Chapter 83

Su Huaijing never revealed to Rong Tang how he came to know that Duke Xian’s mansion had been bestowed upon Sheng Chengli.

Rong Tang had tried to ask in a roundabout way several times, but each time, before he could even finish his sentence, Su Huaijing would glare at him, cutting him off. His voice would drop, and all he could say was a pitiful, “You’re so mean.”

He felt the main villain was going a bit too much, but since he couldn’t beat him in any way, it didn’t matter much to him. He wasn’t too curious about what forces Su Huaijing had cultivated or how he was keeping track of Sheng Chengli’s actions.

When Duke Xian’s mansion was burned, Emperor Renshou flew into a rage.

Half a month after the incident, Ke Hongxue invited Rong Tang and the others to gather for tea and snow appreciation. Smiling, he told Rong Tang something that had yet to spread among the people.

The male protagonist’s fate had been tampered with by a soothsayer from birth. His original fate as a companion star to the Ziwei Star had been shifted to the Sixth Prince, Sheng Chengyun, and a false rumour was spread that the male protagonist’s presence hindered the emperor’s star. As a result, Emperor Renshou had disliked him from birth.

In previous lifetimes, thanks to divine intervention and the behind-the-scenes manoeuvring of Rong Tang and Ke Hongxue, Sheng Chengli had successfully become the emperor’s most beloved and guilt-ridden son in his later years.

But in this life, things were different. The male protagonist had been released from the cold palace due to a serious illness, and it was only thanks to Yuerong’s desperate pleas to the imperial physicians that the emperor even noticed him. After leaving the cold palace, Sheng Chengli had a series of unfortunate events: nearly being bitten by the emperor’s auspicious white tiger and breaking his leg in the imperial gardens.

Before he even had the chance to earn his father’s favour, bad luck kept following him. And now, just as he had reached the age to establish his own residence outside the palace, the fire at Duke Xian’s mansion occurred.

Emperor Renshou, recalling the series of mishaps that had befallen Sheng Chengli in such a short time, grew thoughtful and summoned the Board of Astrology.

Rong Tang’s expression grew tense, and he instinctively straightened up. “What happened next?” he asked.

Su Huaijing, slightly irritated, reached out and grabbed Rong Tang’s hand, squeezing it.

Rong Tang glanced at him briefly before turning his attention back to Ke Hongxue.

Su Huaijing, caught off guard by Rong Tang’s action, was momentarily stunned. After a pause, he shook his head with a small laugh—what could he do with Tangtang?

Ke Hongxue continued, “The astrologer said that the Fifth Prince’s fate is one of suffering followed by sweetness. He carries evil within him, and he must endure hardships to rid himself of calamities before he can walk a smooth path.”

Rong Tang frowned, silently pondering the deeper meaning behind the words.

As he considered whether this astrologer, like in the previous life, had been recruited by Sheng Chengli to start spinning favourable narratives, Ke Hongxue smiled and added, “The astrologer said that the Fifth Prince was supposed to endure eighteen years of hardship before he could enjoy sixty years of prosperity. But now, having left the cold palace prematurely, the evil within him has not been dispelled. Instead, it has been angered by years of suppression, leading to the string of misfortunes we’ve seen.”

Rong Tang: “?” What kind of hybrid fantasy logic was this? Could anyone really believe it?

[Have you forgotten how superstitious Emperor Renshou is?] The system chimed in.

Rong Tang, speechless, conceded to the system’s point and asked Ke Hongxue, “Is there more?”

Ke Hongxue smiled and said, “Of course there’s more. The astrologer also said that, as of now, the disaster star is still close. The evil within the Fifth Prince may only harm him for the moment, but if it isn’t dispelled soon, it will eventually bring disaster to the emperor’s star as well.”

When he said this, the tea on the stove was on its second brew, its fragrance slowly wafting through the air. The courtyard was blanketed in winter snow, shimmering in silver. Mu Jingxu was wrapped in a thick cloak, leaning against a sofa, flipping through ancient books from the Ke family library, his peach blossom eyes gently downcast.

For the first time in three lifetimes, Rong Tang saw a trace of laziness in him.

Rong Tang felt a bit puzzled, but he suppressed his thoughts for the time being and asked Ke Hongxue, “What’s the plan moving forward?”

