Welcome to Rewind World Game-Chapter 1552: Interlude: After Shaking Hands with Noel (Part 2)
"Do you want to come with us to check out the room of the Ancient Castle’s master?" Hui Bai asked.
"...Alright." Su Ming’an signaled Shadow not to act rashly, nodding in agreement.
The four moved stealthily through the Ancient Castle, and soon they sneaked into a room.
"There’s actually no guards at all." Antetolia said cautiously, "Su Ming’an."
Su Ming’an and Shadow turned their heads simultaneously.
"Let’s each take a corner and search slowly towards the center." Antetolia suggested.
As the search began, Su Ming’an tried out his skill and found that it was usable; he immediately activated "Clue Insight" and swiftly discovered a red circle.
It was a booklet, which Su Ming’an began to read.
...
[Character Survival Guide]
[01: Do not get close to people named "Hui Bai" and "Su Ming’an." Once you become friends, the risk of death greatly increases.]
[02: Do not utter foul language or discuss sensitive topics.]
[03: Do not engage in activities below the neck that are unhealthy.]
[04: Do not commit excessively bloody or violent acts; keep harmful actions as clean and simple as possible.]
[05: Do not let them fully understand your life, your past, or your ideals. Once they finish understanding you, there’s a high probability you will face death.]
[06: If they mention topics like "Player," "Quest," "NPC," or "World Game," please ignore and forget them.]
[07: Do not attempt to develop feelings above friendship with them, especially do not perform actions like confessions and intimate physical contact.]
[08: All your actions must have logical reasoning; don’t decide rashly, nor be fickle. The story lacks ridiculous realities, respect the character settings.]
...
"Whose survival guide is this?" Shadow leaned in. "An NPC’s, I guess."
"Do not utter foul language or discuss sensitive topics, do not engage in activities below the neck..." Su Ming’an murmured to himself. "Could it be about [Analog Horror]? The third stage of the Disciple Game, Mingxi campus, was Analog Horror. How does the fourteenth instance relate to this?"
"Interesting, look at the fifth rule." Shadow smiled, rubbing his chin. "Once we fully understand an NPC, there’s a high probability the NPC will face death..."
"Like a story." Hui Bai chimed in.
The two turned back to see a tall young man with striking golden hair walking towards them, hands in pockets, like a mellow sun: "According to most story logic, once a person is adequately developed, they can die off. All their previous dazzling qualities and experiences serve as buildup before their final death, with the more brilliant the buildup, the more impactful the death. So, logically, if someone wants to survive in the story, the best way is indeed to—don’t let the protagonist understand him/her, don’t let the plot develop around him/her."
"That’s quite a sharp angle of consideration." Shadow raised an eyebrow.
"If you really treat the instance as a story, then this logic is indeed correct." Hui Bai said.
"Then it’s over, I already know you quite well, Hui Bai." Su Ming’an suddenly commented.
"Hahaha..." Hui Bai laughed a few times. "You’ve seen what the booklet said—[Do not get close to people named ’Hui Bai’ and ’Su Ming’an’], meaning in this story’s view, only Su Ming’an and I count as protagonists? Though I can’t tell why it’s determined this way, given many other excellent players. But no worries, Noel, you’re alright."
Antetolia calmly asked, "What happens if we violate the rules? Hui Bai, why don’t you say some foul words."
Hui Bai maintained his smile.
Antetolia maintained her smile.
It seemed like nobody was willing to take the risk.
Suddenly, gentle footsteps sounded behind them.
"...Someone’s coming." Antetolia immediately said, "Scatter!"
The four immediately dispersed, and the next moment, they felt a strong sensation of danger. Even with Hui Bai’s power, the threat was palpable.
Shadow quickly spread the Invisibility Cloak, covering Su Ming’an within it.
"Tap, tap."
Slightly heeled footsteps.
The door was pushed open, faint candlelight from the corridor sparsely illuminating the area, followed by a slender silhouette.
It was a young boy, with slightly slanted white bangs under which were golden eyes like gems; dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt with floral collars and cuffs, lantern shorts exposing white slim legs, and pure white shoes.
At the moment he appeared, everyone saw a blood-red system frame appear before their eyes:
...
[WARNING-001]
[Danger Level: Highest]
[Characteristics: Unknown]
[Instant Death Rule: Unknown]
[Escape Rule: Unknown]
[Note: Exercise extreme caution!!]
...
"...Damn, it’s really Analog Horror." Shadow complained inwardly.
This kind of rule game makes no sense; no matter how strong you are, violating the rule means death, with very low margin for error. Unfortunately, they seemed to have encountered the strongest Kaidan.
"...Is it really Analog Horror?" Su Ming’an’s thoughts were different.
He had already recognized the white-haired young boy as Su Liujin. The first World Game didn’t include Luowasha, how did this group appear?
The white-haired boy smiled as he walked in, hands in pockets, seemingly strolling; he cast a meaningful glance at the scattered booklet on the table, clearly noting that someone had been here.
"Tap, tap."
He passed by the curtains where Hui Bai and Antetolia were hiding, and stopped.
The two held their breath, not wanting to face the strongest kaidan, which could lead to "instant death" at slightest touch. Amidst their terror, the white-haired boy took steps once more, heading towards the corner where Su Ming’an and Ying Su were hidden.
Just two steps away, the white-haired boy stopped.
Su Ming’an clearly felt Ying Su’s breathing become heavier.
"Bang!" Suddenly, intense footsteps came from outside the door, accompanied by the scream of a man, presumably a player being chased.
