Chapter 16: Madness

Li Ran remembered how much of Chi Mo?

Chi Mo hadn’t lived here before, and he’d only moved in two months ago. Li Ran didn’t know if it was a long-term stay or short-term, and he hadn’t thought to ask.

But Chi Mo’s question today made him feel like they were very familiar.

That year when he was twelve, his parents’ divorce—Bai Qingqing and Li Ang’s—had become an irreversible fact. Li Ran clearly remembered that he didn’t want his mom to leave him so soon, so he wanted to perform well in front of her.

Those two years happened to coincide with Bai Qingqing being unemployed. She had no steady income, and finding a job close to thirty-five was tough.

Everything piled up like a tangled mess.

The court awarded custody of Li Ran to Li Ang. Bai Qingqing appealed, but the court rejected it on the grounds that she couldn’t even support herself, let alone a child.

In the last moments he spent with Bai Qingqing, Li Ran wanted to practice his communication skills to prove to his mom that he wasn’t useless like his dad—he could do better.

But he chose the wrong practice partner.

In his self-proclaimed cleverness, he blocked Chi Mo’s wealthy parents who were taking him abroad and ranted on: “He clearly doesn’t want to go overseas. Why force him?”

In the end, they learned Li Ran didn’t even know them. Bai Qingqing felt utterly humiliated, her embarrassment turning to fury as she beat him soundly.

Even now, recalling that scene, Li Ran’s ears seemed to ring with the smacking sounds… His poor butt still ached at the memory.

Beyond that, he had no other interactions with Chi Mo. Li Ran didn’t even know why he’d gone abroad back then.

…Probably to study abroad.

He’d been recommended for early admission at fifteen.

After waiting a long time with no answer, Chi Mo knew this guy’s brain wasn’t the sharpest. He turned back to his desk, leaned over, gripped the mouse, and shut down the computer.

As he walked away, he left what seemed like a faint sigh over Li Ran’s head.

Li Ran felt he was pretty disappointed. He thought to himself that he was only twelve back then, and his memory had always been poor—kids had small, dumb brains; how could he remember so much?

Chi Mo had only appeared once in his life; it was impossible to remember.

Besides… if he couldn’t recall, Chi Mo could just tell him.

Not that Li Ran would ask.

He wasn’t that curious anyway.

Li Ran planned to tell the truth.

“I…”

“Let’s go, off work.” Chi Mo cut him off.

“Oh.” Li Ran hurried after him.

He asked, “Mr. Chi, you called me here because…”

“Just to mess with you on purpose—make you come, then take you off work.” Chi Mo said.

“Oh. Alright.” Li Ran didn’t dare complain. He gripped his backpack strap, adjusted his pace, and followed step for step.

He rode the president’s exclusive elevator down with Chi Mo. The moment the doors opened, Li Ran saw dozens of people waiting at the three employee elevators nearby, all turning to stare at them—hundreds of eyes.

“Boss.” Someone called out. Then others chimed in one after another.

Boss, company head, President Chi.

Chi Mo responded casually.

His broad shoulders partially shielded Li Ran, who didn’t notice but instinctively ducked behind him.

The curious gazes locked on, invisible yet tangible. Li Ran hated being the center of attention; it made him clumsy.

“Keep staring and I’ll gouge your eyes out.” Chi Mo said coldly.

They quickly shook their heads, saying “No more looking, no more,” and turned away.

Seven o’clock—quitting time. Everyone should be packing up to go home.

But they looked like they’d just started work?

Moran Technology’s revolving doors kept spinning as batch after batch of badge-wearing employees streamed in.

Some munched on dinner, others held coffee.

It really didn’t look like quitting time.

Last time he’d come, it was the same…

Others clocked out while Moran Technology clocked in.

If this company’s shifts were at night, why was Chi Mo here during the day?

Passing the front desk, Chi Mo tugged Li Ran’s wrist—not too hard, not too soft—to keep him close, then told the staff: “He doesn’t need an appointment from now on. Don’t ask him questions; send him straight to the top floor to find me.”

“Got it, President Chi.”

Li Ran felt the Bodhi Beads on Chi Mo’s left wrist today—they were twisted into two strands.

But he wasn’t entirely sure, since Mr. Chi pulled away quickly.

He just reminded himself to stay close.

In the grand lobby, the glass walls still played out people’s lives. Li Ran confirmed the people inside were the same ones from when he’d arrived; their lives continued seamlessly.

His curious gaze was too obvious. Chi Mo said, “It’s a game.”

“…Huh?” Li Ran snapped his eyes back, incredulous. “All this content is a game?”

Chi Mo: “Mm-hm.”

“Everyone’s activity paths… are they all complete?”

Chi Mo: “Mm-hm.”

Li Ran thought it was amazing: “But how do you play it?”

“Have you ever made a choice in life you regretted?” Chi Mo nodded to employees greeting him respectfully, led Li Ran outside without glancing sideways, and asked casually.

Li Ran thought: “Not really.”

“Mm. But many people have. Choosing one means forgoing two; once chosen, you must walk that path forward. It might be good or bad—no one can turn back.”

“Because one person only gets one life; that’s inevitable.” Chi Mo raised his hand to stop Li Ran from bumping into the revolving glass door. “This game gives them a chance to regret and choose again—simulating a parallel world.”

Li Ran half-understood but was awestruck: “—Wow.”

“After logging in, no cheats, no shortcuts. Can’t restart. Once it begins, no deleting the account unless the character dies. Suicide, accident, illness, or natural old age—all fine. Like reality, everyone ends as a handful of dust.”

