novelraw Chapter 187 Nan Xiuxiu’s Abnormality
Chapter 187 Nan Xiuxiu’s Abnormality
Bang!
Biloxi, Mississippi, United States.
Seagulls burst into flight above a private beach as a fat man’s body suddenly went limp, softening like rotten mud as he slid off the lounge chair and hit the sand with a dull thud, never moving again.
The blood spilling from the back of his head was quickly absorbed by the beach, seeping into the ground.
Fang Ze lowered the handgun, picked up his phone, and dialed a number.
The call connected quickly.
“Wih, it’s taken care of over here. Let Lilith handle the cleanup.”
“Hehe.”
A woman’s laugh came from the other end of the line.
“Well done, Fang Ze.”“There’s nothing ‘well done’ about it. With someone as meticulous as Lilith assisting, even an eight-year-old could pull off this assassination.”
Fang Ze dug at his ear.
“And also, when it’s just the two of us, can we not use that name? It makes me feel weird.”
“Hehe, you need to immerse yourself in the role.”
The woman on the other end said,
“After all—the real game is only just beginning now. Just like we thought from the start, Jiang Ran really is hiding some kind of secret.”
“Not only was the Priest eliminated right after investigating him, but Jiang Ran was also able to accurately say that Fang Yang might be hiding in Los Angeles—and in the end, we really did find Fang Yang in Los Angeles.”
17
Fang Ze walked beneath the beach umbrella.
“To begin with, I didn’t have much hope when I disguised myself as Fang Ze to get close to him. It was mostly because you wanted to muddy the waters and go directly against the Priest.”
“The Priest sent that fake Cheng Mengxue to the class reunion, and you had me give the Princess Coin to Zhou Xiong so he’d go too;
the Priest sent Fang Yang to kill Zhou Xiong, and then you had me kill Fang Yang’s younger brother Fang Ze so I could borrow his identity;
the Priest had the fake Cheng Mengxue approach Jiang Ran, and you arranged for me to end up at Donghai University sharing a dorm with him—”
“Hehe, honestly, no wonder the other members all call you the shit-stirrer. A lot of the time, even you can’t tell what they’re trying to do, but you always jump in out of nowhere and muddy the waters.”
“And didn’t it work?”
The woman’s voice remained calm and unhurried.
“Those geniuses really are extraordinarily clever, but there will always be things they overlook.
And if there aren’t, then we simply disrupt their plans and force them into making mistakes.”
“I don’t care how they judge me. Call me a shit-stirrer or say I muddy the waters—it doesn’t matter. As long as I win the final victory in this game, then the winner is king and the loser is a bandit.”
“So you see, when there’s no road left to walk, just follow behind someone else and step in their footprints.”
“The facts already prove it: the Priest’s instincts weren’t wrong. There really is something seriously wrong with Jiang Ran. It’s just a pity we still don’t know where exactly the Priest stumbled—or whether Jiang Ran really is that miraculous, to the point that he managed to eliminate the Priest.”
Fang Ze turned his head, watching the white foam of the waves wash across the beach.
On the other end of the phone, there was the same sound of waves.
No need to think too hard about it—the woman codenamed Witch was also somewhere by the sea right now.
“Today is already October 17. At yesterday’s meeting, did anyone admit to killing the Priest?”
“Since the Priest’s coin was destroyed and his seat was eliminated, then the one who killed him must definitely be a member of Prodigy’s Playground.”
“No.”
The woman said,
“Even though everyone at the meeting was discussing the Priest’s death, no one admitted to being the killer.
Honestly, those people who dare to do it but not own it are really disgusting.
Unlike me—when I killed the Princess, I killed the Princess.”
“Even though I hadn’t destroyed the Princess Coin at the time, and I absolutely could have found someone to inherit the Princess’s seat—
I still admitted it. I openly told everyone it was me who killed the Princess.”
Hmph.
Fang Ze gave a soft snort.
“That’s because you’re a lunatic. If it were me, I definitely wouldn’t do that. Being that honest doesn’t bring you any benefit.”
“I don’t need benefits.”
The woman smiled faintly.
“All I need is to watch the fire from across the river, let them tear each other apart, and then reap the fisherman’s profit in the end.”
“There are many among them who want to win this game even more than I do, so naturally they’ll take actions even more extreme than mine.”
“For example, at yesterday’s meeting, with the Priest gone and that single veto vote gone too, everyone was obviously much more active, and the tension in the room became much stronger. That’s exactly what I wanted to see.”
