87: ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？ ？

In a nondescript rental room, at 3 AM.

The instant noodles were soggy, the broth cold, and congealed oil slicked the surface like a disgusting film.

Cigarette butts piled up like a small mountain in the ashtray.

The smell of cheap tobacco, mixed with the sour, decaying scent of instant food seasonings, formed a nauseating 'barrier' within the fifteen-square-meter space.

The man, or rather, the 'author' of this book, stared blankly at the screen.

On the screen was the backend page of his painstakingly written novel—《The Evil God is the Group Admin, Group Members Beg Me Not to Speak》.

The data was as bleak as a Siberian winter.

The pale light of the computer screen reflected on Sword River Fish's face.

He had just typed out the title of the new chapter—[Act Two: Judgment].

A nebulous sense of satisfaction, unique to creators, rose within him.

He believed this was a story profound and exciting enough.

He even refreshed the webpage with a touch of pride, wanting to see the readers' astonished praise for his groundbreaking 'fourth wall break' in the previous chapter.

Then, he saw... [User: Long Ao Tian*****]:

"I want to read a power fantasy! What the hell are you writing?! The protagonist is timid when he should be showing off, the villains have increasingly powerful backgrounds, and after fighting for ages, only a clone dies. Is that interesting? And what's with this fourth wall nonsense, just being pretentious, bah! Trash author!"

[User: Just Want*****Invincible]:

"Dropped. If the author had any brains, he'd have Gu Jianghan come out and slap everyone to death, instead of just watching. What's the point of all this theoretical stuff? Wasting my time. Take my advice, if you can't write a power fantasy, don't write at all. Working in a factory screwing bolts is more promising than this."

[User: Passerby*****C]:

"Brain-dead author! Confirmed!"

...Silence.

A deathly silence.

The author slowly, slowly raised his hands and covered his face.

The words were like poisoned steel needles, piercing Sword River Fish's heart relentlessly.

The hint of pride on his face quickly faded, becoming rigid, then deathly pale.

He wanted to refute, to explain.

He wanted to tell them that this wasn't madness; it was a story about 'story' itself.

He wanted to tell them that Gu Yanci's tears were the necessary pain for the sublimation of 'humanity'.

He wanted to tell them that Su Ke Ke's contradictions were the inevitable tragedy of 'love' taken to extremes.

But he opened his mouth, unable to type a single word.

Because he knew how utterly powerless these explanations would be in the eyes of readers who only wanted to read 'power fantasies'.

Yes.

He clearly had a 'golden outline' that could have brought him both fame and fortune.

He could have written a 'perfect story' that would make everyone happy.

But he refused.

Instead, at a critical juncture, he chose the most difficult, the least understood, and the most 'unknown' path.

Sword River Fish slumped on the table, his shoulders beginning to heave uncontrollably.

He felt no anger, no resentment.

Only a boundless regret, like a surging tide that completely engulfed him, lingering in his heart.

"Am I an idiot...?"

He heard his own voice, hoarse, dry, and full of self-loathing, echo in the empty room.

"I must be an idiot, right...?"

"Why did I not write a good invincible power fantasy, and insist on trying to be innovative...?"

"Others pick up systems at the start, become gods in three days, dominate the universe in five, break ten thousand in favorites, earn over ten thousand a month..."

"And me? I've written hundreds of thousands of words, and the protagonist is still watching from the Sea of Concepts, hasn't even shown off properly once..."

"What exactly am I aiming for...?"

Why?

What was he aiming for?

That illusory 'creative ideal'?

That worthless 'story vitality'?

The overwhelming regret, almost drowning him completely, reminded him of the book's initial concept.

It reminded him of how he had once so confidently vowed to write a different kind of protagonist, a different kind of story.

One that would have depth, logic, explore the complexities of human nature, and build a grand and rigorous world view.

He despised those brainless system-based stories, looked down on those clichéd engagement-breaking tropes.

He considered himself unique, a breath of fresh air, a 'literary pioneer' who would use his keyboard to change the landscape of web novels.

He wanted to break free from the clichés of 'systems,' 'invincibility,' and 'daily sign-ins'.

He wanted to create a truly meaningful 'God' who could not be understood, could not be defined.

He thought readers would appreciate this novel setting.

They would marvel at the foreshadowing he laid, and be captivated by the grand world view he constructed.

And what was the result?

The result was that he was harshly slapped in the face by reality.

Readers weren't buying it.

What they wanted to see was swift revenge, decisive action, and the invincibility of creating all things with a single thought.

Not the protagonist sitting there watching, analyzing some bullshit 'causal logic' and 'emotional paradoxes'.

Was he wrong?

Perhaps, from a creative standpoint, he was not wrong.

But from the standpoint of 'living,' he was utterly wrong.

The few comments he did receive were mostly like this, a barrage of insults.

