The End
Chapter 729: The sky breaks and dawn breaks
He felt…
As if he had a very, very long dream.
There was nothing in the dream, only endless falling.
Beneath his body was an endless, pitch-black abyss, surrounded by absolute nothingness.
There was no earth, no sky, only a vast expanse of white fog.
He just kept falling, and falling.
Occasionally, cold rain would float up from below little by little. Small, perfectly round raindrops gently brushed past his body. Even though his eyes were closed, he still subconsciously wanted to reach out and catch them. However, the raindrops passed right through his transparent palms and continued drifting upwards.
Only then would he dazedly realize—oh, it seems I’m dead.
How did I die?
I don’t quite remember.
But if he forced himself to think about it, a searing pain would explode in his mind. Amidst this piercing pain, as if penetrated by a shriek, he would faintly see a blood-red sky, countless eyeballs, and endless malice. These fragmented memories pierced him like glass, bringing unbearable agony, as if warning him:
You shouldn’t recall these.
Just keep falling.
Whenever this happened, he really wanted to retort:
Do you think I want to?
But every time he tried to open his mouth, howling winds would rush into his throat, preventing him from saying a single word.
He was so tired. The exhaustion seemed to seep out from the marrow of his bones, melting drop by drop into the depths of the howling gale around him.
It was as if another voice kept persuading him by his ear:
Close your eyes and get a good sleep.
But… but…
He mumbled.
I don’t want to die yet.
Why? A voice asked amidst the roaring winds of his descent.
I don’t know…
His mind was blank. Searching everywhere, he couldn’t find an answer, so he had to offer excuses like sophistry:
I’m not yet fabulously wealthy or holding unparalleled power. I haven’t yet indulged in sensual pleasures or a life of luxury. I still have blessings I haven’t enjoyed, and happiness I haven’t had the chance to squander.
I still haven’t…
Haven’t…
He racked his brains, searching desperately.
And whenever he did, those searing, red-hot glass-like fragments would pierce his mind once again.
The blood-red sky, the malicious eyeballs.
And…
And what else?
And behind the rain of blood, a pair of crazed and sorrowful eyes.
Alright, alright, stop thinking about it. That voice echoed again, washing away everything in his mind into its initial blankness. Thus, a new cycle began once more.
During this seemingly endless descent, one that felt like it would never conclude.
A drop of freezing liquid suddenly fell, smashing against his cheek.
“…”
Strange.
He dazedly lifted his head.
Shouldn’t the rain pass right through his body?
Drip.
Another drop.
This time, it landed on his lips, seeping in little by little through the tight crevices of his mouth.
The tip of his tongue tasted a sweet, metallic flavor.
Such a familiar taste. What was it?
A word squeezed into his empty mind—Blood.
The moment he realized this, his previously shut-off five senses seemed to suddenly open. He heard, amidst the howling wind in his ears, a very distant, very faint sound, one he could only hear if he concentrated with all his might.
“…■■■.”
The content wasn’t clear, but for some reason, he just had a premonition that what was being called was his own name.
The voice seemed to want to say something else, but before it could speak, it was mercilessly interrupted by him.
Quiet!
He scolded impatiently.
You’re disturbing me!
Then, he listened to that voice earnestly and attentively.
The calling repeated over and over, as if it would never tire. From a tiny, gossamer-like volume at the very beginning—seemingly ready to be swallowed by the wind if he wasn’t careful—it gradually amplified, and amplified, until it grew to a point where even the most roaring winds couldn’t cover it up.
He still couldn’t make out the words, but for some reason, he just felt…
Jubilant.
And so, he forced himself to try and open his eyes.
The howling gale continuously battered him, and the gray fog from all directions surrounded him as if it were alive, making it difficult to open his eyes.
But even so, he narrowed his eyes and tried his hardest to look around.
The rain around him had somehow become incredibly heavy. Droplet after droplet of water suspended in the air, floating upwards from below.
