Henry Clark squinted her eyes at him, feeling that this sudden burst of literary flair was just absurd. Just yesterday, he was still that sleazy guy who would write things like “if you’re looking, it should be for the Father God of Creation,” the kind who wrote harem and ambiguous stories, his mind full of fantasies about flitting among flowers like a lecher. How could words like these not make one extremely wary?

But she had to admit, he really did speak to her heart—such resonance couldn’t be faked.

Yes, all her past memories were written by him.

So, do those even count as things she’s done, experienced, or thought about?

Are they all fake? Is it like some kind of puppet technique that implants memories?

Is she, as a whole, even real? And what about now?

Everything churning inside Henry Clark was right here.

Brian Carter pinched the blade of the sword with two fingers and slowly moved it aside: “That day you tried to write about ascension, but it didn’t work... Later I thought, maybe it wasn’t a logic issue, maybe it was because it wasn’t published, so it didn’t count since it wasn’t finalized. Let’s do another test. This time, I’ll write it, put it in a new draft but not publish it yet, and see if it works or not?”

The sword was actually moved aside...

Brian Carter naturally sat down in front of the computer and turned it on, still talking: “Save your strength. Turning your will into a solid sword clearly shortens your time outside. Actually, it’d be best if even your clot—uh...”

Henry Clark’s previously distracted eyes instantly turned fierce.

Brian Carter hurried to fix it: “I mean, that outer robe is too heavy, it’d be better to just wear something lighter...”

With a “bang,” Brian Carter’s head was slammed onto the keyboard.

Henry Clark’s voice was like a ghost from the underworld: “If I don’t kill you, can’t I at least beat you up!”

Brian Carter looked up miserably: “The keyboard’s going to break...”

“What kind of magic tool is this of yours, so fragile!”

Brian Carter numbly opened the document and tested it—the keyboard still worked. He secretly praised the keyboard, thinking he’d buy this brand again... Wait, why buy something this hard, does he want his face to hurt more?

Damn it, you’re my “creation” after all. Without me, there’s no you. Can’t you show a little respect?

Complaints aside, Brian Carter knew this wasn’t the time to lecture her about how violence is bad. Henry Clark’s reaction was actually pretty calm... The gap between them would have to be bridged slowly.

He opened the outline file, and under the “Character” section for “Henry Clark,” in the “Ability Settings” column, he added a line: “Has repeatedly attempted to break through and ascend, and though unsuccessful, has found a way to roam outside the world, able to separate body and soul across realms without loss, and traverse spatial rifts without getting lost.”

He clicked save.

He said, “I figure I can’t change the rules of the dimensional wall, and I can’t just mess with it—if someone else comes out, it’ll be chaos. So I can only patch you. This ability is deduced from your own actions, so theoretically it’s self-consistent. Now we’ll see if it works when it’s just a setting and not published.”

Henry Clark quietly felt it, her gaze growing more complicated.

It worked.

She really did feel her ability evolve. What used to be a barely manageable soul-roaming was now effortless, and she roughly estimated she could stay here for several more days.

She didn’t even need to confirm publication...

This man really could just stuff things into her body at will... Uh, that wording didn’t sound quite right.

Henry Clark’s mind was a bit of a mess; she couldn’t care about wording now.

This man was so weak, yet had such a significant influence on her. Should she imprison and force him to keep strengthening her?

But...

Brian Carter suddenly turned his head and smiled slightly: “But your lifelong pride—what was originally a cultivation achieved by braving life and death, relying on your own wit and bloody struggle—if it turns into something you want to be granted by someone else, what does that make it?”

Henry Clark’s eyes grew cold again: “You know me as well as a worm in my belly. Don’t you realize, saying things like that will get you beaten up again?”

“But why do you want to hit me?” Brian Carter stood up and said calmly, “Aren’t I helping you?”

He pointed at the screen, his eyes gradually shining with an indescribable light: “The women I’ve written, pouring all my beautiful fantasies into them, now have their own souls—they’re no longer just cold words... For someone who weaves worlds, what kind of affirmation and joy is that? In the terms of your world, if I am seeking the Dao, then Henry Clark, the day you break free from the book’s existence will be the day I find my path.”

Henry Clark quietly looked into Brian Carter’s eyes. Deep within those eyes was a hint of fanaticism, just like her old friends and rivals in her world, in their most determined pursuit of their own Dao.

This was a person with a “Dao.”

Maybe... this was the reason their worlds could connect?

“Actually, after meeting twice, you’ve never asked my name. You’re eager to escape your predicament, and this man is just a checkpoint in your problem-solving, only a matter of how to deal with him, not caring what his name is... But I think, you really should know.” Brian Carter finally reached out his hand to her: “My name is Brian Carter.”

Chapter 9: Your Celestial Realm

Brian Carter felt that this time, his words and actions were very appropriate and full of presence. If he’d been this impressive when he went on that blind date with William Parker, maybe things would have worked out...