ATIGIBTC Chapter 36 Part 1

«The Creator is actually very afraid of death»

He Fang was extremely nervous. It was only after thoroughly reading the entire manual that he truly understood the complexity of the research institute’s results. The “aircraft” they had designed was no longer just about flying—it was practically built to break through the cosmos.

He Fang approached all games with extreme caution, always aiming for a one-life clear. Perhaps his initial score wouldn’t be high, but he had a deep-seated fear of restarting after death.

So, when he began his first simulation, he was completely focused. Following the operational instructions, he stabilized the aircraft as much as possible, maintaining an even speed for steadiness.

The simulation had no beginner tutorial and no guidance whatsoever. He Fang had to rely entirely on the information from the manual, adapting on the fly while drawing from his years of experience with simulated piloting in games. This was his first completely blind flight.

His nerves were stretched to the limit. The aircraft’s design was so intricate that practicing was extremely difficult—it wasn’t beginner-friendly at all. Before executing any maneuver, He Fang meticulously cross-referenced the manual to ensure accuracy.

Fortunately, the first flight was a success. Gaining experience from it, He Fang carefully analyzed the moments where he had panicked, then launched the second simulation.

But unexpectedly, the second simulation suddenly introduced a thunderstorm. In reality, planes couldn’t fly in such violent weather, but the meticulous researchers had documented operational methods for every extreme weather condition in the manual.

He Fang activated the manual’s auto-prompt, reminding himself of the key points he had noted earlier, and then began maneuvering the aircraft.

His palms were sweating from tension. The simulated storm was even more severe than a real one, with lightning bolts constantly striking around him. He Fang focused intensely on his surroundings, reacting swiftly to any flashes of light. The manual stated that the aircraft had lightning-resistant properties, so he didn’t have to worry about attracting strikes—only about the slim chance of being directly hit.

Gradually, he increased the aircraft’s speed. This speed had already surpassed the fastest recorded in reality, but unlike driving on the ground, he didn’t have to worry about collisions in the open sky.

Zhu Yan, watching from behind, took in He Fang’s undivided concentration. At this moment, the youth looked less like a boy and more like a man—something Zhu Yan had never seen before… full of confidence and vigor.

Describing He Fang with such words wasn’t just his imagination. Despite He Fang’s cautious and serious demeanor, there was an unmistakable confidence deep in his eyes—confidence that he could master this unfamiliar aircraft.

Zhu Yan’s gaze remained fixed on the simulation screen. The storm blurred the view, but He Fang never deviated from the flight path.

The extreme weather was designed to put pilots under pressure and train them to handle crises. Yet, He Fang piloted with remarkable composure, unaffected by the chaos around him.

Then, Zhu Yan suddenly saw a bright bolt of lightning strike down directly onto the aircraft’s body.

He knew it was just a simulation—real lightning wouldn’t damage his carefully designed aircraft this severely.

But in that instant, Zhu Yan’s eyes widened. Without any hesitation, He Fang immediately shifted the support structure of the safety cabin and decisively abandoned the struck section of the aircraft.

He Fang’s maneuvers grew increasingly steady. Zhu Yan had no idea what their Creator was thinking or watching.

But as someone who had long since submitted to the Creator’s majesty, Zhu Yan once again felt the suffocating sensation of his heart being tightly gripped by them.

After successfully completing the second flight, He Fang didn’t immediately start another simulation. Instead, he let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the pilot’s seat.

So complicated…

With such intricate controls, just how long had the original pilot—who had no prior flying experience—studied before managing to operate this aircraft successfully?

If not for his own extensive experience with flight simulations, He Fang was certain that his chances of crashing would have been 100%. The simulation was incredibly realistic and fully immersive to the point of making him feel as if he were truly flying. The pressure was immense.

Absentmindedly flipping through the manual, He Fang carefully reviewed its contents again, reflecting on his second flight and considering whether there was a way to avoid abandoning the aircraft’s body.

“The aircraft can come to a stop and can also make sharp, rapid turns,” Zhu Yan suddenly said. “City Lord, your piloting habits are quite unusual. Have you undergone specialized training? It’s as if a fixed way of thinking about traditional piloting is limiting your operational potential.”

He Fang froze, then suddenly turned his head as a memory flashed through his mind—the drone flight tests he had seen in the newly developed area.

Ah!!

He had forgotten!

Because the manual didn’t explicitly state it, his ingrained habits had led him to pilot the aircraft as if it were an ordinary plane. And so, he had completely overlooked certain aspects of its design.

