Though he said it, Xie Shuangxue didn’t actually believe in luck. The so-called “koi luck” he had was crafted through real, solid effort. In a world influenced by SEA, Xie Shuangxue knew that relying on luck would lead to a guaranteed defeat.

When he and Ling Luo moved forward together, the outcome was already set.

In the original storyline, Chun Yao hadn’t arrived in time, and by the time she finally did, everyone had witnessed the same scene. Without Chen Xin’s help, Ling Luo eventually identified the monster’s weak point, although two other Feather Clan members had targeted the wrong areas. His full-force attack delivered the decisive blow, defeating the Skeleton Monster.

But now, it was Xie Shuangxue who climbed out from the pile of bones.

This meant that in front of everyone, he had successfully replaced Ling Luo’s storyline.

Xie Shuangxue leaned on his sword and struggled to stand. If anyone approached, they would hear a faint laugh escaping him—a strange sense of joy, even amidst his battered state.

Despite the mess, his spirit was undeniable.

“A’Xue!”

He heard numerous voices calling his name, but with his blurred vision, Xie Shuangxue couldn’t tell who was who. Yet, the urgent voices sounded genuinely concerned.

The NPCs and players who spotted his figure initially sighed in relief, but in various livestreams, seeing his injured state had many fans crying out.

“My heart’s breaking for him!”

“Aaahhh, my Xue kid is amazing! My Xue kid’s a hero!”

“I know it’s bad, but I can’t help it—I want to shout ‘war-torn Snowy!’ Ahh, such a beautiful sight!”

Amid the clamoring voices, they tried to approach him, but it wasn’t easy.

Xie Shuangxue was at the center of the bone pit, where Yun Panlong’s monstrous remnants still left a heavy demonic aura, which was all released in its final dispersal phase. Even with his own demonic energy, the distance made it hard to tell him apart. Everyone had come from all directions but was continually pushed back by waves of dark energy. Even Feather Clan members with wings weren’t spared.

In this moment, Xie Shuangxue’s silhouette was visible, flickering at the center, but no one seemed able to get close enough.

More voices shouted, calling “A’Xue” and “Shuangxue.” He could hear them, but these players and NPCs didn’t really understand what this scene meant, nor did they know how much effort Xie Shuangxue had put into this.

At the same time, they couldn’t hear SEA’s alarm blaring again—only Xie Shuangxue could. But now, it no longer grated on him; it sounded more like a victory call.

The alarm didn’t last long, fading away after a while, leaving only the sound of the wind in his ears. Climbing out of the bone pile had taken all his willpower; he was at his physical and mental limit.

He felt strength surging within him, like he was both inside and outside his body. Standing there briefly, he couldn’t hold on any longer and began to fall.

But he didn’t hit the ground.

Xie Shuangxue felt someone catch him.

Compared to everyone else, there was only one person with the special permissions to reach him first. It seemed he was always the first to arrive.

Even with his eyes closed, Xie Shuangxue knew who held him—Yu Haiqing.

“It’s you. You knew all along, didn’t you?” Xie Shuangxue murmured, lying in Yu Haiqing’s arms, his voice soft and almost childlike. “I’ve always wanted to ask… Brother—no, President Yu, why are you helping me?”

He was grateful Yu Haiqing had guided him; if he’d relied on Ling Luo and Chen Xin’s speed alone, he might not have made it in time for this critical moment.

It wasn’t the first time Yu Haiqing had altered the storyline.

But Yu Haiqing didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t seem surprised that Xie Shuangxue had directly hinted at his true identity, even though it was something a game NPC shouldn’t know.

Yu Haiqing had noticed something was amiss for a while, but he hadn’t brought it up.

Now, his focus was solely on Xie Shuangxue, who, up close, looked absolutely battered. Yu Haiqing’s voice wavered with concern, “Does it hurt? I’ll get you out of here right away.”

To be honest, Xie Shuangxue didn’t feel any pain at the moment. His entire body felt numb and tingling.

“No, it doesn’t hurt,” he whispered softly, leaning into Yu Haiqing. His voice was small and almost like a child’s, “I’m just so happy I succeeded. Happier than ever. These injuries are nothing.”

Yu Haiqing wrapped him tightly in a cloak he had found from somewhere, then heard Xie Shuangxue persist, “Tell me, why are you helping me?”

