Pretend not to love me

The science exhibition at the city library was interesting, but Shi Xu and Yun Xi seemed to focus more on each other.

They looked at the exhibits side by side, occasionally exchanging a few words in hushed tones. Shi Xu had a wealth of knowledge and could always provide Yun Xi with supplementary explanations. His voice wasn't loud, but when it sounded in her ear, it had a reassuring magnetism. Much of this knowledge didn't come from books, but rather from survival skills that they were forced to acquire in the gaps between cycles of reincarnation to cope with various emergencies.

Yunxi listened intently, glancing up at him every now and then with admiration and a smile in her eyes. Each time this happened, the pace of his explanation would pause subtly, and his ears would remain perpetually feverish.

After viewing the exhibition, they still had some time. The two strolled in the park near the library. The dense shade of the trees in summer cast cool shadows.

Walking to a bench by an artificial lake, Shi Xu stopped and asked, "Shall we sit for a while?" This place was a safe zone that he had repeatedly confirmed, and in his past records, no accidents had ever occurred there.

"good."

The two sat down on a bench, watching the swans leisurely paddling on the lake. A gentle breeze swept across the lake, bringing with it the moisture and the fragrance of fresh grass.

The atmosphere was quiet and beautiful.

Looking at the lake, Yunxi suddenly spoke softly, "Time sequence."

"Um?"

"Your mother..." She paused, then chose a gentler approach, "Does Aunt Li's cooking taste like your mother's?"

Shi Xu's body stiffened almost imperceptibly. He remained silent for a moment, not looking at her, his gaze fixed on the shimmering lake surface. This question, like a key, was trying to unlock a rusty door that he had sealed away for fifty-three lifetimes.

"Hmm." He responded softly, his voice slightly hoarse. "Aunt Li... used to take care of my mother."

He finally brought up the topic himself. It was an unplanned act of honesty, a dangerous step, but he could no longer use a perfect lie to deceive her.

Yunxi's heart tightened slightly. She didn't urge him, but listened quietly.

“My mother… she passed away from illness when I was in junior high school.” Shi Xu’s voice was calm, as if he were talking about something unrelated to himself, but his hand, resting on his knee, quietly clenched into a fist, his nails digging deep into his palm, using physical pain to suppress the trembling of his soul. “She was a very gentle person, just like… the feeling you got from Aunt Li’s cooking.” His mother’s passing was the starting point of all his tragedies, the first turning point that no matter how hard he tried, he could not reverse.

Yunxi reached out and gently covered his clenched fist.

A warm touch came, and his tense body relaxed slightly. His fist slowly opened, and he turned to hold her hand. The warmth of this hand was the one he had longed to hold countless times at his mother's bedside, but could no longer.

“Before she left, my biggest worry was me,” he continued, his tone filled with a deep longing and pain. “She always said that I was too introverted and too solitary, and that she was afraid I would be alone in the future…” Her words proved prophetic. He was not only alone, but also alone, endlessly grappling with the eternal loss in a never-ending cycle.

He didn't finish his sentence, but Yunxi understood.

(Yunxi's inner monologue: So his fortress was built on loneliness and loss.)

“Time,” she said, squeezing his hand, her voice gentle yet firm, “you are not alone now.”

Time turned its head and looked deeply at her. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns of light into his eyes, revealing a complex mix of emotions: vulnerability, dependence, and an overwhelming, unyielding affection. He had waited fifty lifetimes for these words.

“Cloud Gap,” he called her name, his voice low and solemn, “I…” He wanted to say, you are my salvation, my only compass in the endless darkness. But he couldn’t. He was afraid that this heavy truth would scare her away, and even more afraid that it itself was the switch that triggered the end.

He seemed to want to say something important, but in the end, he swallowed it back. He simply raised his other hand and gently brushed away a stray strand of hair that had been ruffled by the wind from her forehead, his movements as tender as if he were handling a rare treasure. In that gesture, all his unspoken love and remorse, transcending life and death, were poured out.

"Thank you." Those were the only three words he uttered. Thank you for appearing in my life. Thank you for giving me a response different from before in the fifty-third cycle of reincarnation. Thank you for making me feel that perhaps this time, the ending will be different.

The weight contained in those three words was understood by Yunxi.

She didn't ask any more questions, but just looked at him, gave him a bright smile, and nodded vigorously.

Everything is understood without words.

Some things don't need to be said immediately. The companionship and understanding we offer now are worth more than a thousand words. And for Shi Xu, this understanding is his most precious weapon in his fight against his cruel fate.

They sat on the bench for a long time until the sun set, turning the lake a warm orange-red.

On their way home, their hands were still naturally clasped together.

Their shadows stretched long behind them, closely intertwined, as if they would walk together no matter what direction lay ahead. Shi Xu held her hand tightly, as if grasping a compass guiding them through a storm. He didn't know how long this warmth would last, but he would never let go until it vanished.

The silent confession had long been woven into their clasped fingers and the rhythm of their intertwined heartbeats. That heartbeat rhythm was the only hymn of prayer he had learned in the cycle of despair.