“But, City Lord, your maneuvering was actually quite impressive,” Zhu Yan said, his throat tightening. “You made decisive choices without hesitation, and your judgment was correct. At that moment, the damage to certain parts of the aircraft was beyond repair and impossible to carry, so abandoning them was the best course of action.”

“You bet it was,” He Fang smirked, pressing his lips together. “But I still overlooked a lot. There are plenty of features I haven’t explored yet.”

His gaze sharpened as he continued, “I’ll make sure I fully understand all of your design concepts first. Then, I’ll offer suggestions based on my piloting experience.”

Any suggestion made from a single perspective is meaningless. If one fails to consider the bigger picture, focusing on a single aspect may very well disrupt the overall balance.

“Mm.” Zhu Yan seemed to have thought of something. His voice softened unconsciously, but then, realizing that such a gentle tone didn’t match his usual demeanor, he forcibly hardened it. “Then, City Lord, please do your best.”

“Mm.” He Fang gave Zhu Yan a reassuring smile, showing no hint of retreat despite the challenges and unfamiliarity.

For several days, He Fang remained at the research institute. Meanwhile, Yuan Zhiran, who had been waiting anxiously for the order to conduct the flight test, finally lost patience and took the initiative to call Zhu Yan.

“Are you really planning to let the Creator conduct the first test flight?” The youth’s androgynous voice was laced with urgency. Even over the phone, his frustration was evident.

Leaning against a concealed wall in a small grove outside the research institute, Zhu Yan answered slowly, “The Creator wishes to do so.”

“But if something goes wrong…” Yuan Zhiran was clearly overwhelmed by concern.

“I won’t let anything happen to the Creator,” Zhu Yan responded calmly.

“How can you be so sure? There’s no such thing as a hundred percent certainty in this world. What if something does happen? What if?” Yuan Zhiran, brimming with youthful passion, could no longer suppress his agitation.

“The Creator has an exceptional talent for piloting—or rather, a combination of talent, diligence, and perseverance. I don’t believe this is just some impulsive whim,” Zhu Yan said, his cool, measured voice striking like a hammer against Yuan Zhiran’s anxious thoughts, slowly calming him down. “Besides, this is the Creator’s decision. As NPCs, we cannot stop it.”

Yuan Zhiran choked on his words, silent for a long moment before finally speaking in a slow, deliberate tone. “But if we don’t stop it, how can we be sure it’s safe? The Creator cannot be put in danger.”

Zhu Yan watched as sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting scattered specks of light. “Many players, when they have something they want to do, will exploit game bugs, use cheats, and employ countless methods to achieve their goals.”

“The Creator isn’t like that. Not once—never.” Yuan Zhiran’s voice cooled as if he had recalled something.

“Yuan Zhiran, no NPC can stop a player from doing what they want to do.” Zhu Yan suddenly spoke. On the other end of the call, Yuan Zhiran froze. Even through the silence, Zhu Yan could almost see the frustration on his face. “To players, dying means they can start over—that’s common sense. But to us… when we die, we truly die.”

Yuan Zhiran was struck speechless.

In the city, life followed the natural cycle of birth, aging, sickness, and death—there were no accidental deaths because everyone cherished their lives.

The houses that had already been built in the game could be demolished and rebuilt, but in doing so, the population associated with them would be replaced by new NPCs. A demolition was essentially a population reset.

He Fang had never done that.

Hearing Zhu Yan’s words, Yuan Zhiran suddenly understood why He Fang was so determined to do this. Their Creator didn’t want their lives to be sacrificed without reason.

“But… even if the Creator is just a model right now, the feeling of death is the same,” Yuan Zhiran protested softly. Death was terrifying, but facing it was even worse. Once someone had truly experienced death, the fear of it could drown out reason entirely.

“I told you, I won’t let that happen.” Zhu Yan half-narrowed his eyes, his mind flashing with the blueprints of the aircraft he had designed. “I will ensure the Creator’s safety.”

With that, Zhu Yan ended the call. He had no interest in arguing with a kid who couldn’t even control his own emotions. Their Creator might be cautious, but he was no coward.

Yuan Zhiran slammed his hand against the desk—hard. Then, as if still unsatisfied, he slapped it again. His frustration painted his strikingly beautiful features in a deep flush of pink, making his already enchanting appearance even more vivid and mesmerizing.

His outburst startled Chong Ying, who had been secretly dozing off beside him. Blinking groggily, Chong Ying rubbed his eyes in confusion. “What’s wrong, Minister?”

“Researcher Zhu Yan is dead set on making the Creator conduct the first test flight!” Yuan Zhiran gritted his teeth, forcing the words out between clenched jaws.