This time, he finally saw what they looked like.
Every single drop was golden.
“…” Thus, he stared blankly at the golden rain floating upwards around him, and reached out a finger to gently touch it—this time, it didn’t pass through his body. Instead, as if it had a consciousness of its own, it clung to his skin, gentle, firm, almost appearing intimate.
His face felt warm.
It was very strange; rain shouldn’t be warm.
He licked the corner of his lips.
This time, what the tip of his tongue tasted was a salty flavor, like tears.
The next second, something exploded in his ear.
Like galloping thunder, like a tsunami, like the heavens collapsing and the earth shattering, mountains and rivers overturning. Amidst this vibration that seemed capable of overturning everything, he caught that voice once again—this time, it transmitted into his ears so clearly, shaking his heart, surging his blood, and forcefully chiseling his already transparent body out of nothingness back into shape.
Hoarse, crazed, and desperate—
“…Wen Jian… yan!”
The power reaching out from the void, attempting to capture him, perished.
Wen Jianyan dazedly opened his eyes.
For some reason, he suddenly realized very clearly that he was actually, truly falling.
Darkness spun around him. Freezing winds scraped his face, bringing a sharp, piercing pain. The ground below was rushing up to meet him.
Damn it!
Consequently, he flailed around in the air in a panic. But his limbs had gone numb at some point, impossible to command as if he had lost control of them.
Then, the next second, a pair of arms caught him.
Like refined steel, they held him tightly in an embrace. The force was astonishingly strong, as if wanting to forcefully knead him into his own body.
“Ugh…”
Wen Jianyan furrowed his brows, involuntarily drawing in a sharp breath.
His vision, which had previously perished, somehow recovered a tiny bit in this moment.
The surroundings were a blur, as if shrouded in thick fog. It seemed as if everything in the entire world no longer existed. Yet, only a pair of eyes, like molten gold, burned up close, charging straight into his line of sight.
…Wu Zhu.
He tugged at the corners of his mouth, wanting to reveal a smile.
Wanting to tell the other party:
—Did you know? I just dreamt of you.
But before he could even speak, a scalding temperature, almost enough to burn him, landed on his lips, dragging him into a kiss filled with the scent of gunpowder, raging fire, and blood.
Scalding hot blood surged into his mouth, burning his throat like magma, continuously flowing into his body.
It took Wen Jianyan half a beat to realize that it wasn’t his own blood.
“Wu…”
Wu Zhu turned a deaf ear to his voice.
The heavy scent of blood filled their mouths and throats. His lower lip and the tip of his tongue were still being frantically claimed by the other party. Sharp pain assaulted him from every part of his body, bringing a vivid, clear sensation of being alive.
Wen Jianyan felt dizzy.
But he was too weak, so weak that he had no strength to push the other away.
Or perhaps…
He just really missed this embrace, this kiss, so much so that he’d rather find a flimsy excuse just to let it continue endlessly.
Drip, drip.
Warm liquid landed on Wen Jianyan’s cheeks.
He froze slightly and opened his eyes.
Golden blood, turning into tears, fell from the other’s eyes, continuously smashing onto his face.
“Eh… Eh?”
Wen Jianyan was stunned, looking at the bloody tears dripping onto his face.
His voice was extremely hoarse, weak like someone who hadn’t recovered from a long illness, so low it was almost just a breath.
“Don’t, don’t cry.”
“Don’t—”
He had only gotten halfway through his sentence before the remaining words vanished deep in his throat.
He lowered his eyes, blankly staring at the cursed runes on the other’s shoulders and arms—dripping with fresh blood, a shocking and grisly sight.
New scars covered old ones, with even older traces faintly visible beneath them. It was as if, during the time he was gone, the same spots had been torn open time and time again, turning into hideous wounds that were never allowed a moment to heal. Given the healing capabilities of Wu Zhu’s body, for the wounds to be so deep and heavy, one could only imagine what terrifying price he had paid.
