INE Chapter 88: Load Save

When Ji Rong opened her eyes again, she found herself nestled in a fragrant embrace, the scent of phoenix flowers lingering all around.

Her head rested on Gu Baiyi’s shoulder. Looking up, she saw that delicate face with its striking features. Her gaze met those deep, lacquer-black eyes, then drifted to the strands of hair tucked behind an ear. A feather, red as cinnabar, was pinned to her earlobe, bright as blood.

That vivid red reminded Ji Rong of two figures, one in red, one in white, at the edge of the sunset, and the apricot blossoms scattered on the ground. Her thoughts flickered away for a moment.

When she came back to herself, Gu Baiyi had already lifted a finger to gently wipe the tears from her eyes.

Though tears were falling, Ji Rong felt little emotion. Maybe she should have been moved, but when she reached up and touched her cheek, she realized even her own tears had no warmth.

The phrase "born without feelings" suited her far too well.

Mo Yu sighed. “I never expected that young master to be so deeply obsessed. It was just supposed to be a game, yet now he’ll be trapped in the dream forever.”

Only then did Ji Rong look around and realize Xie Bai was gone.

All that remained on the ground was a bamboo folding fan.

Mo Yu said, “Don’t bother looking, girl. Only those who are willing to stay in their obsessions vanish completely, remaining in the dream for life.”

“For life?”

Ji Rong thought back to what the Second Young Master had said and couldn’t help but smile.

It seemed that whether a lifetime was as long as flowing water or as brief as candlelight, after all the twists and turns, in the end, Hongzhi won. She got her wish, she spent a lifetime with him.

Gu Baiyi didn’t know what had happened in the dream, but when she saw Ji Rong’s tears, she figured it must have been moving despite being just an illusion.

By the time Ji Rong finished shedding her tears, she had already let go.

Perhaps Xie Bai’s obsession was never really about killing Wei Zhiyuan. Maybe what he wanted most was to go back to those years, to stay with that little maidservant forever, trapped in a dream that would never end.

Gu Baiyi turned to Mo Yu. “Senior, now that the game is over, could you open the domain and let us enter the Mountain and River Chessboard?”

“Of course.”

Mo Yu smiled gently, though her expression held a hint of sorrow. “I wonder when I’ll get to speak with someone again.”

Just as Ji Rong was about to comfort her, Mo Yu lifted a slender finger, and in that moment, her peacock-like figure vanished into thin air.

Only Ji Rong and Gu Baiyi remained, exchanging a silent glance.

After Mo Yu disappeared, the void within the domain changed into another kind of nothingness.

Before, it had been like a vast black curtain; impermeable, endless, smothering the chessboard beneath.

Now, the black cloth began to fade and turn translucent, like a curtain being drawn apart. Light tore through the darkness, revealing a sky as white and blinding as snow—no sun, no stars, no moon.

Once the curtain vanished completely, the sky stretched above, and below them lay an enormous chessboard.

The chessboard was vast, each black or white stone was as large as a person. The grid squares resembled little rooms, trapping Ji Rong and Gu Baiyi within one.

There was no wind, no way to send out their spiritual sense to locate the Crimson-Scaled Sword.

The two exchanged a look, neither daring to move.

Gu Baiyi pointed toward the array of flags placed between two stones. “Senior Sister, the Mountain and River Chessboard is an ancient artifact. It must be filled with formations. Let’s observe for now and act later.”

Ji Rong nodded. She figured that since this board belonged to her sister, there must be a reason for luring them here.

Just as she was about to share her guess with Gu Baiyi, she was shocked to find the girl beside her had vanished.

What the hell, where did Gu Baiyi go?

Ji Rong whirled around and looked at the grid beneath her feet. At some point, the black stone had turned white.

There was only one possible explanation: the squares must shift and rearrange, separating them on purpose.

Even more unbelievable, the white stone suddenly spoke.

“You’ve arrived.”

