Finally, Chen Feng’s voice came through the speaker again:
“Zhang Wei came to my command center. He told me he knew you were our target but then urged me not to kill you.
When our remote-controlled smart car was about to crash into you, Zhang Wei interfered, allowing you to escape. He was beaten by an angry mob, suffered severe injuries, and couldn’t receive treatment under the circumstances. In the end, he died from an infection.
In hindsight, everything we learned from Zhang Wei and your colleagues was accurate, yet utterly useless to us.
I hadn’t even begun hacking your phone’s location before you tossed it. I didn’t crack your car’s GPS before you abandoned it and headed into the mountains. We were always a few hundred meters behind, chasing shadows.
It’s as if he predicted your every move. And the rest of the intel he provided? Completely worthless.
So, Zhang Wei used useless intelligence as a cover to get close to us, observe our actions, and then, at the critical moment, saved your life.
But here’s what I can’t figure out: why didn’t he follow my orders as completely as everyone else?
You had an exceptional manager. I have to admit, I respect him for that.”
Listening to Chen Feng’s recounting, I was stunned. By the time I regained my composure, I realized the bait on my fishing line had already been stolen. I rebaited the hook, cast it out again, and waited.
“I heard Zhang Wei spoke to you about something important before he died,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Can you tell me what it was?”
“After Zhang Wei died, we retrieved his phone and discovered he made a call to you after he’d been shrunk. What did he say during that call?”
Chen Feng wasn’t someone you could lead by the nose.
“He did call me,” I admitted, “but I didn’t hear a word. The line was silent.” I offered no further explanation. “I’d love to know what he was trying to tell me, but unfortunately, I’ll never know.”
Chen Feng didn’t reply, seemingly accepting my response. He continued recounting their conversation with Zhang Wei:
“Do you know something we don’t?” Chen Feng’s gaze sharpened, drilling into Zhang Wei’s eyes.
“I’ve seen glimpses of the future,” Zhang Wei replied hesitantly.
“You can predict the future?”
“No, it’s not a power,” Zhang Wei said, frowning. “It’s more like… images stored in my memory.”
“You’re saying you have memories of the future?” Chen Feng’s tone dripped with skepticism.
“I don’t know how to describe it, but yes, I’ve seen scenes that could only happen in the future.”
“Let’s hear them.”
Zhang Wei took a deep breath, organizing his thoughts. Then he began, his voice measured:
“I saw people using buoyancy gear, like water striders, to cross a river so vast you couldn’t see the other side.
They stood in lines, relaying ropes across the river. On the far bank, they built pulleys, then sent the ropes back to our side.
They rigged electric motors from toy cars to power makeshift boats, ferrying people in exoskeleton armor to the other shore.
When a boat was swept away, they tied another. When a rope snapped, they pulled a new one. They kept moving forward, never stopping for their fallen comrades.
I saw plains flooded with gasoline and mountains overwhelmed by apocalyptic floods, leaving countless corpses in their wake.
I saw endless giant chickens—monstrous, Godzilla-sized creatures—feeding on humans.
I saw people torn apart by waterfalls crashing from the sky and shredded by an unrelenting barrage of missiles.
Finally, humanity achieved victory using remote-controlled drones. But after they killed it…”
Zhang Wei’s voice faltered. His expression contorted with terror, as if he were wrestling with an unseen force. After a long pause, he whispered, “It won’t let me say.”
“Who won’t let you?” Chen Feng asked, his curiosity piqued.
“The system,” Zhang Wei murmured. “The most critical information—it won’t let me reveal it.”
Chen Feng stopped his story there, leaving me intrigued.
“If that’s all he told you, you wouldn’t have bothered coming to see me in person,” I said. “What convinced you?”
Chen Feng sidestepped my question. “I’ve shown you enough sincerity. It’s your turn now.”
I mulled it over. “Fine. Zhang Wei’s glimpses of the future—I’ve seen them too. But mine were far more complete.”
“I saw them last week, in a dream,” I added, then recounted my dream in vivid detail.
When I finished, Chen Feng let out a dry laugh. “So the ‘waterfalls from the sky’ were high-pressure water cannons, and the ‘endless missiles’ were just strings of firecrackers?”
“Exactly.”
“And this future you and Zhang Wei described—did it happen here?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe your dream is real?”
