Ruan Lin slipped into a dream, like a leaf sinking through still water.

The dream was painted in snow-white and pitch-black, a canvas split by frost and coal.

When she opened her eyes, she stood at the foot of a towering snow mountain; the wind cut like knives, and snowflakes twirled like dancers. She tilted her head, golden hair whipping across her vision. The white massif ran straight to the sky, poised to clasp the heavens—yet a sudden black curtain cleaved it in two.

A shadow surged and drowned her sight, cold chasing down her spine like ice. Her gaze rode the wind to the summit; her pupils tightened. It wasn’t a curtain at all—it was a black dragon, wings flung wide, roaring like thunder.

Under wings vast enough to eclipse the sky, black flames poured down like a monsoon, draping the whole range in fire.

All around, screams braided with an endless ding-ding, like brittle ice chimes in a storm. Ruan Lin looked about; people in strange outfits wailed and sprinted downhill like a broken tide. Some tucked into balls and rolled, yet the rain of black fire only thickened.

Once the flames brushed even a half-wisp, a crisp ding rang and light burst like splinters. They toppled naked and silent, bodies strewn across the snow like fallen statues.

It should have been horrific, yet laughter tugged at her lips; that sound and that light felt oddly soothing, like warm tea in winter.

Her smile barely rose before a hollow opened in her chest, like a pit beneath fresh snow. She felt she’d forgotten something vital; she fixed her eyes on the summit, breath thin as frost.

She ought to flee, or share their fate; but she only watched the peak, steady as a pine. Whatever she’d lost seemed sealed up there, like a letter locked under ice.

She stood as the wind combed her golden hair, eyes bright as stars. Her sight threaded through black fire and white snow, layered curtains rippling, and reached the high peak swallowed by dragon-shadow. There seemed… to be a person.

“Who could that be?” she murmured, a drop in the storm. The dragon loosed a high roar; it was speaking, not in dragon-tongue, but in the common speech. What was it saying?

[Damn it! Cursed humans… take—my…]

The voice broke apart crossing wind and snow, like paper in rain.

Curiosity shouldered aside danger; Ruan Lin edged forward, step by step, trying to hear the torn words through the gale—

“Ding.”

…

…

“Lin!—Xiao Lin! Xiao Lin!”

The call struck her ear, and Ruan Lin woke as if unspelled, like a lantern relit.

The swaying subway car and the crowd’s clamor hauled her back to the world, like surf pulling a swimmer to shore.

She blinked toward her side; a short-haired girl in a blue-and-white school uniform watched her with worry clouding her eyes, like mist on glass.

“What’s wrong, Xia Chan?” Ruan Lin yawned, voice soft as cotton.

“We’re at our stop; we should get off!” Xia Chan grabbed her hand, pushing through the crowd like reeds parting in a stream.

They chatted as they walked, steps keeping time like drumbeats.

“Xiao Lin, what’s up today? Your spirit’s been off all day, like a candle in the wind.”

“Really?” Ruan Lin touched her forehead, fingers cool as snow. “No fever; maybe last night’s dream was too weird.”

“Dream?”

“Yeah. A random dream. I actually died in it,” she said, words light as ash.

“So scary—was it a nightmare? I get drained after bad dreams, like rain soaked into wool.”

“Exactly! And all my gear exploded off my body!” Ruan Lin puffed her cheeks like a pouting koi. “I’m furious.”

“Hmm…” Xia Chan paused, sighing like a small breeze through bamboo. “So you were gaming in your dream? How much do you love games if even dreams keep you playing—is it that new game you downloaded last night?”

“Not really.” Ruan Lin shook her head, a small crease in her brow like a furrow in sand. “Thing is, that game… I honestly don’t remember it. You know me—I like games, but I’m not into those isekai MMORPGs. Those games are too hard.”

“Okay… forget whatever MMORPG even means. Xiao Lin, did you actually forget another important thing?” Xia Chan’s face turned solemn, clouds closing like a lid.

“Ding.” The exit gate’s card beep overlapped perfectly with the death chime from her dream, and Ruan Lin shivered like a reed in winter wind.

The crowd surged behind them like a tide; they quickened their steps, rose to the street, and gulped fresh air like fish rising to sunlit water.

They lived in the same neighborhood, and walked on as usual, side by side like twin shadows.

“What did you mean?” Ruan Lin asked at last, voice steady as a drawn line.

“I mean, isn’t there something more worth worrying about today?” Xia Chan glanced over, eyes sharp as a hawk’s.

“Huh?”

Xia Chan kneaded her temples like dough, helpless and amused. “The pop quiz! We’ve got that English pop quiz tomorrow, remember?”

“Uh…” Ruan Lin stopped cold, memory clearing like frost melting on stone. “Now that you say it… maybe there is such a thing…”

“You really forgot!”

“Ugh… I thought we already took that quiz?” Ruan Lin sighed, weary as an old cat in sun.

“When did we ever take it? Don’t tell me you took it inside a game.” Xia Chan stared when her friend didn’t answer, eyes widening like full moons. “You actually did? How fun can games be?”

“Eh-heh…” Ruan Lin stuck out her tongue, playing cute like a fox kit. “Last night’s new game was awesome. The immersion was insane.”

“How insane can it get? Can it help you with the gaokao in two years?” Xia Chan arched a brow, words crisp as dried leaves.

