“—Why would I be mad? What nonsense,” she snapped, her voice a warm sheen hiding a tiny scorch.

Ye Weibai couldn’t help smiling, a crescent rising on a cloudy night.

Even a stranger off the street would’ve heard the faint anger smoking in the girl’s tone, like embers under ash.

But Ye Weibai had no mind to tease Wei. He said nothing, brows tightening like drawn strings, and took a deep pull of cola—ice racing down his throat like lightning. He eased his back against the sofa, careful as a cat stepping through thorns.

“—Serves you right.”

He hadn’t expected it; the girl’s words spilled first, sharp beads clicking from a broken strand.

“Wei, I’m a patient here.” Ye Weibai found his spot and glanced at the clock, his gaze brushing its blue face like wind on water. “You really chose ‘serves you right’—so cruel a phrase.”

Truth was, under [Void]’s shroud his wounds had mended seven or eight parts out of ten, yet—anyone would crack after being killed nine times in mere minutes, each death a brutal stamp pressed into flesh.

Only Ye Weibai—the odd soul who values [Interesting] above [Life]—would keep chasing [Truth] like a hound after a star, even daring to provoke the enemy on purpose.

Even he, with nerves wired steel-strong, was still housed in human bone and skin. The soul might forget a storm quickly, but the body holds rain rings in its grain.

The body remembers.

The aftershock was this: no cuts marked him, yet any touch sparked the phantom slice of a blade. Every motion demanded care, lest pain flood him like cold sweat rolling off slate.

Back in that pallid room, after the fifth death smeared across the white, the signs had already surfaced. His body was buckling like a reed under heavy snow; if Wei and [Void] hadn’t come, ten more deaths, twenty, thirty—the collapse was certain. It wasn’t about spirit or soul. Human flesh has a limit, a horizon the sun will not cross.

In that white room, he hid his frailty like a fox burying its tracks. To enrage the foe, he couldn’t let a whisper of fear, dread, or weakness frost his breath.

Now, back in his den with only Wei—the lone [Deity]—by his side, Ye Weibai could bare his teeth to pain, forehead beaded with sweat like dew on stone.

“Who told you to provoke them!”

Seeing his easy shrug, the girl’s calm voice leaked a flare of anger, a blue flame under glass.

“Provoke them, and cracks appear,” Ye Weibai said, like tapping porcelain to hear its true ring.

“You’re so smart—couldn’t you stall for time? Do you know—do you understand—that they really might have killed you?”

“They wouldn’t.” Ye Weibai’s smile tilted, moonlight over still water. “They wouldn’t kill me—that I can trust. It would break their [Rules]. Someone that proud won’t tear up their own script. I didn’t misread that.”

“What if you did?” The blue clock bobbed and dipped like a buoy on rough seas. Her voice climbed, fear knotting her breath. She’d listened to Ye Weibai’s account, and the more she thought, the colder the wind ran: if she hadn’t found [Void] fast enough; if [Void] couldn’t locate White; if the [Doll]’s written script had been harsher—when they reached Ye Weibai, it would have been too late. Worse—if [Void] discovered White wasn’t her brother, rage would have torn him to scraps.

So many coincidences, gears meshing just so, hands of a clock kissing perfect minutes. Only then did she drag Ye Weibai back from the river. But if one tooth slipped? The whole board would fall like a house of cards.

She pictured finding only a body, the breath gone, the light fled. Her lungs seized like a fist closing; she didn’t dare chase that scene further. Even brushing it made her chest clench—heart thudding as if it would burst like a ripe fruit.

“What if—”

Far away, in the unknown space tied to the clock, the black-haired girl bit down, chest rising like stormed waves. Her tone broke its banks, emotions rushing out through the breach: “What if you’re wrong—then it’s already too late! And—and—and—not only this!”

Always watching White’s every move, always wary of his dangerous, abrasive edge, Wei had stacked words and feelings in the dark like firewood. The [Doll]’s mishap struck flint, and everything flared out at once.

