IBO – Chapter 73 Predestined History

This novel contains sensitive and taboo content like R*pe, Mu**er etc. Read only if you are comfortable.

The comments under that post had erupted into a full-blown argument—just looking at it gave people a headache.

Song Yiran frowned and exited the star network, then turned to ask Xiao Zhong’er, “Xiao Zhong’er, who do you think it might be replaced with this time?”

He had always been insensitive to politics, let alone interstellar politics. He hadn’t even figured out the various upper-level structures of interstellar society yet.

Xiao Zhong’er was a high-tech system—surely he would be better than him in this regard, right?

However, Song Yiran’s hopes were destined to be disappointed.

After hearing the question, Xiao Zhong’er shook his head straight away. “It’s no use asking me about this! I don’t know who it’ll be replaced with either.”

Although he was a high-tech system, that didn’t mean he was sensitive to political affairs.

Seeing that even Xiao Zhong’er had no answer, Song Yiran could only change the question. “Then was this matter recorded in the original history?”

Xiao Zhong’er shook his head helplessly. “No idea! I can only access information related to our mission, and there’s no record of this in the materials I have.”

“As for whether this actually happened in history or not, I don’t know either.”

Song Yiran sighed. What kind of mess was this?

Xiao Zhong’er couldn’t stand seeing Song Yiran sigh like that. He remembered a saying from the human world: if you sigh too often, you’ll grow old.

Judging by Song Yiran’s sighing frequency, if he kept this up, he’d go from a young boy to a wrinkled old man in no time!

Xiao Zhong’er tried his best to comfort him. “Don’t think about it so much~ Anyway, the boss already said that no matter what happens, our mission will still be judged as completed.”

“So let’s not worry about all that. Isn’t raising the cubs in peace way better?”

“That’s true. Anyway, we don’t really have any worries now.”

Song Yiran felt that what Xiao Zhong’er said made a lot of sense. No matter what happened, the mission would be completed, and the timeline wouldn’t collapse anymore.

So what was there to worry about?

Whether they replaced someone or not? Who they replaced them with? What did that have to do with him?

He wasn’t even a native of this interstellar world—why should he care so much?

Isn’t it nicer to just raise the cubs properly?

Planet A, main city district, Interstellar Conference Hall.

At this moment, the hall was filled with reporters from all major media outlets.

Everyone sat quietly in their seats, and on the surface everything seemed calm and peaceful.

But in reality, every pair of eyes was secretly fixed on the door behind the podium.

And behind that door, the two people everyone was eagerly waiting for were having a small disagreement.

A person in a dark green military uniform frowned as she argued back at the person opposite her. “Big Sis, I don’t agree with this!”

This person was Kasei. She frowned and said, “Big Sis, I think you’re more suitable for this position.”

The person standing opposite her was Mang.

Mang reached out and adjusted the brim of Kasei’s cap for her. “Kasei, I know your abilities very well. You can handle this position.”

“But—” Kasei’s rebuttal hadn’t even finished before it was cut off.

Mang’s gaze darkened, and her tone grew deeper. “Kasei, don’t make me repeat myself a second time.”

“…Yes. I understand, Big Sis.”

Only then did Mang reveal a satisfied smile.

No matter how unwilling Kasei felt inside, she could only obey Mang’s arrangement at this moment.

From childhood to adulthood, Mang had always been the head of the family.

Mang was their gentle, good older sister—but at the same time, she was also an older sister who always had the final say.

Once Mang made a decision, no one could change it.

The orphanage, inside the dormitory.

Song Yiran had fallen asleep, leaning back on a small chair in the dorm.

Xiao Zhong’er took out a blanket from the system space and gently draped it over Song Yiran.

“Song Yiran, have a good dream!”

After saying that, he yawned as well, then shrank back into the system space to sleep.

Song Yiran had a dream.

In the dream, he lay on a stretch of grassland, surrounded by lush green grass and dense forests.

Above his head was a deep blue sky and pure white clouds. It felt as though he were lying in the cradle of nature itself, peacefully sleeping alongside it.

A gentle breeze brushed across his cheeks, carrying with it the scent of spring—like a mother softly stroking a child’s face.

He immersed himself in this beautiful natural scenery, closing his eyes to feel the vitality of nature.

But this lovely scene was soon shattered.

Song Yiran felt a wave of dizziness, and the scenery around him began to change.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a bustling city.

He seemed to be standing in a square, surrounded by people filled with laughter and joy.

All around were lively residential areas and strange, unique buildings. In the distance were dense jungles and a deep blue sky.

Smiles filled people’s faces; everyone looked happy.

Infected by their smiles, Song Yiran unconsciously curved his lips into a smile as well.

Before long, another bout of dizziness washed over him, and the scenery began to change once more.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in the midst of a war.

The once-beautiful natural world had already been completely destroyed. The vegetation that once towered into the clouds had vanished without a trace.

Grass had once covered this land, but now there was no sign of green to be found anywhere on the earth.

The sky was no longer clear; in its place billowed thick, rolling smoke.
The heavens had already been stained gray by pollution.

Explosions thundered in his ears. Screams filled the air around him, accompanied by the endless crack of gunfire.

