30: Chapter 30, Volume One: Conclusion: What Have We Changed?

Madman Jack slumped in the ergonomic chair, his back soaked with cold sweat, clinging to the breathable mesh, sending a clammy chill through him.

The air conditioner in the room was still humming, displaying a temperature of twenty-six degrees Celsius.

Ten minutes ago, he had been on the Ge Ma Plateau at minus forty degrees, his lungs full of ice shards and sulfur ash.

Now, inhaling the warm, dry air into his nostrils choked him into a fit of coughing.

His right hand instinctively reached to touch his right leg.

His fingertips met warm skin and solid muscle.

Still there. The leg was still there. It hadn't been sawed off by a dull saw, no empty trouser leg.

But he still felt pain there.

A hallucination transmitted by the nerve endings, as if a rusty saw was still grinding against his bone.

In the livestream room, over five million people were watching online.

There were no bullet comments.

At this time usually, if he had cleared a Hell difficulty BOSS, the screen would be full of 'Awesome', '666', or 'Streamer, eat a keyboard'. Haters would flood the screen cursing him for cheating, while true fans would send rockets.

But now, the screen was completely clean, not even a single advertisement.

Only in the camera feed in the lower left corner, the usually slick, smooth-talking 'Madman Jack' was staring fixedly out the window at the bustling traffic, his eyes bloodshot like a ghost that had just crawled out of a grave.

After a long while, a single white bullet comment slowly floated by.

[Is it over?]

Those three words seemed to flip some kind of switch.

[Was that real just now? Are there really people like that?]

[I just looked up Pine Bone Peak. The Baidu entry only has a few lines, but why do I feel like every word on it is bleeding?]

[Streamer, say something.]

Jack opened his mouth, his throat terribly hoarse.

He grabbed half a bottle of Coke from the table. It had been opened three hours ago, the fizz long gone, and drinking it felt like swallowing a mouthful of overly sweet traditional Chinese medicine.

"Didn't die."

He crushed the empty bottle flat and tossed it into the trash can, his voice low and rough, "Everyone is still alive."

He didn't know if he was talking about himself or something else.

Just then, the pitch-black game interface suddenly flickered.

There was no shining 'VICTORY', nor any stirring symphony.

A line of Song typeface appeared in the center of the screen, white background with black text, as plain as an obituary or a battle report.

[Battle Settlement: Pine Bone Peak Blockade Battle]

[Participants: 3 people (Players) / 128 people (NPC Establishment)]

[Position Retention Rate: 0% (All personnel KIA / Combat effectiveness lost)]

[Blockade Duration: 8 hours 42 minutes]

The data was cold.

In Brother Bao's livestream room, he was taking off the broken-lensed glasses frame and wiping it repeatedly with the corner of his shirt.

Seeing this line of data, he let out a cold laugh: "All KIA? System, you bastard, I was tactically logging off."

Though he said that, his hands were trembling, and he couldn't put his glasses back on.

The text on the screen continued to scroll.

[Core Mission Judgment: Success.]

[Because the three players refused to surrender at the last moment and attracted the firepower of the US armored cluster, they secured a critical window for the main force's counterattack.]

[Main Force Encirclement Time: 10 minutes ahead of schedule.]

Dai Dai was huddled in the gaming chair, hugging her SpongeBob SquarePants doll.

Seeing this line of text, she sniffled and mumbled with a tearful voice: "Only ten minutes... We risked our lives, our legs broke, and we only sped it up by ten minutes..."

Yes, ten minutes.

In the long river of history,

Ten minutes couldn't even count as a ripple.

In today's fast-paced era,

Ten minutes isn't even enough time to scroll through a few short videos or wait for a late subway train.

For these ten minutes, was it worth it?

Jack looked at that number, and the same question arose in his heart.

If he hadn't fought this battle, if he hadn't endured that suffering, these ten minutes would have been just enough time to sip a cup of coffee.

To exchange over a hundred lives for this cup of coffee?

The screen flickered once.

Su Yun sat in the pitch-black server room, facing countless surging data streams.

He watched the reactions of the three young men in the backend, his fingers gently tapping the Enter key.

"Let me show you what these ten minutes mean."

On the game interface, the originally cold data suddenly scattered, transforming into countless light spots, which then reassembled into a piece of yellowed stationery.

It was a list.

[Historical Deduction Correction Report]

[In the historical deduction line of this instance, because the main force completed the encirclement 10 minutes earlier, cutting off the US forces' southern escape route, the battlefield situation underwent a slight change.]

