Chapter 128

It wasn’t the first time this question had crossed his mind, but he had never needed to think about it in detail. Now, he had no choice.

The concept of time travel was absurd to begin with. On top of an already ridiculous reality, no matter how many unbelievable premises were added, they all seemed easy enough to accept.

And the mainframe did exert a degree of control over Rong Tang. If he failed a mission, he would suffer punishments that manifested in his ailing body.

Having read countless time-travel novels in his past life, and with an actual system in his mind, Rong Tang had never doubted the reality of the system or his mission.

But now, was it truly real?

The system clearly didn’t know the answer. It couldn’t even offer a decisive confirmation. It only whispered softly: [Tangtang, I don’t know.]

It was a useless system—unable to restore its host’s health, unable to contact the mainframe, and now, even unable to ascertain the fundamental truth behind transmigration.

There was no system more useless than this one.

The system wilted in dejection. Rong Tang closed his eyes and remained silent for a long time before the corners of his lips curved into a faint smile. “It doesn’t matter.”

Lying in bed, he quietly contemplated.

The cold from the heavy snowfall could make him sick; natural disasters could make him sick. Yet even during seven days of torrential rain in Jiangnan, he had never fallen this gravely ill.

The pool of thick, black blood on the ground was evidence… clear proof that he was nearing his end.

Rong Tang had once doubted many things. He had even questioned the true allegiances of Mu Jingxu and Ke Hongxue when he failed to receive the expected punishment from the mainframe.

But what if the fundamental premise had been wrong from the start?

What if his punishments weren’t tied to the male protagonist’s setbacks?

When Sheng Chengli was released from the cold palace, Rong Tang was still recovering from severe illness, making it impossible to assess whether his condition had worsened.

The excruciating pain he had felt in Song Garden. Was it truly because someone had died at Sheng Chengli’s side. If not, how else could it be explained?

From the beginning, Yuerong had been doomed to die.

Her death had brought Sheng Chengli endless benefits, which was why Rong Tang had felt such an unbearable, tearing pain.

If that was the case…

When they sabotaged Sheng Chengli’s plans, Rong Tang was not punished.

When he helped Su Huaijing abduct Su Lian’er, Rong Tang was not punished.

When he convinced Ke and Mu to defect, Rong Tang was not punished.

When Sheng Chengli broke his leg, when Duke Xian’s mansion burned, when Sheng Chengli was exiled to guard the imperial tombs…

Every single one of these incidents had harmed the male protagonist, yet Rong Tang was never punished.

He had originally assumed that the mainframe spared him because Sheng Chengli’s exile would allow him to learn martial arts and heal his leg. But now, that explanation seemed flawed.

The only consistent truth was that these events had not benefited Sheng Chengli.

And now that Sheng Chengli had returned to the capital, gained the emperor’s favour, and resumed his predestined path. He received an even grander residence as proof of supreme indulgence. Rong Tang’s illness had worsened dramatically, without warning.

It surged forward, merciless and overwhelming, as if determined to drag him into an abyss from which there was no return.

Then what did all of this mean?

Rong Tang began to reflect.

In his past two lives, every time he helped Sheng Chengli achieve a significant success, his condition would improve dramatically, almost to the point of normalcy.

Over and over again, he grew accustomed to it, convinced that these improvements were the system’s reward for completing his missions.

But he had overlooked something. After each period of improvement, whether it lasted half a month or merely three to five days, he would inevitably suffer accidents that led to a rapid deterioration of his condition.

Yet, because he had just received system currency and could afford medicine to suppress the symptoms, he had subconsciously dismissed the pain.

Because it was routine. Because it was easily managed.

A blessing always came with hidden misfortune. The cost had seemed acceptable. Non-fatal. Not worth overanalysing.

But what if those three-to-five days of recovery had only ever been an illusion?

For two lifetimes, he had given everything, aiding the system and the mainframe in supporting the male protagonist of the Heavenly Way. But what did that truly make him?

A complementary force? Or an opposing one?

What harmed Sheng Chengli benefited Rong Tang.

What benefited Sheng Chengli harmed Rong Tang.

Then what, exactly, was he?

And…

Rong Tang opened his eyes, his vision unfocused and dazed for a brief moment. Staring at the intricate carvings on the bed’s canopy, he fell into deep thought.

What about Su Huaijing?

If he and Sheng Chengli were diametrically opposed, then what role did the story’s main villain play?

Someone had left and returned. Footsteps sounded near the doorway. The wooden door creaked as it opened and closed, and Su Huaijing stood outside the screen, his voice soft. “Tangtang?”

