Welcome to Rewind World Game-Chapter 1518 - 16 - One · Dara (Author: Alauddin)
Alauddin’s heart was pounding wildly.
In such a situation, no one could refuse the invitation of this young man.
Even though he didn’t understand his intentions, Alauddin still took a step forward and unhesitatingly grasped Su Ming’an’s hand.
"Where are you taking me? Why did you suddenly appear in front of me?" Alauddin murmured, unable to stop himself from tightening his grip: "How did you get so badly injured? Does it still hurt, are you okay?"
Such serious injuries.
The Number One Player is so powerful, how could he have sustained such injuries?
Su Ming’an didn’t respond to his questions, only smiled slightly, held his hand, and gently pulled him forward—
"Come, follow me."
The next moment,
Alauddin suddenly saw—
He saw, beside him, suddenly was no longer the rosy sky of Luowasha, but a land he was extremely familiar with!
There were reddish-brown eaves, humid air, gray-black earth, and a rolling brownish-yellow river!
There were older women selling Eagle’s Corner beans, Officer Kumar, the little boy Ses admiring Dara, the flamboyant noblewoman Field!
This was his childhood, the place depicted in every stroke and line of his story, it was "Dara’s Sky"!
Alauddin immediately realized why Su Ming’an suddenly appeared before him, it was because Su Ming’an had entered his story!
Although he had heard that once a story is chosen by the "World Book," it becomes reality, he never imagined that his so ordinary, so unnoticed story would one day be chosen!
He saw a person.
That person’s eyes were like electricity, with a dashing posture, not very tall but as agile as a monkey, wearing a faded blue shirt.
That person leaped and ran across the reddish-brown houses, like a hero with superior skills, like countless phantoms in his childhood dreams.
It’s "Dara"! It’s the hero Alauddin admired most, longed to become in his youth—the hero of the slums "Dara"!
In his youth, Alauddin had spent countless nights shivering by the stinking drains while being beaten by police batons, praying for the existence of a hero "Dara" to appear in the world, praying for the hero of his fantasies to truly come and save him and the people in the slums, but until he grew up, until he was bound by his status to the most humble jobs, until his family was broken... he was never saved.
Now, he actually saw this scene!
"Dara, Dara..." Alauddin murmured, suddenly in tears.
It turns out that the fantasy characters he wrote about might actually appear in front of him, even though he’s no longer young, even though he’s long forgotten his childhood fantasies, even though he’s been worn down by life to the point of losing his shape.
At this moment, the hero "Dara," shuttling between the reddish-brown eaves, turned back with a faint smile and glanced at him. Alauddin’s keen eyesight pierced through the hero "Dara’s" dark face and saw a pair of calm, clear eyes.
In an instant, Alauddin’s intelligent mind recalled what Su Ming’an had mentioned before about "joint stories," remembered Anthony’s advice, remembered uploading this story just now, remembered the "World Book" that suddenly appeared above the firmament!
This "Dara," this "Dara"—
Alauddin finally understood why Su Ming’an wanted them to upload stories, and couldn’t help but shout out loud, gesticulating wildly:
"Su Ming’an! Su Ming’an! Come, become the protagonist ’Dara’ of ’Dara’s Sky’! I am willing to use my childhood fantasy story as your dazzling stage of salvation!"
"This way, this way...’Dara’ is not just a hero of the slums, he is a hero of the whole world!"
"Ha...Hahahaha! ’Dara’! My ’Dara’!"
Su Ming’an turned back, smiled, and said only one sentence:
"Alauddin, this is your story, please rewrite it in time, I’m counting on you."
Alauddin initially didn’t understand what this meant until he saw a shimmering ink-black feather pen between Su Ming’an’s right fingers, and in his left hand, a golden book spread open.
Until he saw a golden eye open over the river in the slum, countless pairs of smooth large hands reaching for Su Ming’an, attempting to capture him...
Until he saw Yuritilola in a red dress piercing the sky, the Master of Thought and Faith emerging from the coal’s ash, breaking into his story, trying to chase that hero named "Dara"!
—In that moment, Alauddin understood what he needed to do.
The heart of his youthful self, long dried and exhausted, re-ignited at this moment, his heart thumping with rhythm, blood surging like rivers and seas. The face of his deceased wife, the desperate eyes of his son as he was dragged away by soldiers, his daughter’s cries... flickered through his mind in an instant.
