The woman took out the book and handed it over. "Young Master Chi Yan, this is a book I wrote before I lost my sight. Please read it carefully."
Chi Yan did not reach out to take it.
The woman was puzzled. "Young Master Chi Yan?"
Chi Yan remained expressionless. "I don’t know how to read."
The woman froze for a moment before handing the book to her guard, instructing him to read it aloud to Chi Yan. The story wasn’t long, but it was rather dull.
Chi Yan didn’t pay it much mind. But later, the person he loved died, and so did he.
Chu'he’s pupils constricted. "You mean to say that Master Su back then had already foreseen my arrival!"
Chi Yan chuckled. "If she hadn’t glimpsed the future a hundred years ahead, why else would that woman have paid such a steep price?"
It wasn’t just losing her five senses—that woman knew her body was failing, yet she insisted on bearing a child, all because she needed a descendant to inherit the Red Pavilion’s ability to glimpse the future.
It was as if she had long known when her time would come. The day after giving birth, she summoned her most trusted aides, left behind her final words and belongings, and then passed away, her fragrance fading from the world.
And at that time, she was only twenty years old.
Chu'he said, "So when I arrived in Miaojiang, that so-called ‘system’ voice appeared in my head. What method did you use to transmit your voice into my mind?"
"You were infected with my gu when you were thrown into the Medicinal Pit."
Chu'he was stunned. "When exactly was I infected?"
"When you were tied up in that sack. You were terrified and tense—even if a tiny insect bit you, you wouldn’t have noticed."
Chu'he remembered.
Back then, she had been roughly bound by the Witchcraft and Gu Sorcery Sect and thrown into the Medicinal Pit. With so many scrapes and bruises, how could she have noticed a single insect bite?
Chi Yan explained, "Inside Chi Yan’s body, controlling a single gu was already my limit. That’s why I only managed to speak a few words to you before the connection was severed."
That was the reason behind the unreliable "system" suddenly going silent.
"But how did you reconnect with me later?"
"Chi Yan planted a Lovebird Gu in you. The deeper connection between your bodies gave me more opportunities."
Chu'he frowned. "So you could’ve spoken to me much earlier. Why wait until Song Chunming was about to die before reaching out again?"
"On one hand, my power was limited. Every word I spoke to you consumed a great deal of energy. On the other hand—and this is the most important reason—Chi Yan was on the verge of falling into demonic madness."
Chi Yan had seen Master Su’s original manuscript. The turning point for Chi Yan’s descent into darkness was the murder of Song Chunming. Once he succumbed to the demonic influence and unleashed his bloodthirsty nature, there would be no turning back, and everything would proceed along its original, doomed path.
In a way, his claim that "if Song Chunming dies, Chi Yan will destroy the world" wasn’t entirely false.
From the very beginning, his true goal had been to save the world—not just Song Chunming alone.
But Chu'he still had one last question. "If that’s the case, why not just tell me outright to stop the villain from ending the world? Why go through the whole ‘system issuing missions’ charade?"
Chi Yan’s tone was wry. "Any normal person would be terrified at the thought of approaching a future mass-murdering demon. How could I have guessed…"
How could he have guessed Chu'he was an anomaly?
The more dangerous something was, the more excited she became. While others would flee in fear, she would eagerly throw herself at it—not just throw herself, but devour it whole with terrifying adaptability.
From the glimpses he’d accidentally caught, he couldn’t even tell whether Chi Yan or Chu'he was the more deranged of the two.
All this time, he’d assumed that since Chu'he and her beloved were from the same homeland, he should use a gentler, kinder lie to ease her burden of saving the world. So, drawing from stories he’d heard before, he came up with the idea of disguising himself as a "system," something younger people would more readily accept.
Chu'he knew exactly what kind of person she was. A pang of guilt flashed through her, her eyes darting away as she struggled to find words.
Yes, she was pretty, delicate, and soft-spoken—who could’ve guessed her tastes were so… unconventional?
Chi Yan said, "I’ve told you everything you wanted to know. Now, I have a few questions for you."
"Go ahead."
"How did you figure out the ‘system’ was me?"