“So—keep hiding well at Jiang Ran’s side, Fang Ze. I’ve already taken care of every possible loose end for you. Jiang Ran won’t discover your real identity unless he personally goes to Harvard to investigate.”
“But in any case, we don’t have the Priest’s kind of plastic surgery technology, and you definitely wouldn’t want to turn your face into someone else’s. So just be as careful as possible. Don’t let Jiang Ran notice any cracks.”
Fang Ze smiled dismissively.
“I’m not like that fake Cheng Mengxue. I don’t have any flaws.
Because Jiang Ran doesn’t even know what the real Fang Ze looks like.”
“But don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Since Jiang Ran knew Fang Yang was hiding in Los Angeles, and he was also able to appear at Professor Yan Su’s death scene in time—
that means he definitely has some kind of special intelligence channel. Later on, I’ll find a way to figure that out.”
“How exciting!”
On the other end, Witch seemed to stretch lazily, her voice turning soft and sweet.
“Little Jiang Ran… I wonder how many more opponents he’ll help us eliminate?”
Donghai University, graduate dormitory.
Jiang Ran picked up the sheet of white paper he had just written on and looked at the questions listed there:
1. Why does the virtual digital world restart every 39 minutes and 11 seconds?
—
2. The permission wall failed at exactly 10:00 a.m. on September 17, 2045—the exact moment I traveled there. What causal relationship is hidden in that coincidence?
3. The day before his suicide, Puppe deliberately visited the Donghai City Museum of Human Civilization. What did he leave behind there?
4. What exactly is going on with the “Hangzhou Paradise” on Level 42 of the museum, and those flesh-and-blood Rhine Cats bouncing around there?
5. What is hidden in that legendary room even Puppe couldn’t enter? Has the permission wall there also failed in sync?
These were the five unresolved questions at present.
But Jiang Ran had an intuition that the answers to all of them might be hidden within the bizarre scene on Level 42 of the museum.
42.
The moment he thought of that number, he remembered the Magician Qin Feng shouting from the execution platform:
“42 is correct! Follow 42! 42 is yourself!”
Although he still couldn’t decipher those three riddles, at least so far, 42 really did always appear in [critical] places—
it was just that he only ever realized it afterward.
—
On Worldline 0, Qin Feng’s student number 42 had seemingly been warning him to be wary of Qin Feng’s betrayal.
The number 42 on the transformer distribution box had seemingly hinted long ago that there was something deeply wrong with that location.
On Worldline 1, Cheng Mengxue’s student number becoming 42 had practically laid it face-up that the later Li Yini was fake.
And now, looking back, Tian Xiaoli’s hospital room number 42 clearly hadn’t been meaningless either. There was definitely something deeply suspicious about that father and daughter.
As for Capsule No. 42 on the Hangzhou Paradise Ferris wheel, it had even more directly warned him of Li Yini’s danger, as well as—
the contradictions and fractured selfhood within her own consciousness.
“No, wait. There was another 42.”
Jiang Ran stood up, brows furrowing, as he recalled the night of the worldline transition.
Nan Xiuxiu’s delicate bare feet had stepped softly across the carpet as she approached, the night wind lifting the sheer white curtains to veil her eyes.
And at the exact moment that pink-haired girl walked up before him, moonlight reflected in her eyes as she lifted his chin—
the clock on the TV cabinet had just ticked over.
The time displayed was 00:42.
So.
Following the [42 never misses principle]—
could it be that there was likewise something about Nan Xiuxiu that needed special attention?
Jiang Ran rested his chin in thought.
If he really had to say it—
[No matter how you looked at it, Nan Xiuxiu’s perfect, almost supernatural archery was obviously abnormal.]
Later on, Jiang Ran had actually gone and watched Olympic archery footage. The shooting distance for those Olympic athletes was also 30 meters, and yes, they absolutely had the skill to hit the ten ring.
But!
What Nan Xiuxiu had done—three arrows right from the start, all consecutive perfect tens, and not just tens in the broad sense but dead-center, mathematically exact bullseyes without the slightest deviation—
that was historically unprecedented.
“I keep feeling like Nan Xiuxiu’s skill is no longer a matter of luck. It feels more like a mechanism issue.”
“Could it be… that something like probability itself simply doesn’t apply to Nan Xiuxiu?
Or maybe probability becomes locked when it comes to her?
As in, only a 100% guaranteed hit is possible?”
Jiang Ran frowned.
Ever since Tian Xiaoli—who had been diagnosed as absolutely impossible to awaken—opened her eyes, Jiang Ran had developed an entirely new understanding of “probability.”