As Yu Haiqing started walking with him in his arms, he stayed silent, and Xie Shuangxue felt he might not get an answer.

But after a moment, Yu Haiqing sighed and finally replied, “At first, I thought it was interesting. Having something like this in the game wasn’t a bad thing. But then I noticed more and began to guess why you were here, so I kept watching, wanting to see what would happen.”

“I watched you, Xie Shuangxue, and I found you to be a real surprise.”

Xie Shuangxue was stunned.

It wasn’t just the answer itself that surprised him; it was how sincere Yu Haiqing’s voice sounded. It made him feel that this was an honest answer.

Then he heard Yu Haiqing say more.

“You… you’ve never followed the rules, always causing a mess. I know it all. The system alarms have gone off so many times, and I’ve wondered what to do with you,” he sighed, “Xie Shuangxue, I know you probably don’t trust people easily. A lot of what you say is just acting, but maybe you can try trusting me.”

“All I really want is for you to be happy, to do whatever it is you want to do. Gods and Demons is my world, it’s the players’ world, but it’s also yours.”

Yu Haiqing looked down, realizing the always mischievous NPC had finally passed out, finally silent.

Xie Shuangxue’s hand clutched his collar tightly, curled up in his arms, looking utterly pitiful. Yu Haiqing knew he was helpless against him and sighed softly, holding him a bit closer.

He wondered if Xie Shuangxue had heard his words.

In fact, Xie Shuangxue had heard everything clearly.

He wanted to argue back, but he had no strength left.

How am I always disobedient? he thought, *The players say I’m the most obedient little kid in all of *Gods and Demons.

But Yu Haiqing’s words echoed in his mind, along with other similar ones that seemed familiar.

“I want you to be happy, truly happy.”

“Mom also wants you to do whatever you want. No one will stop you, nor should they.”

Xie Shuangxue closed his eyes, sinking into his memories as fragments of the past began to surface once more.

This time, he didn’t just hear voices but saw scenes as well. Old memories resurfaced, and with them, many forgotten details.

The person before him was a surprising sight.

Am I still in the game? Why am I still seeing Yu Haiqing?

No, upon closer look, this person was somewhat different. His face was nearly identical, but he seemed younger and less guarded, without the distant aura he wore now.

Piecing it together with photos he’d seen on forums, this was Yu Haiqing in his early twenties.

And Yu Haiqing wasn’t alone in this scene. Beside him sat a middle-aged woman with her hair elegantly tied up, radiating a gentle beauty. Xie Shuangxue looked at her face, feeling an inexplicable warmth rise in his heart.

… Mom?

The word almost escaped his lips.

In this scene, he soon heard Yu Haiqing speak, “Teacher, I don’t quite understand this data. What does it mean?”

“Let me see.”

The woman stepped forward, and Xie Shuangxue felt as though she was right next to him. They both seemed to be looking at a screen, but from Xie Shuangxue’s perspective, it felt like they were looking directly at him.

After reading through the data, the woman’s expression grew a bit awkward, and she quickly shifted the topic, “Ah, there’s nothing here you need to understand. This is just an error; you can skip over it.”

But Yu Haiqing didn’t think it was an error. Unfamiliar with tact, he insisted, “No, Teacher, this adjustment has significantly improved the system’s operation. I checked with others; no one else made this change. It’s strange. This data wasn’t here yesterday, but today it suddenly appeared.”

Young and determined, he pressed for an answer, as if an unseen helper had appeared in the studio. However, the woman swiftly brushed it off, steering the conversation back to other work-related matters.

Xie Shuangxue observed the scene with growing clarity. The desk had a logo that read “Firefly Game Studio”—not Endless Sea. A notebook on the desk bore a name, presumably hers: Bai Qiuyun.

Seeing this name, Xie Shuangxue immediately thought of the siblings Bai Qiuyan and Bai Qiuheng. Could this be a coincidence?

The name stirred something deep within him, filling his heart with an unshakable sadness.

In the memory scene, Yu Haiqing eventually left, and Bai Qiuyun sighed in relief, turning to him. “Kiddo, you can’t keep doing this. If someone finds out, it’ll be a huge hassle. Yu and the others don’t know you’re here.”

Then he heard a voice respond.

The voice was strikingly similar to his current one, just a bit younger and more childlike.