Song Yiran suddenly saw a child fall in front of him. He immediately crouched down, reaching out to help the child up.

Then he witnessed a scene he would never forget for the rest of his life.

A bullet pierced straight through the child’s chest.

Blood splattered onto Song Yiran’s face, yet for a moment, he didn’t even react.

Then the child collapsed onto the ground and never got back up.

Blood kept pouring from her wound, spreading across the earth beneath her body.

Only then did Song Yiran finally react. In a panic, he reached out, trying to save the child.

But his hand passed straight through her body.

He couldn’t touch her at all.

The child’s breathing grew weaker and weaker, until finally it stopped—and her blood stopped flowing as well.

Because it had all drained away.

For the first time, Song Yiran realized that such a small child’s body could bleed so much.

In the end, the child’s blood merged into the land itself, and along with it, her life was absorbed into the soil.

Song Yiran stared blankly at the corpse before him.

A young life had vanished right before his eyes.

He looked around. Everywhere lay the dead.

Wails echoed across the land. War raged everywhere, and countless civilians and soldiers had lost their lives in this conflict.

The once-prosperous city had now become nothing but ruins.

This land had fallen to the flames of war.

Song Yiran wanted to help the people trapped in the fighting.

But he discovered that his existence was nothing more than a phantom—no one could see him, and no one could touch him.

He could only stand there and watch everything unfold, powerless to change any of it.

Tear after tear slipped from his eyes, finally sinking into this land already steeped in blood and suffering.

Suddenly, Song Yiran felt a familiar wave of dizziness. All the scenery before him shifted once more.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw hell on earth.

Blood covered the ground. Severed limbs lay scattered everywhere, and corpses were piled up like small hills.

Blood seeped into the soil beneath his feet, staining the land a dark crimson.

The thick stench of blood made him nearly vomit, yet the horrifying sight before him only made his tears flow more fiercely.

The corpses lying on the ground—whose family members were they? Whose children? Whose friends?

Each of them had once been a living, breathing life.

Each of them had once been a person who was alive.

But now, they had become nothing more than bodies on a battlefield.

Song Yiran collapsed to the ground, kneeling helplessly as he covered his eyes in agony.

He didn’t know why war had broken out in this place.

Tears soaked his palms, dripping through the gaps between his fingers onto the ground.

This land, already dyed red with blood, now received tears of pain as well.

Perhaps this land had long since received countless tears.

It was just that the people who once cried upon this land were now nowhere to be found.

In a daze, the scene shifted again.

When he opened his eyes once more, Song Yiran saw a familiar sight.

Green grass stretched all around him, lush vegetation flourishing everywhere. Above was a clear blue sky dotted with white clouds.

This was the very first scene he had seen.

As if nothing had ever happened, the land was still brimming with vitality.

Then the scene changed again.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a bustling city.

Then the scene shifted once more, and the surroundings turned back into a battlefield.

…

The scenes in the dream continued to cycle in this order, repeating endlessly.

They played out before Song Yiran thousands upon thousands of times.

And Song Yiran, from the pain he felt at the beginning, gradually sank into numbness.

His tears still flowed, but this time, he had already forgotten why he was crying.

This land had once been full of life, covered everywhere with thriving vegetation.

Life had been born from this land.

People gathered together to live, and as time passed, they built prosperous cities.

In the end, people launched wars, and life disappeared amid the conflict.

The land, too, turned into a place of deathly silence.

As time flowed on, vegetation once again covered the land.

And life was born from it once more.

…

Everything repeated in an endless cycle, like a chessboard arranged in advance by fate.

Song Yiran stared at the scene before him in numb silence.

Suddenly, a figure appeared beside him.

More precisely, a god.

Song Yiran had never seen a god before, but with just one glance, he knew the person before him was what people called a god.

It was an indescribably mysterious feeling—the moment one looked at a god, the answer would automatically surface in one’s heart.

Tears clung to the corners of Song Yiran’s eyes as he looked up at the god. “God… did you deliberately pull me into this place?”

“God, what is it that you want me to see?”

Song Yiran forced a smile that looked even uglier than crying. “God… what do you want me to do for you?”

The god was tall and imposing. She wore a golden robe and held an ornate scepter in her hand.

She lowered her head and gazed at Song Yiran with eyes full of pity, as if looking at an ignorant child.

“You want to save them, don’t you?”

Her gaze seemed compassionate, yet Song Yiran clearly saw the indifference hidden deep within her eyes.

A chill suddenly pierced straight through Song Yiran’s heart.

“Yes. I want to save those innocent people. I want to save those who died under the flames of war!”

The god let out a soft laugh, as though she had heard something amusing, and said, “You don’t have that ability.”

“But this is wrong! So many people shouldn’t have to die in war!” Song Yiran retorted angrily.

The god’s voice was utterly devoid of emotion. “This is predetermined history.”

Song Yiran’s tear-filled eyes met the god’s cold, indifferent gaze directly as he questioned her, “Does that mean history is always right?”

The god closed her eyes, her tone still lacking the slightest emotion. “From what standpoint do you judge the right or wrong of history?”

“History has no right or wrong.”

Those were the final words the god left behind.