Chu'he replied, "At first, I didn’t consider it. But later, I heard Miss Xue say her greatest wish was to save this world—and she never mentioned anything about system missions. I guessed her desire to save the world came from her own heart."
"And coincidentally, the mission you gave me was also to save the world—an exact match with her wish."
"Then I thought about it: I only awakened the so-called system after meeting Ninth. What if, instead, it was because I was near him, and something within him was affecting me?"
"And the most important clue—"
Chi Yan: "The most important clue?"
"I had no real evidence. I just have an overactive imagination. I was bluffing—who knew you’d admit it so easily?"
Chi Yan: "……"
Chu'he lifted her gaze, watching Ninth’s sleeping face, listening to his steady breathing. Her heart softened. In her mind, she murmured, "Hey, since you saved Ninth, doesn’t that make you his second father? By Central Plains customs, should I call you ‘Father-in-law’?"
Chi Yan coughed. "Let’s not. I can’t handle that."
Chu'he let out a disappointed "Oh."
Suddenly, Chi Yan spoke again. "One last question."
"Ask away."
"In the story she told me, when someone from another world dies here, they return to their original world. Is that true?"
The lightness in Chu'he’s expression flickered for just an instant before she answered cheerfully, "Yes. If she dies in this world, she’ll go back."
Chi Yan smiled faintly. "Good. That’s good."
Chu'he buried her face in the young man’s chest, clutching a corner of his red robe. She couldn’t understand—why had she been forced to endure the same cruelty twice?
"Everything is settled now. It’s time for me to go."
Hearing the frail voice in her mind, Chu'he’s lashes trembled. "I can tell Ninth! We’ll find a way to separate you from his body, to let you live again as a person!"
He laughed softly, reminding her, "I’ve been dead for a long time. The dead don’t come back to life."
Chi Yan was no ignorant puppet. From the very beginning, he had understood what the word "death" truly meant.
The fragment of his heart left behind in the mortal world retained the last trace of his consciousness. It should have dissipated long ago, yet it endured till now solely through sheer willpower.
Over these days, as he established a spiritual connection with Chu'he, the strain on his dwindling energy only accelerated. Thus, his eventual disappearance became inevitable.
Truthfully, Chi Yan never loved this world. Yet she, an outsider, adored its vibrancy. And so, continuing to "love" this world in her stead became the sole purpose of his existence after death.
Since ancient times, countless have sacrificed themselves for the sake of "saving the world." So what did it matter if he, too, perished now?
The crisis that had persisted for a century was finally resolved. Should another arise in the future, there was no need to worry—this era had no shortage of heroes.
At last, he could let go.
Before vanishing, he murmured softly, "If she has returned to her own world... will she still remember me?"
Chu'he's eyes stung as she replied with certainty, "She will remember you."
Chi Yan let out a faint laugh—tinged with both joy and sorrow.
It was wonderful that she remembered him.
Yet it was also painful.
Looking back, knowing her had felt like a beautiful dream. But upon waking, the emptiness of grasping at nothing only deepened his anguish.
A leaf drifted down, brushing the young man's nose.
The white-haired, black-eyed youth opened his eyes to a sky filled with golden leaves, shimmering like flecks of light—a sight too ethereal for the mortal realm.
The ropes of a swing traced gentle arcs in the breeze. A young woman in yellow sat askew on the wooden seat, cradling a delicate little puppet in her hands, her head nodding as she dozed.
The young man's throat tightened as he struggled to exhale. "Mian."
Hearing this, the girl's fingers around the puppet stilled. She opened her eyes, turning her head as the pale yellow ribbons at her temples fluttered, sketching the shape of the wind.
Xue Yuemian's eyes curved into crescents, her voice warm as autumn sunlight. "You're finally here. I've been waiting so long."
The world fell silent.
Chu'he's breath hitched, her exhales laced with a dampness as fine and delicate as raindrops clinging to spring leaves.
Buried in his embrace, she didn't see the young man's gem-like crimson eyes slowly open—no trace of their usual laziness or mischief, only a tenderness softer than moonlight.
He didn't speak a word, merely lowering his hand to brush her hair, his thumb grazing her shoulder before pulling her even closer, enveloping her completely.
They had not repeated the tragedy of the previous generation. How fortunate they were.
