The other party spoke in a language Yan Huirou had never encountered before, both in content and expression. Yet, Yan Huirou miraculously understood, just as she had instinctively learned many things without a teacher.
“You mean you were bound to Sect Master Jiang before? What did you do to her?”
Good heavens, what could I do to her? System 0861 said: It was that small, broken AI System operating autonomously, likely trying to correct the original plot. But it went off track with you, so it monitored you as the original female lead and told Jiang Xidai a lot of the original plot, understand? Now, the big villain’s self-awareness is awakening more and more, and you’re entirely responsible for that — just wait until you come back and write a self-critique!
Yan Huirou said, “Although I don’t remember the cause and effect of this, I can’t go back.”
…
Is it because of Jiang Xidai again?
Yan Huirou frowned, “Of course. Sect Master Jiang needs me. If I leave now—what will she do?”
You’ve got it backward, Yan Yan. The sound of typing stopped. Actually, you’re the one who needs her.
The other side sighed again. Do you know how extreme the methods you used back then were? I was just preparing to transmit your memory package, but I’m not entirely sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
System 0861’s voice quieted, a hint of careful sadness in it. When you come back, should I book you a good psychologist?
Yan Huirou heard the unusual implication, but didn’t seem surprised. “Did something bad happen to me before?”
You… System 0861 said, It was indeed not good. Please wait, my superior is calling me. I’ll talk to you in more detail later.
Dialogue channel closed.
Here was the underground operations facility.
Chen Cha’an, a young woman in a uniform, turned around from behind a large electronic display screen, sporting two enormous dark circles under her eyes.
Seeing the newcomer, she quickly stood up. “Good afternoon, Ms. He. You’re finally back from your business trip.”
Ms. He was a slender yet upright elderly woman. Her temples should have been gray, but her hair was dyed glossy black, impeccably styled in a bun, making her appear very capable and serious. She also wore a special uniform, similar to Chen Cha’an’s, but with subtle differences.
She glanced at her wrist. “Chen, it’s already 12:46 AM.”
Chen Cha’an scratched her head. “Ah…” She looked down at the coffee stains on her hand, her spirit feeling a bit weary.
Ms. He didn’t speak, her cane gently tapping the cold metal floor as she walked towards the vast electronic display screens.
“Have you contacted Yan Yan?” Ms. He held her thin-rimmed glasses before her eyes, slowly and carefully examining something, her brow furrowed deeply.
“Yes. We’ve made contact,” Chen Cha’an said. “I’m preparing to upload her memory data. We estimate it will take 48 hours to synchronize.”
“Don’t rush to upload it all at once. Do it in stages, multiple times, and closely monitor her psychological state.”
The elderly woman said in a soft, low voice, but her words were firm and decisive.
“…Huh?”
Ms. He took off her reading glasses. “Chen, you know what she was like when she first arrived. She’s always been excellent, both in her work ability and as a person—gentle and resilient, a good child. But there are always times when people can’t hold on anymore.”
“Be cautious, be meticulous. Absolutely prevent something like this from happening again.”
Chen Cha’an fell silent. “Yes, ma’am. But the readings for Yan Yan’s body aren’t optimistic; her heart rate has been consistently dropping. This morning, the bureau’s medical staff even performed a rescue operation on her. Although she’s stable now… Mmm, that’s why I hope we can speed things up. Her consciousness has been separated from her body for too long.”
Ms. He seemed to have a headache as well. “Where is her physical body?”
Chen Cha’an turned, typed a few keys on the keyboard, and locked the system to prevent others from using it.
She picked up her jacket, put it on, and said to Ms. He, “Please follow me.”
The two walked through the deep, quiet corridor. Although it was midnight, many bureau staff members were still working overtime, each in their independent spaces, emanating a faint blue light.
Each staff member had a display screen in front of them, connected to complex instruments and equipment. People in this line of work rarely rested; beds were placed directly behind their office spaces.
Data cables, like a spider web, converged towards a central area, culminating in the largest display screen where images of the alternate worlds monitored by the staff flickered like constellations, a truly magnificent sight.
This underground office area, bustling day and night, was the largest Transmigration Bureau in the country. However, that was just a playful nickname given by ordinary people. Its official name was grand: the Inter-world Human Data Research Center. Its headquarters were a national research institution, highly valued for its strategic importance, with both its concepts and technology being extremely cutting-edge.
Chen Cha’an walked out of the Observation Department. She was an observer, responsible for assisting the System, monitoring from outside, and ensuring the safety of mission operatives. She had once been Yan Huirou’s best partner.
Before her incident, Yan Huirou’s work complemented hers. In layman’s terms, her main task was to traverse into various alternate worlds, responsible for sampling, recording, and observation, interacting with all sorts of characters, and then transmitting the data back to the center for use by the research department.
Yan Huirou’s work required strong empathy and execution ability. After all, sometimes they would encounter bizarre and twisted characters, and plots that defied realistic understanding, making the risk factor high. Once one’s consciousness was erased, there was a risk of never returning.
So, even though this job paid very well, pitifully few people came to test and apply—it was money earned with no life to spend it.
