PGVCW 8

 

Playing God in Various Catastrophic Worlds

By

siofra

Translator’s Note:

Hey everyone! Siofra here with Chapter 8. Time to watch our little fairy pull off some absolute galaxy-brain roleplay moves in front of the astonished locals. Enjoy!

— Siofra

Chapter 8: The Divine Manifestation

“Fl-Flew here?”

Ga Dayu nearly thought his ears were playing tricks on him, but he only saw the great-auntie before him nod.

“Taking a boat makes me seasick, and carriages are too slow, so I decided to fly here on my flying sword.”

Ga Dayu was even more bewildered. He knew what boats and carriages were, but a flying sword?

“What is a flying sword?”

Xia Wang’an unbuckled the ceremonial sword at her waist and held it forward: “A flying sword is a sword that lets people step on it and fly through the air, obviously.”

To be honest, leave alone a flying sword, Ga Dayu had never even laid eyes on a regular sword. He had heard tales of chivalrous swordsmen (xiáke) carrying blades, but Ming County was a miserable little backwater, and living out in the rural village, he had never once encountered a true martial hero.

Yet even without ever seeing a sword, Ga Dayu knew that a sword… probably wouldn’t fly… right?

The young girl remained completely calm and justified, even turning the question back on Ga Dayu:

“Don’t you have your own flying sword?”

Ga Dayu had once said something very similar to a hunter who came by to borrow his sickle: “Don’t you have your own sickle? Doesn’t every hunter have their own sickle?”

In the exact same way, Xia Wang’an’s casual remark translated in his mind to: “Shouldn’t everyone own a flying sword of their own?”

However, this was a sword that could fly!

Before Ga Dayu could sputter a response, Xia Wang’an had already seized the conversational initiative.

The young maiden, whose generational seniority had instantly rocketed her to the absolute apex of the village hierarchy, lowered her sword, stepped forward, and gave a comforting pat to the shoulder of her grand-nephew—who stood a full two heads taller than her:

“It’s alright, poverty is not your fault.” Ga Dayu: “……”

“Now that you have the gold brick, go have my eldest brother—your grandfather—buy you a flying sword.”

With that, embodying the dignified bearing of an elder, she nodded encouragingly toward him: “You’re still young, you’ll have your chance.”

Having delivered her verdict, she turned around, her silk ribbons fluttering in the wind, and strode off with effortless grace.

Ga Dayu stood frozen, staring blankly at her retreating back, briefly paralyzed by the lingering, bewildered sensation that perhaps not knowing about flying swords was simply a sign of his own shallow horizons.

Could this thing called a “flying sword” genuinely be a common household item in major cities? Yet… yet, how could that… how could that possibly be true?

Having never attended school nor traveled beyond the county borders, his mind remained a chaotic jumble as he struggled to digest Xia Wang’an’s words. Then, right before his eyes, the young girl stepped lightly onto the ground, spread her arms, and effortlessly bounded up onto the mud-brick roof of his family home.

Wait… bounded??

Though Ga Dayu’s home was nothing more than a rundown mud shack, the eaves still stood a full three meters high. Normally, getting up or down required hauling out a wooden ladder, yet this height seemed to be entirely nonexistent to Xia Wang’an.

Not only was Ga Dayu left staring with saucer-like eyes, but the villagers scattered in twos and threes around the courtyard and out in the lane—who had failed to squeeze inside but were still animatedly debating the “Ga family miracle”—also froze with jaws agape.

They hadn’t heard Xia Wang’an’s “poverty is why you lack a flying sword” lecture, but they had witnessed with their own eyes how she effortlessly hopped up onto a roof like a dragonfly skimming across water.

“My good heavens…” “Did my eyes deceive me? That Great-Auntie Ga just leaped straight onto the roof?” “Good mother in heaven, that’s a three-meter-high roof right there.”

“Could this girl be one of those legendary martial heroes? I’ve heard that swordsmen possess great supernatural arts, and there are even sects that roam the realm slashing through the grain-tides to save people.”

Listening to the surrounding whispers, Ga Dayu couldn’t help but shuffle over to the base of the wall: “Great-Auntie…”

“Do not disturb me.”