Su Liujin paused, slowly turned, left the room, and headed towards the direction of the man.
Moments later, a terribly wretched scream echoed from the end of the hallway.
"Take this chance, scatter!" Hui Bai shouted. Ying Su immediately pulled Su Ming’an and rushed outside, smashing through the glass with a "crash," and the two fell from the high tower of the ancient castle, landing in the snow.
"...Who are you?" Suddenly, a panicked female voice came from the front.
The two looked up to see a black-haired girl. Her skin was pale, eyelids heavy, lips like fire, akin to the colorful beauties in Western oil paintings. The girl was dressed in a lace gown adorned with blood-red roses, carrying a small flower basket, picking flowers in the garden.
"Could she be the daughter of that blue-haired person?" Ying Su said.
"...That doesn’t seem to match her age." Su Ming’an ridiculed.
"I am the princess of this ancient castle, Princess Yisha. Who are you!" The black-haired girl regained her composure and pointed at them: "You, you jumped down from upstairs, are you having secret affairs with the maid?"
"What’s with your thought process? Jumping down from upstairs must be having an affair?" Ying Su couldn’t help but retort: "And your titles are just too messy, the owner of the castle is an earl, how can you be a princess?"
"I..." Princess Yisha stamped her foot in embarrassment: "None of your business!"
So it turns out she self-declared as princess... Su Ming’an glanced back at the window, Su Liujin hadn’t come after them.
... 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢
[WARNING-005]
[Danger level: Low]
[Instant death rule: Tell her that her lover will not return.]
[Escape rule: Unknown]
[Note: The appearance of 005 mostly occurs in the garden, where she waits for her lover from the heavens. Each time the roses bloom most delicately, her lover appears and embraces her.]
...
[You received the task issued by "Princess Yisha" · "Find me a rose"]
[Task content: Find a most delicate rose for Princess Yisha.]
[Task reward: A key.]
...
"Wow, looks like we’ve landed in another kaidan’s domain." Ying Su thought for a moment: "But this one seems safer... Anyway, let’s find the flower for her first."
"Mm-hmm." Princess Yisha nodded with satisfaction: "Then before looking for the flower, I want to give each of you a name."
"What does finding a flower have to do with naming?" Su Ming’an raised his eyes.
"Orders from the princess, follow them as you hear!" Princess Yisha pointed at Su Ming’an: "Then you shall be called... Blue Rose."
Quite a nice name... Su Ming’an hesitated for a while, not wanting to interrupt her enthusiasm.
"You shall be called..." Princess Yisha pointed at Ying Su: "Black Squid."
"Hey." Ying Su instantly became displeased: "Why am I called Black Squid? How does that fit?"
"When the princess names you, don’t oppose." Princess Yisha put her hands on her hips: "Alright, hurry and find the rose, Black Squid."
Su Ming’an started moving, followed by a sullen Ying Su, with Princess Yisha tagging along.
"What’s your lover like?" Su Ming’an asked.
"My lover, he’s the most talented and handsome person in the world." Princess Yisha said proudly.
"Girl, don’t be so obsessed with love!" Ying Su shook his head: "He only meets with you every evening, just for a bit, that passion will wear out eventually."
"Have you ever been in love? Giving me advice?" Princess Yisha snorted:
Ying Su was left powerless.
"What’s the relationship between the castle owner and you?" Su Ming’an said.
"Oh, you mean that necrophilic person." Princess Yisha said, having a knack for giving everyone nicknames: "Necrophilic person... is our leader."
"Leader? What leader?" Su Ming’an said.
"To kill those people from the heavens." Princess Yisha said: "Our organization is called [Wheel of Destiny], necrophilic person is our head, this ancient castle is our base."
Hearing this, Sudden pain hit Su Ming’an’s head.
...
["What I care about is..." Phoenix leaned forward, squinting his eyes: "Do you want... to go further?"]
[Qin Si remained silent.]
["This place is one of the strongholds of [Wheel of Destiny], the owner of this ancient castle is a member of[Wheel of Destiny]." Phoenix said: "Opposing observation, fighting fate. That’s our creed."]
["Fighting... fate?" Qin Si lifted his head.]
...
A surge of nonexistent memories rushed into his head, he forcefully tapped his head.
Last instance, Su Jingtang had mentioned, there were some "farmers" in the heavens. Now a lover from the heavens conveniently appears, so this lover is likely the so-called "farmer." As a "farmer" descending to the earth, he fell in love with a "turkey," Princess Yisha, and the two became a couple.
Su Ming’an barely used Princess Yisha’s word: "How did that necrophilic person gather all of you here?"
"Gather?" Princess Yisha’s expression turned blank for a moment, revealing a simple smile: "No gathering, we opened our eyes and were just here."
"Did you originate here?" Su Ming’an asked.
"Yes, when I was born..." Isa lifted her skirt, spun around, and her vividly beautiful face became even more enchanting: "I was this age, with this appearance, no childhood memories, no parents."
She tilted her neck and counted on her fingers: "White Tombstone, Cake Face, Little Knight, Purple Cat... they were all born here suddenly just like me. Anyway, I’m Princess Isa, I have a lover in the sky, and we’re very much in love."
Su Ming’an and Shadow exchanged a glance.
"...A character?" Shadow said.
Clearly, this wasn’t a normal life, more like a person suddenly ’created.’