Ke Hongxue replied, “Naturally, it’s to drive out evil spirits. His Majesty has already sent people to Tuolan Temple to invite Master Huimian. After the New Year, a ritual will be held in the palace to suppress all the evil spirits in His Highness the Fifth Prince.”

Rong Tang fell silent for a moment. He hadn’t expected the butterfly effect to have rippled this far.

In the original story, Huimian was mentioned because Sheng Chengli had to find a distinguished monk to recite sutras and bless his extremely superstitious father, to curry favour and secure his own advantage.

But in this life, things had taken a turn, and it was Emperor Renshou who was asking Huimian to “exorcise evil spirits” for Sheng Chengli.

This development was so bizarre and had progressed so smoothly that Rong Tang couldn’t help but wonder whether Heavenly Way still had a unique preference for its male protagonist.

Otherwise, how had things spiralled to this point?

Or… was this due to Su Huaijing again?

From the start, Heavenly Way had been unable to deal with Su Huaijing, which was why it had brought Rong Tang into this world from another.

But why would the Heavenly Way in this minor world have so little control over the people living within it?

The matter grew more mysterious as Rong Tang mulled over it during his carriage ride back to Duke Ningxuan’s Palace.

Taking the opportunity to feign sleep, he entered the system space for the first time in a while.

At first glance, he was almost stunned by the stark contrast on both sides of his vision.

If compared to a game, the system space that Rong Tang was bound to was like a virtual landscape from an online game.

At the centre was a proportional miniature of the current space and form where the character was located. All perspectives in the system followed the player’s—Rong Tang’s—own view, shifting and moving accordingly.

The space contained numerous interactive points, such as the system currency balance on the side, along with a virtual avatar and progress bar for the character in the upper left corner. When the progress bar filled, it signalled the completion of a task. After the system’s mainframe made its judgment, the corresponding reward would be delivered to him.

For instance, a healthy, disease-free body or enough wealth to ensure a life of comfort.

In the upper right corner was the map area. When the system space wasn’t clouded, clicking the map would reveal the world’s full map blocks. Each time he passed through a location, the corresponding area would light up, and teleportation anchor points were also available. Rong Tang could spend system coins to teleport.

As for the male protagonist himself, his location was directly displayed on the map. Rong Tang only needed to click on his avatar to move to the nearest spot and then pretend to bump into him by chance, as if nothing unusual had happened.

All of this was highly convenient, and Rong Tang had enjoyed this for two lifetimes. This time, however, when he was reborn, the entire system space had been enveloped in a thick black mist, which left him somewhat uncomfortable.

Later, the space underwent further changes. Half of it was shrouded in black mist, and the other half was consumed by grey. The system couldn’t detect the scene, and Rong Tang himself had no idea what was happening. To avoid frustrating himself, he simply ignored it.

But now, as he entered the space once more, he found himself completely stunned.

The space was like a rectangular curtain, beneath which there seemed to be a three-dimensional reflection. The left half remained an impenetrable black, while the right half was a vast expanse of grey.

At the edge of the grey, there were traces of iridescent colours, reminiscent of sunlight filtering through clouds, casting a rainbow-like sheen.

When Rong Tang had first seen this grey, he only noted its vastness and depth of colour. But now, upon entering again, he suddenly realised that this wasn’t just pure grey.

It resembled layers upon layers of translucent fabric, each stained to varying degrees, smudged together, and then interwoven, forming a thick grey fog.

Everything was perplexing, impossible to fully grasp.

But now, that perplexity seemed to have lessened somewhat, especially at the fringes, where the coloured light wrapped around the edges. There, he could almost make out faintly transparent, clean hues.

Peering closely, Rong Tang saw the eaves and ridges of clustered rooftops beneath those colours.

Just a glimpse, but it was enough for him to be nearly certain that this was the space he was currently in.

The reason lay in the centre of the image.

Rong Tang saw himself—only half of his body.

The area where it merged with the black was the densest, the grey almost melting into an intense black. But that central portion emitted a faint light, like a heart struggling to persist beneath pixelated layers.

The vague outline of half a figure lay in the carriage, eyes closed. Half of him was lost in the darkness, with no shadow in sight. The other half, under the trembling edges of the grey fog, appeared serene.

The grey kept trying to seep towards the left, but as soon as it moved, it was absorbed by the thick, dark mass. There was no sign of the colour diluting, yet the fog kept trying.