“Ah…” Chong Ying immediately thought of that cold-faced researcher in white. “Was it the Creator’s request?”

The moment Yuan Zhiran recalled that it was indeed He Fang’s own decision, his frustration deflated like a punctured balloon.

“How about I get my brother to sneak into the cockpit?” Chong Ying suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement. If there was any chance to get close to the Creator, he would definitely fight to secure it for his idiot brother.

“Your brother?” Yuan Zhiran’s expression darkened as he thought of that pitch-black man he had never successfully negotiated with.

“My brother’s amazing—you know that. If he’s there, he’ll definitely keep the Creator safe.” Chong Ying stood up from his chair, gazing out the window. “The city isn’t that big. The aircraft won’t even be able to reach full speed.”

Yuan Zhiran’s beautiful eyes widened slightly as he suddenly realized something. This city was indeed vast—but only from a human’s perspective. If a plane were to take off, the only available airspace for flight was this one small section above the city.

“It’s really not that big. If my brother wants to protect the Creator, it’ll be effortless. Even if he doesn’t sit in the cockpit, he could just cling to the aircraft’s exterior,” Chong Ying said, blinking innocently.

Yuan Zhiran’s expression turned complicated. “Chong Ying… you actually don’t like your brother much, do you?”

“How could that be? I like my brother the most.”

“Then why are you suggesting he cling to the outside of a flying aircraft?” Yuan Zhiran shot him a suspicious look.

“Because it’s really no big deal.” Chong Ying grinned mischievously, eager to seal the decision. “Anyway, just let my brother go. Problem solved.”

——

As long as it was a simulation, He Fang could master it quickly. Due to the unique design of the aircraft, he had to discard his previous understanding of flight games and instead treat the entire plane like a playable game character. It had numerous abilities, could change direction instantly, required precise camera control, and involved mastering various commands. But as long as he adjusted his mindset, adapting to the aircraft’s flight mechanics wasn’t difficult.

That’s why he was already quite confident about the first real flight test. Now, sitting inside a cockpit identical to the simulator, he was surprisingly calm.

“Are you ready?” Zhu Yan’s image appeared on the communication screen beside him, his voice steady and composed.

“Ready,” He Fang responded.

“Launch countdown: Three… two…”

As He Fang sat in the real cockpit, his mind wandered to how absurd this game was. When a game is crammed with too many elements, it doesn’t necessarily improve sales. In fact, an overload of features could dilute the game’s core theme. Adding a post-apocalyptic setting to a city-building game made sense—it was about rebuilding civilization. But introducing futuristic aircraft into it? That was just bizarre. It felt like the game had shifted from a post-apocalyptic city-builder to a full-blown sci-fi survival game.

Following the countdown, he smoothly carried out the familiar launch sequence. Having performed it countless times in the simulator, he had no trouble initiating takeoff. The aircraft lifted off slowly, and everything around him grew smaller and smaller.

Then, suddenly—nervousness crept in.

He…

He had never actually been on a plane before.

He Fang had never truly experienced what it felt like to be on a plane. The sensory simulation pod was indistinguishable from reality, so at this moment, he felt as if he had skipped over the experience of flying in an airplane and jumped straight into piloting it.

“City Lord, you may proceed. Target: the airspace above the government sector.”

“Copy that.”

Following Zhu Yan’s instructions, He Fang skillfully began operating the aircraft.

The objective of this test flight was simple: perform standard maneuvers—take off, fly to a designated location, return, and land. That was enough. However, this process required time to determine whether the manned aircraft had any flaws in actual flight conditions.

“Phase one of the test: successful. Next target: the eastern outskirts of the city.”

“Copy that.”

He Fang glanced at the relatively distant target and gradually increased speed.

“City Lord, your speed is increasing too quickly,” Zhu Yan reminded him.

“Understood.”

He Fang adjusted the throttle, keeping the speed at a stable level.

“Phase two of the test: successful. Next target: vertical ascent. Please climb to an altitude of ten thousand meters.”

“Copy that.”

He Fang maneuvered the aircraft into a vertical climb. Interestingly, the cockpit was designed with gravity adjustments, preventing him from being completely pressed into his seat.

“City Lord, you may accelerate if needed.”

He Fang began accelerating.

The entire process went smoothly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Nightmare Beast Forest nearby.

Until now, he had never operated anything in the airspace above the city. The sky stretched endlessly overhead, providing ample space. The city already had well-defined day and night cycles, and its sky was vast enough.

However, now that he was climbing in an aircraft, He Fang realized something—the darkness of the Nightmare Beast Forest seemed to have no upper limit. It extended endlessly into the sky. Unless one spent money to unlock new areas, it was likely a place that would remain forever unexplored.

