TCFGBH Chapter 44

This chapter is dedicated to Nochu! Thank you for your support on kofi!

—

The System Space was a deep blue light, and the black-haired young man’s soul floated in the center of the glowing ring.

A round, light blue, bouncy little blob, looking like a squishy slime, jumped out. It extended a tiny, pointed tentacle and gestured toward a distant, palm-sized, pale yellow light orb, saying, “That’s the world you just left. It’s 13 billion light-years away, so from here, it looks like a star in the sky on Earth.”

Xia Yan opened the system panel.

Due to the failure of an important side mission, settling the points for now was impossible.

“How long do we have to wait here?”

“The flow of time is different between the two places. It’ll take about an hour,” 999 replied. “Also, the system space automatically extracts emotions. When you finish all the tasks and return to your world, you can choose to retrieve or abandon them.”

Xia Yan touched his heart. No wonder he felt so calm—no sadness, no pain of separation.

The system continued to explain, “This function was mainly created by the Supreme God, considering that the hosts need to constantly switch worlds, which can lead to emotional overload.”

Clearly a huge fan of the Supreme God, 999 turned pink with excitement.

Tu Xi became a film emperor faster than Xia Yan had imagined. The system panel automatically popped up less than an hour later to settle the points.

Main Mission:
Task 1: Completed. Points earned: 300.
Task 2: Completed. Points earned: 300.
…
Task 7: Failed. Points earned: 0.

Side Mission:
Task 1: Completed. Points earned: 1000.
Task 2: Completed. Points earned: 5000.
Task 3: Completed. Points earned: 5000.

Character Role Success Rate: 80%. Points earned: 800.

Congratulations, Host Xia Yan, you have earned a total of 13,300 points.

“Wow! That’s a lot.” The system jumped out, adjusting the progress bar for Xia Yan’s revival. “Reviving you will take 100,000 points. You just earned about one-tenth of that in one go!”

Having completed his first task, Xia Yan wasn’t yet sure how much the points meant. He curiously asked, “Is that a lot?”

“Of course! Reviving someone means reversing time. Only the Supreme God, who controls all small worlds, can do that. Naturally, it’s expensive to ask for his help. Some hosts have traveled through nearly a hundred worlds to save up enough points.”

System: “With the world’s main pillar task completed, the small world is back on track. We can now examine the reason for its collapse.”

At those words, a thick book appeared in Xia Yan’s hand.

“This is the original novel.” The puzzle pieces were put back together, and the messed-up plot was clear. The system tossed over a thin booklet. “This is the error feedback report.”

Xia Yan spent five hours reading both.

In the original novel, the cannon fodder scumbag character he played had done a lot of awful things and had been relentlessly criticized online during the reality show Heartbeat, eventually quitting the entertainment industry and becoming a public outcast. Unable to handle the downfall, he drowned his sorrows in bars, was misled into drug use, and died in a car accident while in a daze.

Meanwhile, Tu Xi and Zhao Wenxiu, the protagonists, met during Heartbeat, growing from friendship to something more. But when Zhao Wenxiu returned to his alma mater to give a speech, his cousin, who was after his family’s fortune, bribed his assistant to stage a fire by dousing the apartment with gasoline, disguising it as an accident caused by old electrical wiring, intending to kill him in the blaze.

The cousin didn’t know that Tu Xi had accompanied Zhao Wenxiu to the event and had been resting in the apartment, given a key by Zhao Wenxiu in advance. When the fire started, Tu Xi, hiding in the wardrobe, witnessed everything.

Once the arsonists left, Tu Xi emerged and rescued Zhao Wenxiu. After surviving the life-and-death crisis together, their relationship deepened, and they finally became lovers.

The fire acted as a catalyst for their love.

Naturally, the villain was sent to prison by the protagonist gong.

The novel’s second half was about the sweet, loving moments between the protagonist couple. By the end, the protagonist shou, Tu Xi, became a film emperor, and Zhao Wenxiu proposed on the night of the award ceremony. They married, and the story concluded.

But as for why the small world collapsed…

Xia Yan fell silent.

Tu Xi didn’t fall in love with the scumbag “Xia Yan.” Instead, he beat him up. Without a lover, Tu Xi never participated in Heartbeat.

Without participating in Heartbeat, he and Zhao Wenxiu never met.

And so, the world’s main pillar—Tu Xi—died.

Xia Yan: “…”

Hence, his role as cannon fodder was merely to correct the plotline, ensuring the survival of the protagonist shou. Despite a few minor accidents along the way, the two protagonists still couldn’t stand each other. But at least… The world pillar was still standing!