Breathing heavily, his heart pounding, he quickly took out his simple feather pen, opened his simple story interface and turned to the first page of his story, where the opening scene of "Dara’s Sky" was.
At this moment, the azure sky turned into off-white pages, as familiar characters in Alauddin’s native language and Lugasha’s language simultaneously danced, like black tadpole-like characters slowly emerging, as if the story was progressing steadily.
Alauddin took out a feather pen and began to write—
...
["Dara’s Sky" · Chapter one]
[It was just another ordinary morning for Meng Qili.]
[Damp morning mist mixed with coal smoke wafted through the slum, the sound of metal cans toppling echoed from the end of the alley. The women were scavenging through the heaps of garbage with their hands, their bare feet stepping over the rusted tin rooftops, rotting coconut shells sticking to the faded hems of their saris.]
[In the market back alley last night, a noble lady in a golden-threaded sari had thrown a half-eaten guava into the sewer, and the women were diligently searching for it; it would become their tastiest meal in days.]
[At this moment, an excited man shouted:]
["Look, our hero! Our hero—"]
["Dara is here!"]
...
At this moment, the slum erupted with cheers like a tidal wave, welcoming their hero, "Dara".
Su Ming’an rushed like the wind, his figure swift as lightning, waved his hand at the crowd, eliciting waves of laughter.
"Dara! Looking full of spirit today!" an old woman in a sari threw up petals.
"Dara! Your eyes are especially bright today, hahaha!" a little boy in a felt hat shouted.
Su Ming’an dressed in blue, his face dark, his movements nimble, appearing just like "Dara", shuttled between the red-brown rooftops, stepping over rusted tin roofs, and rotten guavas.
The hand of the Radiant Mother God reached into the air, her grasping motions becoming sluggish.
Yuritilola’s petals grew on the rooftop, soon shattering and diminishing.
Laplace’s bony claws reached for Su Ming’an but felt a slowness.
—This isn’t Lugasha’s local story, this is Alauddin’s story.
Whoever enters the story must abide by the story’s rules!
This was understood by Su Ming’an when he experienced Shen Xue’s story domain in the third stage of the Disciple Game. If it were a Western fantasy story, no spell would be restrained, but this is a realistic styled story; if a few high-dimensional beings started blasting lightning here, that would be Deus ex Machina, that would violate the art style, that would defy the rules!
Absolutely respecting the story is Lugasha’s law.
Of course, the formidable strength of High Dimensionals can destroy such laws; when they exert enough pressure, they can destroy this story. But as long as they are momentarily hindered by the story’s rules, it gives Su Ming’an a chance to escape!
...
[People raised their heads, witnessing—that legendary figure flashing across the slum rooftops. His name was "Dara," a young hero. It is said he protected the slum not because of his great strength, but because he dared to use his boots to kick the "Iron Hat Officers" in the butt!]
Above the sky, the words continued to appear.
...
"Su Ming’an, do you think by relying on Lugasha’s law, hiding in someone else’s story, you can escape?"
The Master of Thought and Faith quickly locked onto the figure leaping across the ochre-red rooftops; for Him, this slum was nothing more than sand at His fingertips, effortlessly destroyed.
Then He struck down His grayish-brown finger claw towards the hero "Dara".
"Bang!"
Someone threw a trash can at the Master of Thought and Faith’s finger claw, which was such a feeble obstruction, yet He genuinely felt the hindrance to His claw, his motion paused.
Looking closer, it was an old widow in a tattered sari, her cracked hands still in a throwing posture, sewage dribbling down her graying temples, she glared resentfully at the gray figure of the Master of Thought and Faith, as if before her wasn’t a High Dimensional being, but a government parasite wielding a police baton:
"You damned parasite, the Spirit Monkey will overthrow the Divine Elephant! Don’t you dare harm our beloved Dara!"
...
On the other side, Alauddin with the feather pen, pursed his lips tightly, sweating at the temples, writing quickly:
[Old Banu was a widow, she made a living selling curry.]
[That day, she saw the damned government parasite in pursuit of their most beloved hero Dara.]
[Her gnarled fingertips hovered in mid-air, and the trash can she threw had struck the damn government parasite, Officer Kumar. Her tattered sari was soaked with sewage, and her silver-gray hair clung to her cheekbones, yet her cloudy eyes blazed with lava-like brightness:]
["You damn parasite, the Spirit Monkey is going to overthrow the Divine Elephant! Don’t think about harming our beloved Dara!"]
