Chapter 30
“……” Jiang Jitang stared at his phone for a long time, unable to come back to his senses.
He had written so many novels and poems, but this one—this was the most explicit, the one he denied to death was written by him, even swearing “If I wrote it, may I stay single forever like a lonely dog!”
At the time, he circulated it under the name of a “friend,” then burned the original manuscript and never touched it again. How on earth did Parsons find out he was the real author?
Jiang Jitang’s expression became exceedingly strange—like the corrupted code of a brain that suddenly remembers it forgot to delete its own black history before death.
[You swear you didn’t tell anyone.] Jiang Jitang snatched up his phone—its screen looking suspiciously cracked—and furiously typed: [You are a righteous Knight Commander!]
After sending it, he couldn’t help grabbing a pillow and angrily kneading it. “How did he find out?”
Jiang Jitang wasn’t born an anti-empire, anti-theocracy rebel. In the beginning, he was just a regular artsy young man who liked showing off his writing and critiquing others in the same circle.
And this book— This book was the delirious work of a young literary man who almost lost the right to inherit his family business and was nearly forced into a marriage he didn’t want. He was unwilling to accept reality yet powerless to resist it.
He wrote it purely to vent his anger at the Church—which tried to control his life—and the royal family—which coveted his family’s treasure vaults. The whole novel mocked both the Church and royalty. The protagonist held dual positions: both monarch and religious leader.
Since it was anonymous revenge writing, it naturally reflected Jiang Jitang’s own lowest moral boundaries. Unfortunately, he had decent literary talent, and he supplemented the work with countless historical materials. Even reading it now, it still had… readability.
As 18+ smut.
To portray the royal and ecclesiastical elites as extravagantly corrupt and debauched, he incorporated every outrageous event he could dig up from history.
Gold-decorated houses. Gem-inlaid windows. Milk baths. Wiping one’s butt with precious velvet. And sleeping with beauties every night—men included. Even siblings, married couples, and other deranged elements.
God knows how he, with zero real experience, managed to write so vividly. Maybe it was imagination?
But all that was still nothing. The novel’s plot went fully insane—yet faintly aligned with various rumors—leading clueless readers to believe it was “based on truth.” The Church and royal families of many nations suffered massive PR damage.
The novel and its dramatized adaptations were once classified as “banned materials.”
And that wasn’t the only work. Under the same pen name, he wrote many novels ridiculing the royal family and Church. Until he eventually found his true path, abandoned the pen name, and permanently discontinued everything under it.
He had since subconsciously forced himself to forget that pen name—and the entire series of banned books beneath it.
Jiang Jitang held his phone.
Everyone has black history. But him… he had a lot.
The words he once flaunted with pride had become the kind of toe-curling, shame-inducing cringe literature he didn’t dare recall.
Who used erotic fiction to pollute a holy knight? Fine, pollute if you must—but why that book?!
Ding!
It was a message from Jiang Xingzhou. The ten slots were confirmed, and she asked when treatment could begin.
[Today is fine. Park at my back door.] Jiang Jitang replied casually, then switched back to the chat with Parsons.
The guy hadn’t responded for ages. Could it be—
[No, I haven’t told anyone. It was my own guess.] Parsons finally replied. It was a guess—but someone immediately jumped out to confirm it.
Jiang ‘Someone’ Jitang stopped typing and deleted what he had written. His face dark:
[Your guess is quite accurate.] He’s changed. The knight has learned bad habits. Who taught him?
“When I first heard the original text, I noticed your word choice.” Parsons even explained.
Jiang Jitang laughed. [Thank you so much.] Listening to erotica and paying attention to someone’s diction—amazing.
[……Sorry.] Through the text, one could faintly sense Parsons’ anxiety. After replying, he suddenly felt something was off.
Wait—they were supposed to have cut ties, right? Maybe even worse than cutting ties.
“Master, be cautious,” the demon sword said coldly. “Mages excel at bewitching hearts. Did you just feel as if you two were still friends? Were you shaken? Did your heart blossom with joy for a second? That is his cunning.”
Parsons: “……”
He quietly put away his phone, face composed as though everything remained within his control.
Illman had done far crazier things. Would he lose control emotionally just because his old banned-author identity was exposed? Impossible.
So Illman replied like that… to tease him?
Parsons’ jaw tightened: As long as he doesn’t admit it, none of it counts.
Meanwhile, Jiang Jitang waited at home. No reply. Not even the “typing…” indicator.
“Huh? He snapped out of it? No more fun.”
Sure, it was embarrassing—black history always is. But since that belonged to his past life, it couldn’t really embarrass the current him. Unless he somehow returned to the magic world, which was impossible.
Even if they found out—so what? An angry erotic novelist (strikethrough) artistic youth wasn’t cute?
Jiang Jitang was only half serious, teasing Parsons for fun.
He also wondered— Parsons must have looked into his past thoroughly if he even found traces of that novel.
