Chapter 62: Traverse (3)
62 – Traverse (3)
Copy, paste.
What would happen if he copied and pasted the code from the Chixiao Longque Sword into his own body?
In an instant, he made a decision, quickly searching for what seemed to be key content, then began copying—
The limit for a single teleportation spell was ten thousand lines of code, but the code within the Chixiao Longque Sword was as vast as the ocean, far exceeding ten thousand lines.
The copy-paste was complete—exactly ten thousand lines of code had been transferred into his body. Even if it was useless for Cultivation, he could still have Wang Anquan analyze it. In any case, it wasn’t a loss.
Whether it was an illusion or not, the sword beneath his hand seemed to loosen slightly, but the next moment, it was as immovable as a rock again.
Lin Xun felt he had glimpsed a heavenly secret.
But Yufeng Zhenren was clearly disappointed—neither of them had managed to lift the divine artifact.
The Zhenren waved his hand and dismissed them.
Copying the code from the Chixiao Longque Sword was undoubtedly an exciting matter, but now, the more important thing was the amusement park with Dong Jun.
Dong Jun: “Where to?”
Lin Xun looked up.
In front of the castle stood a massive Ferris wheel.
Ferris wheels were quite common—almost every amusement park had one.
But the one in “Paradise” was different—it was a fully transparent glass Ferris wheel.
In other words, the observation cabins people rode in were transparent. When the cabin rose into the air with the Ferris wheel, it felt as though one were floating high above.
Lin Xun felt a bit timid and hesitated to move forward.
He wasn’t afraid of roller coasters or any thrilling rides—in fact, he quite enjoyed them.
But Ferris wheels were a special case.
Dong Jun: “Afraid of heights?”
“Not afraid of heights,” Lin Xun said, “but I’m afraid of falling. It seems I’ve been afraid of that since I was young.”
Dong Jun: “Afraid of falling?”
“It’s… the fear of a malfunction causing a fall. But I can overcome it like this,” Lin Xun said, watching the slowly rotating Ferris wheel. “The Ferris wheel completes one rotation every half hour. The amusement park is open for twelve hours a day, so that’s twenty-four rotations per day. Assuming the park operates for five years, it would have rotated 48,300 times without a single cabin falling—and there are at least ten thousand Ferris wheels worldwide. Multiply that number by ten thousand…”
Dong Jun smiled faintly: “So the probability of an accident happening during your ride is infinitely close to zero.”
Lin Xun: “Then I can stop being afraid.”
Dong Jun seemed to raise an eyebrow: “I hope that’s the case this time too.”
Lin Xun glanced at the fully transparent cabin and felt a bit uneasy.
Several cabins had people inside, with three pairs huddled together, trembling—humans were creatures who both feared and sought out thrills.
He: “But, you know, sometimes physical panic overrides my rationality. For me, this is much scarier than a roller coaster. I…”
He tried to escape.
Dong Jun’s right hand gently pressed on his left shoulder.
He didn’t dare move and obediently followed to the base of the Ferris wheel.
Without needing to queue, he was led onto the “pirate ship”—a fully transparent square cabin.
He glanced at the fully transparent square cabin and immediately felt timid, gripping the handrail beside him and talking more out of nervousness: “What material is this? Is it really safe? I want to read the research papers.”
He looked at Dong Jun across from him and noticed Dong Jun was watching him with an amused expression, as if observing an animal.
Lin Xun: “…”
Lin Xun: “Are you mocking me?”
“No,” Dong Jun denied.
“You definitely do… What are you trying to do!” The next moment, Lin Xun completely lost his composure, shrinking back into the corner in panic.
The cabin swayed violently due to the movement inside before gradually stabilizing—Dong Jun was no longer sitting opposite him but had come to his side.
Dong Jun said, “I just thought it was amusing how you were clearly scared but pretending not to be.”
He looked at the empty seat opposite and the scenery outside the transparent cabin, saying, “Now I can’t see you. You can be afraid.”
Lin Xun: “…”
My idol, you’re actually this kind of person.
No, he absolutely couldn’t lose.
And he absolutely couldn’t show fear again.
He silently recited probability theory, finding a bit of comfort in the classical probability model, and said, “I’m fine now.”
Dong Jun glanced at him calmly.
Lin Xun maintained a steady gaze.
Dong Jun smiled slightly and reached out to ruffle his hair.
Lin Xun: “.”
He felt like he had truly turned into an animal.
He was a bit anxious but couldn’t look at the surroundings.
Looking down from the fully transparent cabin—it felt as if he were floating high in the air, about to fall at any moment.
He needed something to do.
And there just happened to be something to do.
“I…” he said softly.
Dong Jun: “Hmm?”
He took out the black box, turned slightly toward Dong Jun, and handed it to him: “I have something for you.”
Dong Jun seemed momentarily taken aback before accepting the box from his hand.
“It doesn’t mean anything else,” Lin Xun said, “I just thought it suited you.”
“Thank you,” Dong Jun looked at him, “May I open it now?”
“Mm,” Lin Xun smiled, “It’s a pair of cufflinks.”
With a click, the lid popped open. Two silver cufflinks lay quietly on the exquisite black velvet.
Lin Xun watched Dong Jun’s expression, wanting to know if he liked them.
But he saw Dong Jun lower his eyes slightly, gazing at them as if lost in thought.