...
The beige pages above the firmament, words continuously poured out.
The Master of Thought and Faith paused for a moment, suddenly realizing what the world law of Luowasha represented—Upon entering this story, he became a part of it, and unless he broke this story with absolute strength, he had to follow the story’s law.
Just like when Su Ming’an entered Shen Xue’s story domain, even though Su Ming’an was powerful and could easily subdue Shen Xue, he had to play the role of "ordinary student Su Ming’an" until he danced on stage with Shen Xue.
This is the constraint of the world law.
"Yuritilola!" The Master of Thought and Faith immediately called upon the other High Dimensions, intending to forcibly break this story. However, Yuritilola was laughing, seeming to find it amusing, continuously laughing:
"Yes! Yes! This is a kind of adult fairy tale! This is the fairy tale I like!"
"This madman..." The Master of Thought and Faith had long noticed that Yuritilola was the most insane one, and immediately stopped seeking cooperation, deciding to catch Su Ming’an himself.
This was an opportunity for Su Ming’an to survive, and also a good chance for them. Because Su Ming’an himself had to follow the laws here and couldn’t act recklessly!
This was a simultaneous downgrade dimension strike for both sides!
"Bang!"
Just as he reached out again, the second trash can hit him. The one who threw it this time was the mute girl Aisha from the laundry. Her apron, soaked with soap bubbles, flapped in the wind, her eyes bright yet trembling.
In the unnoticed corner, the Creator of the story, Alauddin, crystal clear eyes, writing swiftly:
...
[The mute girl, Aisha. She was a diligent and kind girl.]
[When the three gold-buttoned policemen pushed open the door, overturning the steaming chickpea curry, and raised the bronze police batons with a cold laugh: "You were short two rupees on the protection fee last month, you filthy whore, does this pig slop cover the debt?"]
[Dara squatted on the crooked TV antenna, saw this scene, nearly grinding his molar teeth to pieces. He watched Aisha’s cracked toes sink into the scalding curry, her murky and helpless tears splashing onto Officer Kumar’s shiny leather boots.]
[The mango seed made a soft sound in the slingshot, Dara leapt onto the ocher rooftop, pulling out the slingshot, aiming at the colonial lion crest on the police hat—]
["Clang!"]
...
"Clang!"
On the ocher rooftop, Su Ming’an revealed a radiant smile that didn’t match him, as if he had perfected the role of "playing" Dara.
He took out a slingshot from his worn pocket, the mango seed fired, his finger hooked, hitting the head of the Master of Thought and Faith.
It was such a simple, unembellished attack. It involved no divine power, no white tendrils, no vast energy or power of faith, just a single mango seed that had been sucked.
The moment it struck.
The body of the Master of Thought and Faith tilted back, as if shot.
In a daze, it seemed as if an invisible "police hat" fell from his head.
...
[Dara pulled out the slingshot hidden under his ribs, the dried mango seed tore through the air, precisely hitting the golden badge on the brim of the police hat. The ’clang’ sound startled the crows on the wires as he heard Old Banu’s hoarse laughter:]
["Look! Shiva’s Spirit Monkey has come to punish the wicked!"]
...
"Look! Shiva’s Spirit Monkey has come to punish the wicked!" The sari-clad grandma laughed aloud, raising the trash can once more, to hurl it at "damned Officer Kumar."
"Luowasha... Creator... Olivius... you..." The Master of Thought and Faith’s voice began to distort, realizing his form was being enveloped by story logic. The powerful gray fog had now transformed into the event of "Iron Hat Officer Kumar leading troops to suppress the mob."
A single mango seed, two trash cans, cannot stop even a toe of the Master of Thought and Faith, yet it was enough to halt the "Iron Hat Officer’s" steps. In this story, he had been arranged by Alauddin as the villain "Officer Kumar!"
Meanwhile, the hero "Dara" leaping on the ocher roof became the "Spirit Monkey" punishing the wicked!
Soon after, the Radiant Mother God and the Laplace Monster who had just intruded into this story received the same "treatment."
...
"Little dirty monkey." The noblewoman Field disdainfully stepped into the slum, her malachite earrings constantly trembling: "This is Colonel Rhodes’ charity banquet, tell that flying thief, if he comes to see me, I’ll reward him with a whole bag of silver coins."