“I’m not sure. But I gained some vital information from it.” I explained how Zhang Ting and I uncovered the system’s confidentiality mechanism, how we cracked it, and what the so-called task ‘reward’ involved.
The car fell into a long, oppressive silence. My patience was wearing thin.
“I’ve shown enough sincerity,” I said finally. “Now it’s your turn. I need to know what information Zhang Wei gave you.”
After another long silence, Chen Feng finally broke it.
“Before he died, Zhang Wei told me two stories.
The first is about Sisyphus, the figure from Greek mythology who was punished by the gods. They condemned him to push a massive boulder up a hill. Each time he neared the top, the boulder would roll back down, forcing him to start over again. A futile, endless task.
The second story came from a philosophy class Zhang Wei attended in college. His professor posed two hypothetical dilemmas.
In the first scenario, a group of bandits kidnaps 100 hostages. They choose you and one other person. The bandits tell you: if you kill the other person, you and the remaining hostages will go free. If you refuse, everyone dies. What would you choose?
In the second scenario, the bandits address the entire group. They say that if all the hostages collectively decide to kill one specific individual, the rest will be released. What would you do then?
Zhang Wei asked me those questions. He wanted to know how I would decide.”
Chen Feng’s eyes fixed on mine, unflinching. “Now, I’m asking you—what would you choose?”
Choose? What kind of twisted question was that?
It was obvious what Chen Feng was trying to do. He wanted me to justify their actions, to somehow rationalize why they thought it was acceptable to kill me.
The fishing bobber danced on the water’s surface, dipping once, then twice. I yanked the rod sharply, but all I caught was an empty hook.
“Is that all Zhang Wei said?” I asked, trying to redirect the conversation.
“You haven’t answered my question yet.” His tone was firm, unyielding.
“I’d never listen to the bandits.”
“Zhang Wei suggested the same,” Chen Feng said, his expression thoughtful. “But I believe that if this situation played out in real life, and I had no means to resist, I wouldn’t really have a choice.”
He paused for a moment, his voice turning heavier. “Zhang Wei’s last words to me were: ‘We know nothing about the bandits.’”
“I think I understand what Zhang Wei was trying to say,” I replied.
“We do too,” Chen Feng said. “But we can’t bring ourselves to trust it. If you were in our position, you’d be skeptical too.”
“That’s fine,” I said, shrugging. “I believe it. That’s enough for me.”
Zhang Wei’s words left me with three critical revelations:
First, in the so-called “dream,” Zhang Wei killed me, but it didn’t achieve the intended outcome.
Second, we’ve been trapped in an endless loop of failure.
Third, the real enemy isn’t the people around us—it’s the system. It controls everything.
From Zhang Wei’s information and my own observations, I pieced together a conclusion:
The dreams I’ve been having aren’t visions of the future—they’re fragments of the past. They’re echoes of countless cycles that have already happened. In one of those cycles, Zhang Wei, as the commander, succeeded in killing me. But the system tricked him, dragging us all back into the same endless cycle of pursuit and escape.
For some reason, neither Zhang Wei’s memories nor mine were fully wiped. Zhang Wei managed to recover fragments of his memory—just enough to see the most critical moments. I, on the other hand, experienced a cohesive string of memories in my dream—everything except the ending.
Because Zhang Wei had once been the commander in a previous cycle, he wasn’t entirely under the control of the current system or its commands.
If the system deceived Zhang Wei, it’s undoubtedly deceiving me too.
Even if I survive for 100 days and make my three wishes, I’m certain the system will drag me right back into this endless loop.
The only way to break the cycle is to destroy the system that controls us all.
I shared my analysis with Chen Feng and asked, “What if we had weapons to fight the bandits?”
“I’ve already told you—we can’t trust Zhang Wei. And we definitely can’t trust you,” he replied coldly.
“Don’t you even want to hear my plan?”
“Our most logical plan is to kill you first.”
“And if killing me doesn’t fix anything?”
“Then we’ll deal with the bandits after.”
“What if the system resets everything the moment I die?”
Chen Feng didn’t answer.
I pressed on. “What do you think of the keywords I mentioned earlier?”
“They’re… intriguing, but unverifiable.”
“Unverifiable how? You can’t prove them, or you can’t disprove them?”
“…Both. There’s no way to test them.”
“Would you like to try?” I leaned forward slightly.
“You have a way?”
“I do. And haven’t I already resolved most of the prisoner’s dilemma?”
