Chapter 86
Jiang Jitang had already walked into the kitchen. Parsons saw his hands wrap around the slender waist, a light tug of his fingertips tying the apron bow neatly. The two thin straps swayed with his movement.
“Wait a bit, breakfast will be ready soon,” he turned back and smiled. “Your favorite—dumplings with wings.”
Parsons already knew those were called wontons, and hearing that old name again now made him feel embarrassed.
The homeowner went off to work, leaving Parsons quietly seated on the sofa.
Signs belonging to someone else—through sight, smell, hearing, touch—surrounded him completely. Yet after spending so much time in replica worlds, Parsons, who would normally be highly alert when entering an unfamiliar environment, was now completely relaxed.
Even the magic sword was relaxed. It changed from a ring into a half-man-tall black dragon, its bat wings flapping: “So small.”
“Turn back.” Parsons frowned. The house was tiny; what if the magic sword ran around and broke something?
“No.” The rebellious magic sword zoomed straight into the kitchen to complain. “Lord Illman, Parsons is abusing his magical equipment!”
Laughter came from the kitchen. Parsons felt ashamed and wondered whether he should just melt the sword down and reforge it.
The world had changed, people had changed, magical tools had changed. But for a moment, it felt like they had returned to yesterday.
The water boiled. Jiang Jitang dropped the wontons in one by one.
After breakfast, he needed to deliver the migration forms, and he asked Parsons to wait here for five minutes. If he was curious, he could take some pictures.
Since he had already decided to bring this friend back into his life, selective honesty was the first step—mostly because there was no way to hide things anyway.
The authorities didn’t ask questions out of respect, not because they knew nothing. Others were the same—any investigation would reveal something wrong.
Still, Jiang Jitang was now a government worker, classified for special protection. No matter how curious other factions were, they had to hold it in.
Working with his own powerful and civilized government had been his best decision.
Four bowls of deluxe wontons, two plates of steamed milk buns, and four bottles of warmed breakfast milk—that was breakfast today.
For the first time, the magic sword got to sit at the table. It obediently squatted on a chair, drooling at its own bowl of deluxe wontons, half a plate of milk buns, and one warm bottle of breakfast milk. Amid the rising steam, the magic sword shot Parsons a sideways look: Look at that. Look!
Parsons: …
The Golden Eye knew nothing and happily gulped down its food.
After so long in C-Nation, Parsons could use chopsticks skillfully, but eating wontons still required a spoon. He lowered his face slightly; the wontons in their floating white wrappers carried fragrance and warmth that woke every cell in his body.
Scoop after scoop, steam condensed on his long eyelashes, forming a string of crystal pearls.
“How does it taste?” Jiang Jitang asked expectantly, just like when he’d fed him that magical-potion salad before.
“Good.” Parsons gave the same answer as back then.
The earlier magical salad—calling it good had been insincere; Parsons wasn’t truly taste-blind. But now, when he said it was good, it really was good.
He thought it was even better than the famous wonton shop with long lines.
Cooking for oneself means better ingredients and better timing. Cooking skill varies by person. He tried to analyze the secret of deliciousness from a scientific perspective.
Whether it was the broth with seaweed, dried shrimp, and scallions; or the wontons tinged faintly pink; or the two golden fried eggs hidden at the bottom—everything was perfect.
His soul and body both warmed.
For a moment, Parsons understood the meaning of good food—something far beyond mere nutrients for sustaining life.
“My cooking’s pretty good, right?” Jiang Jitang said as he finished his wontons. Now he was eating milk buns one bite at a time, drinking milk whenever it felt dry. The large amount of food disappeared quickly.
Parsons recorded the scene before him, turning it into a small fragment to store in his memory.
He had already collected many such fragments. Once he had enough, the Jiang Jitang hidden in the mist would reveal his complete and genuine self. Perhaps only then could Parsons grasp who this person really was, instead of clinging to lies and illusions.
He had started looking forward to it.
Good. One more step toward regaining a sincere friendship from the past. Well done, Jiang Jitang. Jiang Jitang cheered himself on in his heart.
