Welcome to Rewind World Game
Chapter 683 - 680: "She Won’t Move Anymore.

Chapter 683: Chapter 680: "She Won’t Move Anymore.

"Clang," a sound resonated.

A wooden coffin wrapped with white roses was unloaded from the truck.

Su Ming’an didn’t open the coffin; he knew who lay inside.

He slowly squatted down and glanced at the System Time.

The current time, 7:45 AM.

Her time of death was before 1:40 AM.

It was said that she was killed by artillery fire—her shoulder and arm no longer connected; her body smeared with blood. Before dying, she tried to record a final message, wanting him not to grieve. But as she coughed up blood, unable to speak, she could only protect a teammate beneath her body, attempting to shield another even in her final moments.

However, after the explosion, no one survived. She wouldn’t have wanted him to see her mangled body.

Several soldiers stood silently nearby, one offering "Please accept my condolences."

But aside from "Please accept my condolences," no one could make the girl in the coffin stand up again.

Her blue lightsaber was in the hands of an accompanying soldier. When not activated, the blade looked like a transparent glass column or a long crystal tube, beautiful, like her always clear eyes.

A black card, a lightsaber, it seemed those were all she left behind. No one knew she was a traveler from different worlds, that she was a girl who loved chocolate, that her mind was filled with all sorts of gaming fantasies. What she left was only a shattered body, half of a bloodied young face, not different from others who had died on the battlefield.

The girl who used to bite on chocolate bars, who wore cat ears, suddenly turned into an icy cold coffin.

She wouldn’t speak anymore.

Or move anymore.

[... Ming’an, I can just like now. Arrive early at each instance, paving the way for you in advance... I’ll be able to help you better, help you achieve anything.]

[Being able to help you.]

[Makes me happy.]

...

[— Did I manage to help you this time?]

...

Su Ming’an stared at the white roses on the coffin.

The hot air floating up due to the cold weather lingered beside his face, while he slowly lifted his eyelids, watching the white mist twirl and dissipate, as if freezing in place.

In that moment, he seemed so distant, like a fragile dream.

Soon, he let his gaze slip to the ground, then involuntarily raised it again, silently watching the coffin, even the sparkle in his eyes trembling.

Su Rin watched Su Ming’an in silence. Cars came and went on the busy street; curious onlookers quickly diverted their eyes after seeing the coffin.

No one dared to disturb them.

The sky was filled with a heavy snowfall; the white roses were covered with a layer of frost, as if they too had been frozen, and Su Ming’an’s eyes were just like the white roses, silently coalescing and freezing.

Rationality corroborates sensibility, and sensibility lays the foundation for rationality; they do not have to be mutually exclusive. Su Rin believed that Su Ming’an was a person of both high rationality and high sensibility. Sometimes, Su Ming’an’s high rationality would suppress his sensibility for extended periods, while at other times, his repressed sensibility would erupt uncontrollably.

— Just like now.

A person subjected to inhuman pressure for too long cannot remain normal. Su Ming’an has been on the verge of collapse for a while, yet he himself was completely unaware, even believing that he was a normal person.

——How could there possibly be any normal people in the World game.

Only madmen can adapt to such a crazy world, and those who seem normal are in fact the craziest of all in this game. Their madness and disguise go hand in hand, and this horrifying mask is exactly where their insanity lies.

Su Rin stared at Su Ming’an, watching the slowly changing expressions on his face, when suddenly she saw Su Ming’an raise his hand——

His finger pointed towards his temple, the tip black as night.

With a "snap," Su Rin forcefully interrupted Su Ming’an’s action, tightly grasping his wrist.

——"You want to commit suicide? How could you possibly commit suicide?" Su Rin asked, her fingers trembling, in disbelief.

And Su Ming’an lifted his eyelids, his expression still calm.

This calmness shocked Su Rin even more, and absurdly, she felt that Su Ming’an seemed rational enough to want to kill himself.

...How could that be possible?

"Su Ming’an! If you die, what will happen to the world? What about the humans of Zhai Xing? Have you thought about what you’d suffer after your death? The Key Legion of the Deity faction killed her, with people like Edward being involved, aren’t you going to do something about it?" Su Rin challenged.

No one could imagine how the world order would drastically change if the "Number One Player" failed.