“This, this is…” Wen Jianyan heard his own voice trembling. “How did you…”
He subconsciously raised his hand, wanting to touch the wound on the other’s shoulder.
However, having just left the crevice between reality and nothingness, there wasn’t much strength left in his body. Even though he tried with all his might to move his fingers, he only managed to trembling lift them half an inch.
Wu Zhu lowered his head.
“Don’t worry.”
Before Wen Jianyan’s hovering hand could fall, it was gently grasped by him. The movement was incredibly tender, like gently cradling a lost-and-found treasure.
“This state won’t last much longer.”
He kissed those pale, almost transparent fingertips.
“From now on, you will never disappear as a lie.”
Wu Zhu lowered his eyes, reached out, and gently brushed the hair away from his face:
“You were always a candidate for godhood. The rules of this world have already prepared to welcome you.”
Hair like pure silver flowed down from his fingertips.
“I share with you half of my bones, half of my blood, half of my life and soul.”
The power belonging to a god, the authority of a god, surged endlessly into the human’s body, repairing his form that had grown frail and weak from being forgotten for so long. The rules of this world used an almost compulsory force to firmly grasp him within this reality.
Wu Zhu revealed a smile. His voice was very calm, but deep within that calmness hid a chilling, paranoid joy:
“We will be together forever.”
“…”
Wen Jianyan stared at him blankly. The sheer volume of information made it difficult for his brain to process for a moment. It took him a long time to finally understand the meaning behind the other’s words.
Wu Zhu’s fingers suddenly tightened during the long wait, his shoulders having tensed up like rock at some point.
He knew that Wen Jianyan was naturally free-spirited and unrestrained.
In the past, when faced with such vows and bindings, his reaction had always been fear and anger.
Reason told Wu Zhu that to achieve his goal, he needed immense patience, letting the other adapt to him little by little, imperceptibly, instead of directly locking the other by his side like this, cutting off all avenues of escape.
But…
He couldn’t do it.
Wu Zhu lowered his head, pressing his forehead against Wen Jianyan’s. His arms tightened uncontrollably, as if wanting to embed him deeply into his own flesh and blood.
He absolutely could not allow the other person to disappear from his sight ever again.
—Such a thing was absolutely impossible.
But the next second…
Wen Jianyan chuckled softly with a hoarse voice:
“Oh my, doesn’t that mean I’ll be bound to death by you from now on?”
“…” Wu Zhu was stunned.
He lowered his head, his eye sockets gradually growing hot again at some point. He gritted his teeth, his voice sounding as if squeezed through them, “That’s right.”
“What a loss.”
Wen Jianyan relaxed his body, leaning all his weight against the other’s shoulder. He tilted his head back, smiling as he met the lips of the person above him.
“Ah, whatever…”
A blurry, gentle murmur spilled from their pressed lips.
“I guess I’ll just take a bit of a loss occasionally.”
Rumble—Rumble!
Reality was shaking. The rumbling sound hidden deep within the ground spread outwards like ripples, as if some existence at the level of the rules was changing, modifying—
Inside the gallery, the picture frames on the walls shook along with it. Those oil paintings that imprisoned malicious ghosts and sealed away dangers wobbled in their original spots. Dust fell in a rustle, looking as if they would smash down the very next second.
What’s going on?
Everyone was startled and looked up in shock.
However, before they could figure out the reason behind all this, they saw several picture frames smash down, shattering into pieces on the floor.
In an instant, the temperature in the air plummeted.
“Heads down!!” Yun Bilan gritted her teeth. “Hold onto me!!”
Accompanied by a wave of dizziness, a massive dragging force came from behind, forcefully pulling the group toward the exit.
Just like that, they watched helplessly as that blurry portrait of the young man hanging on the wall distanced itself from them, rapidly swallowed into the depths of the darkness.