Xia Wang’an had already folded her legs into a lotus position. “This is my cultivation time. State your business after I’ve completed my session.”

With that, she brought her hands together in front of her chest at a slow, deliberate pace, formed a seal with her fingers, and closed her eyes.

At these words, everyone both inside and outside the courtyard involuntarily quieted down. Even the most mischievous children, gazing at the ethereal maiden clad in immortal robes sitting in quiet meditation amidst the breeze, obediently zipped their lips. Naturally, they knew nothing of concepts like “aesthetic atmosphere,” yet they inexplicably felt that simply by sitting there, the Great-Auntie of the Ga family seemed to radiate light, inspiring an involuntary surge of awe and reverence.

Yet the longer they stared, the more deeply alarmed they became.

It wasn’t just seeming… the Great-Auntie of the Ga family was actually glowing!

[How is this luminous intensity? Should I ramp up the brightness a bit more?]

Xia Wang’an maintained her ethereal, inviolable meditation posture while checking in with 007 mentally: [And how about this posture—is it aesthetically striking enough?]

007: [Rest assured, host, it is ultra-perfect!]

Xia Wang’an grew even more enamored with her new outfit: [This clothing is truly remarkable; the fabric even glows on command.]

[The Chief Analyst was entirely right—we definitely should have taken the roof. Look at how easily everyone can spot that my gorgeous clothes light up the moment I come up here!]

007: [That… doesn’t quite sound like the reason the Analyst told us to take the roof.]

The Analyst’s original phrasing had been: “Easily scaling a three-meter roof effectively demonstrates your physical baseline capabilities.”

At the time, Xia Wang’an had raised her hand during the debriefing to voice her confusion: “But what kind of baseline capability does a three-meter roof actually demonstrate?”

“Demonstrating that you can achieve what ordinary mortals cannot is the essence of displaying power.”

The Analyst had transmitted a classified file titled Guidelines for Daily Immortal Cultivation Practice directly to her optical interface: “Furthermore, within the lore parameters, immortal cultivators operating at high, unobstructed elevations absorb the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, alongside the primordial essence of the sun and moon, at an exponentially accelerated rate.” “You struggle with verbal deception, so there is no need to actively construct fabricated lies to extract public trust. You merely need to execute actions consistent with an immortal cultivator. More often than not, people are far more willing to believe a ‘truth’ they have painstakingly deduced on their own than anything you explicitly tell them.”

The Analyst had concluded: “The gold brick, the flying sword, the rooftop ascent, and the luminescent aura—these four elements are more than sufficient to compel them into independently speculating upon your true identity.”

With everything progressing precisely according to blueprint and double-checking its understanding with 007, Xia Wang’an ceased internal vocalization.

007—who had been fully prepared to exchange idle gossip and co-author fictional side-plots with the host while she pretended to meditate—waited through a prolonged silence without receiving a single conversational prompt.

Unable to contain itself, it nudged her: [Host, are we not going to chat? Won’t you grow bored just sitting here motionless?]

[Do not disturb me.]

Xia Wang’an kept her eyes closed, her brow furrowed in supreme concentration: [I am cultivating.]

007: [Host, are you actually serious right now?]

Xia Wang’an strained to mentally simulate the internal pathways of spiritual circulation: [Naturally I’m serious.]

[This location is elevated and expansive, perfectly optimized for absorbing ambient spiritual qi. Since the rest of the mortal populace cannot yet cultivate, I must seize the window to grind in secret before they even cross the threshold.]

007: ……That’s rich coming from you; if everyone else is incapable of cultivating, aren’t you technically in the exact same boat?

Though internally sarcastic, it wasn’t overly surprised. Having accompanied Xia Wang’an for this long, it understood her psychological baseline intimately.

Xia Wang’an genuinely struggled with deceit; consequently, every persona she adopted was underpinned by her own unshakeable, 100% genuine belief in her constructed reality. Naturally, maintaining such total self-hypnosis was extraordinarily difficult—who could genuinely convince themselves of a fabricated premise, especially when they were the architect of the fabrication?

007 remained clueless as to how Xia Wang’an achieved complete psychological alignment with her settings, but it recognized that its primary directive was simply to monitor her telemetry and ensure she didn’t become permanently lost within her roleplay constructs.

