Dream Delivery System: My Delivery Jobs Keep Changing History – CH103

Chapter 103

Not only was Jiang Jitang smashing windows, but the people inside were also trying to save themselves.

More and more train windows were shattered, and more people managed to escape. Two long rolls of asbestos cloth were laid out, forming a life-saving path over a hundred meters long. Because the first group ran towards the rear, those who followed also ran in that direction, which saved Jiang Jitang a great deal of trouble.

Later on, even the hitching posts caught fire. The LED light strips and iron barbed wire attached to them couldn’t survive either.

Finally, the last train window was broken, and everyone who could still escape made their way out through the opening. Their magical beasts provided necessary healing to keep them alive long enough to get out of the tunnel.

The crowd stumbled and staggered, supporting each other as they ran toward hope.

Jiang Jitang had already moved to the tail end of the train—the carriage closest to the ignition point. The window there had long been broken, but some people were still inside. They no longer had the strength to move; some had even lost consciousness.

He had already checked the driver in the cockpit—the man was dead beyond saving, his flesh burned to the point of liquefaction.

The five minutes were up, and with those who had already escaped, the 60% survival rate had likely been reached. The task was technically complete.

But not enough.

Seeing the faint signs of life in the carriage, Jiang Jitang jumped inside without hesitation, put emergency masks on the people on the floor, and healed them.

“Hurry, head to the rear entrance. Your friends are waiting for you.”

Once revived, the survivors were tossed out by him like chicks. He didn’t have time to explain—other carriages still had people who were injured and unable to escape.

He was still racing against time. Once the unconscious slipped into full brain death, even he couldn’t save them.

Wearing full protective gear, with an undying body and healing capability, he had no excuse not to be a hero at that moment.

On the asbestos path, some had collapsed halfway due to inhaling excessive smoke. Jiang Jitang fitted each with a mask and healed their bodies—including their magical beasts.

As he moved toward the front of the train, he noticed fires that had already been extinguished reigniting. Even with filtered air, the tunnel still reeked like an incinerator. He was forced to keep throwing auto-suppression fire grenades and, within the few dozen seconds before the flames returned, jump back into carriages to rescue more.

More survivors appeared, all wearing silver emergency masks as they ran. They had no time to think about who he was or how any of this started—only one thought remained:

Run.

In the end, more and more people ran out of the tunnel, all the way to a platform near the exit. A beam of daylight shone on their soot-covered hoods.

Some had already called the police; others were crying, the reality catching up to them.

“Is there anyone still inside?” A class monitor called roll. Each class had someone responsible.

“Michael? Is Michael here?”

“I’m here.” Just as the monitor was about to despair, a voice emerged from the tunnel—the last one.

He stumbled forward, panting, removing his silver hood. His face was covered in sweat and tears. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“All accounted for?”

It was unbelievable—six classes in the grade, and not a single person was left behind.

“Where’s the one who saved us?” someone asked.

Silence fell over the crowd. They looked towards the tunnel, where black smoke billowed so thick and terrifying that even the train inside was no longer visible.

“I—I know.” Michael had regained his breath. “I was the last one out. He told me not to go back in for him. He came to save us, and once we were safe, he’d leave.”

Michael touched his arm. The spot had once been scorched by heated metal, but now was completely fine. He looked toward the tunnel again—it was like a monster that nearly swallowed their lives… but someone descended from the sky.

“I think… he’s probably already gone.”

Back home, Jiang Jitang collapsed to the floor. There were no scorched marks on him, and all the soot had been left behind in that world—but the exhaustion was very real.

It had only lasted about ten minutes, yet his heart was pounding like he had run a marathon.

“Firefighters don’t have high-tech protective suits or immortality. How do they dare?” That blazing heat, that primal fear—it was death itself written into one’s genes. How did they overcome that kind of instinctual terror and risk of death?

Even as prepared as he was, he had feared it, and yet firefighters still charged in.

How do humans do superhuman things with mortal bodies?

He lay there from daylight until nightfall. Only when his stomach started rumbling did he get up, dragging his exhausted body to clean and check the liquid nitrogen tanks before returning them.

Driving through a bustling district, lights dazzling on both sides, hotpot and seafood restaurants flourishing with customers, he detoured past the police station and fire station. The blue building looked like the ocean; the red like fire. The lights inside remained on.

It was true—fire safety in Nanjiang Province had always been well managed.

All shops and rentals were required to install smoke alarms, have in-date extinguishers and emergency lights, and ensure wiring indoors and outdoors was regularly inspected. Escape routes were routinely spot-checked.

Because of these preventive measures, once a fire started, emergency responders could arrive swiftly.

Many people complained—they might never encounter fire in their lifetime, yet had to spend hundreds of yuan every few years. But those measures genuinely improved safety—and likely saved the lives of some firefighters.

Leaning back in his seat, Jiang Jitang realized that, like many others, he had lived too long in a greenhouse, forgetting how ruthless fire and water could be, how cruel the world was.

Leaving the fire station, he stopped by a small restaurant selling boiled fish and ate a meal. Then he packed several large boxes and delivered them to the kindergarten. The staff were delighted, surprised that he’d bring them supper.

“How does your department recruit players?” Jiang Jitang asked.

“At first, it was only local public employees who were converted into players. But our city’s been relatively safe, manpower was short, so players from other cities were transferred in. Later, we started recruiting non-government players too.”