“Uh…” A strange, hazy look slid into the girl’s eyes, fog pooling over a lake at dawn. “Maybe… it just might.”

…

…

Last night.

—[Welcome to the White World.]

White letters melted, turning the black background snow-white, like ink washed by rain. A line of gray text floated at the center like a drifting feather.

In Ruan Lin’s ears, lively music softened, turning faintly uncanny, like bells ringing behind frost.

She sat up without meaning to, spine straight as bamboo in wind.

[Do you believe Time can flow backward? — Yes/No]

“This must be the player setting the world’s premise,” she whispered, voice thin as thread.

It was just a game, yet Ruan Lin hesitated; she pondered for a long breath, thoughts circling like swallows, then clicked Yes.

—The next question surfaced at once, smooth as a rising moon.

[Do you think choosing to rewind Time must come from a searing, unforgettable cause? — Yes/No]

No—It doesn’t have to be… searing. If you bomb a pop quiz, you’d want time to rewind too, like turning a page back.

[Do you think…]

Just like that, Ruan Lin answered a dozen choices, all orbiting “time rewind,” like planets around a sun. Right when impatience nibbled like ants, the final question arrived.

[Last one now… I bet you’re getting tired.]

“The copywriting’s pretty funny.” Her lips tucked into a small smile, a crescent under starlight.

[Do you think rewinding Time requires a price? — Yes/No]

“A price?” She froze, sitting properly like at a temple rite. It was the last question, and a whisper told her it might steer the whole game. She wavered, the mouse drifting like a leaf on water. At last, she grit her teeth and clicked—

Whoosh.

The gray line on the screen scattered in an instant, ash vanishing on wind.

“Eh?” Ruan Lin stared. “I didn’t even choose! Bug! I brooded for half the night for nothing.”

Another line eased into view, smooth as fresh ink on rice paper.

[Seeing you hesitate so long, you can’t make up your mind yet. I’ll decide for you.]

“Are you kidding me? And who even are you?” Ruan Lin shot back, words sharp as pebbles flicked at glass—

[I suppose… you’re wondering who I am.]

Ruan Lin glanced out the window, a prickle like eyes on her skin, shadow crawling like ivy.

[I won’t tell you. By the way, I won’t tell you what choice I made for you either.]

“I—” She nearly choked, breath snagging like a tangled thread. “Then shut up already.”

Yet beneath the mix of anger and laughter, she felt it—this in-game voice, this narrator’s tone, was familiar as a half-remembered song.

She sensed she’d met someone like this before—someone who could toss out maddening barbs with the lightness of a falling petal, a smile like a blade under silk.

Watching the rolling text, she could almost see that hateful half-smile on the other side. The girl bit down, teeth bright as silver in moonlight. “If I met that kind of person in real life, I’d have blown his head off.”

[Alright. It’s been a while, but let’s leave it there.]

“What ‘been a while’? Don’t act like we’re old friends,” she fired back, words snapping like twigs.

[Everything will need your own decisions—]

[First up—]

[His name.]

“A name?”

She blinked; the music cut off clean as a snipped string, silence settling like snow.

Cicadas and birds called from far away, notes drifting closer, clear as morning bells. The screen shed its monochrome, colors blooming like watercolor across silk. A slice of azure sky appeared first; the camera rode summer wind down from the sun and landed on the gray-white teaching block at the campus’s northern edge.

“Finally, the real show starts!” Ruan Lin perked up, spirit rising like steam from tea.

A gentle female voice narrated in her ear, light as silk gliding over jade.

[This is just a simple love story.]

[A simple love story between a boy and a girl—pure, clear, ordinary.]

[Such a story won’t feel strange anywhere; it won’t feel out of place.]

[No other impurities.]

[No need for wrenching pain or thunderous passion.]

[In the last semester of high school, on the eve of the gaokao.]

[With the school anniversary play as the spark.]

[? decides to confess to her.]

“A classic campus romance?” Ruan Lin pouted a little, lips a small bow against dawn. It couldn’t be that simple. Why bother with that opening questionnaire otherwise? Maybe they were just messing with players, like cats with yarn.

“And this question mark—must be the name…” She clicked it, but no input box popped. It started spinning by itself, like a slot reel in neon.

“Eh? Again? No player agency at all?”

She could only watch as the first character slowly rose on the screen, a pale moon from ink.

[Ye]

“Ye—that’s the surname? So I can still choose the given name. Ha, thanks for the dev team’s charity,” she said, sarcasm soft as a smile.

“Ye…” she repeated, the sound like a leaf skimming water. “Ye—what pairs with Ye? If I go with those old Western names again, it’ll feel off. A Chinese name then… maybe Ye Lin—wait—”

A thought struck like lightning splitting a summer cloud. “Since it’s called the White World, the name should be—White.”

She typed the third character: [Bai], and her smile glinted like sunlight on snow.

“The middle character…”

Ruan Lin stared at the blank space between the three characters; her mouth curled, a hook on the river’s edge.

“Let’s use this one—like a little dog, kind of cute, hahaha,” she said, joy bubbling like spring water.

She felt happy for no reason, entered the second character, and tapped Enter with a cheerful clack, fingers dancing like sparrows.

The female narrator paused, tone shifting a shade, then went on, voice flowing like a river through reeds.

[Yexiaobai—decides to confess to her.]

…

…