Chapter 198: Preparing for the Ultimate Counter-Kill

One hundred and forty-seven seconds.

Shen Yan’s fingertip still rested on the phone screen, the pad of his finger burning hot. The counter-kill program had already been loaded, like a cocked gun waiting for the trigger to be pulled. But he couldn’t rush—not a second too early, not a second too late.

Ye Shi’er stood before the pillar of light, the blood-colored scythe now fully solidified. The edge of its blade tore through space, leaving behind streaks of black fissures. He no longer spoke, as if all emotion had been drained from him, leaving only a shell driven by obsession.

Shen Yan knew he couldn’t dodge this strike.

He pressed the phone against his chest, using his body heat to stabilize its operation. The previous termination command had drained too much of his mental power. The terminal interface flickered several times, nearly going black. Now the system was like an old computer, lagging terribly, with the code flow intermittent and several garbled errors popping up.

“Heat circulation algorithm, initiate,” he silently recited in his mind.

This was a method he had derived from the sword qi latency vulnerability Ye Zhao had revealed. Treating spiritual power as electrical current and body heat as the thermal source, he formed a closed loop circuit to forcibly sustain the system. Closing his eyes, he mobilized his remaining spiritual power, channeling it bit by bit into the phone.

The screen finally stabilized.

A green progress bar slowly advanced as the main framework of the counter-kill program reloaded.

“Done,” he opened his eyes, his breathing light.

But it wasn’t over yet. The program could run, but that didn’t guarantee a hit. Ye Shi’er was no ordinary NPC—he could anticipate, change tactics, and wouldn’t give you a second chance.

Shen Yan stared at the half-masked man across from him, rapidly running through various possibilities in his mind. If he charged directly, he could use an instant shield with a rebound effect; if he launched a long-range bombardment, he’d have to rely on a delayed trigger mechanism; but what if he was the type to… wait for you to move first and then counter?

He suddenly remembered what Yu Xiaotang had said last time when she drew a talisman that blew her own hair back: “Bro, real traps only spring when you think you’ve won.”

Right.

He couldn’t take the initiative.

He had to wait for him to strike—and at the exact moment he launched his full-power attack—to counter.

Shen Yan’s fingers slid across the screen, quickly adding a response trigger mechanism. He set Ye Shi’er’s energy waveform as the detection target. The program would automatically activate the moment the opponent’s attack intensity peaked—not a moment sooner, not a moment later, precise to the millisecond.

“This round, I’m frame-perfect,” he murmured under his breath.

His ribs still ached, and he tasted blood in his mouth, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it. Every ounce of strength had to be conserved now, every movement calculated precisely.

In the distance, Ye Shi’er moved.

Not to attack, but to slowly raise his hand. The blood-colored scythe hovered above his head, its red light undulating like tides, spreading outward in ripples that resonated with the data streams throughout the entire space. The chaotic, surging code began to converge, compressing toward the tip of the scythe, condensing into a nearly tangible dark red energy sphere.

Shen Yan held his breath.

Here it comes.

This wasn’t a probe, nor the early stages of gathering power—this was the prelude to the final strike. Once the energy sphere fully formed, the next moment would bring a devastating blow.

His finger rested lightly on the confirmation key, not pressing down, just waiting.

Time seemed to slow.

The countdown ticked to one hundred and forty seconds.

The chaotic data streams howled past, whipping his clothes. The faint glow of the phone screen illuminated his face, revealing eyes bloodshot yet exceptionally clear.

He knew that pressing it would either turn the tables or lead to immediate annihilation.

But he couldn’t press it yet.

The program was set to “lock onto peak energy levels,” and at this moment, Ye Shi’er’s power was still rising. Even the slightest discrepancy would render it useless.

He gritted his teeth, staring at the increasingly bright red sphere.

Suddenly, Ye Shi’er turned and glanced at him.

In that instant, Shen Yan felt as if his heart had been seized.

It wasn’t due to killing intent, but something in that gaze—not hatred, not anger, not even madness. It was a sorrowful calm, like someone who had walked a long journey finally seeing the end.

“Do you really think…” Ye Shi’er’s voice was soft, almost drowned out by the Data Storm, “I would let you decide her fate?”

Shen Yan didn’t answer.

He knew nothing he said now would matter.

He had said he would wait for her to choose. But for Ye Shi’er, waiting itself was torture. For a thousand years, he had witnessed countless Cycles of Reincarnation and Restarts, watched her die again and again, with no one remembering her, no one mentioning her, her very name erased.

He didn’t believe in the Heavenly Dao, didn’t believe in reincarnation—he trusted only his own hands.

So he had to pull her back, even if she was fake, a copy, Data trapped in an Infinite Loop. He would accept it.

Shen Yan understood this kind of Obsession.

Just like when he stayed up late at his workstation fixing Bugs, knowing the Version was about to crash but still wanting to try one more time. Not for the result, but for peace of mind.

But the Cultivation Realm wasn’t a world of Code, and people weren’t Programs.

The living had the right to choose.

He couldn’t let Ye Shi’er use a Format to destroy everyone’s future.

“I’m not trying to decide for you,” Shen Yan spoke, his voice hoarse. “I just want her to tell you herself—whether she’s willing to return.”

Ye Shi’er sneered but said nothing more.

He raised his Scythe, and the energy sphere suddenly swelled violently. The surrounding air twisted into a vortex, sucking in all the Data Streams.

The peak was almost here.

Shen Yan’s finger pressed slightly harder against the edge of the confirmation key.

Just then, his phone popped up a Notice:

【High-dimensional Compilation fluctuations Detected】

【Attack mode recognition in progress…】

【Estimated release time: three seconds】

Three seconds.

It was enough.

He took a deep breath, suppressing all distractions. His mind was filled only with lines of Code, Variables, and the curve of the impending energy peak.

He could hesitate no longer.

Nor could he turn back.

There were still people waiting for him outside.

Ye Zhao’s Sword Qi frequency was still fluctuating, meaning she hadn’t given up; Pei Yue’s lingering medicinal scent hadn’t dissipated—she was trying to find a way in; Luo Li’s Demonic Fire still held residual warmth—she must be searching for a breakthrough; fragments of Yu Xiaotang’s Talisman Paper were still stuck to his sleeve—that girl was surely scheming something new again.

These people weren’t Data.

They were real, living people.

And he was the only one who could bring them back.

Countdown: one hundred thirty-eight seconds.

Ye Shi’er’s Scythe was raised high above his head, the energy sphere compressed to its limit, its red light blinding, as if about to burn through the entire Temporal Rift.

Shen Yan closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, his gaze was sharp as a blade.

“This time,” he said softly, “I’ll be your Compiler.”

His finger descended, making a light touch.

The counterattack program entered its final standby state.

Trigger Conditions: enemy energy peak locked.

Only one step remained.

Ye Shi’er’s eyes snapped open, and the Blood-Colored Scythe swung down.

The crimson light beam tore through space, rushing straight toward Shen Yan.

Shen Yan stood where he was, not dodging.

His finger hovered above the confirm button, just one millimeter away from the screen.

The wind howled, data streams wildly swirling, the phone screen flickering between light and dark.

The Energy Waveform Graph surged wildly.

The peak was about to arrive.

His fingertip trembled slightly, not out of fear, but because he was too clear-headed.

At this moment, the whole world fell silent.

137 seconds.

The light beam was only ten meters away from him.

Five meters.

Three meters.

Shen Yan pressed the confirm button.

<script type=”text/javascript” src=”web.js”></script>

(End of Chapter)