He opened his eyes after traversing endless cold and darkness, and was dumbfounded.
He entered the world he created and became himself in his book.
For a long time, he even thought it was just a hallucination he had before he died.
But the vivid sights, the clear touches, and even the intense pain when the illness struck all reminded him that it was all real.
Ultimately, he realized that he had mysteriously traveled through time; he had not died, but was continuing to live in another form.
But he was also confused; how should he continue to exist?
The point in time he traveled to was the point in time when he died in another world.
He was the creator, but he knew nothing about what happened afterward.
He was a man who should have died; he couldn't figure out what to do next.
Although he knew he would not be able to finish the book before his death, he was tormented by illness and pessimistic, so he also envisioned a tragic ending: the male protagonist would die young and the female protagonist would commit suicide for love.
But now that he hasn't died young, perhaps heaven heard his plea and gave him a second chance. Can the predetermined ending be changed?
So, following the original rhythm, he closed the net in Harbin. Just as he was hesitating about the future, he answered that phone call and listened to the voice in his heart. He came to the capital.
He had his own selfish motives.
He received her salvation, but not her love.
He'd like to give it a try if he could.
The moment he saw her, all those longings he had once held became tangible, and his heart trembled violently.
She was the embodiment of his salvation, a perfect goddess of beauty. He felt no aversion to her; rather, he had a deep-seated desire to be close to her.
He never expected that he would fall in love with her so quickly, so irrevocably, and so devotedly.
She gave him the warmth, companionship, and even love he had longed for without reservation.
The pitiful little thing who once didn't deserve to feel wronged or cry is now the apple of her eye, the apple of her eye.
He couldn't sleep, so she comforted him.
He wasn't feeling well, so she hugged him.
He could be all sweet-talking and she would agree to anything.
The kind of tenderness that makes someone cherish and protect you, that kind of fatal tenderness that makes you more important than anyone else in the world, makes you addicted to it like an addiction.
He was completely captivated, like a drowning man grasping at a straw, using all his strength to get close to her, to win her love and pity.
He appeared calm when he confessed his feelings, but no one knew the anxiety he felt inside.
He could feel her love, but he was still afraid—what if he was mistaken?
After all, he has never been loved, so how could he know that the feeling was love?
But her response and her doting filled his heart completely.
From then on, he greedily, almost pathologically, craved and enjoyed her love, and he also used all his strength to love her.
In front of her, he willingly abandoned the reserve and dignity he had previously valued so highly. He could be anything she wanted, as long as she liked it.
He also felt very clearly that their love for each other grew stronger amidst life-and-death situations and everyday trifles.
On the night of his eighteenth birthday, he couldn't wait a second longer and gave himself to her without hesitation.
The moment he possessed her and was possessed by her, he was so excited he almost cried.
They finally belonged to each other completely.
In this way, she would never be able to bear leaving him again.
Even though she had no reservations about her love for him, he was still afraid deep down that she would abandon him.
This was not only because he was deeply dependent on and in love with her, but also because he had been keeping a secret from her.
He felt guilty for keeping it from her.
His initial fear stemmed from the fact that he himself had not figured out the answer to the question.
He has asked himself countless times, who is he, and what is the significance of his existence?
He began to feel that he was "him" and yet not "him".
Because he is the creator, but also the time traveler; he is "him," yet he doesn't seem to be entirely "him."
In those days when their love was intertwined and he grew freely, he slowly figured out the answer to the question.
The answer is, he is "him," and he always has been.
If he is not "him", why doesn't he feel any discomfort at all?
If he wasn't "him," why couldn't someone as intelligent as her see it?
If he weren't "him," how could they love each other so unconditionally?
He has always been himself, two worlds, two bodies, but carrying the same soul.
I will love her until death.
*
The end of the letter—
Sister, without you, I am a lost soul, a balloon drifting in the wind, without anything to rely on, and without the weight to land.
You gave me the soil to take root, and your love became the water and oxygen I need to survive.
I'm sorry, sister.
I'm so sorry.
I've kept this from you for so long; I'm a liar.
But I'm not lying to you, I really love you.
And I'm not lying to you either; I've always been myself.
However, I am the better version of myself in my heart, and you are the salvation I most yearn for, the most perfect god in my heart.
If I survive, and if all of this isn't a dream, then I hope my God won't abandon me.
Being alone is too cold and too painful; I don't want to be alone anymore.
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