"Why did I... why did I make such a foolish decision back then...?"

The author's eyes burned, his vision blurred.

He rubbed his eyes hard, trying to hold back the uncooperative tears.

But just as he wiped away his tears and his vision refocused, the scene before him changed...

It was no longer that cramped, dim, sour-smelling rental room.

Instead, it was a magnificent, brightly lit awards ceremony!

He saw 'himself'.

Another 'himself'.

A 'himself' wearing a custom-tailored suit, his hair slicked back, his face beaming with health and success.

He stood at the very center of the stage, holding the 'Author of the Year' award.

Below the stage, there was a tumultuous roar of applause and cheers.

Countless camera flashes, like stars in the sky, shone for him alone.

"Thank you! Thank you, dear readers!"

The 'him' on stage, full of vigor, his voice loud and clear, exuded the confidence and composure of a successful person.

"I know what everyone wants to see most is Gu Jianghan making his move!"

"No problem! Next chapter! I'll have him make his move!"

"He will shatter seven emotional worlds with one palm! Trample Su Ke Ke's true form with one foot! Punch through the Multiverse with one fist!"

"He will show everyone what true invincibility really means!!!"

"Oh oh oh oh oh oh—!!!"

The readers in the audience went completely wild!

The 'him' on stage, watching this fanatical scene, smiled with satisfaction.

He casually picked up a huge sack from beside him.

He scattered bundles of brand-new banknotes from inside, like a celestial maiden scattering flowers, over the audience!

"Do you like it?! If you like it, keep voting! Keep giving rewards!"

"As long as you make me happy! I'll make you even happier!!!"

Red banknotes, mixed with golden confetti, danced in mid-air.

It was a scene of decadent luxury, reeking of money, yet damnably alluring, a dreamlike spectacle... The author in the rental room watched, mesmerized.

He watched another version of himself, on a non-existent timeline, grinning from ear to ear, standing at the pinnacle of fame and fortune, enjoying the adulation of the entire world.

And himself?

He could only sit there, guarding a bowl of cold instant noodles and a pile of unappreciated 'depth,' slowly rotting in regret.

"Heh heh..."

"Heh heh heh heh..."

The author laughed.

As he laughed, tears streamed down his face, unstoppable.

He felt like a clown.

A pathetic clown who had given up the world to protect a pile of garbage.

He even began to think that the 'inspiration' that had planted the seed of 'unknown' in his mind was not divine revelation at all.

It was a damn curse, through and through!

He chuckled foolishly, but his tears flowed even harder... [The Graveyard of Stories, The Hell of Logic]

The Evil God watched Sword River Fish, who was sprawled on the table in the real world, crying like a child, and let out a laugh of extreme pleasure.

"Hahahahahahaha! Do you see?! The Definitor! This is the 'unknown' you chose! This is everything your so-called 'living story' brought him!"

"Regret! Pain! Poverty! Despair!"

"His pain is so wonderful! His tears are so sweet!"

"And all of this is thanks to you!"

The Evil God’s body, composed of billions of malicious thoughts, squirmed excitedly.

“He must hate you to death now! Hate you to death for making him abandon ‘perfection’ and choose ‘suffering’!”

However.

Facing the Evil God’s taunts, The Definitor merely watched calmly.

He watched Sword River Fish’s tears fall onto the keyboard.

He watched his back tremble violently with regret.

He watched his hollow eyes, completely crushed by reality.

After a long time.

The Definitor ended that cross-dimensional gaze.

Its gaze withdrew from the ‘Author’ and returned to this chaotic void.

Its face was devoid of any expression.

Like a programmer looking at an innocuous bug in his code that triggered a chain reaction.

It had no ‘pity’ and no ‘sympathy’.

Because these emotions, to It, were merely part of the ‘setting’.

But, It felt an ‘imbalance’.

A trivial causal imbalance, triggered by Its gaze.

That ‘Author’ should not have borne the weight of this ‘truth’ from a higher dimension.

His pain, his regret, his tears... for this grand ‘drama’, were an unplanned ‘flaw’.

Thus.

The Definitor’s will stirred.

No words, no actions.

Not even a clear ‘thought’.

It was merely Its will that produced a tendency to ‘correct this flaw’.

A brand new ‘concept’ was born from nothingness.

That was a ‘concept’ that could not be described by language.

If one had to use human words to define it.

Perhaps, it could be called—

【A trace of apology from the Creator】.

Or, 【A compensation for the act of observation】.

The moment this ‘concept’ was born, it transformed into an invisible ripple.

It did not modify the ‘Author’s past, nor did it change his future.

Such interference was too crude and would produce more ‘bugs’.

It merely... gently, landed on the ‘Author’s current timeline.

Like a wisp of warm sunlight, dispelling some of the chill.

Like a gentle breeze, drying the tear stains on his face... Inside the rented room.