In a way, that was a victory too.

“Host, would you like to travel to the next world now?”

“Before I go, I just want to confirm… I’m the gong, right?”

“…” The system was silent for three seconds before declaring, “Don’t worry, Host. The new world I’ve found for you will absolutely not have the protagonist shou switching roles again.”

“That’s good.” Xia Yan sighed in relief.

The passage to the new world had opened. After the young man turned around, the glowing yellow world dimmed, followed by another surge of warm yellow light.

The timeline had been corrected, and the protagonists had been replaced.

Extra

The cold north wind howled, and snowflakes whirled through the air.

Standing outside a hotpot restaurant, Wei Junhao, unable to find someone, gazed at the sky. His heart suddenly ached, his vision darkened, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Tu Xi, filming a night scene, and Chu Zizhe, doing his Chinese homework, both looked up simultaneously.

At that moment, their gazes seemed to pierce through time and space, meeting with another version of themselves. They felt the unbearable pain of losing someone they loved.

Countless overwhelming memories flooded in, and their fragile human bodies, unable to bear the burden, could only ease the strain by falling unconscious.

—

Zhao Wenxiu felt like he was dreaming, seeing many versions of a Xia Yan he had never known. His body felt light, and after what seemed like a long time, his vision brightened, and the chatter of teenagers surrounded him.

He wanted to take in his surroundings but could not control his body.

Ah! This is him in the past.

This realization popped into his mind.

Zhao Wenxiu could only follow the body’s gaze, and in an instant, he locked onto a young boy in the crowd.

The boy appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen years old, with soft black hair resting on his forehead and fair skin. His eyes, shaped like peach blossoms, seemed sleepy and slightly misty, and his casual glance carried an air of vague allure.

He was about 176 cm tall and wore a custom-made private school uniform that perfectly highlighted his lean and supple physique.

Familiar, but much younger—this was… Xia Yan in high school?

Zhao Wenxiu stared blankly at him.

The boy was well-liked, with people greeting him as he passed.

“Good morning, junior.”

“Morning, senior,” Xia Yan yawned, lazily returning the greetings around him.

“Good morning, Classmate Xia.”

“Morning.”

…

Xia Yan’s features were strikingly beautiful and bold, like a sharp blade that could pierce straight into people’s hearts.

Everyone was watching him.

Yet he seemed completely unaware.

He was aloof, calm, radiating charm without even trying, but immersed in his own world, allowing no one else to step in.

Until the boy walked right up to himself.

A faint smile appeared on his face, and he politely greeted, “Good morning, senior. You’re on duty today, right?”

“Good morning, junior.” Zhao Wenxiu heard himself speak as he pulled out a carton of milk from the side and handed it to the boy. “The housekeeper accidentally packed an extra one this morning.”

The boy, seemingly used to such gestures, accepted without hesitation.

“Thanks, senior. Class is about to start, so I’ll head in now.”

“Wait.”

“?”

“Your tie is crooked.” ‘Zhao Wenxiu’ bent down, fingers just about to touch the boy’s tie when a pale hand suddenly reached over from behind, pulling the boy into an embrace.

“Ugh.” The boy grunted, turning his head to look at the classmate behind him. “Huo Hao, what are you doing?”

“Sorry, did I hurt you? Let me take a look.” The man chuckled, quickly straightening the boy’s tie and patting his shoulder. “Perfect now.”

As he spoke, the man’s gaze collided with ‘Zhao Wenxiu’s.’

He smirked, his eyes full of obvious provocation.

Strangely, Zhao Wenxiu knew this person was also himself, a fragment of the same soul. But… he didn’t like it. In fact, he disliked him so much he wanted to chop off the hand that had touched the boy.

Xia Yan looked down at his tie, confusion written all over his face.

What’s wrong with a slightly crooked tie? The disciplinary committee can’t be that strict, right?

Weird senior and a weird classmate.

As class time approached, the boy no longer dwells on it. Sipping his banana-flavored milk, he stepped through the school gates, and Huo Hao hurried to catch up behind him. “Yan Yan, wait for me, let’s go in together.”

The boy turned around, the golden sunlight casting a halo around him, shrouding his entire figure in a soft glow.

The corners of his lips curled into a faint, lazy smile, both casual and teasing.

“Hurry up.”

“I’m coming.”

The two walked away, their figures fading into the distance.

—

When Zhao Wenxiu woke up in the hospital, it was noon the next day. His younger brother, Zhao Wenhan, was sitting by his bedside, his eyes swollen like a rabbit’s, looking utterly exhausted.