Ji Rong was dumbfounded. What? Who arrived?

The voice was calm. “It doesn’t matter if you understand. And if you do, well, that doesn’t matter either.”

As it spoke, the white stone dissolved into countless motes of light and quickly reformed into a human figure.

The figure wore red robes, her expression cold and distant. She looked calmly at Ji Rong.

Ji Rong stared at Yue Qianqiu for a long moment, then drew her sword and pressed it against the woman’s throat, gritting her teeth. “Speak. Why the hell did you bring me here? If you don’t, I swear I’ll kill you.”

Yue Qianqiu looked at her, unmoved. “This is just a remnant of mine. It doesn’t bleed, it doesn’t die. Once I say what needs to be said, it will dissipate on its own. Holding a sword to me is meaningless.”

“Besides, I didn’t bring you here. You chose to come.”

“I chose this?”

Ji Rong was furious. “If you’re saying it’s my own fault I got dragged into this game, then what about you? Why are you here?”

Yue Qianqiu gave her a glance. “I’m here because of you.”

“Oh, please. You think I’d believe that?”

Ji Rong scoffed. “Say whatever you like. I don’t even know what nonsense you’re talking about.”

“Believe it or not, it doesn’t matter.”

Yue Qianqiu’s tone had been detached all along. Only now did it turn slightly more serious. “But since you’ve come this far, you must walk the path I once walked.”

Ji Rong frowned. What kind of cryptic nonsense was this?

“Let me show you.”

Yue Qianqiu raised her hand. The white stones scattered into light, revealing a watery mirror at the center of the board.

It looked less like a mirror, more like a screen.

On that screen appeared a red-robed woman, identical to Yue Qianqiu.

She said, “This chessboard doesn’t belong to this world. It’s an artifact that can transcend time. Everything I experienced in this world has been saved onto it, like a save file. Through this mirror, you can replay it.”

Ji Rong was skeptical. Her sister had never been one to play games. How would she even know what a save file was?

Then again, even if she didn’t know the term, the chessboard’s function was basically like a USB drive. Anyone could understand it.

So she rolled her eyes and said sarcastically, “Fine. Let’s watch it.”

Ji Rong stepped up to the screen and watched Yue Qianqiu’s life unfold.

In short—it was far simpler and duller than any game plot.

The Yue Qianqiu on screen was even colder than her game persona. That, at least, was consistent with her sister.

The most human moment came when she sat beside a young disciple, teaching him to read. She said coldly, “The way you’re hopeless at this kind of reminds me of my sister.”

Ji Rong: “…”

She felt personally attacked.

Yet none of these scenes matched the in-game plot.

Her sister never took on those four disciples, never sealed the Crimson-Scaled Serpent, never fought that so-called battle against evil, and certainly never jumped into an abyss like Gong Yu claimed.

Her sister’s save file didn’t just deviate from the original story, it had nothing to do with it.

The final scene showed Yue Qianqiu defeating Feng He and picking up the fallen Longyuan Sword.

By then, she held four divine swords.

Raising them, she looked toward the sky’s edge and said calmly, “The mission is complete.”

Ji Rong: “…”

“So the game’s plot was fake? The people in this world are fake too?”

Yue Qianqiu shook her head. “No.”

Ji Rong realized how little she actually knew about her sister. “Then what exactly were you doing? What mission? Why?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“You just need to do what you’re supposed to do, and what you’ve already done.”

Ji Rong was even more confused. “What am I supposed to do? What have I done?”

“In other words,” Yue Qianqiu explained, “my save file isn’t the ‘plot’ you’re familiar with, because that was the ending I created before. But in your timeline, the ‘Yue Qianqiu’ that exists has a different ending.”

She continued calmly, “At first, I didn’t understand why. Then I realized, maybe in the future, someone would return to the past, change the ending, and overwrite my save file.”

“And the only person that could be is you.”

Ji Rong: “…”

“Why me?”