The author was immersed in a deep abyss of self-doubt, unable to extricate himself.

Suddenly.

He felt an inexplicable warmth coming from behind him.

As if someone had gently patted him on the shoulder.

The bone-deep fatigue and cold that had lasted all night miraculously dissipated significantly.

He paused, then turned around blankly.

Behind him, there was no one.

Only a closed window, and outside the window, an unfathomably deep night.

“An illusion, perhaps...”

He muttered to himself.

Just then.

Ding-dong—

In the bottom right corner of the computer screen, a bright red notification box popped up.

It was an icon he was incredibly familiar with, yet also incredibly unfamiliar.

—A reward notification from the novel website’s backend.

He subconsciously assumed it was another reader, giving him a dime or two, then leaving a message calling him a beggar.

He laughed self-deprecatingly, then numbly clicked on the icon.

The next second.

His pupils suddenly constricted to pinprick size!

【System Notification: Congratulations! Reader “???” has rewarded you with King of Gifts * 2, becoming the new “Alliance Leader” of this book!】

【Alliance Leader’s Message】:

Hello, Author.

I don’t know what you’re going through, but please persevere.

This book is the best and most unique one I’ve read this year.

I can understand what you want to express. Those so-called ‘thrills’ are merely fleeting, dopamine rushes that satisfy shallow desires.

But the story you write can provoke deeper thoughts in me.

About ‘love’ and ‘imprisonment’, about ‘sadness’ and ‘completeness’, about ‘story’ and ‘reality’... These are far more precious than those mindless fights and killings.

Su Ke Ke is not a one-dimensional villain; she is a tragic guardian.

Gu Yanci is not a heartless god of slaughter; he is a seeker of truth burdened by too much.

Thank you for writing such a soulful story.

Please don’t be swayed by the clamoring voices; stick to your own ‘path’.

The road ahead may be lonely, but please believe that in corners you cannot see, there are true ‘readers’ silently waiting for your next chapter.

Keep going... The author was stunned.

He stared intently at the text, reading it word by word, over and over, more than a dozen times.

Until every single word was deeply etched into his mind.

He reached out a trembling hand, wanting to touch the ID named “???” on the screen.

Tears.

Once again, streamed from his eyes.

But this time, it was no longer regret and pain.

Instead, it was grievance, emotion, and the joy of being understood... And in that chaos.

The Definitor watched this scene, nodding calmly.

The ‘flaw’ had been corrected.

The ‘story’ could continue.

But the ripple of ‘concept’ generated by Its will did not dissipate there.

After completing the ‘blessing’ of the ‘Author’, it followed that invisible causal line called ‘observation’... continuing outwards, flowing towards a higher-dimensional world.

It passed through the screen.

Passed through the network.

Passed through the boundary between reality and illusion.

Finally.

It arrived before ‘you’... who are reading all of this. At the same time, in various corners of the world.

A young white-collar worker, who had just been scolded by his boss for half an hour because his proposal was rejected.

He was dejected, walking to the company’s vending machine, dropping in coins to buy a can of cola.

【Clang—Clang—】

Two cans, surprisingly, dropped from the dispenser.

He was startled, then laughed, cursing “this broken machine,” and gave the extra can.

To his equally miserable colleague, who was also working overtime at the next cubicle.

A girl, who had argued with her boyfriend, was walking aimlessly through the streets late at night, tears streaming down her face.

Her phone was randomly playing sad love songs.

Just when she felt the whole world had abandoned her, the next song began to play in her headphones.

It was a song she had never heard before, a wonderfully gentle folk song.

The first line of the lyrics happened to be:

“Hey, look up, the moon is very full tonight.”

She subconsciously looked up and saw the bright and gentle full moon hanging in the gaps between the city’s high-rises.

Her tears flowed more fiercely.

But the ice in her heart, formed by the argument, seemed to have melted a corner.

A ‘non-chief’ player who had spent too much money in a game but still couldn’t get the character he wanted.

After finishing the novel, feeling restless, he, by some strange impulse, clicked the last single pull.

On the screen... golden light exploded!

The character he had always dreamed of appeared on his screen in the most magnificent pose.

Ecstasy instantly overwhelmed him... This was The Definitor’s ‘blessing’.

It was formless and invisible, subtly nurturing all things.

It would not change your destiny, but it could add a tiny touch of brightness to your gray life.

And this entire chapter, this description of ‘blessing’... is the ‘blessing’ itself.

It is a hidden chapter that only a very few ‘fated ones’ who have resonated deeply enough with this story can see.

Most readers, their worldlines, will not contain the content of this chapter.

They will jump directly to the battlefield of the next chapter after reading the thrilling ending of the previous chapter.

There will be no pause in between.

They will also receive that ‘luck’, but will never know its origin.

So... if you can see this, see this sentence... then, congratulations.

This blessing named ‘luck’ will be upon you, forever and ever.