Jiang Jitang propped his chin up. “…Should I find an excuse to ask him out?”
Watching in person was always more interesting than watching through a phone.
—
Half an hour later.
Jiang Jitang lived in the southwest corner of Jin City, while the clay-oven chicken shop was in the north. With ordering, cooking, pickup, and delivery, it normally took at least an hour and twenty-three minutes.
That was why he upgraded the packaging.
But Jiang Xingzhou’s group arrived faster than the food delivery. The food was still en route when a modified cargo truck appeared at his back door.
She took out her phone, just about to text him, when stirring, heroic music drifted over with the wind.
The simple yet majestic melody was Báiyáng sòng (translated as Ode to Poplar), a famous C-Nation anthem praising the soldiers guarding the borders. Appearing at this moment…
“Minister!”
She turned around and saw a soft glow enveloping the emergency beds and seats inside the truck.
It was a modified cargo truck—ordinary on the outside, but armored with bulletproof plating, equipped with advanced dual-power systems, and fitted inside with full emergency medical facilities and enough beds.
Right now ten severely injured personnel lay inside, with several medical professionals tending to them.
The falling light descended upon the wounded patients.
The shout came from Old Zhang, once an anti-narcotics officer who died and later became a player in the cube-world system. It had been two years. He’d just cleared a seventh-tier dungeon—a top-tier player in the department, cautious and capable.
But he ran into major trouble in his last dungeon: he returned gravely wounded, both arms gone, lungs and heart damaged. A normal person would have passed out long ago.
Even so, Old Zhang forced himself to stay conscious long enough to return to reality, record the dungeon intel, and only then collapse in the hospital—awaiting a death sentence.
Players had all died once before. Whether unfortunate or fortunate, they gained another life. But Jiang Xingzhou still hated watching them die again.
Modern medicine saved Old Zhang, but his life was rough. His lungs and heart weren’t fully healed, and he suffered intense phantom limb pain. His hair had turned half white.
The heart and lungs were repairable through surgery. The real trouble was his missing arms. Even with the newest prosthetics, he could never perform precise movements again.
If the limbs had been retrieved from the dungeon, lower-grade healing tools might restore them—but his arms had been completely lost.
Modern medicine could do nothing. Only high-level healing items from the game could help.
Jiang Xingzhou had applied for the highest-tier limb regeneration healing from the central healer. But applications from all over the country were stacked high; it wasn’t his turn yet.
With the next dungeon entry approaching, entering without arms meant certain death. She was on the verge of breaking protocol to save him when Jiang Jitang showed up.
One dared to propose, the other dared to accept. Ten slots were chosen—Old Zhang among them.
“It’s working.” Jiang Xingzhou said excitedly as fresh tissue pushed through the bandages, growing inch by inch.
Bone, blood vessels, nerves, muscle, skin…
Old Zhang’s arms regrew visibly. He was drenched in sweat, enduring immense pain, yet his face twisted with joy, eyes bloodshot.
“Old Zhang, hang in there. Don’t give up halfway,” Jiang Xingzhou warned. Some advanced healing tools required the patient to remain conscious. Passing out would interrupt the process.
“Minister, rest assured. If ancient people could endure scraping the bone to treat poisoning, modern people can endure this too.” Old Zhang, a scholarly warrior, spoke like a bookish gentleman even now.
Other wounded personnel healed just as rapidly.
Beside him, Sister Wei—the former sniper active in war zones and also a top-tier player—had her prosthetic eye fall off as her real eye regenerated.
Aside from limb-loss cases, others poisoned or cursed in dungeons improved at astonishing speed.
Seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds later, Ode the Poplar ended.
So did the healing.
Old Zhang, with two newly grown arms, burst into tears. A man of his size cried openly as he touched his chest, then the gunshot scar he once had.
“It’s done. Not just done—feels like old injuries healed too. It’s like rebirth.”
It felt as if he’d shed a heavy old shell. His body felt better than ever.
“My eyes are back too. My condition feels perfect,” Sister Wei said excitedly. She could now pick up her rifle and return to the battlefield.
Others reported similar recovery. Even old scars vanished.
Mental fatigue from dungeon runs—gone.
“Advanced healing items are this powerful?”
“No wonder people with top-tier healing tools act so cocky. If I had this, I’d be cocky too.”
Jiang Xingzhou: …
Actually, she was seeing something like this for the first time too. It seemed even stronger than the central healer’s work.
This was a treasure. The information they traded for it was so worth it.
At that moment, Minister Jiang—normally principled—seriously considered going abroad to drag Guo Jie back so she could ship him to Jiang Jitang as a “bonus benefit.”
Sacrifice one person, happiness for the whole department!
Ding-dong.
A message from Jiang Jitang.
[Treatment completed. I also did some maintenance. You’re welcome.]
She remained calm reading that—Until the second message arrived.
Then she couldn’t stay calm at all.
“If you want to cooperate further, let’s schedule a time to discuss.”