Beside her, Colonel Rhodes, with a sinister silhouette and irises of a sickly golden brown, clasped his gloves and said calmly: "That’s right, let that Dara come see me. If he kneels before me, I shall reward him with power and freedom."
A couple of swishing sounds were heard.
They simultaneously felt a pain in their foreheads, as the cunning flying thief Dara had already dashed off into the distance, laughing heartily, waving his hands and singing loudly.
"Don’t expect me to become your lapdog!"
"The hero Dara will never admit defeat, never bow down!"
...
"Dara is here! Dara is here!"
It was an unparalleled cheer.
It was the joyful laughter of the people welcoming a hero.
On the russet rooftops, it was the incomparably free and ardent male protagonist.
It was the hope in the eyes and hearts of countless poor citizens, a fantasy in the hearts of numerous oppressed commoners, above the perpetual dirty rivers.
Every time young Dara fired his slingshot, the words in the sky would twinkle — it was the mark of Alauddin frantically rewriting the real world.
Alauddin was sitting in the shadows, bent over his desk writing, his feather pen bleeding ink, rewriting with full force as his head hummed, his throat tasted metallic, and his fingers trembled, but he did not stop, he would not stop. He knew, this moment, the whole world was watching his story, watching his unnoticed childhood fantasy, his dear, dear "Dara"! Please, you must leap onto that highest branch, and laugh in response to that childhood you!
Look, Alauddin, your fantasy was not in vain!
Your unnoticed words, your stories that could only be abandoned in discarded documents, one day, everyone will see the flame in your heart!
A billion people... a billion people are watching!
My story, my youthful story, is helping the real Savior escape!
Alauddin locked himself in a makeshift shack made from a shipping container, using his daughter’s favorite red hairband to bind his trembling wrists, using his wife’s headscarf from before she passed away to tie around his forehead, while he wrote frantically with tears flowing. When "Dara escaped the pursuit of the officers" was forcibly inserted into the first Chapter, Su Ming’an beneath the firmament successfully broke through the enclosing High Dimensions, carrying that free slingshot and running into the distance!
He is about to step into the next part of the story, into the river under someone else’s pen!
Su Mingan knew clearly in his heart.
At the moment he set down his pen,
he no longer remained in the heights surrounded by the gods, but was suddenly within Alauddin’s story.
He couldn’t change the entire world, that would require immense energy, but he could make the memory clips that had been altered only target himself.
As long as he was alive, that beautiful future was within reach.
As long as he was alive, the progress was constantly increasing.
So he invited the players to weave countless stories, disassembling himself into gleaming stars scattered among them — he would shuttle and leap through the intricate words and plots, and in these unique texts and narratives, with the flowing fire sparked from the sword tassel of Feng Aotian’s sixth lady, dive into the singing of the sweetly curative Rin Clan sister, witness the vast colorful clouds around the beloved koi child, and join the farm girl in the Spiritual Spring Space in expanding fertile lands. He would toast old tea with the male protagonist of the 90s in the memories of the reborn, and co-direct with the great director in the script of the plagiarism writer, having the Dragon King Battle God System’s Long Aotian escort him!
He crosses the sea in others’ stories, residing within the tides of the narrative, spinning and jumping under their pens, wandering between the paragraphs and prose, performing under the curtain of the story’s backdrop, growing flowers in the flesh and blood of others.
Whenever the narrative curtain rises, he migrates along the hidden clues in the contour of a snake, becoming a heron that never stops, or a "wingless bird" that grows flesh through others’ wings —
Until all texts come to a thunderous conclusion, carrying the final Chapter towards eternal night.
And wait for that ultimate moment to arrive.
"Come on!" Su Mingan raised his head and drank in the long wind stretching thousands of miles, his spine piercing the firmament like a long spear, he extravagantly played the insolent and free tone of "Dara" or perhaps subtly expressing himself, laughing heartily:
"Carve your nonsensical commandments on my tombstone! When the stars fall, you will see — the name ’Dara’ blazing more dazzlingly than all the oracles!"
At this moment,
The heatwave before the monsoon was suddenly torn open.
"Dara" ran in the sunlight.
The slender body stretched in the air, the faded blue shirt billowed into a sail in the wind, the scorching sun reflecting on his bloodstained bare feet.
Oh young hero,
gone never to return, gone never to return.