He couldn’t determine whether this kind of mysticism hidden beneath the shell of probability still belonged within the domain of science.
It was like flipping a coin one hundred times and having it land heads every single time—
what would that even mean?
“Forget it. Better deal with the immediate issue first.”
Jiang Ran shook his head and stopped thinking about the pink-haired girl.
The top priority right now
was to quickly figure out what secret was hidden in that bizarre underground Level 42 of the 2045 virtual world.
The next afternoon, after class, Jiang Ran went straight to the Film Camera Club activity room.
Now that he was alone, with no friends, there was really nowhere else for him to spend his free time besides here.
The shadows of the former trio kept unconsciously surfacing in every corner of campus.
This inevitable path leading toward the cafeteria was one he had walked countless times over the past two years with Qin Feng and Cheng Mengxue.
Every time, they had laughed and chatted happily together, and time had always seemed to pass so quickly.
But now, walking it alone from one side to the other, it felt longer than ever before.
Watching the young students around campus moving in groups of twos and threes, he truly missed life on Worldline 0.
Sure enough.
Only when the past has already become memory can people realize how precious it truly was.
Human beings are utterly powerless before time.
After spacing out on the activity room sofa for a while, Chi Xiaoguo pushed open the door, chewing on a steamed bun.
“Mmph!”
She nearly choked on a bite, eyes widening.
“Senior! You’re here!”
Ever since Cheng Mengxue and Fang Ze had returned to the United States, the Film Camera Club had remained in a suspended state.
Although Chi Xiaoguo often came here to kill time, Jiang Ran usually only came around ten at night to stand by and wait to activate the Positron Cannon.
Seeing Senior here in the evening like this was truly rare.
Chi Xiaoguo hesitated as she looked at the large meat bun in her hand—
Damn it.
If only I’d known, I would’ve bought one for Senior too. Now there’s only this one left.
“You…”
Chi Xiaoguo hesitated and held the bun forward.
“Are you hungry?”
Heh.
Jiang Ran was amused again by this little ray of sunshine and shook his head.
“I’m not. You eat it.”
“Senior, why did you have time to come to the Film Camera Club today?”
“Oh, I just didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I came here to zone out for a while.”
He turned his head and looked at the sunset gradually sinking outside the window.
The sky today was beautiful—brilliant in a way unlike anything before. The blazing sunset clouds made the whole sky seem on fire, thick and rich like solidified syrup.
“The sunset tonight is pretty nice.”
Jiang Ran looked toward the calendar.
The date displayed: October 17, 2025.
Come to think of it.
In Li Yini’s diary, the number 16 had been mentioned several times. She had also once wondered in the diary why the Priest always postponed so many difficult problems until the 16th.
Even the Priest’s promise to her had been that once she completed the purge, by the 16th of that month at the latest, he would bring her little brother before her.
That kind of confidence had been unquestionable, as if on the 16th of every month, no matter how impossible the matter, it could be accomplished.
Conversely—
[Wouldn’t that imply that on days other than the 16th, not every matter could necessarily be resolved as wished?]
A sudden thought struck Jiang Ran.
Coincidentally, Tian Xiaoli had also opened her eyes on September 16.
What exactly was so special about the 16th?
Gulp!
Chi Xiaoguo swallowed the last bite of her bun, pulled out a tissue to wipe her hands, and grinned.
“Senior, Senior! Today’s sunset is suuuper beautiful. Want to go out and take pictures?”
“I bought the bun and rushed straight back to the Film Camera Club because I wanted to hurry and grab the camera to photograph tonight’s sunset—you see, it’s been forever since we had a sky this gorgeous!”
Jiang Ran nodded.
“Sure.”
He remembered that his bulky camera still had enough exposure left for two more shots.
As long as he took two more photos and finished the roll, Chi Xiaoguo could develop the film for him.
The medium-format roll inside could only take a total of 8 photos, so he had always been extremely careful with it, too reluctant to waste even a single frame.
But today’s sunset truly deserved to be preserved.
“Then let’s do it.”
He stood up.
“Perfect timing—my Fujifilm camera only has two shots left before the roll is full. Let’s use those two on the sunset today, and then you can help me develop the photos—I’m kind of dying to see how the finished shots turn out.”
“No problem! Then I’ll use this Nikon!”
Chi Xiaoguo quickly picked out an old camera, then tore open a fresh box of film and loaded it in with practiced movements.
“If we’re shooting the sunset, then obviously the higher the position, the better. That way buildings and trees won’t block the view. Senior, let’s go to the rooftop terrace!”