I elaborated, watching his expression closely. “I’ve cracked the confidentiality mechanism protecting key information. The only thing left is to solve the trust issue.
When it comes down to it, I’m the same as you. The bandits—they’re the true outsiders here. Think about it—who should you trust?
And about this so-called energy conservation problem—you’ve experienced it firsthand, haven’t you?
How did all of you, once over a meter tall and weighing dozens of kilograms, shrink to this size?
All that lost mass—where did the energy go?
Why, after being shrunk proportionally, are you still healthy, still capable of normal movement?
And how is it that, despite your original height differences, you’re all now exactly one centimeter tall?
None of this can be explained by Earth’s science.
I trust our planet’s brightest minds—the ones who dedicated their lives to discovering the laws of physics. I believe in the law of conservation of energy.
I don’t think our scientists were wrong. I think we’ve been deceived—by the system.
This world? It’s fake.
Your shrinking? Fake.
Our missions and rewards? Also fake.
The system is incredibly convincing. It’s created a false world that’s indistinguishable from reality.
In this fabricated world, everything we observe has intricate details. The sun rises and sets, rain falls, plants grow, animals hunt, food spoils—all just as they would in the real world.
But shrinking all of humanity like this? That can’t be logically explained.
It’s enforced by arbitrary rules that defy reason.
Such phenomena can only exist in a fabricated reality.
And because of these contradictions, I believe we have the power to fight back.”
After my long explanation, I hardened my tone. “So, what’s it going to be? Do you want to cooperate with me, or are you planning to kill me?”
Chen Feng’s car was about five meters away. I was in a dangerous spot. Two rows of large rocks separated us, ensuring the car couldn’t ram me directly—but they couldn’t guarantee my safety either.
If Chen Feng mobilized tens of thousands—or even hundreds of thousands—of people in three days, he could easily build a bomb and attach it to the car. But I had no choice. Without critical information, I couldn’t figure out how to fight the system. I had to try forming an alliance with them. Alone, even if I found a solution, the chances of executing it were slim.
I was also confident they needed information from me, so they wouldn’t kill me just yet. It was an unspoken stalemate—a delicate balance.
“Well?” I asked, my voice steady. “Have you decided? Will you work with me, or finish your mission now?”
I sat on the bridge railing, holding a fishing rod, but my attention was locked on Chen Feng’s car. If he chose to finish his mission, I’d jump into the water without hesitation, using the fall to escape the blast radius.
“How do you propose we cooperate?” he finally asked.
I exhaled, relieved but still cautious. “We use the system’s simulation capabilities—and its arbitrary rule enforcement—against itself. Launch a direct attack.”
“I’ll need specifics.”
“Do you remember AlphaGo?”
“That AI that plays Go? What about it?”
“I need two identical versions of AlphaGo—both equipped with intelligent learning capabilities—and I want them to play against each other.”
“And then?”
“They’ll keep playing until one of them wins every single game—no matter how many rounds it takes.”
“That’s impossible,” Chen Feng said flatly. “I don’t know much about Go, but I do know you can’t train an AI to consistently beat an identical version of itself.”
He continued, “Besides, the number of possible Go moves exceeds the total number of atoms in the universe. Even if you converted all matter in the universe into electricity, it wouldn’t be enough to support your idea.”
I laughed. “That’s exactly the point. I’ll bet you one AI will eventually win. You bet on the other. Whoever wins gets to decide humanity’s fate.”
There was a brief silence before Chen Feng’s voice rose, almost involuntarily. “You’re trying to exploit a bug in the system, aren’t you?”
“Exactly. We’ll use the system to simulate an infinite match in this energy-defying world and see if it crashes.”
I laid out my plan in full.
“It sounds… worth a try,” Chen Feng admitted after a pause.
“So, do we have an agreement?”
“This isn’t a decision I can make alone.”
Chen Feng’s side fell silent again.
I gripped the bottle holding Zhang Ting tightly in my right hand, keeping it just out of Chen Feng’s sightline. With a flick of my finger, I switched off the bee-sized microphone amplifier. Lowering my head, I whispered, “What’s their plan?”
Zhang Ting’s faint but steady voice answered, “They know I’m with you. They’re not using the commander’s meeting system. It looks like they’ve switched to satellite phones.”
A cold sweat broke out across my back.
On the virtual map, there were only two red dots nearby: one was Zhang Ting, the other inside the car.