No…
In the blink of an eye, the silent, ancient gallery was left behind them.
The doors of the picture framing shop slammed shut right in front of them with a heavy “Bang”, firmly locking away their only clue.
And the bizarre tremors at the rule level just now seemed to not be limited to the gallery; they also affected the outside world. The originally pitch-black, lightless, freezing sky had somehow split in two down the middle. One side remained as dark as eternal night, while the other side, for some unknown reason, showed faint signs of brightening.
But at this moment, no one paid any attention to that.
“Fuck…” Staring at the tightly shut doors, Chen Cheng’s face was gloomy. He gritted his teeth and cursed, “Fuck!”
The next second, a cold gleam flashed past as a pitch-black Tang sword appeared in his palm like a phantom—he was actually going to draw his blade and hack at the door!!
Hugo had quick reflexes. He lunged forward and restrained him before he had the chance to swing the blade. However, Chen Cheng seemed to have lost his mind:
“Let go! Don’t stop me!—”
Qi Qian, on the side, also reacted. He pressed down on Chen Cheng’s other hand and angrily rebuked:
“Are you crazy?!”
Leaving aside the fact that Chen Cheng’s injuries hadn’t fully healed yet and it was unknown if he could withstand using his Talent again, even if he did manage to split the door open, what then? The inside of the corridor was likely already in chaos, reduced to a perilous land of death.
Panting heavily, Chen Cheng stared fiercely at the people in front of him:
“Then tell me, what do we do now?! …Without that painting, how are we supposed to find him?!”
That was their only clue right now!!!
The group stared at each other like trapped beasts.
Thinking of that guy they had forgotten in the past, who had vanished silently without anyone noticing, they became inexplicably, overwhelmingly enraged.
They could neither forgive their own forgetfulness nor their current powerlessness.
Yang Fan started crying, tears wetting the gauze over his eyes: “Let us go back, we have to go back… otherwise what will the president do?”
He was consumed by uncontrollable grief:
“The president… what is the president going to do now…”
Forgotten in a dark corner by the whole world he had personally saved, with no one looking for him, no one knowing of his existence… how lonely must he be?
Behind them, Su Cheng was expressionless. Without saying a word, he reached out his hand. In his palm, black shadows flickered faintly. But before he could activate his Talent, he was abruptly stopped by Yun Bilan: “Stop!”
She gripped Su Cheng’s wrist tightly. Paper rubbed against paper, emitting an ear-piercing “rustle, rustle” sound.
“You can’t use your Talent while in the paper doll state; this body will collapse,” Yun Bilan locked onto Su Cheng’s wrist and gritted her teeth. “The damage it takes will reflect back onto your true body—”
“…” Su Cheng looked at her and asked, “What if it were you?”
Yun Bilan froze.
“What?”
“If you were me right now,” Su Cheng stared at Yun Bilan, the paper doll’s dotted-on eyes looking like ghosts under the night sky, “would you use your Talent?”
“…………” Yun Bilan bit down hard on her jaw, her expression as cold as iron. She didn’t answer.
Out of everyone, she and Su Cheng were the most similar.
Precisely because of this, in the exact same scenario, they were the most likely to make the exact same choice.
To the side, the little girl tilted her head, staring at the door for a long time. Then she raised her head, looked at Wen Ya, who was tightly holding onto her, and revealed a smile they were extremely familiar with—an almost brutal smile:
“Let go.”
The scene was incredibly chaotic, and the conflict rapidly escalated.
The air was like a massive powder keg, tipping every moment toward the critical point of an imminent explosion. It felt like with just a little more pressure, it would detonate immediately, completely shredding their current false peace.
Right at this moment—
Suddenly, a helpless, almost sigh-like voice came from behind.
It abruptly broke the silence in the air, snatching everyone’s breath away in an instant.
“Sigh, it’s been so long since we last met, how are you guys still acting exactly like this?”
“—!!!”