It was already evening, the most beautiful time for sunset glow. The western sky was a golden-red hue, and the last rays of the setting sun reached them, casting shimmering golden light between Dong Jun’s eyelashes.
Light, Lin Xun thought, light can create illusions.
Otherwise, why did he suddenly feel an indescribable melancholy in Dong Jun’s eyes?
But the feeling was fleeting. The next moment, he saw Dong Jun slowly curve his pale lips into a smile and look at him—with that familiar, gentle expression in his eyes.
“Thank you,” Dong Jun closed the lid, “I like them very much.”
Lin Xun also smiled, “That’s good.”
Then he added, “I thought you wear shirts often, so I chose these.”
Dong Jun looked at him, “I’ll wear them every day.”
According to social etiquette, Lin Xun should politely decline, saying something like “Please don’t feel obligated” or “Just wear them occasionally.” But the situation was special—his intention in giving Dong Jun the cufflinks was to ensure the protective charm inside would work, maximizing Dong Jun’s safety.
So he said, “Okay.”
As the word fell, Dong Jun raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“To be honest,” Dong Jun said as he put the box away, “I’m quite surprised you gave me a gift. Perhaps the Goddess of the Luo River’s financial situation is better than I imagined.”
Lin Xun: “…”
Alright then.
The item was clearly expensive, and Dong Jun was currently the Goddess of the Luo River’s only investor. His act of giving cufflinks was essentially flaunting wealth in front of his patron.
—Shooting himself in the foot.
But since he had to give it anyway, so be it.
“Actually, it’s not that bad,” he said. “There aren’t any major expenses needed right now, um… I think we can hold out smoothly until the expo.”
Dong Jun smiled slightly. “Then I wish you success.”
Lin Xun: “Actually, I’m also surprised you came to the amusement park with me.”
Before the words even finished, he realized he had mixed up “you” and “you (formal)” again.
Dong Jun chuckled.
“If you insist on addressing me that way,” Dong Jun said, “then it shouldn’t be surprising for an elder to accompany you to the amusement park to relax.”
Lin Xun: “…”
He suddenly realized a fact: this Dong Jun was no good person—he had already teased him twice today.
He took a deep breath. “I’m surprised you came to the amusement park with me.”
After a pause, he continued, “Can I take it to mean you admire the Goddess of the Luo River?”
In some ways, he could only probe this far. His ability to speak stopped right here.
Dong Jun looked at him, his eyes deep and unfathomable. Lin Xun couldn’t read them.
The Ferris wheel climbed higher and higher. Perhaps it was the wind—the wind was strong, and the entire cabin swayed gently.
His heart skipped several beats as he struggled to remain calm.
In the silence, he suddenly heard Dong Jun say, “Do you know about the suspension bridge effect?”
Lin Xun froze, his eyes widening.
“Then…” he heard his own slightly hoarse voice ask, “is it because of the suspension bridge effect?”
Dong Jun: “No.”
Lin Xun lowered his head.
He knew about the suspension bridge effect. He thought about the definition of this strange psychological phenomenon, then recalled the look in Dong Jun’s eyes. He felt his earlier premonitions weren’t wrong, and something was on the verge of being revealed.
—He couldn’t afford to be embarrassed now. If he didn’t ask today, he felt he would overthink things until he went mad.
“Then,” he said, “can I take it to mean you’re pursuing me?”
After saying this, he forced a smile. “If that’s the case, you don’t need to go to too much trouble. For me, if it’s you…”
As he spoke, he looked up at Dong Jun, but the moment their eyes met, he didn’t know what else to say.
Dong Jun was looking at him, expressionless, just… intently watching. His eyes seemed to hold many things, yet also nothing at all.
In the brief silence, Lin Xun’s peripheral vision inevitably caught the scene behind Dong Jun.
The Ferris wheel was about to reach its peak. High in the sky, behind Dong Jun was the western horizon. Under the setting sun, the evening glow was brilliant, and the sea of clouds stretched boundlessly.
His breathing grew rapid, his heart pounding violently. At the same time, his mood inexplicably sank low. A sense of fear arose within him, as if something sorrowful would happen when the Ferris wheel reached the top.
Lin Xun tightly gripped the handrail, abandoning the previous topic. His voice trembled slightly as he admitted defeat: “I’m a little scared… I feel like we’re about to fall.”
“We won’t fall,” Dong Jun said.
Lin Xun insisted: “We will.”
When he gets nervous, he tends to talk too much, and he couldn’t help but say, “A low-probability event is not an impossible event; it can happen. If there is one person in the world who wins the grand prize in the lottery, then there will be another person who falls from a Ferris wheel that has never had an accident before, and then…”
Suddenly, someone pressed his shoulder, pinning him against the wall of the cabin.
Lin Xun didn’t resist.
So he was very close to Dong Jun, close enough to feel each other’s breath.
Looking into Dong Jun’s seemingly cold and indifferent eyes, he softly finished the unspoken words, “…and then die from the fall.”
The next moment, Dong Jun leaned down, his cool strands of hair brushing against Lin Xun’s cheek, and the same coolness landed on his lips.
Lin Xun’s mind went completely blank—in fact, ever since the mention of the “suspension bridge effect,” he had completely lost the ability to think.
So he didn’t resist either.
Even, driven by the instinctive reaction of someone afraid of falling, he tightly grasped Dong Jun’s arm.
As if giving silent consent.