The closer it drew to Rong Tang, the more persistent it became. The dense fog relentlessly collided with the darkness, like a reckless warrior charging ahead.

There was no sound, no visible expression. All that could be seen was the heavy fog, divided into two distinct halves. Both existed in harmony, undisturbed by the other, except for the ripples spreading out in the centre.

Rong Tang stared at the scene for a long time, his nose inexplicably stinging.

For some reason, he felt as if the thick fog was trying to pull him back into its own domain.

Even though crashing into the black would mean being swallowed and corroded, the fog still tried, time and time again, resolutely attempting to gather the half-body it was protecting, to piece together a complete figure.

As if that was its original purpose in this space.

Rong Tang had been silent for so long in the system space that the system noticed something unusual and asked with concern: [Host, is something wrong?]

Only then did Rong Tang snap out of his long trance. “Nothing.”

His voice, though simulating indifference, held a faint hint of emotion, almost a cry. The system, instantly aware that something was amiss, looked around anxiously, but all it could see was the same familiar three-dimensional scene.

It was a sunny winter day in the Yu capital. The snow had just stopped falling, and the rooftops and ground were piled high with vast drifts of white.

The carriage from Duke Ningxuan’s Palace travelled along the widest avenue in Yu capital. Inside, warmed by a stove and fragrant with incense, two people sat, one reclining, the other sitting.

The person sitting was reading by candlelight, though his gaze occasionally drifted towards the sleeping figure; the sleeping person’s face was serene, as if lost in a peaceful dream.

But the system stared at the little figure for a long while, its mechanical voice dull, asking softly: [Tangtang, why are you crying?]

Rong Tang froze for a moment. His hand, outside the space, lifted instinctively to wipe his face: “I don’t know.”

He had no “divine perspective” and had no clue what kind of world he was in.

Rong Tang opened his eyes, his pupils slightly red.

When Su Huaijing saw him rise, he initially had a faint smile on his face, but upon seeing the redness in his eyes, his expression darkened, and he asked softly, “Another dream?”

Rong Tang blinked in mild surprise and shook his head: “No.”

Su Huaijing didn’t believe him, frowning as he stared at him. “Really?”

Rong Tang nodded with firm resolve: “Really.”

He pulled back the curtain, looking at the snowy landscape outside the carriage, and asked softly, “Huaijing, the New Year is almost here. What gift would you like?”

New Year and his birthday were fast approaching, and Rong Tang wanted to celebrate Su Huaijing’s birthday properly.

After finishing, he waited, but received no response. Confused, Rong Tang turned to look back, and suddenly, his vision dimmed.

Su Huaijing raised his hand and gently wiped away the tears from the corner of his eyes, asking quietly, “Tangtang, do you remember that you owe me three wishes?”

Rong Tang was momentarily startled, and after thinking for a long time, finally recalled what Su Huaijing was referring to.

In the carriage before the flower-picking festival, Rong Tang had lost a bet to Su Huaijing and was tricked into promising him three wishes.

For a moment, Rong Tang was speechless, but he nodded in resignation, “I remember.”

“I’m going to use the first one now,” Su Huaijing said.

Rong Tang was utterly perplexed, unable to figure out what he had that the main villain would need a “wish” to achieve.

After all, he had even managed to outsmart the protagonist.

But he still nodded, “Go ahead.”

Su Huaijing said, “Next time in your dream, you have to come find me.”

Rong Tang froze, his eyes widening in disbelief as he stared at Su Huaijing.

Su Huaijing repeated, “You need to find me. You know where I am.”

The imperial palace, Sichuan, the Li Manor on Songjing Lane, Fengyue House, and even…… Qin Pengxuan’s residence.

As long as Rong Tang was willing, he could find anyone in this world at any time.

But Rong Tang stood there, unmoving, the sour feeling rising again in his nose. His throat felt dry.

He hid his hands behind his back, clenched them into tight fists, and asked hoarsely, “What if you ignore me?”

“Then come find me a few more times,” Su Huaijing leaned in, gently pulling out the hand Rong Tang had hidden behind his back, slowly loosening his grip. “Give me more patience, and I will definitely respond.”

“Alright?” Su Huaijing rested his forehead against Rong Tang’s, asking softly.

Outside the window, the sound of horses’ hooves striking the snow was dense and long.

The author has something to say:

You’ve waited long. Huaijing was not reborn and doesn’t remember the previous two lives. He’s just extremely perceptive.