Clatter, clatter, clatter—
the evening wind sent an empty soda can rolling across the rooftop.
Jiang Ran stretched out his foot to stop it, then picked it up and carried it into the stairwell.
Seriously.
Whoever had so little manners that they’d drink on the roof and not take their can with them—if the wind blew it off and it hit someone below, that would be no small matter.
After that, the two of them went up one after the other onto the terrace, now dyed orange by the sunset, and looked out into the distance.
“Woooow——”
“So prettyyy——”
Standing high and looking far away, they could finally take in the full sweep of the sky and feel the grandeur of the blazing clouds.
Without thinking, Jiang Ran lifted the heavy camera and aimed at the far skyline, framing the sky and the setting sun inside the viewfinder—
“Oh, right. Almost forgot.”
Once bitten, twice shy. He quickly removed the lens cap and framed the shot again.
Click.
As the shutter snapped, another unique beam of light was reflected onto the film, completing seven out of eight of the roll’s “KPI.”
Jiang Ran lowered his head and looked at the camera that had been his 19th birthday gift.
“At this point, there’s only one shot left.”
Over on the terrace side, Chi Xiaoguo was also squinting as she finished a shot of her own.
It was obvious this little club president genuinely loved film photography. Every press of the shutter seemed to brighten her mood.
Her petite figure, twin little buns bobbing adorably, stood against the slowly sinking red sun like the silhouette at the end of a movie.
The wind lifted the loose strands by her cheeks, sending them fluttering chaotically through the sunset glow, giving the whole scene the feeling of time frozen in place.
Before he even realized it, Jiang Ran had already raised his camera and framed the scene in the viewfinder.
It really was as beautiful as a painting.
“Hey,” Jiang Ran called.
“Hm?” Chi Xiaoguo turned back in the wind.
Jiang Ran smiled.
“Let me take a picture of you.”
“Hehe, really?”
Chi Xiaoguo lowered her own camera, delighted.
“Okay, okay!”
“Come to think of it—”
Jiang Ran lowered his camera too and stood up.
“Speaking of that, the one I took of you in the Film Camera Club before—you should’ve developed that one already last time, right? Why didn’t you let me see it?”
“Ah, ah! That one—haha—”
Chi Xiaoguo’s cheeks turned faintly red, blending into the sunset.
“That one, um… my expression looked kind of blank and silly, so I was too embarrassed to show you.”
“Oh, got it.”
Jiang Ran didn’t really mind.
He had only been curious whether the one and only time in his life he’d used a film camera had actually produced a successful shot.
Since it had, at least it wasn’t like Professor Zhang Yang’s old photograph that failed from overexposure, which was already comforting enough.
“Then just stand right there. I’ll take it. This is the last frame.”
As he spoke, he flipped the advance lever, preparing to move the final blank frame into place.
But—
Click.
Click.
Click.
No matter how he worked the lever, it was jammed and wouldn’t advance.
“Huh?”
That was strange.
What was going on?
This camera had always been perfectly fine, never had any problems before, so why would the film stop advancing right at the very last shot?
Don’t tell me this camera had some weird possessive attachment now? It could only photograph Nan Xiuxiu and no other girls?
Chi Xiaoguo tilted her head.
“Senior? What’s wrong?”
“Seems like it’s malfunctioning.”
Jiang Ran pointed at the camera.
“The film won’t advance.”
“Oh, let me see.”
With her little Nezha buns bouncing, Chi Xiaoguo skipped over.
She took the camera hanging from Jiang Ran’s neck and fiddled with it for a moment.
“Senior, you’ve already used all 8 shots! There isn’t any extra film left, so of course it won’t advance.”
Huh?
Jiang Ran froze.
“That can’t be right. There should definitely still be one shot left. This stuff is precious—I’ve been too reluctant to waste it, counting every frame one by one.”
He started going back through his memory.
This roll could take 8 photos total.
The first shot was the one he took of Nan Xiuxiu at the birthday gathering.
The second shot had been wasted because the lens cap was still on.
Shots three through six were the landscape photos at Dazhi River Park.
The seventh shot had been just now—the sunset.
“There should obviously still be one left.”
Jiang Ran muttered.
“Are you sure the one I just took was the last shot?”
“Yep!”
Chi Xiaoguo nodded.
“And Senior, this camera has always been kept in the foam box. No one else has ever used it. Could you be remembering wrong?”
“No.”
Jiang Ran shook his head.
“I’m not remembering wrong.”