Fortunately, the staff of the Transmigration Bureau all shared a consensus: Yan Yan was outstanding. Her mission completion rate reached an astonishing 88%; one must know that reaching even 60% was considered quite good. Mmm… sometimes, when she encountered certain redemption plotlines, she was even more exceptional.
Chen Cha’an still remembered her good colleague, who had earned the honor of the fastest reform speed—it seemed to be a modern supernatural story, and the target of reform was a world-destroying vengeful ghost infant. Later, it stopped eating human flesh, became a vegetarian, and was coaxed by Yan Huirou into giggling stupidly with a milk bottle every day. Perhaps when it grew up, it would even help old grandmothers cross the road.
Alright. She thought of Yan Huirou and that woman, Jiang Xidai, and couldn’t help but grit her teeth, thinking, Even with amnesia, she’s still so good at captivating others! It’s terrifying! She’s truly the ultimate modern-day worker.
What kind of dedication is this?
During this time, Chen Cha’an always complained about her inwardly. Perhaps only this kind of playful, exasperated grumbling could slightly distract from the repressed emotions in her heart.
After all, this was a dedicated, gentle, and patient girl, someone everyone genuinely liked—
Yet, at the age of twenty-three, she ended her own young life.
Yan Huirou had committed suicide at the Transmigration Bureau, taking over seventy pills. She was so meticulous that she even made two preparations; to ensure her goal, some of the drugs were injected.
Chen Cha’an uncontrollably thought of this, and her eyes couldn’t help but redden. The day before the incident, Yan Huirou had eaten a meal with her outside, acting as if nothing was wrong, even recommending a new restaurant near her home.
Chen Cha’an remembered her wearing a fluffy, light blue scarf embroidered with a white daisy. Yan Huirou had waited for her in the office, holding two cups of milk tea, her gentle smile as normal as ever. She never expected this to be almost their last meeting.
Their industry had always been prone to psychological issues, and a significant number of people resigned or retired, but such a major incident was a first.
The bureau’s Medical Department was thrown into chaos by the incident—gastric lavage, emergency resuscitation—but due to the prolonged time, the situation was critical, and all indicators were in the red.
The bureau’s medical technology was quite advanced. In an emergency, they activated a contingency plan—separating her consciousness and physical body, uploading her consciousness to the alternate world with the highest compatibility and safety factor for temporary storage. As for her physical body, it was quickly cryopreserved in nutrient solution. Later, through discussions and enduring a long process of repeated treatments, her body was finally mostly recovered.
Chen Cha’an arrived at the Medical Department, greeted the staff, and then, familiar with the way, went to the ward containing Yan Huirou’s physical body. Instead of a bed, an oval life-support capsule floated in the center, filled with a pale blue nutrient solution.
Yan Huirou lay sleeping in the center, her long, seaweed-like hair floating and gently swaying in the liquid. Her skin was extremely pale, almost transparent enough to reveal the blood vessels beneath, and her body was covered by a large sterile cloth.
Her hands were folded over her lower abdomen, her sleeping face peaceful and without a trace of gloom, as if she had returned to the primordial ocean where humanity originated. Only, her body was covered in tubes, connected to various monitoring devices and circulatory systems.
Chen Cha’an opened the instrument interface, tapped a few times, and the printer hummed, spitting out two sheets of paper. She took them with both hands and handed them to Ms. He.
Ms. He took them. It was Yan Huirou’s vital signs assessment line graph for the past month. Indeed, it showed a slow decline. It had already dropped from 58% to 56%. If it went any lower, it would be very difficult to match her consciousness back to her physical body.
Ms. He adjusted her reading glasses, her expression grave, and called for the Head of the Medical Department. The supervisor’s name, Cheng Guanying, was written on her name badge. Chen Cha’an glanced at it and quietly greeted her from the side.
Cheng Guanying was also a highly experienced person, forty-two years old this year, having just retired from the front lines after being hit by fragments from a near-earth vessel explosion—a career path quite similar to Ms. He, who was old but still vigorous. A long scar on her face made her appear even more formidable. Chen Cha’an, not wanting to be caught between these two important figures, took a step back and awkwardly smiled, “Ladies, I’ll excuse myself now…”
Cheng Guanying let out a soft hmph. “Cha’an, stay put. Have you contacted Yan Huirou?”
“Yes.”
“I know why Old He called me over.” Cheng Guanying raised an eyebrow slightly. “What you want to ask, everyone has already tried. The only way to get her out of danger sooner is to quickly let her consciousness return. Tsk, if this drags on, it’s hard to say she won’t become a vegetative.”
“Cheng Guanying, mind your tone.” Ms. He frowned. “How many months does she have left?”
“Tone? I never have a good tone with people who give up on life,” Cheng Guanying said coldly. “Of course, the sooner the better. At most… she can probably last another month or two. It depends on luck.”
The middle-aged woman brushed her hair back, then looked up and calculated. “Our world should be safe for about fifty days. As for Yan Huirou… can you convert that to the alternate world’s time, Cha’an?”
Chen Cha’an nodded. “The flow of time in her alternate world is very slow, meaning she can stay there for a maximum of fifty more years!”