Though he was thick-skinned, repeated rejection of his invitations would still discourage him. Luckily, Parsons was still as upright and considerate as ever—probably just too embarrassed to refuse.
Too embarrassed to refuse—that was perfect. He’d take him down sooner or later.
Both men carried their own thoughts, yet somehow they still got along harmoniously.
After the satisfying meal, Parsons got up to clean the dishes on his own, while Jiang Jitang prepared to leave for work. “I’m going to make a delivery. About five minutes. Wait here.”
Five minutes? That keyword made Parsons immediately think of the Cube World—because no matter how long one stayed inside a dungeon, returning always meant only five minutes had passed.
Jiang Jitang went into the bathroom. His presence disappeared.
Noticing this, the smile on Parsons’ face vanished. The magic sword, which had been bouncing around earlier, sensed the danger instantly and quietly turned back into a ring.
“Is delivering packages dangerous?” Parsons muttered to himself.
He couldn’t confirm if this was really Cube World, but even if not, it was related. And Cube World was synonymous with danger and death.
Trading labor for unwanted vegetable scraps and other edible leftovers, then bringing them to someone—or some people.
“Is that his game content?” Parsons wondered.
If Jiang Jitang’s game content was simply shopping and delivering goods, that would be great. Standard dungeons involved unreasonable killing and were not fun—he wouldn’t like that.
“If it’s something he enjoys, then it can’t be a cube world dungeon.”
Enjoyment was hard to fake—and Jiang Jitang truly enjoyed his job.
Not a cube world dungeon. Good.
The magic sword felt its master’s mood warming again. It revived!
The little black dragon appeared once more in the tiny house, reaching its claw toward a decorative item.
“Break one thing, and you’ll be starved for a day. Magical tools don’t need to eat.”
“!” This master is unacceptable.
In a good mood, Parsons admired everything around him—lively, bright, radiant. If his dear friend had always lived in such a cherished environment, he might have grown into someone like this too.
Thinking that, Parsons realized that dropping the old duke in the cellar as a gift to the lich before coming might not have been enough.
If it weren’t for that incompetent and violent old man, his friend wouldn’t have turned so insane—wasting the prime of his life going to the Central Temple to die. He could have lived better, and longer.
—
At this moment, Jiang Jitang had already entered the task world. It was late autumn there, wild grass everywhere, cold wind cutting through. Wearing thin clothes, he shivered hard.
The temperature taught him a lesson. He threw on a warm coat and put on protective gear.
“Huh? Where is everyone?”
Just as he was looking for the task target, he heard a strange sound behind him—not the rustling of dead grass in the wind. Looking back, he saw scattered figures of beast-skin-clad people walking unsteadily.
There were many of them. Each wore tree-bark clothing covered with animal hides, their faces painted with patterns using colored clay, giving them a mysterious appearance. The most protected among them was an elderly woman with a wrinkled face, wearing a feathered crown and two gray-white braids.
This group noticed Jiang Jitang as well. In this vast barren land, besides a few trees, he was the only human-shaped figure taller than the grass.
The long procession stopped. Then a young man wearing a leather skirt, arms and legs exposed, approached him.
Only when he got closer did Jiang Jitang notice the young man was barefoot, wearing just a short leather skirt and bark vest. His body was smeared in white clay, making it impossible to tell whether his skin was purple from the cold.
“Who are you? Why are you here?”
The young man stopped twenty paces away, holding a spear. Alert, and bluffing with a bit of fierceness.
Their tribe had only so many people left—they couldn’t afford any risk.
So Jiang Jitang raised both hands, showing empty palms. “I mean no harm. I came to deliver supplies.”
“Supplies?” The young man looked at him—empty-handed. “What supplies?”
“I was entrusted by the Sala tribe to prepare what they need for migration. You can ask your priest.”
The young man’s eyes widened. He remembered the strange event—the jewelry and scepter used as sacrificial offerings disappearing into thin air during the priest’s prayer.
Their tribe believed deeply in mystical power. The young man immediately backed up, retreating all the way into the team, where people started whispering anxiously.
Jiang Jitang observed their group.
His sharp eyesight let him see every exposed face—and also the Magical Beasts among them.