He remembered someone in the comments section once mentioning that planes couldn’t enter the dark region of the Nightmare Beast Forest. But why?

“Flight altitude: 7,000 meters, 8,000 meters…” Zhu Yan’s voice came through again.

Yet, He Fang narrowed his eyes. As he approached the sky, he thought he saw something strange.

At the boundary between the Nightmare Beast Forest and the unlocked area, there seemed to be some kind of barrier. Under the sunlight, the sky there looked slightly different. The sun was right there, nothing seemed unusual, yet He Fang felt an inexplicable sense of unease.

Slowing down, he tried to examine what exactly was causing this eerie sensation.

“9,000 meters.” Zhu Yan’s voice sounded again.

At that moment, He Fang felt a sudden burst of powerful wind hitting the aircraft.

“Zhu Yan, I think there’s a problem—”

Before he could finish, an overwhelming gust of wind struck with unstoppable force, blowing him away. Just before the wind made contact with the cockpit, he distinctly felt as if the plane had crashed into an invisible, transparent wall.

In an instant, He Fang understood the source of his unease—it was an air wall!

All games have mapped boundaries. Unless it’s a sandbox game with infinite world generation, most games have fixed maps. Open-world games allow exploration, but only within the boundaries set by the developers.

Beyond the map’s explorable regions, developers usually create distant, realistic-looking landscapes—mountains, rivers, beautiful sunlight—that appear accessible but are, in reality, unreachable. These are just background textures.

To prevent overly curious players from going beyond designated areas, games implement air walls—invisible barriers preventing progress. These walls come in various forms, and to He Fang’s shock, this game’s air wall was actually a wind wall!

The wind was incredibly violent, designed to forcibly push players back into the playable area. It was an unstoppable force.

The once-stable aircraft veered off course in an instant. Even in his panic, He Fang gripped the controls tightly, trying his best to steady the plane. However, he was too close to the border between the city and the Nightmare Beast Forest. Despite his efforts to regain control, the aircraft still plunged straight into the darkness of the Nightmare Beast Forest.

The last thing he heard was Zhu Yan shouting something, but he had no energy to focus on what was being said.

As soon as He Fang noticed the surroundings turn into a vast expanse of black, his heart sank. To avoid crashing into another invisible air wall, he immediately began lowering the altitude—only to realize he had no way of determining how high he actually was.

All of the plane’s measurement readings had dropped to zero. And in this pitch-black region, where visibility was nonexistent, even the aircraft’s own lights were swallowed by the darkness of the Nightmare Beast Forest.

At that moment, He Fang finally understood why people in the comment section had said planes couldn’t enter the Nightmare Beast Forest. Rather than being “unable to enter”, it was more accurate to say that everything was devoured within it. While he had successfully made it inside, he had also been completely cut off from the outside world—because he had never unlocked the Nightmare Beast Forest.

There was no signal. No one could reach him.

Hovering in midair, He Fang dared not move recklessly. He opened the in-game map, only to find that it, too, had been consumed by the Nightmare Beast Forest. The entire screen was pitch black, offering no guidance.

Since he had been thrown off course by the wind wall, his plane had spun multiple times during the fall. In his panic, he hadn’t taken note of which direction he had entered from. If he moved now, he might only drift farther away from the exit.

The safest option was to stay put and wait for the outside world to analyze his trajectory from when he hit the air wall. Hopefully, they would send in a drone to rescue him. Otherwise, if an NPC were to pilot another plane inside, they might miss each other entirely. That NPC would also end up trapped in the Nightmare Beast Forest, unable to find a way out—ultimately meeting their end in this abyss of darkness.

However, in a place where signals couldn’t be transmitted, a drone would likely lose functionality the moment it entered.

The only reason the aircraft was still operational now was because he was manually controlling it.

Gazing at the endless void around him, He Fang finally understood what Min Zhizhou had meant when he said: “Inside the Nightmare Beast Forest, you can see everything—but what you see is not light.”

Looking down at his own hands, he realized they had lost all color, appearing as though he were in a black-and-white film.

The overwhelming darkness created an immense psychological burden. Even He Fang, who wasn’t truly afraid of the dark, felt suffocated by the crushing weight of it.

A world with only one person.

A place where no one could reach him and he couldn’t reach anyone.

A sharp pain pulsed through He Fang’s head. He tried to operate the aircraft, but with no sense of direction, he had no idea where he was actually flying.

The feeling of being completely enclosed made his head spin. The motion sickness he had already overcome suddenly resurfaced with full force.

---