"If my guess is correct," Su Ming’an said, "beyond the sky, there are a group of higher-dimensional ’creators,’ who created Isa and the others, giving them settings, like the setting for Isa to ’fall in love with someone.’ However, the owner of the ancient castle began to have rebellious thoughts, naming this place the [Wheel of Destiny] and started to plan the rebellion."
As for the real leader of the [Wheel of Destiny], Hui Mo, since Hui Bai hasn’t gone to Luowasha yet, Hui Mo hasn’t appeared.
However, there are still some logical gaps.
What on earth does Noel want him to see?
"Do you really love that person in the sky?" Shadow looked at Isa, "Actually, it’s just your setting, like something carved into your DNA, you don’t really love him, do you?"
Isa was silent for a moment and shook her head:
"...I don’t know why I love him. But I knew the moment I saw him, that I love him."
"Every evening, I can only see him for a moment, but that brief moment, I eagerly look forward to."
"Because only by loving him, can I live, and this ancient castle can be so peaceful."
"Loving him is my meaning and my mission."
Su Ming’an felt that this rhetoric was familiar.
At this moment, Shadow picked a bright red rose:
"There, Your Highness, does this flower count as stunning?"
"Hmm... still some gap, but indeed I can’t find a better one." Isa took the rose, humming softly: "Alright, I’ll count you as successful, Your Princess."
She placed a key in Shadow’s hand, turned, and walked towards the sea of flowers.
At that moment, a man’s silhouette appeared.
Roses clustered, branches swayed, the night wind lifted the wine-red robe. Amid wind and snow, Isa smiled, lightly lifting her skirt, and ran toward the man.
In the next instant, they kissed amid the sea of flowers.
"...Don’t watch the indecent!" Shadow pulled Su Ming’an’s head down, mumbling, "Is that her lover? The lover from the sky?"
"Let’s go." Su Ming’an turned around.
Suddenly, he heard Shadow’s exclamation.
He looked back and saw the man in the sea of flowers pierce Isa’s chest with a sword under the night wind.
They seemed to whisper something, the man mercilessly pulled out the sword, turned, and left, his figure quickly disappearing.
Su Ming’an ran over, the ink-haired girl lay among the roses, blood dyed her fair cheek red, her curled eyelashes gently trembling, her long dress flowing where it fell.
Seeing him, Isa tugged her lips, fresh blood welling, she laughed quietly:
"...He doesn’t seem to love me anymore."
Shadow immediately took out a flute and began to play. Amidst the lingering flute sound, Isa’s complexion gradually improved.
"What’s happening?" Shadow asked.
"He... just questioned me, what is the situation with [Wheel of Destiny], are we going to resist them." Isa said intermittently, "Your words just now made me doubt, so I asked him if our love could be severed by these doubts. I asked him if my love for him was truly my heartfelt wish or... something engraved in my DNA."
"He said he really loves me. But he couldn’t let our rebellion loose..."
"So, he stabbed me."
"I could feel he was merciful, deliberately not piercing a fatal spot. Hehe, hehe... Black Ink-fish, what should I do if he doesn’t like me, then I’m no longer a princess..."
"You’re only a princess if he holds you?" Shadow said displeased.
"But, if he doesn’t love me." Isa touched the blood hole on her chest: "Who will provide our survival resources, who will drop food three times a day, who will adjust the three-day airborne time... who will, feed the turkeys?"
She laughed extremely pale, as if her faith had been shattered in agony.
"Black Ink-fish and Blue Rose can." Su Ming’an said.
Isa slightly widened her eyes.
"Princess Isa and Necrophilia can." Su Ming’an said.
"White Tombstone and Cake Face can."
"Little Knight and Purple Cat can."
"Although I don’t know who they are, you can do it yourselves."
"Either obscure that day, so the Farmer can no longer affect you. Or overturn that day, so the Farmer is completely gone."
Suddenly, he heard Noel’s soft voice:
...
[Exactly.]
[--Either end ’their’ observation of our fate. Or kill ’them,’ so ’they’ can never spy on us.]
...
What does this sentence... mean?
Su Ming’an vaguely touched upon something. This person really likes to beat around the bush, can’t he just say it directly? Must he speak like an ancient strategist, telling that many stories for him to comprehend?
It’s also possible that it’s something that can’t be directly spoken, and indeed can only be realized by Su Ming’an himself.
"...Alright." With Ying Su’s help, Isa stood up slowly and said, "I’ll take you to see the master of the ancient castle."
"Wait a moment." Su Ming’an said, "I hope you can draw the appearance of your beloved. I want to see what the people in the sky actually look like."
Isa nodded: "Okay."
She took them to a room and took out some ink and paper.
At this moment, the sound of a "clang" bell rang out from the banquet hall.
"It’s ’Dining Time’, time for the exiled voting." Ying Su said: "Isa, we will be back later."
"Mhm." Isa said.
Su Ming’an and Ying Su walked into the banquet hall, which originally had sixteen people but now only had eight or nine left.
The blue-haired boy appeared on his seat once again, yawning and waving his hand: "Hurry up, don’t dawdle, I still need to take care of her, hurry up and vote."
The "her" he referred to was the doll-like female corpse beside him.
Indeed a necrophiliac, Isa got the nickname right... Su Ming’an averted his eyes.
After some discussion, they exiled an ordinary player. Although Su Ming’an and Ying Su were demons, they hadn’t committed any murders.
"Why exile me, why not him!" The player shouted fiercely while pointing at Ying Su as he left: "This guy is full of evil aura, one look and you know he’s no good! You’ll all be killed by him sooner or later!"
