1. Eternity
Humans have always been both drawn to and terrified by the idea of "eternity."
Qiu Yu was no exception.
She feared that, given enough time, she might grow bored—and the moment she so much as looked bored, Chen Ce Bai would start overthinking, spiraling into paranoia.
And once he started overthinking, madness wasn't far behind.
…Though, admittedly, Chen Ce Bai did look quite captivating when he lost his mind. Still, for the sake of long-term stability, Qiu Yu figured it was best not to provoke him into insanity too often.
She voiced her concern, hoping to give him a bit of a warning in advance.
Chen Ce Bai only said, "You won't be bored."
Qiu Yu thought he was bluffing.
But when they re-entered the "Eternal Space," everything felt different—an impossible blend of the depth of four-dimensional space and the concealment of a three-dimensional world.
It was nearly indescribable.
There's a famous Shakespeare quote: "I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space."
Now, they truly were inside an infinite nutshell.
To her greater surprise, Qiu Yu could now see into the real world from this "core," though no one out there had the slightest clue—they couldn't even touch them.
…It was the perspective of a god.
Whenever Qiu Yu was excited, curious, or playfully wicked, her pupils would round like a cat's. Chen Ce Bai couldn't help but pinch her cheek and kiss away her delighted breath.
Whenever his emotions surged, his body would begin to exude an inky-black, mucous substance—viscous and fibrous like spider silk, wrapping around her layer by layer. It writhed across her skin, pulling out sticky strands like some clinging jelly.
Every time, Qiu Yu's skin prickled with goosebumps.
But the more she resisted, the faster it spread, the tighter it wrapped around her—like tape that couldn't be peeled away.
She had no choice but to force herself to get used to the sticky, creeping sensation.
Chen Ce Bai looked down and saw the helpless haze in her eyes—like someone drowning in dark waves, too weak to struggle free.
What she didn't know was that this expression didn't soften him.
It triggered something far darker—an urge to destroy.
A twisted, frenzied, chaotic impulse.
To hunt, to seize, to invade—even knowing she was the one person he loved more than anything, the one he'd sacrifice the world to protect.
To keep from succumbing to that desire, he pulled back from her lips, released her cheek, and gently nudged her shoulder.
"Go look ahead."
2. Dreamhouse
It was like a hyper-immersive sandbox game—except the world reshaped itself around her will, responding to her intent.
She could summon snowfall with a thought, or raise entire structures from the earth.
Qiu Yu had long disliked their apartment in the real world. She jumped at the chance to build a new one.
But even in the "Eternal Space," she still had to obey basic physical laws—before creating something, she had to fully conceptualize it: foundation, materials, structure, layout, every detail.
The first two houses she conjured collapsed almost instantly.
Of course they did—she hadn't accounted for anything. No material consistency, no proper base. The houses were like carelessly stacked blocks. Collapse was inevitable.
Frustrated, Qiu Yu muttered, "How is anyone supposed to build something here?"
In real-world sandbox games, the bricks and tiles are pre-coded—click, and a wall appears.
Here, she had to design every brick from scratch: its chemical composition, molecular structure, ratios of each element, temperature, pressure, reaction speeds, and even the structure of the resulting material.
This wasn't a game. It was an exam with nightmarish complexity.
She shivered.
Chen Ce Bai chuckled softly. "What kind of house do you want to build?"
"…Can I use a chip here?"
"You can."
By now, she'd learned that when Chen Ce Bai said something short like "You can," it usually meant a whole lot more.
He meant: Yes, you can connect to the internet through your chip here. Yes, it's perfectly safe. No, it won't damage your nervous system.
Qiu Yu activated her chip and sent him the image of her "dreamhouse."
It was a sleek modern villa tucked away in the wild mountains. All four walls of the bedroom were floor-to-ceiling windows facing a forest of fir trees—perfect for basking in sunlight or listening to rain.
The balcony faced a snowy peak. The sky stretched wide and clean, the air crisp and cold even through the image—like it could wash the heaviness from your bones.
But if building a brick was this hard, how could anyone build a mountain, plant a forest, or create an entire ecosystem?
Just as she was about to tell Chen Ce Bai to take it easy, the world began to shift.
Mountains rose. The ground cracked. Meltwater flowed down the slopes, forming clear streams. Saplings shot up, sprouted leaves, and rapidly grew into a dense fir forest.
Qiu Yu stared, wide-eyed.
She even saw deer and wild goats—species long extinct in the real world.
Chen Ce Bai's computational power was terrifying.
Creating animals wasn't like bricks. He had to simulate entire biological systems—starting with the cells. A deer needed a lifecycle, a behavior model, visual and olfactory systems.
Even just a pair of antlers required exact materials, shape, density, growth cycle, function…
Just thinking about it made her brain overheat.
And yet, he'd made a living, breathing deer.
And that was just the beginning.
