Chapter 33
The news that an official survey team, carrying equipment, had entered the area around the South Gate Church in Shenyang became the final straw that broke the camel's back for the Takeda family's "treasure hunt in Northeast China." Under the double assault of public criticism and official pressure, Takeda Kei, along with that eccentric old man, packed up and fled overnight, faster than a cat whose tail had been stepped on. The surveillance points set up by Lei Zi also vanished overnight, as if they had never existed.
The "spy drama" that had lasted for several months was brought to a halt in a somewhat hasty but reassuring way.
In the old house in Anshan, the string that had been stretched for too long could finally be loosened.
But Jin Zhaoxuan's nerves were on edge even more—because Yin Shaoqing's "system repair" had entered the final and most grueling loading phase, reaching 99.9%.
On the server screen, the curve had steadily climbed above the health threshold, bouncing powerfully and continuously at a high level, like it was on a spring. In the logs, key components like the advanced perception module, logic core, and memory index were lighting up one after another with their "self-test passed" green lights. The progress bar was stuck at 99%, refusing to budge, as if it were preparing a powerful move, waiting for the perfect moment.
Jin Zhaoxuan has completely transformed into a "waiting-for-husband stone PLUS version." He turned down every trivial matter he could, and was even too lazy to go to the company, wishing he could tie himself to a server with a rope. When he was sleepy, he would curl up like a shrimp on the sofa next to him, and the first thing he did when he woke up was to touch his glasses and check the screen—more punctual than clocking in for work.
He started doing foolish things that he later found shameful. For example, he would open up the Book of Songs, which Yin Shaoqing "loved" most, and place it on the server case as a "treasure to guard the machine." For example, every morning without fail, he would say "Good morning" to himself in the mirror, as if a smiling "Good morning, Mr. Jin" would appear in the mirror the next second.
He became more sensitive than Lin Daiyu. Even a slight change in the server fan speed or a flicker in the screen brightness could make his heart skip a beat, and he would immediately sink into a deeper resentment of "why isn't it done yet?"
Waiting for this thing, when you're hoping it will turn into cash, becomes even more unbearable than waiting for takeout.
Late that night, all was quiet. Jin Zhaoxuan was half asleep on the sofa, his brows furrowed so deeply they could trap a mosquito. The physical and mental exhaustion of the past few days had left him restless even in his dreams.
In a daze, he felt something cool and soft, like a feather, brushing very lightly across his brow. The touch was fleeting, like melting snow in early spring, carrying a familiar, comforting scent that seeped into his very bones.
He jolted awake, sat bolt upright, and felt his heart pounding in his chest.
The room was dimly lit, with only the server indicator light blinking mournfully. The mirror remained silent, and the curve on the screen remained stubbornly high.
Was it... a dream?
He raised his hand and rubbed his temples, where a faint, lingering coolness seemed to remain. His heart, however, began to pound uncontrollably, faster and faster, until it made him a little panicked.
He stood up and slowly moved to the mirror. In the mirror was his own face, filled with surprise and doubt, and still bearing the marks of sleep.
"Yin Shaoqing?" he asked tentatively, his voice extremely low, as if afraid of disturbing something.
No response.
He was a little discouraged and was about to turn around when he suddenly caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye—in the mirror, the background behind him seemed to be...distorted?
It wasn't the kind of distortion that makes your eyes dizzy; it was more like a very faint ripple, like water waves, that "bubbled" up deep in the mirror and then quickly disappeared.
Jin Zhaoxuan held his breath instantly and turned around abruptly.
There was nothing behind him except the silent outlines of the furniture.
Then look in the mirror.
Deep within the mirror, the ripples reappeared! This time, they were clearer. At the center of the ripples, a faint yet incredibly stable blue halo, like a luminous pearl slowly rising from the deep sea, grew larger and brighter.
In the halo of light, an outline so familiar it made his heart stop began to take shape, coalesce, and become clearer—
A moon-white long robe, a slightly thin but ramrod-straight back, gentle eyebrows and eyes, clear gaze...
Yin Shaoqing.
He stood there quietly in the mirror, as if he had just gone out for a walk and returned. His face was still a little pale, but his eyes were surprisingly bright. He was staring at Jin Zhaoxuan without blinking, his eyes churning with a complex mix of emotions—exhaustion, relief, the disorientation of surviving a disaster, and... a tenderness and longing that Jin Zhaoxuan had never seen before, one that almost drowned him.
Their eyes met.
Time seemed to have been paused. Only the silent "presence" of each other (and perhaps the hardworking server) remained in the room, resonating wildly.
Jin Zhaoxuan opened his mouth, but his throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper, and he couldn't make a sound. He could only stare blankly at the person in the mirror, at those eyes that seemed to hold a shattered galaxy, and his heart felt like it was being gripped by an invisible hand, both sore and swollen, so painful that he almost bent over.