Official players were mostly fallen soldiers, police officers, firefighters.

“If someone dies and becomes a player, do they still receive compensation?”

“Depends on local policy. We do here—other places, I don’t know. But honestly, even though we have to enter dungeons periodically and handle issues with rogue players, the salary is better than before, and the department bought insurance. It’s not bad. We’ve all died once already. To put it bluntly, the Cube World is also an opportunity for us.”

It was past nine when he got home. Leaning against his bed, Jiang Jitang took out the miniature model of the Dream-Fulfillment Food House and started changing the décor.

First it was nautical-themed, then forest-themed—but in the end returned to its original minimalist style, only with a smoke detector added to the ceiling and a fire safety cabinet in the corner, equipped with an extinguisher and emergency hammer.

He couldn’t do anything else now—so he’d follow orders.

He was content. The shop-guarding players, on the other hand, spent the entire night stunned by the dreamy transformations.

Had the shop owner gone mad?

Before bed, Jiang Jitang glanced at his third task.

He had only skimmed it earlier: a slightly narcissistic water-type magical beasts wanted to preserve its current most beautiful appearance before evolving, as its form would change after. He hadn’t read the requirements carefully.

A day had passed; the task only had a little over ten hours left. If he decided tonight what to buy, he could settle it quickly tomorrow.

Bzzz bzzz bzzz. His phone vibrated. It was Han Shuo.

“Deputy Minister, did you see that painting online?”

“Huh?” What painting?

“I sent it to you. Tons of people liked it. These students, honestly…” Han Shuo restrained himself from swearing. “We’re planning to contact him, and I’d like your opinion on how to handle it properly.”

Confused, he opened his private messages. A playing-card-sized painting appeared on the screen.

Golden ratio composition. Blue-purple tones framing a conference room. Several figures lay sprawled on the floor and atop the table. The focal point—the golden ratio—was bathed in white.

Not pure white, but a figure standing there, viewed from below. Long fingers outstretched, a floating magic circle at his fingertips, and another massive, glowing magic circle beneath his feet.

The figure showed almost no other colors—his entire body was illuminated to the point it lacked pigmentation, facial features simplified, with only a pair of emotionless eyes gazing down upon all.

The composition was incredible. Those eyes seemed to look directly at whoever was viewing the painting, giving it great visual impact.

Jiang Jitang silently admired it for two minutes, then tapped through to the linked social forum Han Shuo had sent.

The likes exceeded six hundred thousand and were still rising. Some involved participants were speaking in riddles, bloggers’ followers screaming about how stunning it was, while others—without context—were inquiring curiously.

The artist was a fine arts student, himself a player who attended the East Capital meeting that day, and also a well-known illustrator. It was a watercolor piece freshly uploaded that day, titled White Ice.

“The lighting is amazing—can’t believe watercolor can achieve that. The balance of detail and blur is spot on. The composition and color use are flawless—and that angle from below is brilliant, so transcendent, godlike even.” Jiang Jitang couldn’t help but appreciate it.

He didn’t feel it resembled him at all. He hadn’t felt sacred back then—he’d only been thinking about finishing quickly and finding something delicious to eat.

As for Han Shuo’s concerns—these students talked past each other so much that no one would take it seriously. Besides, the matter was officially settled, no need to suppress discussion.

“It’s fine. Let it be,” Jiang Jitang messaged back. “Kids fooling around.”

“…He’s a year older than you,” Han Shuo added, attaching a sweating emoji.

“That’s why I understand. These emotions flare up fast and fade even faster. It’ll be forgotten in a few days.” Jiang Jitang casually saved the image.

“Alright then.”

With that settled, he continued reading the task details. As a beauty icon among water-type magical beasts, the Ice-Clear Carp was very confident in its appearance. It had left thousands of photos and even had its owner comtask a crystal statue, yet still felt that none could capture its true beauty.

Thus the task—it wanted a portrait that could truly depict its magnificence.

A video was attached—a recording of the Ice-Clear Carp dancing underwater.

“…” So fat.

Expressionless, Jiang Jitang watched the chubby beast dragging its gorgeous tail as its round body drifted.

This task should’ve been rated five stars, not three. Even if he painted a perfect likeness, he wouldn’t get a good review. Expecting an objective opinion from a narcissistic magical beasts? That was nearly impossible.

He had some drawing skills, but amateur level. He knew he wasn’t up to the task. Better check market prices—maybe he could get a hand-painted comtask for 300 yuan.

After browsing a little, he found someone advertising “new art freshly released, 10,000 per comtask”.

He clicked in… A highly polished second-dimensional ancient-style male character. Black-gold palette, luxurious outfit—but the folds were stiff, not fluid. The face was alright, but the area around the neck looked odd, somewhat unnatural.

It looked impressive at first glance, but flaws became noticeable upon closer inspection. Poor fundamentals.

Panic hit Jiang Jitang. If this level cost 10,000… what kind of hand-painted work could he get for 300?

Bzzz bzzz bzzz. Han Shuo called again.

“Deputy Minister, that guy just contacted us directly. He wants to know if players from outside the province can join Jin City’s official team. I think he’s coming for you.”

Well, duh—of course he was coming for… Wait.

A well-known illustrator delivered to the doorstep?