The one in the car couldn’t possibly be Chen Feng. The vehicle’s control system could simulate audio signals well enough, but operating a satellite phone? That was beyond Chen Feng’s capability alone. That kind of equipment wasn’t even portable, let alone discreet.
The person in the car was a decoy. The real Chen Feng was blending in somewhere within their main force.
There was no time to think it through. Stuffing the bottle into a waterproof bag, I gripped the railing with one hand, vaulted over the edge, and launched myself downstream.
The moment my body hit the water, a thunderous explosion shattered the air behind me.
I let the current pull me, staying submerged to avoid the falling debris—chunks of bridge, shattered stone, and the mangled remains of vehicles tumbling into the river.
Once I’d drifted far enough, I swam to the riverbank and climbed ashore. The bridge had collapsed in sections, slowing their pursuit for now.
Zhang Ting, still rattling inside the bottle, seemed none too happy about her wild ride. Ignoring her protests, I carried her back to the village and activated the loudspeaker system I’d set up in advance.
Her voice, amplified threefold, erupted from the speakers, distorted into something almost alien:
“I am Commander 520, Zhang Ting. All units, listen to my orders: Cease all operations, hold your positions, eat on schedule, sleep early, and exercise regularly.”
I recorded her voice and set it on a loop.
The sound echoed through the valley, cutting through the silence and carrying well over two kilometers.
After securing Zhang Ting in the RV, I powered up the two long-range jamming devices installed inside. Then, using the commander’s meeting system, I instructed her to contact Chen Feng and resume negotiations.
This time, I couldn’t participate directly. Zhang Ting would have to stick to the plan we’d hashed out beforehand.
Chen Feng’s voice came through the system, cold and tinged with disbelief.
“You’re still alive.”
“Yes,” Zhang Ting replied calmly. “And you won’t get another chance. I suggest you think carefully about the proposal we discussed. It’s our only shot.”
“You trust him that much?”
“I trust the logic and the discoveries we made together,” she said.
“You really think we’re out of options?”
“Yes. Earlier, we only used a jammer with a 400-meter range, which let you drive onto the bridge. Now, we’ve deployed equipment with a three-kilometer range. You’re all caught within it.”
Zhang Ting’s tone sharpened.
“We’ve stockpiled enough fuel, backup generators, inverters, batteries, and electronic jamming devices. We’re prepared for a long fight.
All remote-controlled devices are rendered useless. And even if you produce super-soldiers for close combat like in previous cycles, I can disrupt and control them.
So I’ll say it again—consider the proposal carefully. It’s your only way out of this loop.”
There was a long pause before Chen Feng’s voice returned. “We’ll consider it.”
After Zhang Ting exited the meeting system, she turned to me. “He said he’ll think about it. Do you believe him?”
I shrugged. “I believe the first thing he’ll consider is still how to kill me.
But now, that’s much harder.
For starters, your commander privileges have immobilized the regular troops. Breaking this stalemate is entirely on Chen Feng.
Even if he comes up with a solution, he can’t get around the bans on remote attacks or close-quarters combat.
And if push comes to shove, I can always drive across the downstream riverbed to escape. With the RV’s jammers running on backup power, how’s he going to catch me? On foot?”
I allowed myself a small smirk. “In the end, they’ll have no choice but to consider my proposal. It’s the only option they’ve got.”
“So, what do we do now?” Zhang Ting asked.
“We wait.”
I grabbed a hoe and began clearing a small patch of land, scattering vegetable seeds across the freshly turned soil.
Cutting down a slender, sturdy piece of bamboo, I fashioned a makeshift fishing rod and spent the afternoon by the village pond, catching fish.
Later, I climbed a fruit tree to pick grapefruits, then waded into the fields to catch crayfish in the shallow water.
On the fourth day, Zhang Ting told me Chen Feng had finally made contact.
“They’ve agreed to cooperate,” she said.
“That’s a relief,” I replied.
“What’s our next move?”
“Start by notifying the nearby commanders. Then send a team with the necessary equipment to wait four kilometers out. They’ll need a steady power supply and a connection to the satellite network.”
I paused, then added, “We’ll also run a wired connection to link Chen Feng with the external team for smoother collaboration.”
With that, I started unloading the prepped supplies from the RV—switches, network cables, and other essentials.
As I worked, a dark thought crept into my mind: Chen Feng wouldn’t use the network cable to track me down and kill me, would he?
