From the very beginning, Jiang Du was never a good person, and naturally, he had sensed early on that Wen Yaoyao wasn’t one either.
In a way, Wen Yaoyao and Jiang Du were cut from the same cloth. Outwardly delicate and pitiable, she secretly observed those who held the most value to her. For instance, when she noticed Gu Moleng and Jiang Du harbored feelings for her, she feigned ignorance while quietly assessing which of them was the more powerful man.
Wen Yaoyao had been frail and sickly since childhood. Standing beside the radiant and vivacious Wen Sisi, she often faded into the background. Perhaps it was the frequency of such neglect that gradually twisted her personality.
She yearned to outshine Wen Sisi, and she harbored an intense loathing for any woman who dared to steal even a sliver of attention away from her.
Take Little Pepper, for example. She died because her phone screen lit up at ten o’clock one night—triggered by a message sent by none other than Wen Yaoyao.
Little Pepper had only herself to blame for casting her greedy gaze upon the wrong man—Gu Moleng.
Gu Moleng was Wen Yaoyao’s prey, and so Little Pepper became the first woman to die.
Later, when Wen Sisi tumbled down a hillside, that too was Wen Yaoyao’s doing. Just as she had anticipated, Gu Moleng could no longer tolerate Wen Sisi’s incompetence and called off their engagement.
At first, Wen Yaoyao had believed Gu Moleng might be the most formidable man. She had even prepared to choose him—until his death, which left her bitterly disappointed.
The man worthy of Wen Yaoyao had to be the strongest of them all. Jiang Du’s "resurrection" proved this point, and so she finally settled on him as her match. That was why she produced the long-hidden travel guide.
Jiang Du remarked coldly, "After Ming Buchang’s death, many scrambled to search his room for that travel guide. But what they didn’t know was that you had already visited him privately while he was still alive."
He spared no scorn. "That fool Gu Moleng thought you were pure as snow, some divine maiden. In truth, you had already stepped into Ming Buchang’s room."
This was the reason Jiang Du had chosen to "protect" Wen Yaoyao—because she possessed the travel guide, because she was useful.
Wen Yaoyao had never imagined her flawless facade would one day be torn apart so ruthlessly. Nearly hysterical, she spat, "In this world, everyone survives by their own means. If I secured the key item, that’s my skill. What right do you have to stand on moral high ground and condemn me? Jiang Du, do you really think you’re any better than me?"
Jiang Du replied, "At least I have more self-awareness than you."
As they spoke, the white roses around them withered and decayed at an alarming rate. Their vibrant hues faded, slowly overtaken by an encroaching black mist. The once dreamlike sea of flowers now resembled a nightmarish landscape from hell.
The crystal coffin shattered, its skeletal occupant tumbling gracelessly onto the muddy ground.
Jiang Du retreated step by step, avoiding the spreading darkness.
Wen Yaoyao was not so fortunate. The earth beneath her feet split open, revealing churning magma below. As she plummeted, she desperately clawed at the fractured edge.
Scorching heat surged upward. "Jiang Du, save me!" she shrieked in terror. "I truly love you—please, help me!"
Jiang Du didn’t believe a word. Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, away from the advancing blackness.
Wen Yaoyao’s strength failed her. Within moments, her grip loosened, and with a final scream, she plunged into the searing lava.
Jiang Du reached the white villa and fumbled with the key to unlock the door. The moment he stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind him, sealing away the horrors outside.
But he froze in place.
The entire town stood assembled in the house, their eyes fixed unblinkingly on him. Their lips curled into identical smiles, as though each wore the same eerie mask—an uncanny imitation of humanity.
At the forefront stood the pot-bellied Principal, his expression genial. "Congratulations on making it to the white villa," he said warmly. "You’ve survived to the end, and you’ve given us quite the spectacle."
The Principal began to clap, and the rest of the residents followed suit, their applause thunderous in the otherwise silent room.
Their cheerful faces only deepened the creeping dread.
It was then that Jiang Du noticed the portrait hanging on the wall.
A noblewoman in a white dress sat poised on a chair, while a young man stood beside her, their hands clasped. Their features bore a striking resemblance—mother and son.
And on the young man’s face, just below the corner of his mouth, was a small black mole—identical to the one on Jiang Du’s own face.
The Principal smiled. "Seeing your mother’s remains scattered in the ruins, you didn’t even stop to gather them?"
Jiang Du paled.
[I will never accept my child’s departure from this world. There must be a way—there must be a way to bring him back. Though his flesh may have rotted, his soul still lingers. I will craft the perfect vessel to welcome his return.]
After writing these words in her notebook, the Rose Lady embarked on her "grand and secret" plan.
With her vast wealth, she enlisted every so-called "miracle worker" from East and West—science, theology, even forbidden rituals rumored to bring catastrophic consequences. So long as her son could live again, she would do anything.
Yet she was never satisfied.
The reassembled bodies always lacked something—some imperfection that didn’t resemble her child. Someone suggested that since her son’s original form had decayed, perhaps a new child could be cultivated using her own genes, ensuring better compatibility.
She agreed.
And so, a child was born in a room devoid of light.
The Rose Lady cradled the infant, gazing at its face with indescribable joy. Indeed, this child bore an uncanny resemblance to her lost son in his earliest years.
The two-year-old reached out, chubby arms waving, tiny fingers brushing her cheek as it giggled. "Mama."
But her smile vanished. "No. His smile… it’s nothing like my son’s."
Someone asked, "What’s different?"
"His eyes… perhaps the eyes."
"And the rest?"
The Rose Lady hesitated. "Mostly similar, I suppose."
"Then we can preserve the matching parts and cultivate a new subject, replacing only what doesn’t align."