“The first [Monstrosity]’s [World], and the [Detective]’s [World] too—can’t you solve things with peace, with ease? Must you meddle? Must you park yourself on the cliff edge before you’re satisfied? Those people—they’re none of your business! You could’ve just done the task, simple and clean! Bai—can’t you care for yourself—just—”

Her voice cut off, blade halted mid-swing.

Ye Weibai’s slight gape of surprise caught her eye, and she realized she’d bared too much. Wei snapped her mouth shut, like a book closed against a gust.

Silence pooled, thick as ink.

He watched the blue quartz clock rise and fall, a tide tucked behind glass. The corner of Ye Weibai’s mouth drew a soft curve.

“Wei. So you’ve been watching me all along.”

“—You think—I wanted to?” Her voice sank, heavy as rain. “To bring you back—I paid a heavy price.”

“Mm. Thank you.”

“What’s there to thank.” She’d chosen a “three-nothing” mask—no emotion, no nonsense, no softness—to match [Time]’s old persona and avoid saying the wrong thing. But now the curtain was already scorched, and she had no wish to stitch it back. “The contract’s clear. You win me victory. I can’t let you die.”

“No.” Ye Weibai shook his head, a gentle smile like sun filtered through leaves. “I’m thanking you for something else—watching me do what I do must feel awful, right?”

“…”

“I get it.” His smile warmed, spring soaking stone. “My methods are too sharp, too reckless with [Life]. Most people would say so. But—”

He sighed long, turning to the window. Outside, the day was bright as polished jade. A mild wind skimmed the world; branches swayed like dancers brushing sleeves.

Sunlight spilled across his face and glazed it with gold, a morning in April laid over his skin.

His smile became the sun itself, steady and kind.

“It’s not like that, Wei. I’m selfish—sure. I never deny it, never dress it in silk. But from another angle, my aim is clear. I chase [Interesting]. Whether I let Philia spear my [Demon Core], or fire a round into my chest high on the seventh floor; whether I joined this [Deity] game, or taunted that unknown presence—all because those endings brim with conflict’s [interestingness].”

“So that gives you the right to ignore risk to [Life]?” she shot back, like a pebble skipping across a lake.

“No.” Ye Weibai laughed under his breath, a dry chuckle like paper flicked by a finger. “You need life to play wild. How could I trade my whole life for a single thrill?”

“Then why did you—” She stalled, words snagged like silk on thorns.

“Because I knew you would bring me back.” He turned, head tilted, eyes on her like stars peeking through cloud. “Right?”

“…”

“So.” Ye Weibai leaned forward, smile bright as a lantern, and reached out. His fingers stroked the blue clock floating in the air, metal cold as river stone against his skin, yet warmth rose in his chest like tea steam. “Thank you, Wei. You let me taste more [Interesting] without the leash biting deep. I’m truly grateful.”

“...Hmph.” His bold touch had startled her; after a long beat, Wei found the proper line. The blue clock jerked back like a fish cutting the line, fleeing his palm, light flaring. “Don’t—don’t get too impudent. Human.”

Ye Weibai shrugged, a leaf riding wind—whatever you say, my great [Deity].

“But, my [Deity].” His eyes held a smile. “A small, shameless request—from a mere human. When do I get to see your real body?”

“What’s the point?” her voice fell cold, winter on stone.

“To deepen teammate bonds. Always talking through mountains and miles is dull as stale bread.”

“Nonsense.” She tossed the word like a pebble, and the blue clock disappeared in a burst of light, a comet winking out.

Ye Weibai couldn’t help a soft chuff of laughter.

That retreat had a touch of awkwardness, like a cat slipping off a sill.

Wei, it seems, is far more fun to tease than I thought.

“Then, next.”

Ye Weibai drew his gaze back to the toy bed on the coffee table, eyes settling like dust after sunbeams.

On a pink floral sheet, a gray-haired girl lay like a sleeping beauty—tiny as a palm, features delicate as carved jade—curled on her side, asleep and safe.

“What surprise will you bring me?”

…

…