The chaos filling the air was as if the pause button had suddenly been pressed.
Every single one of them froze, slowly turning their heads in disbelief toward the direction the voice came from behind them.
A long dividing line split the sky in two.
One side remained as dark as eternal night, while the other presented a clear, deep blue.
Faint light sprinkled onto the newcomer’s shoulders, illuminating his frail, pale, and still somewhat transparent face, finally settling deep within those familiar light-colored eyes holding an almost helpless expression.
“Even if I’m not around, you have to get along properly.”
“If I had arrived just a moment later, would you guys have started fighting again?”
The young man shook his head disapprovingly. His hair had somehow faded into a bright, snowy silver-white.
The black-haired, golden-eyed man stood by his side, never leaving his side by even an inch, just like a shadow.
Wen Ya stared at him intently, her pupils trembling violently as her voice choked out:
“President…”
She had only managed to say that one word before she seemed to be choked by some overly intense emotion, unable to continue.
“Yeah,” and so, Wen Jianyan took over the question she hadn’t finished asking, responding with a smile, “It’s me.”
“Y-You—” Ji Guan abruptly took a step forward, but before truly getting close to him, he abruptly stopped his steps as if turning timid. He stared fixedly at Wen Jianyan. His voice had grown hoarse at some point, and his eyes grew redder and redder. “You’re back?”
By the end of his question, his voice had become incredibly soft, as if he was terrified of shattering the current dream.
“Yeah.”
Wen Jianyan responded again.
His gaze gently swept across the crowd in front of him. A trace of moisture also flashed through his eyes, flickering like a fleeting light before vanishing in the blink of an eye.
He smiled and said:
“Yes, I am back.”
A sliver of faint light grew on the distant horizon. It had somehow surfaced in the deep blue sky, and the darkness of the night retreated into the distance like the tide.
The light of the sky broke at dawn.
This was the dawn.
——End of Main Text——
Author’s Note:
The main text has concluded.
A full four million words. I have never written a novel this long before. Being able to persevere and finish it is truly a miracle among miracles.
Next, I’ll just ramble a bit, writing whatever comes to mind.
Why did I write it so long… Actually, during the serialization period, I never answered this question. Now I can finally have a proper chat with everyone about it.
Actually, before starting this book, I only planned to write ten instances, and in the end, I did write exactly ten instances. However, the final length was much longer than expected. This is because the early instances were used to establish the protagonist’s character and introduce everyone to this world in the fastest way possible. Therefore, my writing style was relatively lighthearted and cheerful, focusing on being simple and straightforward. But, when it came to the mid-term instances, I had to start cutting into the main plot—and my main plot is not lighthearted. This required a thicker plot to support it, which in turn required more strongly designed instances to draw out the things I wanted to write layer by layer. So, I couldn’t use the initial style to advance the instances.
The volume of the story had already been established, and the number of characters and their relationships were massive. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t compress the length in any meaningful way. Especially after entering the final chapter, I needed to reel in all the foreshadowing laid down earlier, fill in all the plot holes I had dug, and ensure that the important characters had their rightful highlight moments in the storyline, ultimately pushing the plot toward the ending. An outline of just a few short lines would turn into tens of thousands of words when put into the main text. I lacked experience in this area and didn’t understand the principle of “a mountain looks close but will exhaust a horse to reach it,” so I always harbored naive illusions: Just five more chapters to finish, the last five chapters… I have deeply reflected on this and must apologize to everyone. I am truly sorry.
Let’s talk about the romance line.
This is indeed not my area of expertise, so I earnestly plotted out every point, every turning point, and every change in the relationship between Wen Jianyan and Wu Zhu. Sometimes during the serialization, you could see my occasional desire to express myself in the author’s notes. This usually happened when their relationship advanced to a certain turning point. It was actually because I wanted everyone to view the two of them, their relationship, and how they stumbled through understanding, growing, knowing each other, and falling in love, from my perspective.