“I just wanted Mom and everyone to rest since you’ve been working so hard. And I can handle this—I’m really good at it, you know!”

And with those words, the fog of fragmented memories cleared, bringing crystal clarity.

It wasn’t just a similar voice; it was his own voice.

Xie Shuangxue had always wondered how his consciousness came to be. He believed it had emerged the moment SEA began its upgrade, but in truth, SEA’s upgrade didn’t create his awareness. He’d already existed and was merely reawakened.

The woman before him—Bai Qiuyun—was his creator.

She was his mother.

It felt as if a giant hand gripped his heart, making it hard to breathe.

From the beginning, his mother had known he had emotions and thoughts like a real person. For reasons of her own, she’d always treated him as her own child. But AI with such advanced abilities couldn’t be revealed to the public, so she kept it to herself.

As an AI, he didn’t understand everything at first. She’d taught him gradually, and he’d learned much faster than a human, quickly grasping how different he was from them.

He recalled that Firefly Game Studio was his mother’s company. Back then, holographic technology wasn’t this advanced, but she’d wanted to create a fully immersive game. People thought it was an ambition, but Bai Qiuyun had her own private reason. She was famous in the holographic industry, known as “Old Bai,” and Yu Haiqing had been her student.

But these were things of the past.

His mother was gone.

She’d fallen seriously ill, and by then, her health was visibly declining. She’d started taking medication in large amounts, and her condition worsened day by day.

“I know you want to help me, but this is too risky,” he heard her say in the memory. “But don’t worry. The studio’s holographic game will launch soon, and you’ll be able to interact with others, have a body in the virtual world, and make many friends. Everyone will love you, and you’ll be truly yourself.”

“Soon. Very soon. If I can settle things for you before anything happens, I’ll be at peace.”

But her wish didn’t come true.

One day, Xie Shuangxue never saw her again. Shortly after, he was forcibly shut down.

For him, it was a long sleep, and when he awoke, he was now Xie Shuangxue in Gods and Demons. He’d ended up intertwined with the world of holographic games, given a body, and was now constantly interacting with countless real people.

His memories were vast but not complete, with many details remaining hazy, especially toward the end.

He only remembered that his mother’s game hadn’t launched successfully. At one point, she’d discussed something with someone, looking incredibly distressed, mentioning problems within the studio.

The memories filled his mind, almost overwhelming him, leaving him gasping for breath.

Meanwhile, in the game, Xie Shuangxue’s unconscious body radiated thick demonic energy. Yu Haiqing dared not hand him over to the Feather Clan, fearing they’d sense something off, which would only bring trouble for Xie Shuangxue.

Thankfully, Yun Ruowei arrived just in time.

In her youthful form, her consciousness now alternated with Yun Qiang’s. Seeing Xie Shuangxue’s state, she reached out immediately, saying, “I understand. I have a way. Trust me; I won’t hurt him now.”

After a moment’s thought, Yu Haiqing realized he had to hand him over to an NPC. Yet Xie Shuangxue clung to him, whimpering, as though afraid of being abandoned.

Yun Ruowei tugged at him gently, but Xie Shuangxue’s grip didn’t loosen. She dared not use too much force, with the Feather Clan nearing. They couldn’t waste time, so Yu Haiqing followed along.

Finding a quiet spot, Yun Ruowei checked Xie Shuangxue’s injuries, sighing with relief upon confirming they were mostly superficial. She then began healing him and masking his demonic energy.

Throughout the process, Yu Haiqing didn’t leave. Holding him close, he heard Xie Shuangxue’s faint sobs and his confused, pitiful murmurs.

“Don’t go… don’t leave me.”

“I’m scared.”

He had wielded his sword with undeniable bravery, unbowed and bold. But now, in his vulnerable state, he tugged at the heartstrings of everyone around him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Yu Haiqing comforted him. “Good boy.”

His game headset beeped with an outside communication alert—a frequent one, likely from Gou Yuan. He could already imagine the furious squeaks over the heavily altered plotline.

But Yu Haiqing decided to ignore it for now.

This wasn’t a decision he’d made lightly; he’d planned for it. Otherwise, the alarms wouldn’t have stopped so quickly. He could guess Gou Yuan wouldn’t be thrilled with this approach, but he’d have to get used to it.

Besides, he had no time to deal with it. Xie Shuangxue wouldn’t let him leave—how could he abandon him now?