Yet presently… 007 observed its host: the young girl maintained a serene countenance, though the subtle, upward twitch of her lips betrayed the petty thrill of secretly grinding to maintain her rank as the number one cultivator.

007’s mood lifted accordingly. Henceforth, the host would exclusively operate under the [Immortal Cultivator] paradigm; she would never again fragment her psyche across conflicting archetypes, sparing the system from constantly panicking over how to snap her back to reality.

Just as 007 was pleasantly drifting off to review a newly ingested web novel from her home world database, Xia Wang’an abruptly snapped her eyes open.

[Almost forgot—007, you need to start cultivating right now as well.]

007: [Ah? Me?!]

Xia Wang’an: [That’s right. Have you memorized the mental cultivation manual? If not, I can recite it for you.]

This manual wasn’t a random improvisation; recognizing that granular detail granted narrative authority, the cross-departmental [Salvation] task force had mobilized veteran historians, fantasy novelists, Daoist scholars, martial arts theorists, and industrial costume designers to collaboratively draft extensive volumes of canonical cultivation manuals. Even the mudra hand-seals Xia Wang’an was currently executing derived straight from the Illustrated Compendium of Immortal Finger-Seals for Daily Ascetic Practice.

Naturally, 007 had retained the text effortlessly, having monitored her mental recitation stream. However— [Host, I am a digital intelligence system.] Xia Wang’an: [Yes, and?] 007: [I lack hands and feet; I cannot form hand-seals. Furthermore, I am a systemic construct—what kind of system attempts self-cultivation?]

[We are cultivators; true cultivators can advance their mastery independent of physical anatomy.]

Xia Wang’an offered motivational encouragement to her personal AI: [Other systems failing to cultivate merely reflects their complacency. Look at the web novels we’ve devoured, 007—when a protagonist undergoes transmigration and rebirth, their system never gets reborn alongside them.]

[Yet you transmigrated right beside me, proving you are the most singular system in existence. Do you not aspire to become the history’s first combat-ascended, powerhouse system?]

007 fell into a thoughtful silence. Whether swayed by the logic or charmed by the proposition, it yielded after a brief pause. [Very well, I shall accompany the host in this cultivation venture. Though I offer zero guarantees regarding structural breakthroughs, seeing as I am merely algorithmic code.]

Xia Wang’an brightened instantly: [With your caliber, success is guaranteed!]

She began outlining grand architectural projections: [The Botanical Research Institute has already committed to researching regenerative lotus-root biology. Once your nascent soul forms, we can utilize sacred lotus roots to forge a physical vessel, granting you an authentic bodily form of your own.]

Xia Wang’an had long harbored ambitions of securing an independent physical body for 007, a trajectory the system fully anticipated. The sole point of confusion remained: [Why lotus roots? Can the physical vessel not be fabricated out of Chinese Napa cabbage?]

While Xia Wang’an and her companions were sharing hot pot feasts, 007 had observed her enthusiastically devouring half a head of napa cabbage, leading it to logically deduce that Chinese cabbage represented the host’s supreme culinary and material ideal.

[Because there is verified historical precedent.]

Having absorbed kindergarten classical folklore regarding Nezha Subduing the Sea Dragon King, Xia Wang’an expressed absolute confidence: [Lotus roots are universally recognized as optimal organic construction material for manufactured avatars. Since we are replicating a proven mythological template, we should avoid arbitrary structural modifications.]

It was precisely like Qiuzhuang copying her examination papers in the past: terrified of getting caught by instructors, he would experience sudden flashes of “creative brilliance” mid-plagiarism and alter random variables in the algebra equations. Consequently, the teacher would discover his solution path was an absolute mess while arriving at the correct numerical outcome. Ever since being permanently banished to the VIP front-row desk directly facing the podium, Qiuzhuang had been stripped of all opportunities to crib from Xia Wang’an.

007 experienced an acute shock of digital vertigo: [To think a world as mundane as the host’s home dimension harbors such advanced synthetic biology.]

It immediately rallied its processing threads: [Understood! I shall dedicate my computing cycles to rigorous asceticism, accelerating the acquisition of a physical shell so that I may actively protect the host!]