As expected—there were Magical Beasts. Over a hundred large ones, and even more small ones—probably at least five hundred total.
That was good. Magical Beasts had skills and survived better in nature. This increased the tribe’s chances of reaching their destination successfully.
Also, he had bought too few tricycles, but with these large beasts, the number of transport tools would be enough. They might really make it within two months.
“Honored guest, have you come for us?”
Jiang Jitang had expected suspicion, prepared to explain. He never expected them to believe immediately and take no defensive measures, instead leading him straight to the elder priest.
Uh… Was the Sala tribe too pure and easy to deceive?
“Do not doubt. I have received instruction from the unseen,” the priest said, voice airy with mystery.
Fine. If that saved trouble, he’d go with it. So Jiang Jitang didn’t pretend either. “I’m indeed here to deliver goods. The crystals you offered were the payment. Please make room—I need open space to set them down.”
At the priest’s word, the others immediately cleared the area. Only the priest, two warriors, and their Magical Beasts stayed.
Jiang Jitang did nothing outwardly—yet a hundred tricycles appeared on the barren land. The half-man-tall grass swallowed their wheels. The Sara people gasped in unison.
“These are transportation tools. You pedal them with your feet. They can carry luggage or people. Riding requires strength, but it’s faster than walking.
“Can you ride these? They look complicated, but they’re easy—and won’t tip over.”
Tricycles were very stable. As long as you had the strength and held the handlebars, and didn’t charge into a ditch, you were fine.
“We know a little about the outside world. Even if we can’t ride, we can learn.”
The priest said, her wrinkles relaxing as she smiled.
Most of their five hundred people were the old, weak, women, and children. They couldn’t walk fast, and there weren’t enough beasts. These tricycles were incredibly useful.
“Why don’t you try first?”
Jiang Jitang had that annoying perfectionist streak. Under his direction, the young and strong came out to try riding.
They had never ridden a bike before. It was their first contact with such things. And people were all different—some learned fast; some turned the tricycles into bumper cars, making others heartbroken and yelling at them to get off.
Jiang Jitang also had a repair kit and three children’s bicycles. He taught them how to fix flat tires and adjust chains. Older children chased the bikes excitedly.
Later, even the elderly came to try.
Everyone except the injured stared at the tricycles. Novelty washed away their fear and confusion.
“Elder, it’s so fast! So easy! I can put my mother on the back—I can carry her all day!”
Young warriors were like kids with new toys, reluctant to get off.
“Let them play,” Jiang Jitang said like an old grandpa. “Let’s continue.”
A pile of clothing appeared on the ground.
Five hundred rainproof coats, fleece liners, non-slip winter shoes with thick socks, dual-layer work gloves, and five-kilogram quilts formed a small mountain.
Last were the warm inner clothes and padded coats and pants for children.
The moment these appeared, everyone who had been enthralled by the tricycles rushed over. They had only just felt the suffering of travel—but the threat of winter hung over them every moment like a deadly sword.
Without warm clothing, in their near-naked state, fewer than a hundred of the five hundred might survive the journey.
But now—even the most pessimistic felt hope rising. With luck, three hundred or even four hundred might live to the end.
The warrior beside the priest had reddened eyes.
His wife had just given birth on the road. She hadn’t rested a single day. Mother and child huddled on the back of a blazing mountain goat Magical Beast, relying on its body heat to survive.
Now, with these supplies, the two could make it through their most fragile days.
“Asan, help distribute them. Warriors first, then children and the injured, then laborers, and last—the elders.”
The high priest herself was an elder—she put herself last. This was the tribe’s survival wisdom. They protected everyone whenever possible, but when sacrifices had to be made, the elders were the first.
Fortunately, this time no such sacrifice was needed—there were enough supplies.
Soon, everyone wore windproof, warm clothing, socks, thick shoes, and gloves. Even the two newborn babies had thick winter outfits. They received quilts too—soft as clouds and incredibly warm.
No longer would they fear the cold wind.
Asan’s wife came holding their baby to offer thanks. The child’s face was yellowish and pale, without much energy. Asan’s wife looked even worse, carrying faint traces of blood beneath her clothes.
“May I hold him?” Jiang Jitang asked.