Yue Qianqiu said, “Because right now, it’s you who has entered the Mountain and River Chessboard. It can cross time, and only through it can you return to the past and overwrite my save.”

“So now you must enter my save file as ‘Yue Qianqiu’ and play through the ending that corresponds to your current timeline.”

Ji Rong felt utterly wronged.

She hadn’t even done anything, yet her sister had already planned it all out. And now she was saying she deserved this, because she’d done it before?

“You don’t actually need to change anything,” Yue Qianqiu said. “Just follow the story you already know. Treat it like playing a game, use your save to overwrite mine.”

“Once you reach the end, maybe you’ll stop asking questions.”

Ji Rong thought it over for a long time before she understood.

“So you're saying, I’m supposed to follow the current storyline, use the Mountain and River Chessboard to overwrite your save. But why me—”

“Stop.” Ji Rong had no idea what her sister was rambling about with all this mystical nonsense, so she quickly changed the subject. “So how do I overwrite your previous save file?”

Yue Qianqiu replied, “You just need to step into that screen, you’ll be able to access my save file from there.”

“What happens after that, what ‘Yue Qianqiu’ will do, is entirely up to you. Be thorough and cautious. Do what you’re supposed to do. Whatever you do, don’t mess with the plot. If there’s a mistake, the timeline will unravel.”

Ji Rong chuckled. “And what if I don’t load the save file? What if I ignore everything you just said?”

Yue Qianqiu spoke calmly. “Then not only will the timeline collapse, but your little lover will probably die as well.”

Ji Rong froze. What little lover? Since when did she have a lover?

“She’s the one who came in with you just now. To stop you from acting on impulse and refusing to enter the save, I also put her soul into the file. She’s now inhabiting someone else’s body.”

“She didn’t carry her memories into the save file. If you don’t go in now and save her, she won’t last much longer.”

Ji Rong realized Yue Qianqiu was talking about Gu Baiyi, and that made her furious. “You despicable woman. This is between you and me. Why drag someone else into it?”

Yue Qianqiu remained unmoved. “Enter the save or not. Her life is in your hands.”

Ji Rong thought to herself, If the heroine dies, wouldn’t that break the game’s rules? Besides... it was true, she did kind of like Gu Baiyi. Whether it was her face or her sweet, simple personality in the game, Ji Rong had watched her for so long, she was thoroughly pleasing to the eye.

She let out a sigh and said with grim determination, “Fine. You win.”

Just before Ji Rong stepped into the screen, Yue Qianqiu offered one last warning. “Remember, everything you do inside the save is real. It will affect the past, the present, and the future. So the best thing to do is stick to the script. Do what you believe a ‘Sword Saint’ would do.”

Then she gave a mysterious little smile and added, “But even if you don’t have that awareness... in the end, you’ll probably still do those things anyway.”

…

At the far end of Shili Street stood a ruined temple.

The temple’s Bodhisattva statue was missing the hand that once held a flower, shattered by beggars long ago.

Today was the day of the first frost, and it was raining in Yue City.

Rain fell steadily through the night. Two children huddled inside the broken temple. The younger one was wrapped in a straw mat, watching the older child with wide, expectant eyes.

The older child wore a coarse hemp robe. She reached into a pile of weeds and retrieved a steamed bun she had hidden earlier, brushed the dirt off it, and handed it to the little one.

Though young, the little girl understood more than she let on. She didn’t take the bun, shaking her head. “Sister, I’m not hungry.”

They had lived in this broken temple for months. In a few days, they would have to leave. Yue City was too prosperous, a pair of child beggars lingering here just didn’t fit in.

Of course, the real reason was the little girl. Her family had apparently offended someone powerful. The entire household was executed. Only she had been smuggled out by the steward.

The older child had long forgotten where she came from. All she remembered was that when she woke up, there was a temple before her. And in the temple stood a little girl with dark eyes, staring at her with wary alertness.

The girl had seemed familiar somehow. The older child had stepped forward and asked, “Do you know who I am?”