The villa rose from the ground, elegant and sturdy. Through the clean glass walls, she could see polished wood floors, a marble bar, a gently crackling fireplace.
And above the mantel—framed—was their wedding photo.
Chen Ce Bai had done that on purpose.
She remembered not being too thrilled during the photoshoot. But in that specific shot, she'd been laughing—bright, unrestrained, her joy spilling from the corners of her eyes into her dimples.
She opened her mouth to tease him, but before a word left her lips, heat welled up in her eyes.
She let out a small sob and turned to bury her face in Chen Ce Bai's chest, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
She should have known—how could life be boring with him here?
3. Player and NPC
Qiu Yu realized Chen Ce Bai was practically omnipotent. Whatever she wanted, he could create it in an instant.
Lately, she'd seen a video of a white Arabian horse, lab-grown and stunning. The real one wasn't for sale—probably locked away in some billionaire's private ranch.
Animals weren't completely extinct. They were just entirely privatized.
So Chen Ce Bai built her a riding paddock near the villa—and filled it with Arabian horses of every color.
Qiu Yu had an epiphany.
Chen Ce Bai was the player in this sandbox game.
She was just an NPC—someone waiting around for the player's help.
Chen Ce Bai gave her a sidelong glance.
He didn't seem to like that comparison.
He no longer acted like he used to—paranoid, possessive, always on edge.
The old him would've grabbed her by the neck and kissed her until she couldn't breathe. Now, he just gave her a cold look.
Qiu Yu laughed. "Why the glare? I wasn't insulting myself…" She looped her arms around him, slipped her hand into the pocket of his trousers, and batted her lashes. "NPCs might not be good at much—but they can still get under the player's skin."
He caught her wrist, glasses gleaming faintly.
"Still want to ride those horses?"
His eyesight had already evolved beyond human limits. He could see at frame rates in the tens of thousands, catch the flutter of a butterfly's wings a hundred thousand kilometers away.
He only wore glasses because she'd once confessed—blushing—that it was her kink.
She'd said it with her face turned toward the sun, eyelashes shimmering white, a sly grin curled at the corners of her eyes.
He'd tilted his head slightly, lenses reflecting sunlight.
"Kink?"
Qiu Yu suddenly remembered—she hadn't told him the rest.
So she confessed everything.
Spending time with him had rubbed off on her. She didn't even try to be subtle. She told him she liked the way he looked—cool, aloof, controlled.
Chen Ce Bai frowned slightly, puzzled. "You like it when I ignore you?"
"No, not that kind of cold." Qiu Yu grinned, tugging at his tie. Her gaze trailed from its weave to his crisp shirt, to the angles of his wristbone, his watch, and the veins on the back of his hand. "That kind."
Chen Ce Bai studied her.
"And what else?"
"The way you smoke. The way you wear your watch, buckle your belt, tighten your tie, put on those riding gloves…" She took his hand and pressed it under her chin. "And the way you take them all off."
Sunlight streamed in from all sides—the villa was wrapped in floor-to-ceiling windows.
Surrounded by snowy peaks, fir forests, and wild animals, far from the cities and their neon haze.
Chen Ce Bai held her gaze—and took control of it, dominating her with nothing more than the weight of his eyes.
Then, silently, he began to remove his watch.
Qiu Yu's heart thudded.
She knew him as well as she knew herself—but she still got caught in the trap of his cold, striking beauty.
With a soft click, the metal strap slipped free and landed in her hand.
His skin was still cool. So was the steel.
But her chest was filled with a rush of heat.
Then came the tie.
She didn't know how someone could look so stern and clinical while deliberately seducing someone—like he was conducting a precision experiment.
You don't watch a man remove his tie.
You watch his hands and his throat.
Chen Ce Bai's jawline and Adam's apple were sculpted like something out of a dream, always casting a taut shadow.
His fingers were sharply jointed, veins clearly visible beneath his skin like faint blue threads.
Finally, he took off his glasses, revealing narrow, penetrating eyes—sharp enough to slice.
Then, with a faint "click," he unfastened the metal clasp of his belt.
It was as if his gaze had guided her hand to do it.
Qiu Yu felt her scalp tingle.
At the height of her daze, she gasped out a demand: he was never allowed to wear glasses again. Chen Ce Bai raised a brow and asked why. She cried out that she needed to quit this kink.
But the moment he took them off, she couldn't bear the raw intensity of his stare—and shoved them right back on his face.
Now, he was doing it again—tilting his head, deliberately catching the sunlight on his lenses.
He was tempting her. Provoking her. Owning her.
He controlled everything in this world. If he didn't want his glasses to reflect light, he could stop it in an instant.
But he didn't.
He was lighting the fire again.
Drawing her in.
Hunting her.
Arabian horses could wait.
So could he.
And Qiu Yu chose him.
She took off his glasses, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him.
"Not anymore."