Ying Su didn’t lift an eyelid, looking as if he was used to it.
"Oh, by the way." After the exile, Wu Yi mentioned: "When there are only five people left alive, the game will end. Everyone, do your best."
He yawned and his figure disappeared into the distance.
——Su Ming’an decisively followed him.
"Be careful!" Ying Su immediately followed behind.
Hui Bai and Antetolia exchanged a glance and followed as well.
"That kind of big BOSS is dangerous, are you just going to follow him?" Ying Su said from behind.
"Just now, I was quite puzzled." Su Ming’an said as he walked without looking back: "In the face of Kaidan, what are you afraid of?"
"Huh?" Ying Su widened his eyes: "Shouldn’t I be afraid?"
"Shouldn’t you be risking yourself, doing whatever you can to uncover crucial information? Why are you so cowardly?" Su Ming’an said.
"Nonsense, that’s very dangerous." Ying Su said.
As they exchanged like this, Su Ming’an suddenly turned around and found that Ying Su was gone.
He stood amidst a white mist with nothing around him.
Was he dragged into some domain by the master of the ancient castle?
"What are you following me for?" Wu Yi stood in front and said.
"Wu Yi." Su Ming’an said: "Is this the eleventh instance of the fourth billionth world game Luowasha or the fourteenth instance of the first world game Liar’s Eighteen Trials?"
"Oh." Wu Yi turned around: "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Then let me put it another way." Su Ming’an said: "Have we met before?"
Wu Yi silently curled the corners of his mouth.
"Hmm, still no answer." Su Ming’an said: "I’ve realized, your plot is really interesting."
"Haha, I really can’t understand what you’re saying, guest of the ancient castle." Wu Yi laughed.
"I want to break ’destiny’, how should I do it?" Su Ming’an said: "Can I join you?"
Having seen the story up to this point, he had roughly understood——Noel Agnini wanted to break the cycle and desired an unrestrained ending, which was to break the so-called "destiny".
Noel believed that all endings up to now were confined within a framework, repeating endlessly. And he wanted an ending without any constraints.
But this concept is strange, what kind of ending counts as unrestrained? Weren’t some previous endings personally achieved by them?
Su Ming’an didn’t understand what exactly "the best ending" meant, but the endings of the Sea Crossing Line and Guardian Shore Line certainly weren’t it. Combining all the information so far, everything converged on one keyword——"destiny".
Thus, the Wheel of Destiny, which was strongly related to "destiny," was very important.
Wu Yi was somewhat surprised, laughing and spinning in place: "You want to join our Wheel of Destiny, fine. It requires a little test."
He opened his hand and waved it gently.
"To break destiny, one needs to break one’s innate ’setting’."
"Can you break away from your own ’setting’?"
Suddenly, the surroundings brightened.
Wu Yi’s figure disappeared, Su Ming’an looked around.
——He saw a little boy with black hair and black eyes.
The little boy was carrying a schoolbag, wearing a bulky school uniform, standing at the edge of a bustling crowd in a luxurious banquet hall.
Su Ming’an’s gaze halted.
——This was his memory, at the age of seventeen, attending his classmate Bolong’s birthday party.
If one considers a person’s past as a "setting", if his father who died saving someone and his mother who entered a psychiatric hospital were called a "setting", if his eighteen years of life before the start of the world game were called a "setting", then, is disbelieving one’s past the way to break the "setting"?
At this moment, the party was at its peak, and a huge multi-tiered cake was being pushed out.
In the spotlight, a slightly chubby boy walked out, surrounded at the center, with cheeks kissed to a rosy fullness.
"Let us wish tonight’s little birthday star——" someone raised a microphone: "Bolong, happy birthday!"
People sent out their blessings together:
"Bolong! Happy seventeenth birthday!"
"Thank you, everyone!" The slightly chubby boy on the stage smiled, taking a deep breath and blowing out all the flames amidst the singing of others.
Countless paper confetti cannons immediately twisted open with a "bang bang" sound, and flying rainbow streamers fell all over the sky, covering Bolong’s hair and sprinkling a headful of black-haired youth below.
In the banquet hall, little Su Ming’an held his breath slightly, some paper stuck to his eyelashes, causing his vision to shatter into blurry and dazzling color blocks.
Classmates presented Bolong with gifts in turn, mostly exquisite watches, ornaments, and jade stones. Bolong’s family has always been well-off; if not for Bolong’s earnest invitation, Su Ming’an would not have attended.
Little Su Ming’an promptly went up next, presenting his somewhat shabby gift—a handmade piano ornament, which was all he could afford.
Sidelong glances seemed slightly disdainful, but Bolong laughed as he accepted it, patting little Su Ming’an on the shoulder: "Truly my good buddy, I like this gift!"
After Su Ming’an came down from the stage, the wave of blessings nearly blew off the roof; Bolong’s parents stepped forward, raised on tiptoe, leaving a kiss on their son’s forehead. Standing in the light, Bolong smiled with utmost happiness.
Little Su Ming’an averted his eyes, his gaze hovering on the radiant crystal chandelier. The light refracted countless cold sharp points, suspended above like some silent scrutinizing gaze. Suddenly, his stomach twinged slightly, prompting him to absently rub his eyes with his uniform sleeve.
...That night, he saw many foods he’d never tasted before, eating to the point where his stomach felt a bit bloated.
After the party ended, people gradually dispersed, yet little Su Ming’an stealthily approached the massive cake, where the cream had already been ravaged. Eyes scanning, his hand reached toward one of the candles. That candle was already shortened, the bottom solidified with a dark drop of wax.
