Completely unaware she’d unintentionally boosted his favor again, Xia Xinyan felt quietly relieved he hadn’t overthought it. This time, she genuinely just wanted to help her old friend. In fact, before even speaking up, she’d been slightly worried Ling Mo might suspect ulterior motives from how abruptly she’d brought it up. Now it seemed he was actually pretty reasonable.

—Admittedly, even after rebirth, Xia Xinyan and Ling Mo weren’t so different in certain ways. Neither had ever been in a relationship.

After dinner, still lingering in that inexplicable guilt for not keeping her company earlier, Ling Mo proactively suggested gaming: “Still early. Wanna run a dungeon?”

Truth be told, he wasn’t particularly fond of *Realm of Divine Descent*. He’d researched it pre-launch, but the real experience felt far from his expectations—definitely not the kind to hook him. Based on current impressions, anyway. Setting aside Xia Xinyan’s mentions of the game’s mysteries, even the pain simulation alone was something he never wanted to endure again. Though memory fading had blurred most details of his first dungeon run—even the artillery splash pain now felt like a hazy dream—he still remembered that moment vividly. Without Xia Xinyan, he might’ve logged off instantly, just like those two players he first met.

Here lay the divergence between this life’s Ling Mo and Xia Xinyan. When she first encountered the game, her understanding was shallow too—but she started in a safe-zone dungeon. Without pain hindrance, the wonders revealed captivated her effortlessly. Later, as she grasped the game’s true weight, she’d mentally prepared before entering combat zones. Even if she disliked it, for money or future’s sake, she endured.

But current Ling Mo saw the game only through movie-style VR fantasies. He came for fun—but combat dungeons held little joy. Without a positive first impression, liking it was hard. He suggested playing now solely because Xia Xinyan seemed interested. It was one of their few shared topics—he had to seize it, even if he didn’t enjoy it himself. Without her? This life’s Ling Mo might’ve become a total washout. Truly, at this moment, their paths had already forked.

Xia Xinyan, however, hadn’t pondered this deeply. Shaped by her past life, she assumed Ling Mo already liked the game—his invitation was just him wanting to play. So though she internally rolled her eyes at his dense move, she kindly agreed: “Sure.”

Ling Mo smiled. “I recall clearing the first dungeon unlocks an ability? Didn’t check mine yesterday.”

“Log in and see,” Xia Xinyan said lightly, setting up the two game pods in the living room. “Might be surprisingly strong.”

Ling Mo nodded and entered first.

Consciousness sank. Eyes opened. The seaside villa reappeared—sun blazing bright despite nighttime in reality. Come to think of it, last time Xia Xinyan dragged him straight to a dungeon; he’d never explored this space. *Customizable? No night setting?*

—Almost the instant the thought flickered, daylight vanished. Within seconds, noon bled into midnight. A colossal full moon hung above, casting silvery light across the sea. Moonlight alone illuminated the entire island clearly.

A nightscape straight out of cinema.

“…Pretty impressive,” Ling Mo murmured, stepping to the glass wall, gazing at the sea with quiet awe. He finally grasped why the game dared call itself the “Second World.” Aside from dungeon pain, it could fulfill nearly any fantasy.

“Hm? You set it to night?” Xia Xinyan’s voice came from behind. He turned. She stood in casual wear—refreshingly neat, with girl-next-door charm that, once again, unknowingly struck a chord.

He paused, cleared his throat lightly. “Um… just wanted to see what night looked like.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” She joined him at the window, gazing outward. A faint nostalgia stirred. “This world’s scenery beats reality.”

*Only the scenery*, she amended inwardly.

…Though this was exactly the view her past self had adored.

So close, he faintly caught her delicate fragrance. His thoughts wavered—but he reined them in, opened the game interface to refocus. The personal panel, unlocked after the first dungeon, displayed all details: attributes, items… and the ability section.

His ability: 【Manifest Imagination】—

Manifest any object within his power limit. Default duration: one hour. Dismissible early or extendable.

Brief description. But anyone grasping its meaning would see how absurdly overpowered it was. No item restrictions—only his own strength capped it. Utterly unreasonable.

Like Xia Xinyan in her past life: in her final moment, she poured all power into manifesting a sky fortress far beyond current tech. One main cannon blast vaporized all life in two ruined metropolises—including herself.

No deep knowledge needed either. Just a rough idea of form, function, purpose—the world’s rules auto-completed the rest. If feasible, it manifested.

Drawbacks existed: only “items” qualified. No living beings.

She’d once tried manifesting a “perfect girlfriend.” Result? A warm, lifeless girl’s corpse.

…Strangely resembling her current self.

A loophole lingered: organic matter *was* allowed. Food, medicine—manifestable.

But all vanished after one hour. Effects too. Backlash followed—a sensation hundreds of times worse than forcing vomit post-meal. (Don’t ask how she knew.) Even healing meds triggered unpredictable side effects after fading. She’d suffered plenty discovering these flaws. Honestly, such limits made the ability feel balanced. Without them? Truly broken.

Yet current Ling Mo remained oblivious. “My ability… kinda useless? Items last only an hour? And I can barely manifest anything now.”

Xia Xinyan: “…”

*Unhappy with it? I’d trade. Two of mine for one of yours.*