Chapter Sixteen: Writing Novels and Making Movies

“Where are my wings?” The appearance of Gu Mengyan, the actions of Vivian—these things left Chen Hao in a daze, unable to distinguish reality from the game anymore. So, everything he had experienced before wasn’t just a dream; Vivian actually existed.

But what was happening now? How could the Gu Mengyan he knew so well suddenly become Vivian? How did Vivian cross over from the game world into reality and take over Gu Mengyan’s body? Was this the legendary reverse transmigration?

Damn it, he’d only ever heard of real people entering virtual worlds, never of virtual characters crossing over into reality. This was downright science fiction! How was it even possible?

“You…” Chen Hao was just about to speak when he was abruptly interrupted.

Suddenly, Gu Mengyan burst into peals of laughter, delighted beyond measure. “Hahahaha! This is killing me! It’s just too funny—you should really see the look on your face! Hahaha! Oh, my dear Young Master Chen, don’t tell me you actually thought I was the girl you dreamed up?

“Sure, from your description I know this Vivian is exactly the type of dream girl you fantasize about, but I’m not her. You’d better not let your imagination run wild about me!”

“Damn it!” Chen Hao finally realized he’d been played by Gu Mengyan. All that about a game character, crossing over, and Vivian—it was just an act. Gu Mengyan must have guessed Vivian’s personality and habits from his descriptions and deliberately imitated her to mess with him.

How ridiculous that he’d actually believed it! Damn, how could he forget that this wasn’t the first time Gu Mengyan had pulled something like this? He remembered when they were kids and went on adventures—he’d always make up scary stories to frighten her beforehand.

He’d tell her there was some danger ahead, and at first, Gu Mengyan would believe him, trailing nervously behind, not daring to make a sound. Chen Hao would secretly laugh at her fearful expression, though he kept it hidden at first.

But when their adventure ended and they found nothing dangerous, he’d burst into laughter and mock her for being a coward.

This only worked a few times in the beginning. Later, when Chen Hao tried it again, it had no effect—Gu Mengyan had already figured out his tricks. So she began to turn the tables. After listening to his scary tales, she’d pretend to be terrified, and when they arrived, she’d act as if the “danger” had possessed her, scaring Chen Hao out of his wits. And it worked every time.

Maybe it was because the one telling scary stories was secretly afraid himself, so he turned it into a story. Plus, Gu Mengyan’s acting was so convincing that Chen Hao often believed her. After all, he was just a kid; children tend to believe in ghosts and monsters, so he couldn’t count how many times Gu Mengyan had frightened him in revenge.

You’d think Chen Hao would have learned his lesson, but whenever it happened again, he’d always suspect Gu Mengyan was acting and say helplessly, “Enough, stop pretending. I know you’re trying to trick me. Drop the act.”

But the more he said that, the more convincing Gu Mengyan became. In the end, Chen Hao couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t, and just when he was scared out of his mind, Gu Mengyan would finally burst out laughing, looking triumphant.

Only then would Chen Hao realize he’d been had again. Frustrating as it was, he couldn’t really blame Gu Mengyan—after all, he’d started it.

He never thought that after all these years, when they no longer played adventure games, and he’d nearly forgotten about those childhood antics, Gu Mengyan would pull the same trick on him today, and so thoroughly.

Chen Hao sighed, a little dejected. “So, you really think I was just making things up to tease you?”

Gu Mengyan nodded matter-of-factly. “Of course! The story you told is just too far-fetched. It’s not that I think you’re lying, but with all your late-night overtime, you must be exhausted and stressed. Add to that your recent coma, and it’s no wonder you can’t tell dreams from reality.

“And our work just happens to be related to games—especially a game as realistic as Virtual World. The people you described, we can all find real-life counterparts for them.

“First, those five programmers you mentioned… That’s just a reflection of us! We’re all programmers, though not exactly top-tier. And I’ve always known you want to become a senior developer at Illusion Corp, because you’re fascinated by Virtual World’s operation and creation.

“To know more, you’d have to reach a certain level—and you’ve been wanting that promotion for ages, haven’t you? It’s only natural that you’d dream about meeting higher-level programmers.

“And why five programmers instead of just one? That’s easy—our office isn’t private, we all work together in an open space. So those five are just projections of our group.”

She paused to catch her breath, then continued, “Now, as for that self-aware NPC you met—Vivian! Do you really think it’s possible, with today’s technology, for an NPC to develop self-awareness?

“Whether you look at it from a scientific or a sci-fi perspective, an NPC with self-awareness would have to be based on artificial intelligence, right? Even if you don’t know the theory, you’ve seen movies—aren’t all self-aware programs evolved AI?

“If it isn’t AI, it can’t have learning or imitation logic, can’t evolve, and certainly can’t develop self-awareness.

“But think about it: do the NPCs in Virtual World meet those criteria? They’re not AI, just simple electronic scripts with preset behaviors and dialogue templates. Everything is pre-programmed—any action or line of theirs can be found in the game’s backend documentation.”

At this, Chen Hao couldn’t help but nod. He had to admit, Gu Mengyan’s reasoning was flawless—he couldn’t find a single thing to refute.

Yet, the more logical she sounded, the worse he felt. He’d been so sure his experiences weren’t just dreams, but after her analysis, he started doubting himself. And she wasn’t done yet.

“You know, dreams are just a projection of our subconscious, and to express themselves more vividly, our minds exaggerate things. The more outlandish, the more it fits dream logic.

“The reason you dreamed of a self-aware NPC is because Virtual World is just so realistic—even the NPCs seem almost human, so your mind invented one with self-awareness.”

“As for this NPC girl named Vivian…” Gu Mengyan flashed a mischievous grin. “I’m guessing she’s your ideal goddess, isn’t she?

“A beautiful, almost-of-age anime girl, a little airheaded, with a pair of elf wings. Tsk tsk! That’s the dream girlfriend for many a geek.

“And the name ‘Vivian’… I honestly can’t roast you enough. Don’t you think it’s so overused for female characters in anime? Couldn’t you be a little more creative? Why not call her Zhao Tiezhu or Wang Gangdan?”

“Pfft!” Chen Hao nearly burst out laughing, his mouth twitching uncontrollably. “Those aren’t even women’s names!”

“What do you know?” Gu Mengyan waved her delicate hand. “Contrast only makes her beauty stand out more, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, really? Then why don’t you rename yourself ‘Big Sister Gu’? That’d be quite a contrast!” Chen Hao shot back.

“Bah!” Gu Mengyan stuck out her tongue repeatedly. “My beauty doesn’t need cheap tricks like contrast to stand out. In this world, if I’m not the most beautiful, who else dares claim the title?

“In short, everything you told me simply doesn’t exist—it’s all a figment of your dream.

“In fact, there’s one simple point that completely disproves your story.”

“What’s that?” Chen Hao asked, curious.

“Did you forget? Because of the recent virus outbreak, all games—including Virtual World—have been temporarily shut down for maintenance. With all the data damage, everything needs massive updates and rebuilding. How could you possibly enter the game world without connecting to any equipment? You really think you could just transmigrate? And then come back to reality so easily?

“Is transmigration so cheap now? Doesn’t it deserve at least a novel or a film anymore?”