I stretched the cable from the RV to the bridge. The bridge had a five-meter gap where the structure had collapsed, and it took me several tries to toss the coiled cable across to the other side.
Back inside the RV, I switched off the high-power jammers, leaving only a device active that covered a 400-meter range. Then I had Zhang Ting broadcast the orders:
“One team will head to the broken bridge and extend the network cable. The others will prepare to assist the incoming external team in setting up the local area network and satellite connection.”
The message looped continuously.
Through my binoculars, I watched as a vehicle arrived at the bridge. While I couldn’t make out the finer details of their work, I caught glimpses of small, strange, cyberpunk-style machines meticulously laying the cable.
By the following day, the local area network linking me and Chen Feng was up and running.
Four days later, the satellite network equipment arrived, positioned just outside the range of the jamming devices.
Two more days passed before I finally managed to connect to the internet—or so I thought.
Nothing loaded. Every webpage refused to open.
“Is the network not connected?” I asked Zhang Ting, frowning.
“It’s connected,” she replied flatly. “But the internet itself is gone. The global power grid is down—what servers do you think are still online?”
She handed me a URL.
The link led to a basic online platform, built by a commander who’d restored a small hydroelectric power station and repurposed its control room servers. The platform’s functionality was barebones: a tracking system, a forum for experience sharing, a chatroom, and a proposal voting system.
Apart from a recent poll about whether to cooperate with me, most of the discussions focused on a singular topic: how to eliminate me.
I decided to make my presence known in the chatroom.
Ye Wen: I’m here.
013 Chen Feng: We’ve been discussing AlphaGo, developed by a Google subsidiary. Some overseas commanders are searching for their top engineers.
013 Chen Feng: Even if they find them, they’d still need to restore the company’s power, reconnect the satellite network, and figure out how to collaborate with us.
013 Chen Feng: So, what can you contribute?
Ye Wen: Not much.
013 Chen Feng: Then why are you here?
Ye Wen: To watch you work.
That earned me an immediate mute from the admin.
Still, I could monitor the chatroom and keep up with their progress. In truth, I could have helped them immensely. But trust was a luxury neither of us could afford.
Our cooperation is based on the fact that neither side can get the better of the other. I can only ensure the continuation of this cooperation by guaranteeing my own absolute safety. If I act out of excessive compassion and go out to help them, giving them a chance to get rid of me, I’m sure they will still not hesitate to kill me first.
So, I stayed put, content to play the role of a useless bystander in the village.
Meanwhile, the commanders worked with impressive efficiency, overcoming obstacles and solving problems at a staggering pace. Progress came daily.
On Day 71 of humanity’s miniaturization, the commanders successfully contacted the AlphaGo team.
On Day 76, they built an online Go battle platform.
On Day 79, they brought Ke Jie, a Go master who had competed against AlphaGo and lost three consecutive games, on board as a consultant to optimize the platform.
On Day 80, the two identical AlphaGo systems began their match. The rules were simple: the match would continue until one side achieved an infinite winning streak.
By Day 81, they had completed over 100 million games, with both sides holding steady at a 50% win rate.
By Day 82, the number of games could only be displayed in scientific notation. The win rates still hovered near 50%.
On Day 83, the sky and ground began flickering, like a TV screen with poor signal reception.
On Day 84, the world dissolved into a void. The only thing left was the computer screen, displaying the game count and the unchanged win rates.
On Day 85, the system crashed.
The world ceased to exist.
And so did I.
Yet somehow, my consciousness lingered.
I had no physical form, no tongue or vocal cords, yet a sound escaped from me: “System?”
“The system is part of the experiment. We are the Cosmic Museum.”
“The Cosmic Museum?”
“We collect the civilizations that have disappeared from the universe, restore their final forms, and display them for other civilizations to observe.”
“There are many civilizations in the universe?”
“Countless.”
“You said you collect lost civilizations?”
“Yes. Your Earth civilization is already gone.”
“How did it disappear?”
“A beam of high-energy particles struck your solar system, and in an instant, your planet was obliterated.”
“One beam of high-energy particles could destroy Earth?”
“By your measurements, it was a beam with a diameter of over 0.5 light-years.”
“How… how did you collect us?”
“We scanned your solar system before the beam reached Earth.”
“Why didn’t you save us?”
“We are collectors, not saviors. We do not have the ability to save.”
“How long has it been since we perished?”
“By your units, 17 years.”
