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Time froze in this very moment…

Why say time froze? Because the protagonist himself was the one frozen stiff.

—Holy crap… Why *again*, *again*, and *again*… does someone mistake me for Shaya? Do I really have such a generic face? I’ve always thought I was pretty handsome, honestly.

With balanced features and a subtle mature grace beneath delicate charm, Cang Xiaoxi was undeniably a strikingly handsome young man—whether in this world or his original one. Back before his family’s downfall, he’d have been the textbook “tall, rich, and handsome” elite. The kind that made schoolgirls squeal at first sight.

So why did people here keep mixing him up?

“I said, you—"

“Brother Shaya! Brother Shaya… Brother Shaya… You’re still alive…”

Lia’s sobs drowned out Cang Xiaoxi’s words.

Ignoring him completely, she wept uncontrollably—tears and snot streaming down her face. Whether it was pitiful or not was debatable, but it was definitely annoying. Especially coming from a total stranger he’d just met.

Cang Xiaoxi really wanted to shake her off. He hated this kind of scene.

But after slightly narrowing his eyes and scanning the girl from head to toe, he withdrew his hand.

Jet-black hair, slightly tousled yet flowing like a waterfall to her shoulders. Even tear-streaked and smudged, her delicate beauty shone through. One word described her: *Yamato Nadeshiko*. And her ornate slit gown—revealing flawless fair skin flushed pink—fit the image perfectly. Though young, her legs already held a subtle toned firmness; give her a few years, and they’d blossom into stunning elegance…

Ahem. Got carried away. Just know: her beauty and charm rivaled Jikuhir’s—a different kind of lovely altogether.

But looks weren’t the point.

Cang Xiaoxi didn’t push her away mainly because of *who* she was. He couldn’t act rashly.

“Never thought I’d actually run into this…”

—The abducted imperial princess.

The moment he saw her black hair, Cang Xiaoxi pieced it together.

Kidnapped by the Bloodnight Cult—a group shunned by all races—the little princess had suffered terribly. Seeing the wounds covering her body, a flicker of pity stirred in him.

“Stop crying. Tend to your wounds.”

He glanced at the fallen cultists, confirmed they were motionless, and gestured for Lia to let go.

“Mm… mm… okay… okay, Brother… Shaya…”

Sobbing, she released him. Fear on her small face slowly melted into joy at “reuniting” with her brother.

Obediently, Lia sat on a vacant rock, lifting her battered feet, expecting gentle care as before. Instead, Cang Xiaoxi’s voice stayed flat:

“Gauze, medicine, water. Handle it yourself.”

He placed the items before the utterly bewildered princess and turned away without looking back.

“Wait! Brother Shaya, where are you going? Lia’s coming too!”

Wound care meant nothing now—she couldn’t lose her beloved brother again. Ignoring the pain, she jumped down and chased after him.

“Hold up. I have no sister. And I’m *not* your ‘Shaya.’ You’ve mistaken me.”

“Eh?!”

His words startled her. She halted, studying the boy’s half-turned profile—finally locking onto his dull, gray eyes.

“Not… not Brother Shaya…”

Though their faces matched 99%, those gray eyes—so unlike the Shaya in her memory—confirmed the cold truth.

“Not… not Brother Shaya… Then where is Brother Shaya…?”

She collapsed to her knees, dazed. Bean-sized tears streamed down, splattering the muddy ashen ground. The world seemed to drain of color as her heartbroken sobs echoed through the forest.

Then, as if to darken the already murky paint, a fallen Bloodnight Cultist let out a smug groan…

“Where? Hehehe… Little princess, forgotten already? Your poor brother died *by your hands*… You killed him… *You* did!”

“It was me… I killed Brother Shaya…”

Something snapped in her mind. Recalling that moment, fear vanished from her tear-soaked face—replaced by endless, grief-stricken wails.

“Hmph. Serves you right. Shouldn’t have run.”

A sly grin spread across the cultist’s face. Other barely-conscious cultists stirred, eager to torment her further. Watching the high-and-mighty crumble was their favorite sport.

But before they could speak—*thwip*. A silent gunshot pierced the first speaker.

“One piece of trash, yet so much chatter.”

Cang Xiaoxi’s gaze was cold, dismissive—like staring at garbage. No hesitation. As natural as breathing.

Trash #1 dropped instantly.

Without pause, the gun swung toward the others struggling to rise.

“Wait! Do you know who we are? We serve the great Sadom—"

*Bang! Bang!*

“If you kill us, the Bloodnight Cult will—"

*Bang! Bang!*

Villains really do die from talking too much. Fitting.

Four crisp shots later. Every Bloodnight Cultist lay dead in crimson pools.

Cang Xiaoxi watched the twitching corpses. He wasn’t new to killing, yet his heart still trembled faintly.

“This side’s done… The other…"

He holstered the gun, shook his head to clear his thoughts—and didn’t leave.

His eyes settled on the weeping girl, now a shattered shadow of her earlier joy. Slowly, he saw himself in her.

“When my father died… I looked just like this.”

That had been his last cry. He’d wept just as bitterly. The pain of losing family… words couldn’t capture it. Only those who’d lived it truly understood.

“Heh. Guess my heart shrank along with my body…”

A bitter, self-mocking smile flickered.

Silently, he walked over. Said nothing. Simply lifted her onto the rock and began cleaning her wounds.

“It… hurts…”

Sharp pain cut her sobs short. Her delicate body stiffened, trembling.

Through watery eyes, she stared at the boy who looked so like her lost brother. She wanted to thank him—but his swift, utterly unsentimental ministrations left her only gritting her teeth against the sting.

*Who is he? He looks like Brother Shaya… but where’s the gentleness?*

Remembering her brother’s endless patience, tears surged again. Pain and grief tangled—this cry louder than any before.

As if to worsen her impression, Cang Xiaoxi barked, face stone-cold:

“Cry again, and you handle it alone. I’ve got things to do.”

*Translation: Keep crying, and I’ll leave you.*

Wounds aside—her situation was dire. Those cultists had contacted Sadom. Their delay meant *he’d* come next.

Sadom, Bloodnight Cult’s vice leader—power bordering Divine Tier, Peak of Transcendent Rank—a threat even her father Frederick wouldn’t dismiss lightly.

A magic-sealed girl, alone? Recapture was inevitable.

*He* was the one who’d snatched her from the palace unseen. Just remembering his power made her shiver.

“Mm… mm… I won’t cry… please… don’t leave me… all alone…” Lia sobbed, tiny hands clutching the hem of his hooded cloak, terrified he’d vanish.

“Mm.”

A soft nod.

His gaze drifted to her injured hand—small cuts, swollen red. Imagining what she endured before escaping, Cang Xiaoxi’s resolve softened. *Can’t just abandon her.*

“You can handle your hand wounds?”

He’d finished her feet. Noticed the collar around her neck. Decided to address that first.

“Yes! I can… but please… don’t go yet…”

To Lia, it sounded like farewell. Panicked, she gripped his cloak tighter instead of taking the supplies.

“I’m not leaving.”

He frowned slightly, impatient. Just as relief softened her features—his hands gently cupped her tear-streaked face.