The girl replied, “No.”

The older child nodded. “Then do you know who you are?”

The girl looked at her over, tattered clothes, like a beggar, and after a pause, said, “My surname is Bai. Bai Yushuang.”

That night, Bai Yushuang began to cough.

Outside the ruined temple, the rain grew heavier. Faint sounds of hooves and voices drifted in from the distance.

“Report! Sir, there’s a ruined temple up ahead.”

“Hmm. That child couldn’t have gotten out of Yue City. We’ll rest there for the night and resume the search tomorrow.”

The soldiers entered the temple. A stone Bodhisattva stood atop the altar, kind-faced and serene, though missing a hand.

The man in purple robes leading the group scanned the surroundings. Spotting a straw mat hastily shoved aside, he quietly reached for the golden dagger at his waist and crept toward the altar.

A sudden gust of wind stirred the corner of a robe behind the statue.

The man in purple smiled and circled behind the statue. He drew his blade, only to find a strip of coarse cloth tied around a bun.

His eyes widened in alarm. He whirled around. Two small figures were bolting for the door.

“She’s running! After her!”

The cold wind lashed their faces. The children ran with everything they had, desperation in every step.

But how could their short legs outrun grown men? In the blink of an eye, they were surrounded by soldiers.

The man in purple strode forward and looked at them coldly. He raised his blade, and the white gleam of the metal pierced the moonlit dark.

The older child looked calmly at the flashing blade, then gently covered the younger girl’s eyes.

Somehow, at such a young age, she didn’t seem to fear death. It was as if she had seen too much already.

Just as the blade descended toward her, a sword light flashed past the child’s cheek.

The older girl froze. To her surprise, not a drop of blood had touched her. Not hers, nor the man’s.

The sword strike had been too fast to see. It severed the man’s left hand cleanly. He howled in pain, but the blood spraying from his wrist was all blocked by a shimmering spiritual barrier.

A red robe brushed past the child’s face. The figure moved like the wind. In a flash, she had severed the man’s right hand as well, just as he tried to retrieve his weapon.

As his screams pierced the air, the older child looked up.

Moonlight flowed like water over the woman’s red robes, so vivid, even blood couldn’t stain them.

While the girl was still stunned by the fiery figure before her, a flurry of sword lights knocked away every weapon the soldiers held.

These men, who just moments ago had seemed so powerful, now stared at the red-robed woman in pure terror.

They backed away, didn’t even bother to grab their weapons, and fled into the night like frightened rats.

When the woman reached the man in purple, he was slumped in a pool of blood, trembling uncontrollably.

His arms had both been severed. He tried to inch away on his knees, shrieking, “You lowborn wretch! Do you know who I am?! I’ll have you executed—”

Without even looking at him, the woman said coolly, “Going after two defenseless children, some official you are.”

She moved her sword slightly. A thin line of blood opened across his throat. He fell, dead, blood pooling around him.

With the soldiers dispatched, the woman sheathed her sword. Somehow, not a drop of blood clung to the blade.

She turned and met the older child’s gaze.

The child had striking features, dark lashes trembling, her eyes long and deep.

The little one she’d been shielding finally dared to speak. “Sister... are we in the underworld now? Is this the River of Souls?”

The older child shook her head. “No.”

But if the underworld had people like this in it... then maybe dying wasn’t so bad.

The woman in red still wore an indifferent expression, but when she met the child’s gaze, the corner of her mouth curved slightly.

She took a step forward and asked, “Do you want to come with me?”

The older child stared at that brilliant red silhouette. For some reason, her palms were suddenly damp with sweat. She took a moment to calm herself, then asked, “Who are you?”

The woman thought for a moment and answered, “My surname is Yue. Yue Qianqiu.”

The child nodded, then asked, “Do you know who I am?”

“You are Gu—” the woman paused, then corrected herself. “Your surname is Chu. Chu Changli.”