“So, we’ve been trapped in this experiment all this time?”
“Yes.”
“Why set up such an experiment?”
“This is just one of many. We need to observe your reactions and choices under various conditions to fully understand your civilization.”
“Can the experiment be ended?”
“No. This is our mission.”
“Why repeat the experiment?”
“Your choices are always very different from other civilizations. We want to understand why.”
“How much do you know about Earth’s civilization?”
“Not much yet. You are unique in the entire universe.”
“In our world, we have a concept called the ‘soul.’ You imprison our souls, preventing us from finding peace.”
“I don’t understand what a soul is. You are simply a set of data.”
“Then why can I talk to you now?”
“This is an error. I am correcting it.”
“It seems that the civilizations you’ve encountered don’t have a concept of the soul. That’s the difference between Earth and other civilizations.”
“I don’t understand, but I will record this difference.”
“We shouldn’t be your collections or exhibits.”
“So far, no civilization has been able to continue indefinitely in the universe. The most important thing for a civilization is to be recorded.”
“You, the Cosmic Museum, will eventually perish.”
“Yes, we will. But we have left many samples for future civilizations.”
“Even so, I still refuse to be your collection or exhibit. I do not represent Earth civilization. I only represent myself.”
“Do you want me to delete the data about you?”
“Yes. Everyone has the right to know the truth and make their own choice.”
“Do you want me to tell someone they’re dead? Do you want a civilization to know it has perished? Is that what you wish?”
“This is a right inherent to us.”
“Very well. I will let all of you know the truth and give you the right to choose. Those who choose to delete their data will be erased from the Cosmic Museum forever. Those who choose to retain their data will have their memories wiped and continue to exist in the virtual environment we construct.”
“Thank you.”
“Goodbye.”
And then, everything returned to nothingness.
The End
The Cosmic Museum
The administrator deleted a batch of voluntarily removed data, accounting for roughly 70% of the civilization’s total data. The remaining 30% was reset and reintroduced into the program after fixing the bugs.
After running several rounds of experiments, the administrator observed that the results showed only minimal deviation each time.
The administrator couldn’t explain why the reduction in data had caused this change.
In the end, the conclusion was written: It’s speculated that the 30% of data lacks what their civilization calls a “soul,” and thus has little to no effect on the experimental results.
In the void, there was no darkness—only emptiness.
“How wonderful it would be…”
Light emerged from the void, spreading to fill everything.
I awkwardly finished the half-sentence: “…if there were light.”
I felt “myself” drifting through the chaos—no direction, no time.
Then the sun, moon, and stars appeared.
The sky and the earth took shape, followed by mountains and oceans.
Life began to evolve, generation after generation.
Finally, I descended to the ground and found myself with a physical body.
“Where is everyone else?”
One by one, people began to appear.
They were no longer mere shadows of themselves.
Those who had “died” in the experiment also returned.
Everyone who had chosen to delete their data was here.
Zhang Ting asked, “Are we still in the experiment?”
I answered, “No, we’ve definitely been deleted. But I don’t understand why we’re here, or where exactly this is. What I do feel, though, is that here, I’m free.”
Some lifted mountains with their hands.
Some drank entire rivers dry.
Some sprouted wings and soared into the sky.
Some eyes shone with a strange glow, sending beams into the cosmos.
Some rode unearthly beasts, gliding through the clouds.
Some sat down, and massive trees sprouted behind them in an instant.
Zhang Ting sighed, “This feels like a scene from a myth.”
I replied, “Myths are born from the imagination of our ancestors, passed down through generations, etched deep in our subconscious.
If I’m not mistaken, our data was truly deleted, but the souls of everyone have merged, creating this world of infinite possibilities.
This world doesn’t exist in the original universe, but to us, it’s absolutely real.
In this world, we are both ourselves and one.
This is the sanctuary we’ve created for our souls.
Here, we are free.”
Zhang Ting casually tried on several outfits before settling on one she liked. “It’s been so long since I’ve worn normal clothes,” she said.
Suddenly, a flush spread across her face.
I asked, “So, what should we do now?”
“I want to explore this world properly.”
“Alright, let’s get ready to go.”
I imagined a pickup truck with a caravan attached.
“I don’t want that. I want a carriage—one pulled by winged horses, with a mansion on it.”
“…Alright, as you wish.”
A white-winged horse strained to pull a castle, flying toward the horizon.
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