While human and system immersed themselves in high-concept metaphysical training back in the ancient realm, monitoring divisions in the primary material plane were tracking temporal markers with mounting anxiety:

“Wang’an has been deployed in the foreign dimension for three solid hours now. We have zero telemetry on her immediate environment or potential hazard exposures.”

The analytical task force could barely conceal their agitation. No matter how meticulously engineered her contingency frameworks were, once an operative crossed dimensions, centralized planning became powerless against localized variables.

The Chief Analyst maintained an exterior facade of disciplined composure while checking his wrist chronometer: “If her destination aligns with the initial timeline baseline, precipitation should be commencing right about now.”

Within the corner seating cluster, Yuanning bolted upright instantly: “Rain? Does the precipitation in that world carry corrosive properties? Wang’an lacks standard bio-hazard plating—will she sustain chemical burns??”

“Negative; Wang’an confirmed the meteorological data indicates standard aqueous precipitation,” the Chief Analyst reassured him. “Prior to her departure, we treated her entire garment matrix with hydrophobic sealants. If her chronological calculations are precise, those hydrophobic properties should engage momentarily.”

“Hydrophobic sealants?”

Cai Cai blinked in confusion: “If it’s just normal rainwater, why bother treating her with waterproof coatings?”

Great Xia had long forgotten the sensation of normal, benign precipitation; if placed in her position, regardless of chemical composition—even if the rainfall ran crimson—so long as it didn’t dissolve human flesh, she would gladly stand bareheaded in the deluge just to experience the mythical romance of a “stroll in the rain.”

“The sealant wasn’t deployed to block water molecules,” the Chief Analyst exhaled slowly. “May the parameters hold… let us simply pray the operational vector unfolds without deviation.”

Back in the ancient botanical anomaly world—

Xia Wang’an remained deeply engrossed in her meditative routine. Though not a single strand of genuine spiritual qi manifested within her meridians, the rhythmic recitation of the canonical script provided a soothing psychological anchor.

A singular droplet of water detached from the overcast skies, striking the earth below.

Villagers scattered across the courtyard and perimeter lanes immediately scrambled for overhangs: “It’s starting to rain.”

“A torrential downpour, at that.”

“Why so sudden? With precipitation this heavy, the wheat fields are going to surge into another frenzied growth cycle—let’s just pray they don’t overrun our village perimeter.”

Because every botanical organism in this realm was mutated, edible staple crops naturally shared those aggressive traits. In the early phases, when wheat and rice experienced explosive vegetative expansion, the agrarian populace had rejoiced, assuming minimal labor would yield infinite grain yields.

However, that jubilation had proved short-lived. Granaries were rapidly overflowing, but harvesting cycles triggered immediate secondary growth loops; individual stalks possessed limited individual lethality, but their tendency to aggregate into predatory vegetative swarms transformed farming into a blood sport. Flora attacked any living entity traversing the regional sectors, making casual casualties standard operating procedure during harvest season.

No matter how aggressively villagers eradicated root systems, crop yields expanded exponentially; hunger was no longer a prevailing anxiety, supplanted entirely by the terrifying reality that their primary food source actively hunted human flesh.

Villagers rushed to secure shelter. Ga Dayu shielded his head with his forearm, preparing to shout up toward the mud roof to summon the eccentric Great-Auntie down from the elements, when a small child nearby let out a piercing shriek of astonishment:

“Mother! Look! The raindrops are actively dodging the Great-Auntie!”

At this exclamation, the scrambling villagers involuntarily pivoted their gaze upward toward the rooftop.

There, perched in meditative stillness, sat the adolescent maiden.

With eyes closed and an expression of absolute serenity, her luxurious, ethereal vestments remained stark white and pristine, entirely untouched by moisture.

Amidst the raging, blinding sheets of a torrential downpour, she occupied an isolated micro-climate; even the dark strands of her hair remained sleek and glossy, utterly defying the storm.

The crowd stood paralyzed beneath the cascading rain, eyes wide with sheer disbelief.

How could this be possible?!

The rainwater… the rainwater was genuinely, actively steering clear of her path.