Now there were only two possibilities—
[Either someone secretly used this camera to take one photo.]
[Or before Nan Xiuxiu gave him the camera, one shot had already been taken in advance.]
Looking at the camera, Jiang Ran fell silent.
This was probably the blind-box thrill of film cameras.
If it were a digital camera, he could check the previous photos right now and find the culprit immediately.
But with film, unless the photos were developed, you had no way of knowing whether what was hidden inside was a person or a ghost.
“That extra photo…”
Jiang Ran murmured.
“What could it possibly be…?”
More importantly, who had taken it?
He was genuinely curious.
“Well, that’s a shame. Guess I can’t take your photo after all.”
Jiang Ran removed the camera from around his neck.
“When you have time, can you help me develop the 8 photos inside?”
“Sure.”
Chi Xiaoguo nodded.
“I’ll find time in the next couple of days. I’ll need to wait until I don’t have class, though—because this is a big project that can’t be interrupted halfway.”
“Alright then.”
Afterward, Jiang Ran and Chi Xiaoguo returned to the Film Camera Club.
Chi Xiaoguo demonstrated that before taking the film out, you had to rewind the roll back into the canister by turning the lever, and only then could you open the back cover and remove it. Otherwise it would be exposed early, and the photos would be ruined.
The two agreed to activate the Positron Cannon there again that night.
Chi Xiaoguo had already eaten, but Jiang Ran hadn’t. As they stepped out the door, he turned back.
“I’m heading to the cafeteria. Want me to bring you something too?”
“No, no, no, no need!”
Chi Xiaoguo waved her hands.
“I really don’t eat much!”
“…”
Jiang Ran gave her a skeptical look.
“It’s okay. No need to be polite.”
“Hahaha—okay then.”
Chi Xiaoguo scratched her head sheepishly.
“Then bring me one serving of the mala tang from the second floor. I actually didn’t eat enough. Just the cheapest 6-yuan one is fine.”
Night fell.
10:45 p.m.
The only brightly lit room left in the student activity building was the Film Camera Club. It was time once again to use the Positron Cannon.
Jiang Ran stood up and walked toward the windowsill.
“?”
Chi Xiaoguo blinked.
“Senior, didn’t we say today we’d switch and let me try staying outside?”
“Let’s wait a little longer.”
Jiang Ran braced himself on the sill.
“Once I’m sure the experiment is safe, then we’ll switch.”
Actually, the 2045 virtual world wasn’t really dangerous at all. Aside from the instant reset every 39 minutes and 11 seconds, the rest of it was as perfect as a utopia.
It was just that tonight he wanted to properly investigate Level 42 of the museum, so Chi Xiaoguo’s experiment would have to be postponed.
He flipped himself out the window and landed before the transformer distribution box.
“I’m ready!”
[5! 4! 3! 2! 1! 0!]
The instant Chi Xiaoguo finished counting down, the Positron Cannon burst to life with blue light.
Jiang Ran pressed the phone’s answer button at just the right moment.
Hello!
Hello!
Dizziness. Vertigo. The world spinning.
Two seconds later, he opened his eyes.
He smelled the sweet scent of cake drifting from across the street and saw the maid-outfit waitress hurrying over from the side.
“Rush—”
“Not drinking today.”
Jiang Ran forced a smile and waved.
“Sorry, I’m in a hurry today. Next time for sure!”
Then he dashed to the roadside, hopped onto a shared flying scooter, twisted the throttle all the way, and shot toward the Donghai City Museum of Human Civilization.
Forget the watch and all that.
For this adventure, he only had 39 minutes and 11 seconds total—
and that winding sewer was as long as Sang Biao’s intestines. He couldn’t afford to waste even a second.
Soon, he flew above the museum and spotted Qi Biao sneaking around outside the wall.
“Qi Biao!”
He directly abandoned the scooter and jumped down, not caring at all as it crashed into the nearby tree.
“The hell do you mean Qi Biao! Get lost!”
Tch.
Jiang Ran grabbed the hand Qi Biao was about to use to draw his gun.
“Do you want Puppe’s treasure?”
“Huh?”
Qi Biao froze.
“The fact that the permission wall disappeared is going to be discovered by others very soon. The time left for us is limited.”
Jiang Ran stared at him, eyes serious.
“So—stop wasting time here. We’re partners with the same objective!”
He bent down, hooked his finger under the manhole cover, and popped it open with a thunk.
Then, before Qi Biao’s overloaded brain could react, he shoved him straight inside.
“Quit the nonsense. Follow me!”