“Brother.”

“Mm.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. Brother Xia Yan, he… he…” Zhao Wenhan struggled to get the words out, covering his face as tears fell through his fingers, dripping onto the pristine white bed sheets.

“I know,” Zhao Wenxiu said calmly.

“You know…”

Zhao Wenhan stared at his brother, dazed. Seeing his composed expression, showing no sign of despair, Zhao Wenhan suddenly snapped, “You know he died, so how can you be so calm? He died, for you, he died!”

“He’s not dead.”

“…”

Zhao Wenxiu gazed steadily at his younger brother, speaking slowly and clearly, “He’s just in another world, waiting for me to find him.”

“B-brother…” Zhao Wenhan studied him carefully, noticing that Zhao Wenxiu’s expression was deadly serious, not seeming to be faking it. Swallowing nervously, Zhao Wenhan instantly regretted his earlier outburst.

He shouldn’t have provoked him.

His brother… seemed to have lost his mind.

—

Xia Yan’s departure was so sudden that many couldn’t accept it. Countless people came to lay flowers at his funeral. His soul had long since departed, his body resting peacefully among pure white lilies, a faint smile on his lips as if he might stand up at any moment.

Tu Xi, Zhao Wenxiu, Wei Junhao, and Chu Zizhe.

The four unconsciously avoided each other, coming to the funeral at different times and never crossing paths.

After that, time seemed to move slowly, as if they were all waiting to complete their final task.

Tu Xi’s movie was released as scheduled, and he won the Film Emperor award at the end of the following year. On the night he received the award, countless cameras were aimed at him, eager to capture his acceptance speech.

Would he mention him?

That beautiful young man, as fleeting as a night-blooming flower.

Standing in the spotlight, overlooking the indistinct crowd below, Tu Xi’s expression remained calm as he delivered the usual cliché words of thanks, held the trophy, and prepared to leave the stage.

The host, Song Xueyang, who had worked with him before, stopped him.

“Is there nothing you want to say to him?”

Tu Xi rubbed the silver ring on his middle finger, and the fake smile on his face vanished. His chestnut-colored eyes deepened as he spoke slowly and deliberately: “Some things remain forever in the heart.”

His love for Xia Yan would always exist.

Quietly kept in his heart, savored in the dead of night, when he was alone. No need to bring it out for public scrutiny.

Song Xueyang froze, then stepped aside.

Though the awards ceremony was still ongoing, Tu Xi left his seat. Holding the trophy, he walked along the bustling streets. His chestnut-colored long hair gradually turned silver, growing inch by inch. His features became even more handsome, his body flickering between solid and ethereal.

People passed by on the street, but no one noticed him.

He wandered aimlessly.

After some time, he heard a childish exclamation: “Ah! The pretty long-haired brother!”

Tu Xi stopped and looked at the little girl not far away. She was about five or six years old, wearing slightly shabby but very clean clothes. Her cheeks were red from the winter cold, making her look adorable.

He bent down and extended his hand to her.

His voice seemed to come from across time and space, “Do you want to be the protagonist?”

The little girl tilted her head, then as if guided by some unseen force, reached out and took the man’s hand.

“I do.”

In the world invisible to the passersby, countless specks of light exploded in front of them. The brilliant stars in the sky dimmed momentarily, but they soon shone again.

Though the light was faint now, one day, she would also radiate brightly.

The shattered little world was repaired, and the consciousness of the world awoke.
Time rewound, returning to the beginning.

—

“Hey! Wenhan, wake up! Why are you sleeping alone in the greenhouse?”

“Brother, let me sleep a little longer.”

“Hahaha, you’re an only child, where’s this brother of yours coming from?”

Zhao Wenhan opened his eyes, blinking in confusion. He glanced around the garden, puzzled, and tilted his head. Yes, he was an only child—so why did he call out for a brother?

His classmate chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. Then, looking at the nearby painting, his eyes widened in shock.

“Whoa! Where did you find such a stunning model?”

The painting showed a young man with black hair and fair skin, his features exquisitely beautiful. His almond-shaped eyes held a subtle, gentle expression.

“He…” Zhao Wenhan touched the face in the painting. “He’s not real. I just sketched him casually. Maybe he’s my dream lover.”

His classmate stroked his chin. “Makes sense. Someone this gorgeous doesn’t seem real.”

Zhao Wenhan smiled and nodded, but he felt a bit melancholic for some reason, as if he had lost something very important.

—
The world had been destroyed once.

Time had reversed twice.

The protagonist had been changed once.

Finally, everything was back on track.

In the end, everyone would get what they desired.