The moment Lin Yuan stepped into the deepest part of the Null Domain, it felt as if all gravity had been stripped from him. The folded planes floated chaotically in the void, like billions of sheets of transparent glass stacked atop each other, yet constantly on the verge of collapse. With each step, the planes beneath him trembled like living creatures, emitting a cold, piercing metallic friction. The air seemed nonexistent; every breath, every heartbeat was amplified to an unbearable degree, each inhale like chains being pulled tight against his chest, sending pain radiating through his ribcage.
The Null Domain was not merely a space—it was a vast maze of consciousness. Every plane carried fragments of memories from thousands of failed versions, bearing the weight of those who, like Lin Yuan, had once pursued Li and freedom, only to be crushed, disintegrated, and erased. Past Lin Yuans endlessly perished here in cycles; their struggles and despair were folded into every crack and crevice of the domain, whispering incessantly, countless voices pressing against his ears—but all emerging from himself.
“You shouldn’t have come here… You’re far too late… You will ultimately become the next failed shell.”
These voices were cold and sharp, yet none came from the outside. They all emanated from within Lin Yuan, amplifying his self-doubt to an infinite degree.
He took the first step, and the darkness seemed to want to swallow everything. Weak glimmers of light flickered across the folded planes, refracting along the shattered surfaces into countless lines, resembling fractured memory patterns, guiding him forward. From the depths came a faint sound of collision—ding—like metal striking a distant wall, yet also like thousands of failed versions warning him: no one passes lightly here.
Lin Yuan lifted his eyes and saw a blurred figure ahead. The outline was extremely familiar, yet impossible to focus on—it was himself.
“Residue again?” Lin Yuan frowned.
The shadow slowly lifted its head, faceless, with only a torn, blurred surface. Yet the way it opened its mouth was entirely identical to Lin Yuan’s.
“No.” The shadow’s voice, filtered through countless layers of echoes, said, “I am the first logic stripped from you after you arrived here.”
Lin Yuan’s heart tightened. “My… clone?”
“No.” The shadow shook its head lightly. “I am the failed you.”
The shadow reached out and lightly touched its chest. Within Lin Yuan’s chest, an almost transparent fissure ran from his collarbone to his abdomen, like the trace left when a program had been forcibly terminated before fully generating a humanoid form.
“Did you think you were the first ‘Delver’? You are the 9,436th version.” The shadow’s voice was calm yet carried an unyielding weight.
Lin Yuan’s breath stalled. It was as if the faint groans of 9,000 versions of himself echoed in his ears simultaneously. The shadow continued: “Each of you believed you were the protagonist. Each of you found Li. Each of you died at the same node.”
The folded planes collapsed under the shadow’s steps, each one like stepping into an abyss. Lin Yuan’s spine chilled. He fixed his gaze on the shadow. “Then what about me? How am I different from them?”
The shadow stopped three meters away, voice calm: “You carry a fragment of ‘her.’”
Lin Yuan’s pupils constricted. “Li?”
The shadow smiled but neither nodded nor shook its head. “Not Li. She is the only one among all your failed versions who broke through successfully.”
The words struck Lin Yuan like thunder. His heart tightened. Hai… was not erased from reality, not missing, not hidden. She was the “exception” that slipped through all failed endings—the only free variable in the Null Domain.
The folded planes began violently collapsing. The death echoes of countless past Lin Yuans filled his ears. He gritted his teeth and pressed onward. Every step felt as if he was walking toward his own death node, yet his gaze remained unwavering—he knew this was the place where over 9,000 versions had failed, and the only path where he might succeed.
As he stepped onto the next plane, the air tore apart. A fine black line emerged from the surface, like the spine of a creature, like a fracture in the world itself. Ahead, he saw a familiar figure—Li, yet unlike any version he remembered. Her lips carried profound, quiet gentleness, as if she had waited countless years.
“Yuan…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “You’ve finally arrived.”
Lin Yuan could barely move, unsure if this was real or illusion.
Li stepped forward, and the folded structure trembled violently. She asked softly: “Do you know why all versions of you failed?”
Lin Yuan’s throat tightened. Li reached out to touch the black line extending from her feet. Instantly, it spread like ink, dyeing the entire Null Domain. For the first time, sorrow penetrated to her bones: “Because each of you… stops the moment you see me.”
Lin Yuan held his breath. Li opened her arms, like an embrace, a trap, and a salvation all at once: “Will you… stop this time too?”
Lin Yuan struggled to speak: “You want me to stop… are you afraid I’ll continue?”
Li shook her head, approaching him. “No. You will understand who you truly are if you continue, but… you may not be able to bear it.”
Lin Yuan closed his eyes. “Then tell me.”
Her voice trembled softly: “Yuan… you are not here to save me. You are here to—” Her last word was swallowed by darkness, leaving only a vague echo: “Recycle.”
The world shattered. Folded planes, shadows, and all death echoes of failed versions plunged into the depths, leaving only him. At the far end of the Null Domain, a faint lamp illuminated a small, trembling figure—Hai.
Hai hugged her head, trying to conceal her pain. Moisture glistened at the corners of her eyes. “…Brother, do you… still remember me?”
Lin Yuan inhaled deeply and approached her. The Null Domain trembled, cracks began to close. Hai’s gaze reflected a mixture of fear and longing. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”
“Afraid.” Lin Yuan crouched, holding her in his arms. “But I am not here to escape.”
Hai froze, forgetting to breathe for a long moment. Then, softly: “Then… are you willing to hear the truth?”
Lin Yuan nodded. Hai pointed to the door in the depths of the Null Domain—the Gate of Truth: “Your name… was never Lin Yuan. Your real name is behind that door. You are the only protagonist among over 9,000 failed versions who was not completely written to death. And I… am the part of you that was deleted.”
Lin Yuan’s pupils constricted.
Hai lifted her head; the light in her eyes resembled the final lock opening: “I am—your ‘original form,’ your truest self.”
The Null Domain became utterly still. For the first time in the space of failure and rebirth, Lin Yuan and Hai found each other, and also found their true selves.
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and then Add to home screen.