His fingertips touched a residue of warmth, quickly gripping it into his palm.
On the way, he sat on the last bus ride, tightly holding that short candle.
Returning home, he was greeted by the mixed smell of dust and cheap disinfectant. Fumbling, he pressed the switch, revealing an old bed, a creaking desk, a chair with fraying wicker, and on the wall, a frame holding a family photo faded to near obscurity—parents’ smiles embedded on yellowed paper, seeming as distant as stories from another world.
He moved to the kitchen corner, opening the refrigerator where only a bag of discount, soon-to-expire bread from the supermarket lay. Carefully, he took it out. The bread crust had become somewhat hard; he pinched a slice, silently biting into it, dry crumbs slowly dissolving in his mouth with a taste akin to cardboard.
Then, he cautiously retrieved the borrowed candle, so short with a burnt wick, dripping with remnants of Bolong’s wishes, lying quietly in his palm.
He picked up the candle, gently positioning it at the center of the dry slice of bread before him. The meager cream remnants barely served as a base to fix the candle in place. Then, he fished out a cheap plastic lighter dangling from his keychain. "Clack," a weak flame flickered out.
"..."
The dim candlelight trembled, casting tiny, flickering dots in his dark pupils.
This borrowed flicker of others’ discarded things.
He leaned slightly forward, hands subconsciously tightening over his knees, knuckles turning somewhat white.
Then, a clear yet tremulous voice resonated through this silent, cold house.
"Happy birthday to me."
"Happy birthday to me."
"Happy birthday to me..."
"Happy birthday to me..."
He slowly extended his hand, fingertips trembling imperceptibly, inching toward the flickering flame. Holding his breath, he gently blew a breath towards it.
Poof—
The candle went out in response.
The final wisp of smoke coiled upward, swiftly dissipating into the dim light, as if it never existed.
He continued to hold his posture, hands merged on his knees, facing the piece of chilled soon-to-expire bread adorned with a residual candle.
On the wall, his parents’ old photo fully sank into shadows, their faded smiles vanishing in the gloom.
Sitting there, in the room with only his own breathing echoed, along with faint, endless urban noises from afar beyond the window.
...This was from Bolong’s birthday, discarded.
Wishes made by others could be his turn.
Su Ming’an stood from afar, observing this memory.
He saw the small boy again, walking under humid, sultry air, the sunset painting half the sky red, as the boy picked bottles, passing the large television of the shopping center at the street corner.
The small boy was captivated by the television, stopping in his tracks.
On the TV screen, a group of children in suits and gowns were in a setting unimaginable to him, with a high-domed ceiling like the firmament within a music hall. Those young faces bathed in the stage’s splendid lighting, appearing confident, as though destined to stand at the center of the world, admired by others.
...Those were children attending a piano recital abroad.
Little Su Ming’an stood for a long time, intently watching their dancing fingers, their familiar techniques—noticing the melody... he knew how to play this...
"Hmm hmm hmm~ hmm~"
He involuntarily hummed the piano piece he’d learned, observing their polished leather shoes, then looking down at his own ragged sneakers.
He stood for a long time, until the program ended, until the elegant children graciously thanked, until his legs felt numb.
Suddenly, an angry face intruded into his view, hurling insults at Su Ming’an indiscriminately, spittle nearly landing on his face:
"Su Ming’an, you murderer! You killed my Zhizhen! Even if you block my number, I can still find you. Even if you escape legal punishment, don’t think you can live in peace, I’ll follow you, making you entirely shamed in the surroundings..."
Amongst the woman’s venomous words, little Su Ming’an quietly held her gaze.
People around glanced over, eyes like countless tiny thorns, unabashedly pricking at him.
"What are you talking about? Nonsense!" At that moment, a coarse yet undeniable shout sharply tore through the sticky air.
The crowd was pushed aside by a firm large hand, and Uncle Zhao appeared like a sudden wall, shielding Su Ming’an. Wearing an old work uniform speckled with plaster dots, with a face sun-kissed to a dark shine, sweat and dust embedded in deep wrinkles on his forehead. He fiercely glared at the woman, eyes sharp like nails from the construction site: "Leave! Stay away from my son! Come at me if you dare!"
Intimidated by the sudden aura, the woman sheepishly muttered a few words. Only then did Uncle Zhao turn around, his rough hand pulling little Su Ming’an’s arm, dragging him away from those discomfortingly focused stares, blending into the crowd flowing along the street.
Under the sunset, they silently walked one behind the other, the man’s sturdy figure blocking most of the sunlight, with slivers of blood-like light falling into little Su Ming’an’s eyes.
"...Uncle."
"Hmm."
"I didn’t kill her."
"Uncle knows."
"I’ve been helping her all along, bringing her breakfast, teaching her how to solve problems, helping her avoid campus bullying. She had depression, and in the end, she jumped off the building..." Xiao Su Ming’an said this, gently wiping the corners of his eyes with his sleeve.
"Mm."
"Because I was the last person to have contact with her, her family said it was me who killed her."
"Uncle knows."
"I remember she once said, ’No one will truly help her, everyone is just moved by their own kindness, giving her false hope and beauty time and again, then quickly abandoning her when she believed things would get better. She said, the better I treated her, eventually I would leave her, so my care for her was actually to harm her.’
"Nonsense!"
