shake of the head. His fingers made a gesture in the air, causing a floating projection spell to fade like ripples on water.

The projection had shown chaotic fragments of Ruoshui's scenario.

"You still play these little games, Manqian?" the elder said with a chuckle. "That hoarse narrator's voice you used—chilling. Very immersive."

"A bit of pressure aids the soul's awakening," Manqian replied between bites. "Though… perhaps I applied it too gently."

He paused, chopsticks lowering, and his eyes softened with memory.

"That boy… shattered his sword and broke his bones, yet did not retreat. Chose death over corruption. Still the same—so full of resolve."

Pingzi's fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop.

"So, how much did he remember this time?"

Manqian was quiet for a beat. "That's not what matters. The question is: how much of it can his heart bear?"

He turned toward the third person in the room. "Zichang, lend him your aid as well."

The elderly man with the snow-white beard inclined his head. "I had already planned to."

At the same moment, in a distant realm across the bounds of time and space, a forgotten battlefield lay in ruin.

A group of soldiers scavenged the area, searching for anything salvageable.

One of them kicked aside a heap of debris and spotted a rusted longsword. With a few hard knocks against a nearby stone, some of the corrosion flaked away—briefly revealing an ancient inscription that flashed with dull light before vanishing again.

The sword, surprisingly well-forged beneath the rust, was tossed casually into a collection bin.

Unseen by mortal eyes, a blinding streak of sword-light burst free from the broken seal. It soared into the heavens, displacing stars as it flew.

And with it, a prophecy was broken.

A curse, entwining nine fates for a thousand years, had finally been undone.

Far away, under a towering celestial tree, a woman in crimson robes meditated in silence. Her eyes opened abruptly.

She smiled, eyes gleaming with emotion.

"After all these years… we finally found it. The seal that defied all our efforts—undone at last."

A yellow bird flew down from the tree and landed gently on her shoulder. Its voice was clear and cheerful.

"Master's wish is finally coming true! This is wonderful news!"

The woman's tone softened. "I wonder… after all this time apart, how much of the past will they still remember?"

"But Master," the bird tilted its head, "the Samsara Entanglement—a trap even you couldn't break. How was it undone today?"

"A mortal," she replied. "In the right place, at the right time, struck the seal."

The bird fluttered in shock. "Impossible! A mortal breaking such a formation?"

"If the time, the place, and the will align… even a mortal may reshape fate."

The woman plucked a leaf from the ancient tree and whispered:

"Emerald leaves cut the sky,A ferry through realms afar."

The leaf dissolved into specks of light and drifted upward.

But moments later, her brow furrowed. She gazed into the firmament.

A veil—unseen but palpable—resisted the blessing's passage. The green glow of the leaf fragmented and scattered upon impact.

The seal had cracked, but not shattered.

She would have to go herself.

That night, Ruoshui slept soundly.

When he finally awoke, afternoon sunlight filtered through his bedroom curtains, casting soft shadows across his desk.

He grabbed his phone.

Sunday afternoon.

Predictably, his studio group chat was exploding with messages.

"Junge, don't think you can just log off and escape punishment!""Cutting the stream = social suicide. Worse than being stomped by a boss!""Next time, penalty's doubled!"

He rubbed his temples.

I didn't cut the stream…Did the connection drop?But why didn't the game disconnect too?

There was no answer.

Still, half a Sunday remained. No use dwelling on a game he couldn't understand—yet.

Next time. He would dive deeper. Search further.

And maybe, finally, begin to understand who he truly was.