[These 10 minutes allowed the insertion company to travel three kilometers less through the snow, reducing non-combat frostbite cases by 76.]

[These 10 minutes allowed the logistics convoy to pass through the blockade line before the US bombers took off, delivering one hundred boxes of grenades.]

[These 10 minutes allowed the field hospital transfer to be completed early, avoiding one heavy aerial bomb.]

[According to system calculations, the historical casualty ratio for this campaign decreased by 15%.]

[The following personnel were confirmed sacrificed in the original historical line, but survived in this instance's deduction line:]

The list began to scroll.

These were not cold IDs, but names of flesh and blood, followed by their place of origin and age.

[Zhao Tiezhu, Baoding, Hebei, 21 years old.]

[Wang Dali, Linyi, Shandong, 19 years old.]

[Li Fugui, Zhoukou, Henan, 24 years old.]

In the livestream room, five million people held their breath.

No one cared about equipment rewards, no one cared about experience points.

Everyone's eyes were fixed tightly on that scrolling list.

This was not just data.

For those who had played this game, these names represented vivid faces.

Zhao Tiezhu was the squad leader who could play the harmonica, Wang Dali was the machine gunner who always talked about wanting to go home and marry, and Li Fugui was the cook who had sewn a button for Jack.

"Holy crap..."

Brother Bao suddenly stood up, his face pressed against the monitor, his finger trembling as he pointed at one line, "Liu Ergou! This kid is alive! This kid is alive! I remember him, he let his guts spill out to block a bullet for me... He's alive!"

This usually calculating streamer, who would haggle with the developers over the smallest attribute boost, was now shouting like a child, his face smeared with tears and snot.

Dai Dai was also crying. She saw the name of the female medic who had shared half a biscuit with her on the train.

[Sun Xiulan, Dazhou, Sichuan, 18 years old.]

"Sister Xiulan..." Dai Dai hugged her doll, sobbing until she couldn't catch her breath, "That's great... you're not dead... that's great..."

Jack remained silent.

His eyes rapidly scanned the list, passing over unfamiliar names, his heart beating so fast it felt like it would shatter his chest.

None.

Not on the first page.

Not on the second page.

The list scrolled faster and faster, and Jack's palms were covered in sweat.

"Don't die... Please don't die..."

His lips trembled as he murmured that incredibly rustic name.

Just as the list was about to scroll to the bottom,

A line of text jumped into his retina.

[Zhang Xiaoshan (Little Shandong), Yantai, Shandong, 16 years old.]

Jack froze.

The surrounding world seemed to stop at this moment.

The static sound in his ears, the car horns outside the window, the sound of the air conditioner—all disappeared.

Only this line of text remained, sharply clear.

The child who had handed him the only frozen potato in the snow.

The child whose heel had shattered like a biscuit from the cold, but who had smiled and said, "Brother, it doesn't hurt."

The child who, at the final moment, remained in a charging posture even after becoming an ice sculpture.

He lived.

Even if only in a virtual instance, even if it was just a line of code typed by Su Yun.

But in this moment, in Jack's heart, that child was alive.

He seemed to see Little Shandong standing on that scorched earth, brushing the dust off himself, flashing him that silly smile missing a front tooth.

"Brother, look, we won."

"Aaaah—!!!"

Jack suddenly lowered his head, covering his face with both hands, and let out a heart-wrenching wail.

This cry was completely undignified, even somewhat unpleasant.

It was like the mournful cry of an injured wild beast in desperation, or like a child lost for many years finally finding his way home.

He cried until his whole body convulsed, tears streaming down through his fingers, dripping onto the expensive mechanical keyboard.

In the livestream room, countless viewers' eyes turned red.

[This game... kills me.]

[Who the hell said this was a hack-and-slash game? This is clearly designed to carve out your heart!]

[It was worth it. Jack, it was truly worth it. That broken leg was worth it!]

[Even though I know it's fake, that it's code, why am I so happy? It feels like I really saved them.]

[Because we all wish it were true.]

On the screen, the settlement display gradually faded.

Finally, only one line of text remained, which was Su Yun's message to all players:

[You did not change history; history was already set. But you remembered them, and that is enough.]

[Because forgetting is the true death.]

This line of text struck every person's heart like a heavy hammer.

Jack looked up, his face streaked with tears.

He stared at the line for a long time without moving.

After a long pause, he reached out and typed a line of text on the keyboard, posting it in his own livestream chat:

"In this life, I will no longer bash domestic products. In this life, I will no longer bash Chinese soldiers."