Uncle Zhao suddenly turned back, grabbed Su Ming’an’s shoulders, and said earnestly, "When you’re helping people, you’re helping people! There’s no such thing as harming them behind the scenes, it’s just her insatiable desire, thinking you should always help her. What’s that saying again... uh, giving a little rice is kindness, giving a lot of rice is a feud!"
"Then..." Xiao Su Ming’an raised his head, "Shouldn’t I have helped her?"
"Do you think you should have?" Uncle Zhao asked.
Xiao Su Ming’an thought for a moment and said:
"I should have."
"That’s right!" Uncle Zhao nodded, "We just go ahead and help, help if we want to, don’t worry about too much. You’ve extended so many helping hands, even if some people are heartless and ungrateful, there are always real good people, right? They feel the help, we’re happy, that’s it!"
"Mm..." Xiao Su Ming’an thought for a moment, then solemnly nodded: "Mm."
"So, life is still long, you’re still young, you’ll definitely meet more heartless and ungrateful people, and many who think you should help them. Don’t mind them, follow your own heart." Uncle Zhao patted Xiao Su Ming’an’s shoulder, his thick palm full of calluses, "If we don’t regret, that’s good! But before you act, you should still consider whether the fire in your heart could burn yourself while helping others."
"Mm." Xiao Su Ming’an nodded again with force.
"What’s in your hand?" Uncle Zhao suddenly noticed what Su Ming’an was holding.
"Bag."
"What’s inside the bag?"
"A blanket I picked up."
"What for?"
"I washed it, and I’m planning to give it to the homeless people under the bridge."
"..." Uncle Zhao paused for a moment, then suddenly smiled with relief, tousling Xiao Su Ming’an’s hair until it became a mess, "Hey... you brat, I’ve worried for nothing. Let’s go! Uncle will go with you. We’ll pass by the bakery later, buy some bread, those people must be hungry. We’ll eat less tonight."
"Okay."
...
Su Ming’an stood in the void, not understanding why he had to see this episode.
His gaze sometimes lingered on these images, sometimes staring blankly in the direction where Wu Yi had just disappeared.
Clearly, in the "long" World Game, he was almost unable to remember these.
Clearly, he was already prepared to become the World Tree, calmly stepping towards death, deceiving himself to forget those attachments to being alive.
Clearly, everything can no longer change.
Clearly, the future is already predestined.
Why?
Why still recall these pasts as a "human," these lingering desires?
When joking with Ying Su, he thought he had completely accepted this ending, even not feeling sad, only tranquility in his heart. Until this moment, his breathing suddenly became rapid.
Suddenly unstoppable.
Like a tightly closed valve suddenly opened, like a person buried in sand suddenly crawling up and breathing deeply, he held his throat, half-coughing, half-gasping.
...He really missed these people, events, things.
He really wanted to go back to that little home.
"...Noel Agnini. You won." He was crying, but his expression remained calm:
"I am indeed unwilling, I do indeed want a better ending."
"I am indeed greedy, I am not satisfied with just becoming an eternal tree."
"So, what else do you want to show me? Besides awakening my desires, what else?"
"The ending can no longer be changed, you and I both know. Only next time, next time I..."
The images in front of him continued.
...
To give Su Ming’an a "better life"—one where he could have enough to eat and afford tuition—Zhao Zhuozhong threw himself into the scorching sun and dust.
He did everything, like a silent and tough brick, going wherever needed. Carrying steel bars, pulling carts, serving plates, running errands... he did it all.
"Ah, this wind feels just right!" When Uncle Zhao was in a good mood, he would bring Su Ming’an to ride the little electric motorcycle to rush to work, unable to resist humming a tune, running ten thousand miles with a small song, his hoarse voice tearing open in the wind, "My passion! Hey! Like a fire! Burning the entire desert—!"
He shouted with full involvement, not caring about whether the tune was in key, often having the end notes blown all over by the wind. Initially, Su Ming’an would bury his face in his back, his shoulders slightly shaking with secret laughter. Later, sometimes he couldn’t help but hum a few lines along with the off-key tune.
The wind filled their mouths, making the singing and laughter blurry, leaving only a pure, speed-induced lightness, racing down the street as the sun gradually set. The shabby electric vehicle carried two large and small figures, carrying out-of-tune singing, like two small joyful silhouettes.
Occasionally, when life wasn’t too tight, Uncle Zhao would wave grandly: "Let’s go, son, let’s reward ourselves today, let’s eat out!" Their so-called "restaurant" was the bustling street stalls outside the school gates, filled with lights and smoke.
The most frequent visit was "Star Fried Sticks." In a glass cabinet, smoked by oil fumes beyond recognition, skewered tenderloin, rice cakes, ham sausages, and chicken fillets rolled and floated in the boiling oil pot, sizzling, emitting an alluring fragrance.
The owner was a loud middle-aged woman who smiled when she saw them: "Oh, old Zhao brought his son? What will you eat today?"
Uncle Zhao never mentioned that Su Ming’an and he had no blood relation, always saying he was his son.
Uncle Zhao would boldly order dozen skewers, always picking those Su Ming’an liked. The fried skewers would be scooped out, drained of oil, brushed with a thick and brightly colored sauce, red spicy sauce, brown sweet sauce, sprinkled with cumin powder and chili pepper flakes, and packed into a disposable paper bowl.
Su Ming’an especially liked Star Fried Sticks, the crispy outer shell, soft inside, the salty and fragrant taste exploded instantly in his mouth.
