My name is Lu Mohui. I was already dead, but the children of the worlds I wrote still had to bring me back to life. My death left my stories unfinished, and it also let viruses invade those worlds.
The Children of the Worlds: Bring our creator back to life, and she'll bring us back to life in turn.
But there isn't enough energy. We can't revive her.
Lu Mohui: Great. Let me die.
The Children of the Worlds: You watched your own children die right before your eyes. You're no mother at all!
One short-tempered, impulsive Child of the World swung a sword, splitting Lu Mohui's soul in two.
If you won't go, we'll send you off with the other you. Hehehe.
I'm 1357. Forget what kind of number System I am. When I was alive, my name was Lu Mohui. My Host, Lu Mohui, is a complete airhead.
We're the same person, and we've been thrown into story worlds to complete missions.
System: "No matter what, you must protect the love between the male and female leads. Keep the banner of BG romance flying high forever!"
Lu Mohui: "Got it!"
But why does the plot, already twisted enough as it is, get even more twisted once she gets involved?
System: "Your approach is straying a little from the plan. It looks like we're about to fail..."
Lu Mohui covers her ears. "No, we aren't. Impossible. I don't want to hear it."
The System looks at the story's ending. "...It's fine. You did great."
P.S. I originally wanted to write a quick transmigration story, but later decided to just wrap it up as one story so I wouldn't leave it unfinished.
