Chapter 92: Please Stop Destroying Lianggong Chunri

The white light vanished completely, and the surroundings sank back into dimness.

“Quit the club?!”

Had they heard correctly? Could this even be said?

Even the impolite act of directly calling Lianggong Chunri by name seemed trivial compared to those words.

Jia Ji’s words left Lianggong stunned, forgetting entirely what she had just intended to say, frozen in the very posture she had entered with.

With a soft thud, a hardcover book like an encyclopedia slipped from the lap of the purple-haired girl in her sailor uniform, the opened pages closing under gravity—but no one paid attention.

The other club members opened their mouths but could not speak, frozen like statues, their nerves taut, eyes uncertain whether to fix on Jia Ji or Chunri, as if the thunderbolt that had just struck had not hit the air but them instead.

A Xu remembered how Jia Ji had just entered the activity room and told them, “I have my own plan; you just need to stay silent from now on.”

He had solemnly assured them he would redirect Lianggong Chunri’s attention, doing everything possible to restore the worldline to its proper course and erase the unintended influence he had caused.

Was this the method he meant?

This was outright suicide.

Everyone held their breath, silent.

Boom!

Another lightning strike—a white bolt plunged from the heavens, splitting the clouds apart, revealing Lianggong Chunri’s expressionless face, unreadable in its calm, within the dim activity room.

Jia Ji had considered that if his presence had introduced information from another universe, then by leaving, he would remove the source—such information, deprived of origin, would vanish like a tree without roots or a weed without water.

The world could return to normal—if A Xu had not truly become “Xu Siliang,” and if Lianggong Chunri’s memory of him gradually faded.

If he continued exerting his influence—even unconsciously—the tone would likely shift ninety percent toward an apocalyptic direction.

Imagine this.

Soon, in the North High School overrun with mohawks, Lianggong Chunri would take on a Ryo-like aesthetic: sharp, rigid facial lines, fist clenched, one finger pointing skyward, declaring, “Fate has spoken—my will is heaven’s will.”

“To emphasize my heroism and grandeur, this club shall be called SugokuOsoroshllkonlohnoShlneltal (The Terror of the Fist King’s Elite Guard), abbreviated SOS!”

“Let me remind you once more: tomorrow after school, you must come here—or in three seconds, you’ll die.”

All of this felt like a plunge into some perverse manga world—though wrapped in a cute girl cover, its contents were wildly deranged, the product of an author astonishingly persistent and unwavering in their madness.

Throughout the day, Jia Ji felt as if a voice echoed in his ears: “Please, stop destroying Lianggong Chunri’s worldview!”

“Why?” she asked.

He smiled now, wearing an ambiguous expression, and spoke without hesitation.

“It’s boring. You claim you’re searching for aliens, psychics, and time travelers—but you’re just playing pretend, aren’t you?”

It was truly mundane. Every one of Lianggong Chunri’s sudden whims had been exactly as he expected—orderly, unimaginative, and utterly ordinary, despite their outward absurdity.

“You know perfectly well these things can’t lead to anything. It’s just mindless teenage nonsense.” He held back the urge to wag his finger, yet still delivered the blow.

At that moment, Jia Ji recalled what Xiao Ai had said in the group chat: “I’m busy; everyone has their own things to do.”

True—he had his own matters to attend to. In this world, he could fight gods and demons, but compared to demons and Red World Kings wielding powers beyond imagination, mere brute strength felt dull.

He had yet to encounter the scattered, specialized fist styles of the Beidou world—wasting time here wasn’t outright wasteful, but it had grown tiresome.

Specifically, he no longer intended to deceive Lianggong Chunri—it was undignified and boring.

Yet, considering Gu Quan and the fragile balance of this world, he couldn’t expose the truth, so he could only remain a spectator, letting the worldline unfold as it would.

But now that he had brought harm, he might as well leave entirely.

Let her anger fall on him—he couldn’t just leave a targetless void to strike.

For Lianggong Chunri, she probably never imagined a club member would ever consider quitting.

If there were ten thousand cheap worlds containing Lianggong Chunri, it would be hard to find two or three where a member voluntarily left.

After all, aside from A Xu and the club president herself, none of them were ordinary—they all knew any provocation toward her could trigger catastrophic consequences.

“Denied! Our SOS Club isn’t some amateur group you can join or leave at will!”

Lianggong Chunri, who had once joined every club in school and then quit them all, now faced this herself—her face visibly flushed red.

Is that all?

He had expected her to cry, “Heaven’s punishment!” and launch an attack with a giant ruler or encyclopedia.

That Jia Ji still had the wit to joke at such a moment was a testament to his extraordinary composure.

But such feeble words would never make Jia Ji change his mind.

Knowing she would never agree, Jia Ji swiftly pulled a withdrawal form from his pocket, picked up a pen, and with terrifying muscular control, mimicked Lianggong Chunri’s handwriting—signing her name right before her eyes.

“Denial won’t matter—I’ve made my decision.”

With a sweep of his hand, he slapped the form onto the table.

“No… Jia Ji, you don’t have to go this far.”

A Xu was flustered—not only fearing Chunri’s wrath might awaken some ancient battle weapon, plunge Earth into a new ice age, trigger another Noah’s flood, or invite Bate’s invasion—but he genuinely felt it would be a pity if Jia Ji left.

After all, that was another world—if they said goodbye now, they’d never see each other again; they had no means to cross dimensions.

“Until we meet again.”

Aside from his middle school friend Zuo Zhen, this was the first time in his short life he would part ways with a friend.

The phrase “until we meet again” usually means never again.

Creak—

The sound of the door opening was long and drawn out.

As the clouds hung low, the rain ceased abruptly.

Jia Ji waved goodbye, turned, and vanished from this world.

…

…

…

“Lianggong Chunri faces a club member’s resignation.”

“Will she end this so half-heartedly, so abruptly?”

(End of Chapter)