Next to the stall was a bowl of plain rice noodles for one yuan, the classic noodles sold at elementary school gates. A clear broth with just a few bean sprouts and lettuce leaves sinking to the bottom, the soup piping hot, sprinkled with scallions and drizzled with a splash of chili oil and vinegar.
The two often sat on the greasy little stools, a bowl of noodles in front of them, sharing the fried sticks placed between them. Uncle Zhao would always move the few thin slices of dried tofu or ham from his bowl into Su Ming’an’s bowl with his chopsticks.
Apart from the moments of being cared for, there were times when young Su Ming’an would take care of Uncle Zhao instead.
Times were changing, and payments were mostly made by scanning QR codes. Sometimes, young Su Ming’an noticed that Uncle Zhao increasingly resembled an old relic, with the smartphone in his hands feeling like a hot potato.
"How does this thing... how do I answer calls again? Last time the phone rang, I swiped for ages, and it wouldn’t obey," Uncle Zhao furrowed his brow, the screen still unresponsive.
Young Su Ming’an moved a small stool next to him, nimbly tapping the phone icon with his fingers.
"Press here, green to answer, red to hang up." Young Su Ming’an’s voice was calm and patient, as if teaching an innocent child.
Uncle Zhao widened his eyes, leaning in closely, trying hard to remember the position of the little green square.
"Then... how do I see what messages the teacher sent in the group?" Uncle Zhao scratched his head, asking again.
Now, Su Ming’an was no longer the child with "no mom and dad"; finally, someone could enter the parent group and receive the messages sent by the teachers.
Su Ming’an taught him step by step to tap the green icon, find the class group, open it, and read the notifications sent by the teacher to him. Uncle Zhao listened very intently, silently mouthing the steps like the most devout student.
What amazed Uncle Zhao even more were those short videos, so many peculiar things often making him chuckle endlessly:
"Whoa! What’s this? Cats can dance like this? All over the place!"
"What’s this little butterfly, and what’s up with this fracture brow?"
"Hey, this little life hack is great, can save a few bucks too!"
The man’s face was always woven with curiosity about this fresh world, with clumsy understanding, and the noisy or funny background sounds coming from the phone connected him with the young child like a thin thread.
He did his utmost to keep up with young Su Ming’an’s growth speed, trying to understand his world, those quirky names. What is "detective," what is "script kill," what is "editing"...
This world progressed very quickly, his knees and legs weren’t nimble, nor was his mind agile, always unable to keep pace, but he was always moving forward, step by step, for the child.
He always felt that if he worked a little harder, knew a little more, he could earn more money and provide Su Ming’an with a better life...
These fragmented daily moments didn’t include luxurious parties, elegant pianos, or towering music halls shown on television.
Just the fragrant oil of fried sticks, the steaming noodles, the wind at the back of the electric bike, the out-of-tune singing, and the faint light reflected from an old phone.
Their small home gradually became fuller, no longer just sparse congee and small dishes, more and more opportunities to eat meat.
Even Zhao Zhuozhong was pondering, whether he could replace that rattling broken electric with a brand new little electric, so as not to be ridiculed by others when picking up Su Ming’an.
Until the beginning of a month, Uncle Zhao walked into the house with a few bills, rubbed his hands, and smiled, saying:
"Let’s go!"
"Uncle has saved enough money to take you to buy a new electric bike!"
Su Ming’an immediately put down his pen and rushed to follow; they had been looking at it for a long while already, there was an electric bike behind glass, orange and yellow, extremely beautiful, running like a sun in the sunset, riding such a bike they could see the sparkling river, like fish scales...
...
The scene stops here, and the surroundings once again return to the void.
Wu Yi appears again, shrugging: "Do you want to continue the test?"
"How do you know about those past events?" Su Ming’an gently exhaled and asked.
"Don’t misunderstand, I can’t see your past, it’s in your own mind." Wu Yi said.
Su Ming’an paused for a moment, calmly said: "Continue."
He did not know exactly what the test was, but it was just revisiting memories, just making himself more reluctant... This was not a difficult test.
The surroundings change once more.
The scene of buying the bike disappeared, replaced by Zhao Zhuozhong’s somewhat staggering steps.
In the yard, that old electric bike still parked there, for unknown reasons, made them give up buying a bike.
Young Su Ming’an hoisted his backpack, not hurrying to school, but walked up to Uncle Zhao.
Somehow, Zhao Zhuozhong’s once robust and wide face quickly became sunken, the man seemed like a dried-out branch, slipping as he walked, gasping for breath, always saying he was fine, but he didn’t really look fine.
Fear, like a cold vine, grasped tightly around young Su Ming’an’s throat, tightening more and more.
"You need to see a doctor."
"What is there to look at!" Uncle Zhao waved his hand: "A doctor just opens his mouth and there’s a pile of costly tests, but they won’t find anything wrong in the end! Your uncle is fine!"
Su Ming’an’s face turned pale, his lips pressed into a stubborn line, his voice not loud, yet like a stone dropping to the ground:
"If you don’t go to the hospital, I won’t go to school today. Not tomorrow either. Never again."
Uncle Zhao’s murky eyes widened, inside them a mix of shock, fatigue, and panic. He looked at the young boy he had nearly bet his life to protect, the resolve in those eyes made his heart tremble.
The air froze for a long time, only Uncle Zhao’s rough, labored breathing remained.
"..."
Eventually, the weathered face, all resistance melted into deeper fatigue, and a resigned sort of sadness. He closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, and weakly nodded.
"Go, go, it’s not like they’ll find anything anyway..."
