Su Mingyao no longer planned to treat him like an ordinary mortal. Instead, he regarded Su Shang as a land god who had come down to earth for some fun.
As for the wheelchair, since it had become part of the anomaly—the part Su Shang didn’t want exposed—Su Mingyao decided to keep an eye on it. If Su Shang forgot to deal with it later, he’d step in and handle it himself.
Of course, by “handle,” he didn’t mean shattering it or anything dramatic like that. No, Su Mingyao simply resolved to take the wheelchair for himself. This was a divine artifact, after all! He couldn’t bear the thought of it ending up in a junkyard or some trash heap. What a waste that would be!
He envisioned passing it down as a family heirloom in the Su Family, generation after generation. Centuries from now, some descendant might uncover the anomaly hidden within this legacy, and that would make for quite the story.
But first, he needed to know one thing: once Su Shang had his fill of fun here and returned to the Reincarnation Space—effectively “dying” in this world—would he ever come back…?
If Su Shang never returned, Su Mingyao would go ahead with his plan. If he did come back, well, then forget it.
Perhaps in his previous life, Su Shang’s “death” had come because he’d permanently departed for the Reincarnation Space, never to return… Su Mingyao’s mind wandered down that path.
[No one would waste their time researching this wheelchair out of sheer boredom,] Luo Shang said.
[In the end, it’d just get tossed into an ash pile and forgotten. But since you’ve reminded me, I’ll dispel its permanence later.]
System: [That’s good.]
Su Mingyao reluctantly shelved his heirloom scheme. He’d pictured himself in old age, sitting in it while regaling his nieces and nephews with tales of these very events—assuming, of course, he survived Su Shang’s pressure.
Luo Shang kept chatting with the System, but he didn’t let it slow his plot-following performance one bit. The two of them replayed everything except the collapse of the wheelchair, just as before.
Su Mingyao threw himself into the act while desperately racking his brains over what had happened at this exact moment in his previous life. That way, he could better coordinate with Su Shang moving forward.
He couldn’t recall the specifics of their first clash, only the rough outline. Su Shang had summoned him to a secluded corner of the Garden, claiming he wanted to teach him how to fit into the family. In truth, every word had been a boast about his own deep bonds with the Su Family, subtly implying that Su Mingyao was forever an outsider.
It had struck a deep blow back then. He’d fallen silent for a long time and afterward shied away from the family entirely, dodging even their well-meant overtures.
On reflection, Su Shang had always been a master at zeroing in on people’s emotional weak spots, even as an ordinary youth. No wonder he ascended to godhood later, Su Mingyao mused.
Before Su Mingyao’s arrival, Su Shang had been B City’s notorious playboy.
The Su Family’s two sons were both the kind of “other people’s children” that other families envied—but polar opposites. Su Bingyao, who had earned the title of B City’s Outstanding Young Entrepreneur at a tender age and secured government funding, was the model to emulate. Su Shang, by contrast, was the cautionary tale: “Don’t you dare follow his example!”
Those who’d met Su Shang often marveled at the disconnect. He looked so mild-mannered, yet his actions were wildly rebellious and erratic. It wasn’t until Su Mingyao returned that Su Shang underwent a total transformation, becoming as docile as his appearance suggested—though it later proved to be nothing more than a carefully crafted mask hiding his true nature.
The old Su Shang had worn no such mask because he’d needed none. He basked in his parents’ undivided love and protection, with Big Bro’s unwavering support to boot. But once he lost it all, he quickly learned the value of a false face.
Su Mingyao’s knowledge of Su Shang stemmed entirely from memories of that previous life: sweet and obedient on the surface, insidious and vicious underneath. Those starkly contradictory traits defined his impression.
Yet this Su Shang’s behavior echoed the old one without fully matching it.
In his previous life, even when feigning indifference, that Su Shang had always kept a sharp eye on him. This one, however, approached things with a weary “I have to do this” attitude. He no longer fixated on Su Mingyao the way he once had—even if he’d still raze the world for his sake…
Big Bro had mentioned that this version of Su Shang harbored a bit of a world-destroying compulsion. He might simply be seizing on Su Mingyao as a convenient excuse to feed his destructive impulses, whether it fit or not…
Regardless, the performance had to go on.
Su Bingyao never made an appearance throughout it all, but Su Mingyao knew he was right outside the door, listening in. He stood ready to rush in and defuse any trouble, determined not to hand Su Shang another pretext for apocalypse.
Su Shang naturally knew Big Bro was standing right outside the door. He didn’t pay it any mind—if Big Bro wanted to eavesdrop, then let him. He was probably just lurking there, peeking at how they were getting along. It even fulfilled the “presence” requirement from the original plot; being separated by just a door still counted.
After reciting the script lines in the living room, it was time to head to the garden. Luo Shang pulled up the System Panel to check the stats. That cursed Progress Bar for the Plot Progress had finally budged a little:
5%.
[Only 5%?!] Luo Shang grumbled in frustration.
The System piped up encouragingly beside him: [Want me to turn these plot points into tasks? You can check them off when you’re done, just like back in the Reincarnation Space. It’ll boost your drive.]
Luo Shang: [Pass. I’m on vacation here, just tying up some personal loose ends. Don’t make me hallucinate that I’m still on the clock.]
Players in the Reincarnation Space were, at their core, workers for it. The Reincarnation Space roamed far and wide, seeking out souls on the brink of death and offering them a chance to become Players. Accept, and they gained a second life—a fresh start.
In return, Players journeyed through countless worlds, harvesting information and resources from each one to fuel the Reincarnation Space and keep it running. It was their way of repaying the energy spent on their revival, slangily dubbed “working the grind.”
Once the life debt was squared away, Players had options: stick around in the Reincarnation Space, leveraging its power to span the Myriad Worlds for endless adventures, power-ups, and pursuits of loftier realms. Or head back to their home world for a cozy, uneventful life.
But after glimpsing grander realms and expanding their horizons, most Senior Players opted for the former.
After all, once you’ve seen the vast ocean, who’d settle for a muddy ditch?
Luo Shang and Ke Yanjin fell squarely into that camp, which was why this trip for Luo Shang was a vacation, not retirement. Sure, he might one day tire out and call it quits—but not for thousands, maybe tens of thousands, of years.
Even if Luo Shang had chosen to stay on with the Reincarnation Space of his own accord, that didn’t mean he was a fan of the job. A vacation was a vacation; work was work. He had zero interest in flipping the switch to work mode. Sure, it’d ramp up his efficiency, but it’d kill the easygoing vibe.
Only 5%!
Su Bingyao, eavesdropping from the doorway, and Su Mingyao, inside the living room, let out identical sighs. They shared the same dissatisfaction with that paltry number.
Plot Progress at just 5%, and the world had already been destroyed twice.
If Su Shang didn’t leave until it hit 100%, how many more apocalypses would they endure in the meantime? The thought was too horrifying to contemplate.
Every day felt like a year.