“Before starting, they set it up based on their real life and return to that pivotal choice moment. Chose one in reality? Choose two in the parallel world. Then see what that second life looks like. Maybe rebirth, maybe ruin.”

“In short, the data shows eighty percent compare it to their real lives. The thousands of images you saw in the lobby? Treat them as real people—just in parallel worlds.” Talking about the game, Chi Mo clearly had more to say, almost rambling.

Once the car hit the road, he seemed to realize something: “Sorry, this is all boring stuff. Shouldn’t chat about it with you.”

Perhaps as an apology, or out of helplessness at his own abruptness, Chi Mo smiled at Li Ran.

Li Ran stared without blinking.

Chi Mo: “What?”

“…N-nothing.” Li Ran immediately looked ahead, filling his eyes with the traffic light intersection and crowds.

So the footage he’d seen of a high schooler in uniform entering the company with a man was just someone simulating their own parallel world.

It coincided with Li Ran entering too, Shen Shu beside him—the setup matched, so he’d suspected surveillance.

What a strange feeling.

They hit the first red light.

Seventy-five seconds.

Chi Mo waited silently.

Li Ran silently counted seconds.

Suddenly, a sound like an elastic band stretched taut and snapping against skin.

Li Ran’s eyes flickered; his peripheral vision caught it first—Chi Mo’s left hand on the wheel, the Bodhi Beads exposed against his wrist. His right hand yanked two beads, stretching then snapping them back.

They smacked heavily into flesh.

The skin reddened in moments.

“What are you doing?” Li Ran instinctively reached to stop his hand. But the beads, at full stretch, snapped back right onto his fingers, making his whole hand jolt in pain.

“Li Ran!” Chi Mo’s voice and expression shifted, anger surging instantly. But when he checked Li Ran’s hand, his touch was feather-light.

He glared at Li Ran, baffled why this complacent, honest guy was so kindhearted.

Daring to cover his hand to stop him.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Sorry.” Chi Mo said, his downcast eyes brewing a hint of menace, as if he’d chop off his own hand. It vanished in a blink, too quick to pin down.

Li Ran: “It’s fine. No big deal.”

He rubbed his fingers, trying to remind Chi Mo through his own minor injury: “You shouldn’t keep snapping yourself like that. Bad habit—you need to quit… Seriously.”

That proved he’d noticed Chi Mo’s self-snapping habit long ago.

Such an attentive good kid.

Chi Mo just said again: “Sorry.”

Second red light, ninety-nine seconds.

Chi Mo’s luck was bad—all red lights.

While waiting, Li Ran asked: “Mr. Chi, that game simulating everyone’s parallel worlds… did you build the framework at thirteen?”

Chi Mo absentmindedly: “Mm.”

He glanced at Li Ran, more serious now, eyes softening as if encouraging him: “How’d you know about me at thirteen?”

“Everyone at school says so.” Li Ran was full of admiration, realizing once more the vast IQ gap between people. He sighed wistfully: “At your school lecture last time, no one didn’t say you were amazing…”

Chi Mo: “Oh.”

“Mr. Chi, you…”

“Li Ran.”

“Yeah?”

“Am I that old?”

“No.” Li Ran was puzzled.

“You keep ‘Mr. Chi’-ing me; I thought I was ancient.”

“…”

Li Ran flushed with shame: “No, it’s just—you’re too amazing.”

Chi Mo chuckled, hummed in acknowledgment of the flattery.

Light turned green; Cullinan sailed through unimpeded.

By the time they got home, night had fully fallen. Chi Mo drove straight into the villa.

“Mr. Shen said he parked my bike at your place first.” Li Ran said softly.

Chi Mo: “I know.”

The key with its huge keychain—cute green fuzzy leaves—clicked in the lock. Li Ran pulled it out, pocketed it in his backpack with a pat, then hopped on.

“See you, Mr. Chi.”

As he propped one leg on the ground, his uniform pants tightened, the cuff riding up his ankle to reveal a slender stretch of skin above white socks.

Thin and delicate—one of Chi Mo’s half-palms could encircle it.

“From now on, ask me what you don’t get. I’ll teach you slowly.” Chi Mo’s gaze traveled up to Li Ran’s eyes. “Contact me. Message me every day—not anyone else.”

“Not holding this against you this time. Next time—you won’t want to know the consequences that early.”

Li Ran knew he meant asking Qi Zhi. He bowed his head like a naughty kid caught out, scared of those consequences.

“Got it, Mr. Chi.”

He hadn’t thought much of it—just asking for help, no big deal.

Didn’t have to be Chi Mo.

But Li Ran obeyed him.

No protest.

Once Chi Mo finally let him go, Li Ran pedaled his mountain bike away furiously. Chi Mo watched his back vanish before turning into the villa.

Under the bright lights, he stared down at the Bodhi Beads on his wrist, eyes chillingly cold.

As if saying—if these beads were alive, he’d kill them in the cruelest way, make them regret existing.

Chi Mo’s right hand yanked the black Bodhi Beads up; the hidden elastic cord twisted and stretched, longer, tighter, until impossibly taut.

When the beads snapped back, visibly swelling his wrist, the strand suddenly snapped. Beads scattered everywhere with sharp clatters.

Clack, clack, clack…

—Thump.

Countless black Bodhi Beads bounced across the pristine white floor.

Just like Chi Mo’s heart that night.