At the hospital, Su Ming’an supported Uncle Zhao, felt the body under his arm alarmingly light, as if a gust of wind could blow it over.
They sat on the cold bench, listening to cries of patients from corners unknown, waiting for the pronouncement, stretching every second into agony.
Until the door opened, the pale proclamation placed in their hands.
"This, I..." Uncle Zhao trembled, clutching the sheet of paper.
On the corner of the sheet, only one word could be seen.
"...cancer."
Young Su Ming’an’s vision instantly blackened, ears buzzed noisily; all he saw was the doctor’s lips moving, the subsequent treatment plans and astronomical costs faded into indistinct background noise.
Su Ming’an has a hazy memory of how he left the hospital that day. He only remembers the city’s sunlight being extraordinarily blinding, shining on him without a shred of warmth.
The enormous cost of "healing" stood like an insurmountable iceberg before them, emanating a cold, chilling light.
Destiny hung like an inevitable curse, suspended from the beam of their dilapidated little house, hovering over his neck.
The countless zeroes following the amounts on the scrap paper calculating medical costs were dizzying.
They couldn’t do anything.
They could only go home.
Under the sunset, it was still the same old sputtering electric scooter. The man seemed to have aged overnight, no longer singing that song "My Passion Is Like a Fire." The two of them were silent like frozen Jiang Shui, one sitting in the front seat, the other in the back.
"Uncle." Su Ming’an said.
"Hmm."
"Heal."
"No money..."
One sentence of "no money" encapsulated so much sorrow.
"No matter the cost, we’ll heal." Su Ming’an embraced his broad body, feeling its warmth.
The broad body trembled slightly, the weary man took a deep breath, and exhaled deeply.
"Alright, we’ll heal, we’ll heal..."
"You haven’t grown up yet, you still have to go to college, we need to heal..."
"When you’re healed, we’ll buy that electric bike, and take you for a ride by the river, ah..."
Uncle Zhao’s condition was like the retreating tide, quickly taking away his last bit of strength. The arms that used to carry cement bags now trembled even while holding a bowl of porridge.
Pain gnawed at him, day and night.
All Xiao Su Ming’an could do was clumsily care for him, cook thin rice porridge, wash clothes stained with vomit, and futilely use his palms to warm Uncle Zhao’s icy feet when tortured by severe pain.
However, a silent change quietly grew. Uncle Zhao began to avoid his gaze. When Su Ming’an approached with a bowl of water, he would turn his head away, pretending to be asleep; when Su Ming’an attempted to massage his aching stomach, he would gently brush away the young man’s hand, vaguely saying to leave him be.
Silence spread and grew like mold in the cramped space, covering the rough but warm smoke-and-fire atmosphere of the past.
Little Su Ming’an was suffocated by this silence, feeling Uncle Zhao’s distance, yet unaware of the colossal, nearly overwhelming decision brewing behind that silence. He only felt panic, his heart tightly gripped, as if abandoned in an endless wilderness.
Life’s quality deteriorated further, with only plain porridge and small dishes on the table, days passing without seeing any meat.
As if a bolt of lightning, it forced them out of their tiny happiness, wrenching them back to the past as if overnight.
It turned out that for a "family" like theirs, achieving happiness was so difficult, so terribly difficult.
One evening, remnants of sunset barely squeezed through the window, coating the dim little room with a layer of forlorn orange-red. Uncle Zhao slept fitfully on the shabby bed, his brows furrowed in pain even in dreams.
Su Ming’an sat beside the worn, engraved small wooden table. On the table lay something he drew yesterday with half a pencil—a row of crooked rectangles, interspersed with black squares. He stretched out his index finger, cautiously and gently touching those drawn "white keys," fingertips gliding over the rough wood grain. Then, another finger timidly landed on the adjacent "black key."
No sound. The room held only the heavy and labored breathing of Uncle Zhao. Yet Su Ming’an’s fingers began to move, slowly and silently pressing down, lifting up, playing with those pencil-drawn black and white keys, as if caressing a fragile dream.
His shoulders tensed slightly, head bowed, eyes focused on following the path of his fingertips, as though that could truly flow out the majestic composition seen on the corner screen, penetrating the clouds.
Just then, a voice, hoarse to the point of distortion, like a rusty saw tearing through the stifling silence, came from the bed behind him.
That voice was filled with long-suppressed pain, unspoken guilt, and a kind of all-or-nothing despair:
"...Son..."
"No."
The man quickly corrected himself.
This was the first time the man had changed his address since they became fully acquainted:
"Ming’an..."
Su Ming’an’s fingers instantly froze mid-air, as if encased in ice.
...
"...I can’t take care of you in the future... You... find another home... alright?"
...
"One a little richer, a little better."
"Following me, too hard, too hard..."
"I am already bitter, can’t burden you with suffering as well..."
"I have some money locked in the cabinet, before you leave, tell me, I’ll give it all to you... so you can live... a little better in the future..."
...
...
All is silent.
Su Ming’an doesn’t want to witness what happens afterwards.
He silently stands in the void of pale white, until Wu Yi appears again.
"Is the test to have me deny my past?" Su Ming’an asked.
"Impossible to deny." Wu Yi said: "I know, my past life comes from someone’s setting, but even so, that was still my past. Therefore, we truly can’t deny our roots."
"Then..."
"Now is the real drama." Wu Yi smiled.
In the void of pale white, the "Little Su Ming’an" suddenly stopped this memory enactment and stepped out from the scene.