When Lin Jiang failed in the Sixth World, it was reported that hundreds of people offline ridiculed her, insulted her, and launched terror attacks against her, with the number of abusive posts on forums reaching over five digits. Many used the vilest language to describe her wrongdoing at the time, claiming she wouldn’t have died had she acted differently.

Despite there also being people who offered warmth to Lin Jiang, with some even building seven-digit encouraging post skyscrapers for her, just those few hundred disgusting individuals nearly drove Lin Jiang into depression.

Due to survivorship bias, people are always more likely to notice evildoers, even though they are far fewer than the kind-hearted. Lin Jiang was only a top-ranking player, yet she ended up in such a state. If it were Su Ming’an...

Behind him was an abyss.

If Su Ming’an died in the instance, what he would suffer would be more terrible than actual death. Condemned by thousands, reviled by multitudes, kicked when down, hero stigmatized, targeted offline violence... All sorts of malicious experiences would descend upon him.

Not to mention if he died by suicide. That would make everyone feel they had misjudged him, and their anger and embarrassment would completely destroy him.

——Su Ming’an’s life was not in his own hands. He was the Number One Player; he had no right to suicide.

The soldiers nearby also surrounded them at the same time, desperately holding Su Ming’an’s body. In their eyes, the Dawn War had just been won, and "Yasa Acto" certainly had no permission to kill himself.

"Su Ming’an, are you so selfish that you want to go down with her?" Su Rin said word by word, knowing that only this kind of talk could stop Su Ming’an from killing himself, "If you die, it will be the end of everything, what about the promise you gave me? What about the humans on Zhai Xing? What about Luna, who died for you? If you die, how will I return to Pulaya?"

"You selfish ghost, only caring about Pulaya," Su Ming’an suddenly retorted.

Not a trace of sorrow or anger could be heard in his voice.

Su Rin laughed angrily:

"You’re right, I do wish you only cared about your world. You’re still young; suicide is foolish—I’m older than you, and I know you would regret it for life because of a moment of impulsiveness. It’s normal for someone to be sacrificed here. Your journey has just begun!"

He gripped Su Ming’an’s hand tightly.

The snow enveloped their hair, and nobody dared to come over with an umbrella; a layer of damp snow settled on Su Ming’an’s shoulders.

"[Normal] should not be equated with [ordinary]."

Su Ming’an murmured lowly.

Just as Su Rin was about to continue persuading, she suddenly saw Su Ming’an lift his head.

His dark hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes like a clamorous sea breeze and tide.

"I am human, Su Rin!" Su Ming’an’s eyes were bloodshot, filled with veins: "I am not... a Perfect Passing machine."

Su Ming’an’s gaze was as sharp as a blade’s edge.

"..." Su Rin’s grip loosened slightly.

At that moment, Su Rin took a step back, staring blankly at Su Ming’an.

He suddenly sensed a feeling of dissonance.

It seemed that Su Ming’an’s current state shouldn’t be like this. Everything that Su Ming’an was revealing now, including his demeanor, actions, and words... all felt out of place.

——Su Ming’an... appeared to be performing.

Performing what?

Why would Su Ming’an still put on a performance before death?

A flash of inspiration suddenly crossed Su Rin’s mind—Su Ming’an was not someone who would commit suicide, his death must be able to recover something, only then would Su Ming’an desire death; it was the only explanation that made sense.

"You..." Su Rin realized that perhaps Su Ming’an’s method of "recovery" must not be exposed, so Su Ming’an had to perform as if he were "so heartbroken that he wished to commit suicide," to prevent some unforeseeable factor from forcibly interrupting it.

——To the extent that even after learning of Yuanyuan’s death, Su Ming’an’s first reaction was still to perform.

What could make Su Ming’an’s death be the tool to recover everything?

Authority...

Death... Authority?

Death... the authority of reincarnation?

Su Rin’s eyes trembled, and in an instant, a tidal wave of staggering shock broke down his psychological defenses.

——Was Su Ming’an still human?

He thought that he had gradually seen through Su Ming’an, this traveler from an Otherworld, treating him as an elder, wanting to help this nineteen-year-old youth move forward, yet he never thought... that one day he would be overwhelmingly shocked by Su Ming’an’s godlike composure.

Su Ming’an, even before death, in order to ensure that his death was uninterrupted, could still perform calmly under extreme pain.

...How firm must his heart be?

"..." Su Rin let go completely.

