Observer Ye Qingliu? Ye Qingliu, the young master of the wealthy Ye family?
Which one is the real him?
Or in other words, which one... is the "me" he wants to be at this moment?
Outside the window, the night rain that had been brewing for a long time finally fell.
The big raindrops hit the glass window of the study rapidly, making a crackling sound, like countless tiny drumbeats, beating on the chaotic lake of his heart.
The cold rain meandered down the glass, blurring the dim light of the street lights in the courtyard outside the window.
The rain was getting heavier and heavier, and the dense rain lines formed a huge gray net, covering the Ye family's old house that was deep in sleep.
The carefully trimmed flowers and trees in the courtyard swayed helplessly in the wind and rain, and the halo of the street lamps was cut into pieces by the rain.
Ye Qingliu didn't know how he left the study. The cold memory of the observer and the scorching emotions tore at his soul, like two torrents colliding fiercely in a narrow river, each collision bringing a tearing pain.
He needed air, needed the cold rain to extinguish the fire in his mind that was enough to burn away his sanity.
He opened the back door leading to the courtyard, and without even having time to grab an umbrella, he stepped into the heavy rain in his thin silk pajamas and barefoot.
The icy rain instantly drenched him. The biting chill rushed from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. His soaked pajamas clung to his skin, outlining the lines of his thin and taut back.
The gauze on the forehead was quickly soaked by the rain, and the slight stinging pain brought a strange sense of clarity.
He raised his head and let the cold rain wash over his cheeks, trying to use the severe cold outside to suppress the earth-shaking storm in his body.
The observer's memory fragments were still churning: pure white space, flowing data galaxies, Chao Youye's indifferent destruction, Mu Xinrong's gradually freezing body in the rainy night, the cold coordinates that had been restarted countless times...
And Qi Shang's twisted gaze, like a maggot attached to the bone...
All of this points to a cold conclusion - he is just a recorder, a bystander. Any intervention is a blasphemy against the rules and will only accelerate the collapse.
Especially in this world line marked as "final", the activated variable of "love" is the most dangerous fuse.
"Format... Clear..." The cold command echoed in the sea of consciousness like a magic spell.
But another voice cried out frantically: Where are Mu Xinrong's trusting eyes? Where are Hua Jinyue's scorching tears? Where is the subtle, real warmth when Chao Youye held Mu Xinrong's hand?
Is this world line, and all of them, just a string of characters in a data stream that can be erased at any time?
"Ugh..." The severe headache made him bend over and press his temples with both hands, his knuckles turning white from the force, and the cold rain kept dripping down his wet black hair.
He was like a statue abandoned in a storm, enduring the torture of the past and present, of duty and emotion.
Just then—
"Clear stream."
A calm voice pierced through the sound of the rain and sounded not far behind him.
Ye Qingliu's body suddenly stiffened, as if struck by an electric current. He slowly, extremely slowly stood up and turned around.
In the rain, Mu Xinrong stood quietly, holding a large black umbrella. The edge of the umbrella covered most of his face, revealing only his well-defined jaw and tightly pursed lips.
He was wearing a simple T-shirt and trousers, and his trouser legs and shoes were wet from the rain.
He stood there, neither moving closer nor leaving, just quietly watching Ye Qingliu through the cold rain curtain.
The rain slid down Ye Qingliu's pale cheeks, flowed over his tightly pursed thin lips, and gathered into a line at his jaw.
His silver-rimmed glasses were covered with water droplets, blurring his vision behind the lenses, but he could still clearly feel Mu Xinrong's gaze.
That gaze was no longer filled with sunshine and warmth as usual, but was instead filled with a deep, tired look and all-knowing calmness, as if it had experienced endless vicissitudes of life.
"You..." Ye Qingliu's voice was dry and hoarse, with a coldness after being washed by rain, "When did you come?"
"When you were reading that report." Mu Xinrong's voice was very soft, but it strangely penetrated the sound of rain and fell clearly into Ye Qingliu's ears.
"When I saw that symbol, when I saw you draw it... I knew it." He paused, and raised the edge of the umbrella slightly, revealing those eyes.
Those were no longer his clear, bright round eyes.
At this moment, there was a deep vortex in those eyes, as vast as the starry sky, which contained the joys and sorrows of countless reincarnations in the world, and the repeated encounters, loves, betrayals, deaths and desperate rebirths.
It was the "repairer" Mu Xinrong who traveled through time countless times just to repair the collapsed world line and get closer to the Heartless God again, and in the end was scarred but still refused to give up.
Ye Qingliu's heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly by an invisible hand.
He understood.
Mu Xinrong had already remembered everything! He remembered the cold, ghost-like observer Ye Qingliu from all the other world lines!
"You..." Ye Qingliu's Adam's apple rolled, and the rain flowed into his mouth, with a bitter and salty taste, "Do you remember everything?"
"Everything." Mu Xinrong's voice was calm, almost cruelly so.
"Every encounter, every ending. You stood outside the world, watching me being pushed off the altar, watching me collapse in the rain, watching me being killed again and again by 'Chao Youye', watching me turn into ashes... You just watched, recorded, as if recording an insignificant experiment."
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