He did not enter immediately. Rong Tang snapped back to reality, glanced at the bloodstain on the floor beside the bed, and, without warning, two silent tears slipped down his cheeks.

Su Huaijing’s voice carried through the screen. “May I come in?”

Rong Tang wasn’t sad, not really. He was just… disoriented.

Disoriented by the past two lifetimes, by this body riddled with incurable ailments, by Su Huaijing’s unbearable intelligence and kindness.

After a brief silence, he spoke. “I just coughed up blood.”

The air froze momentarily before Su Huaijing responded, “Today’s sunset is beautiful.”

Rong Tang chuckled softly. “Can you carry me?”

“Tangtang is very light.” The main villain finally stepped out from behind the screen. Without sparing a glance at the pool of blood on the floor, he helped Rong Tang up from the bed, dressing him layer by layer. Then, with a faintly bitter smile, he pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. “Tangtang is much better now.”

His words carried an unclear meaning. Rong Tang didn’t refute them, merely spreading his arms obediently, wanting to climb onto his back. But Su Huaijing reached out, bent down, and lifted him straight into his arms.

Rong Tang was momentarily stunned. Su Huaijing lowered his head, rubbing lightly against the bridge of his nose. It was so thin that the outline of the bone was almost visible. He murmured, “Tangtang, hold onto me.”

The sun shone bright after the snowfall, scattering light across drifting clouds. At the edges of the clear winter sky, layers of mist rolled and billowed.

—It looked just like the fringes of the grey fog in his mind.

Rong Tang thought of this as he leaned against Su Huaijing’s shoulder. His voice was light, almost a whisper, the intimate murmur of lovers.

“Huaijing.”

“I’m here.”

Rong Tang smiled faintly. “I’m not going to die so easily.”

Su Huaijing gave no reply.

Rong Tang chuckled softly. “You’re too tense.”

The wind passed through the courtyard, shaking loose clusters of white snowflakes from the pear trees.

They watched the snowfall for a long time. It had been so long that Rong Tang almost thought Su Huaijing was silently refuting his words. Then, lowering his gaze, Su Huaijing asked in a hushed voice, both to Rong Tang and to himself:

“How can I not be nervous?”

Day by day, his vitality drained, his pulse grew weaker and more chaotic.

No matter how rare or precious the medicine, his body rejected it. Itts effects barely a tenth of what they should have been, vanishing into a bottomless void.

Su Huaijing had seen it with his own eyes how Rong Tang’s strength faded, how the flesh he had painstakingly regained wasted away again under his very hands.

How could he not be afraid?

“Tangtang is so clever,” Su Huaijing said. “Why don’t you tell me. How am I supposed to stop being scared?”

He was terrified to death.

He lost his parents at eight years old. He’d been too young to understand what life and death truly meant.

But at eighteen, how could he still deceive himself?

In that instant, Su Huaijing suddenly understood why Mu Jingxu had refused, even at the cost of his life, to give Ke Hongxue the slightest shred of hope.

Death was final.

It was an ending where you would never see them again, never hear their voice, never feel their presence.

It was the spring wind sweeping across an untended grave year after year. It was insects burrowing into a coffin, gnawing away at decaying flesh, day after day.

Tangtang was afraid of pain, yet he endured it so well. What if… what if even in death, he held back from appearing in his dreams?

Where could he hide Tangtang, so that he wouldn’t be corroded, wouldn’t be devoured, wouldn’t be eyed by swarms of corpse-eating insects?

Su Huaijing felt as though his mind might collapse from the weight of it.

The clouds drifted apart, and a few sparrows flew into the courtyard. They hopped from the wall to the treetops, then flitted towards the kitchen, drawn by the rice spilling from the rim of a bowl.

Rong Tang turned his head and saw the expression on the man beside him.

For a moment, he felt as though he were the sick one, yet it was Su Huaijing who was caught in a nightmare.

His heart ached unbearably. Forcing a smile, he leaned in, pressing tiny, featherlight kisses against the main villain’s exquisite face.

—In these past few days, he had kissed Su Huaijing more than in the past two years combined.

A lost and despondent child, one so desperate for comfort, he could not be left unsoothed.

Rong Tang cupped Su Huaijing’s face, the metallic taste of blood still pooling at the back of his throat. He swallowed it down with difficulty, then slowly, patiently, kissed his lover.

His voice fell softly against his ear. It was a murmur between lovers, a gift granted by divine favour.

“When I recover, let’s consummate our marriage,” Rong Tang said with a smile. “Life is too short, and a spring night too fleeting. Why waste time counting down the days as if waiting for death?”