He could not utter a word. He could not avert his gaze from Su Ming’an’s bloodshot eyes; he saw the layer upon layer of tombstones, saw the memory long river formed by the convergence of countless timelines.

The youth before him wove a cage of disguise with his tenacity, allowing his true self to flutter like butterflies within the cage, transforming his unique suffering into a beautiful performance.

No one could understand this beautiful spectacle; all the stares were shallow, only witnessing the performer’s pride and success. Watching him high above, watching his smooth sailing, watching his invincibility, watching him as an omnipotent deity, while the drama never ended. The "Number One Player," a delicate and grand drama cherished by the masses, elicited awe, sighs, and enjoyment.

And behind the curtain, in the corners untouched by light, on other abandoned stages, the performer tore away the costume glued into his flesh, stepping over the mountainous pile of his own skeletons.

...He was only nineteen years old.

Su Rin suddenly understood—Su Ming’an must have experienced countless depths of bone-deep despair and failure to be able to calmly think about starting over.

His ambition was far too immense to be described merely as "grand" or "terrifying."

With a "click," a soft sound.

Su Ming’an pushed past the soldiers blocking him, his finger touching his temple without any hindrance.

Bright red blood flowed down, and amidst the soldiers’ cries of alarm, Su Rin saw Su Ming’an’s expression: weary, sorrowful, resolved. Su Ming’an’s composure clashed with everyone’s grief, and even death did not seem to bring him much pain.

"You’re too tired," Su Rin said.

Whether he stood on stage, looking like a dog performing for the Organizers in everyone’s eyes, or delved into the shadows, dying over and over until it became routine.

Su Rin steadied him, and frost fell on his face, his complexion as painfully white as snow.

"...You noticed?" Su Ming’an’s breath slowly faded.

"Mm."

"Then I’m very... happy," Su Ming’an said, "Even if... it’s just this once."

He revealed a genuine smile.

It was warm, resigned, peaceful, as if he had found a companion for his journey, the first time Su Rin had ever seen such a smile on his face.

Su Rin said nothing.

He silently supported Su Ming’an until the young man’s breath had gone completely. He knew that this rescue was fraught with difficulties; Su Ming’an in his condition at dawn was almost certainly not going to make it.

Yet the very meaning of Su Ming’an’s Perfect Pass was to try with all his might to save everything. If it didn’t conflict with completing the mission, he would attempt a rescue.

Not just for Yuanyuan, but for Lv Shu or Noel, he would have attempted a rescue. Despite possibly having to reset multiple times, and this time perhaps dozens of times. But the cost of resetting was only that he would endure the pain.

And the least valuable thing to him, the easiest for him to give, was his death and his pain.

Tretiya was right; he clearly had emotions, yet he acted as if he didn’t. Part of the reason why he saved Yuanyuan might be because her being alive provided more assistance, because it stabilized his own emotions, he needed intel from the Deity faction’s Key, he needed to put an end to Edward once and for all—but so what?

So what?

To go save her, he was human.

To not save her, he was a god.

Though his actions after the performance, when he went to save her, seemed more like that of a "god" who was calm to the extreme, he was still human.

He wasn’t a Sage who had seen through Reincarnation and was indifferent to life or death; he was just an ordinary student, equally fearful of death, who felt despair at the passing of others—he was merely a human being.

He was a human being who wanted to affirm his own actions but always felt lost. Who didn’t wish to lose again yet kept losing.

He empathized with NPCs, sympathized with Possessors; he used them, deceived them, was so cold-blooded that he measured everything in terms of completion percentages, he watched unflinchingly as millions of soldiers and civilians were sacrificed. He had no way out, he was always alone; yet, he would still weep in abandoned saves, he would still struggle in the deep sea of memories unseen by others.

But he was only human after all.

Her journey was still long; she needed to wait until all humans were saved, wait until he became a hero. She remembered her long and brilliant travels, listened to him play the piano, until she truly reached the end of the road... only then would it be over.

The Captain of the Ship of Theseus struggled to survive in the howling winds and rain, gasped for breath under the scrutiny of thunderbolts, and in moments of extreme agony, he dropped a heavy "anchor" in the deep sea. It might have been a bond as unbreakable as kinship, or it might have been a drowning person’s last straw for survival.

—What distinguishes "human" from "program" is precisely whether they need such an anchor of the soul.

...

[Did I manage to help you this time?]

...

Su Ming’an closed his eyes.

—You did.