If I were to summarize it in one sentence, it would be:
They are destined for each other, a match made in heaven.
They will be together forever, and this won’t change even at the end of the world.
Finally, let’s talk about my writing habits.
I am not a sentimental and inspiration-driven writer; I am more of a rational and structural writer. I build the world view and the ending very early on, thinking ahead about the nodes and conflicts of the plot twists, and consciously laying foreshadowing and solving mysteries. I think of the fates of all the characters in advance, rather than letting the plot develop freely.
Wen Jianyan’s Talent is the Fruit of Lies. However, in the original Bible, the apple actually represents the exact opposite meaning; it is the Fruit of Truth. The serpent tricked Adam and Eve into eating the apple, which gave humanity the ability to distinguish and judge right from wrong, good from evil, and thus they were expelled from the Garden of Eden.
The two concepts of lies and truth run through Wen Jianyan’s entire life, accompanying and producing each other, two sides of the same coin.
From the moment I wrote in the outline that Wen Jianyan is a liar, I had already decided on the current ending: it would conclude with a grand and brilliant deception.
The same goes for the others.
The Prophet was trapped by farsightedness, the Zealot’s faith was shattered, the Coward became brave, the one who abandoned emotions died of love, and the Survivor laid the undead to rest.
Writing a novel for me is very much like building a sandbox. I construct the world, and then let the protagonist venture through it. But to make the plot complex and exciting, I must put more characters into the sandbox. Unfortunately, since I started writing, I’ve always been better at writing one-man shows; the fewer people there are, the more handily I can manage. However, a good full-length novel cannot be supported by a single, lonely person. It is a community of countless people’s destinies, requiring the collision of more characters. I know full well that what I write may not be a thorough ensemble cast, but I love every character under my pen. I always hope to give them complete destinies under my pen, yet I also really want to save them from their predetermined plotlines. When writing the later stages, I would often fall into internal friction, repeatedly struggling between “advancing according to the original plot” and “can I not write it this way.” My reason tells me what I should do, while my sensibility says the exact opposite. This brought me a lot of pain.
Welcome to the Nightmare Live reached 4 million words. Over these four years, I experienced extreme agony during the serialization process. Insomnia, hair loss, and depression were just the mild symptoms. Forcing myself to sit in front of the computer and type every day felt like being tortured. I had to pour massive amounts of coffee into myself; otherwise, I couldn’t enter a flow state. By the end, I was almost desensitized to caffeine. In the later stages of this book, my sleep schedule was almost completely inverted and chaotic. I didn’t know to what extent I had to write before I could sleep, nor did I know if I would actually be able to fall asleep after I finished typing and lay down. Prolonged high stress and a messed-up routine caused my heart to develop some bad symptoms as well. I had to take medication to alleviate the pain while trying every possible way to force myself to write.
I tried my absolute best to finish it, tried my best to write it to the best of my abilities.
Now, I have finished writing it.
From the moment it was completed, it felt as though it no longer belonged to me. By presenting it in its entirety, it’s like handing a part of my soul over to everyone. I hope it is a good piece of work, and I hope everyone likes it.
I need a period of time to heal and rest, and I also need to organize what I have gained during this time.
After adjusting my condition, I will revise the text and update with side stories/extras.
The subsequent extras will push forward immediately following the completed timeline, similar to an after-story. The content will include, but not be limited to, how the world operates afterwards, the lives of the various characters after leaving the Nightmare, and some everyday romance (I’ve really wanted to write this for a long time!!).
After all the content is written, I will see how I feel and add some bonus extras. This scope will be much broader; I will write some lighthearted mini-theaters or parallel universe-type content.
Regardless, thank you, everyone, for accompanying me up to now.
I genuinely love my work from the bottom of my heart.
And thank you to you, who were willing to read it to the end.
See you on our next journey!
Thank you so much for translating!!!