He had imagined the scene of this brat waking up countless times, and he had rehearsed his lines eight hundred times in his mind—to scold him for courting death, to settle accounts with him, and to make him write a ten-thousand-word self-criticism. But when the moment actually came, all the rehearsed scripts went to waste, leaving only an overwhelming tsunami of emotions that almost overwhelmed his reason.
I don't know how much time passed; maybe a second, maybe ten thousand years.
Yin Shaoqing in the mirror blinked gently. Then, the corners of his mouth slowly curved upwards into a tiny yet incredibly real arc, as if he had used all his primal strength.
He raised his hand—that hand was still transparent, gleaming faintly, yet more solid than ever before—and, through the cold mirror, pressed it against the corresponding spot on Jin Zhaoxuan's palm.
There was no sound.
But in Jin Zhaoxuan's mind, an incredibly clear call "exploded" directly from the depths of his consciousness, trembling and hoarse, as if it had finally arrived after traversing a long, dark night:
“...Mr. Jin”.
"I'm back."
Just five words.
But it was like a red-hot key that suddenly opened the rusted gate in Jin Zhaoxuan's heart.
All the suppressed worries, fears, loneliness, anger, and the longing that was driving him crazy... burst forth at this moment. His eyes instantly turned red, and he suddenly raised his hand and slammed it heavily on the mirror with a "bang," making the mirror frame vibrate.
"Yin Shaoqing!" he finally roared, his voice hoarse and broken, filled with the ferocity of clenched teeth, but the last syllable trembled uncontrollably, "You fucking...you fucking dare to come back!"
Startled by his intense reaction, Yin Shaoqing in the mirror quickly softened the intense emotion in his eyes, transforming into a tender, almost helpless, indulgent look. He tilted his head slightly, gazing at Jin Zhaoxuan's reddened eyes and tightly pursed, stubborn lips, and whispered:
"Yes. I dare."
“Because…” he paused, his voice even softer yet carrying immense weight, “you are waiting for me.”
All of Jin Zhaoxuan's words were stuck in his throat. He stared intently at the person in the mirror, his chest heaving violently, like a wild beast trapped in a cage for too long, finally seeing the exit but at a loss. In the end, all the turbulent emotions turned into an extremely suppressed, choked gasp. He lowered his head, his forehead pressing heavily against the back of his hand that was slapping the mirror, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
It wasn't crying. Mr. Jin has never shed a tear in his entire life.
But... when a string that has been stretched for far too long is suddenly released, there is an uncontrollable physiological tremor, a feeling of surviving a catastrophe.
Yin Shaoqing quietly watched his hand, which was pressed against the mirror and trembling slightly, and the exposed section of his fragile neck with its taut veins. The tenderness in his eyes was almost overflowing. The hand that was lightly pressed against the mirror tightened slightly, and the knuckles shone with an even brighter light, as if trying to penetrate this damned barrier to touch and comfort the person who had been worried about him for so long.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice as light as a sigh, “I’ve made you…worry.”
Jin Zhaoxuan didn't look up, but instead rested his hands on the back of his hands, asking in a hoarse voice, each word seemingly squeezed out from between his teeth: "...Are we still leaving?"
Yin Shaoqing paused for a moment, then answered with utmost clarity and conviction:
"I'm not leaving."
"Wherever you are, that's where I am."
Jin Zhaoxuan's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, followed by an even deeper tremor. After a long while, he slowly raised his head. His eyes were still red-rimmed, but his gaze had regained its usual sharpness. However, beneath that sharpness was an intense, almost ferocious, joy at surviving a catastrophe and regaining what he had lost, which could no longer be concealed.
He stared at Yin Shaoqing, each word spoken like a warning, yet also like a declaration of sovereignty:
"Remember what you said."
"If you dare to do it again..."
He didn't finish speaking, but the meaning in his eyes was clear—if there was a next time, he couldn't guarantee what he would do.
Yin Shaoqing looked at him and suddenly smiled. The smile was no longer weak or forced, but a genuine smile from the heart, filled with relief and boundless warmth, so bright it was dazzling.
“Okay,” he replied, a faint, genuine mischievous glint in his voice. “Then, Mr. Jin, please… refrain from using yourself as bait in the future.”
“My ‘subjective consciousness connection point’ can’t withstand a second round of that ‘highest priority defense’ turmoil.”
Jin Zhaoxuan: "!!!"
He suddenly remembered the few shameful lines of the diary he had peeked at, his ears turning bright red, and he was furious and embarrassed: "Who gave you permission to peek at the archive?!"
“System self-check, automatic archiving.” Yin Shaoqing blinked innocently, then his smile deepened, and his voice softened, carrying an almost…coaxing tone, “So, we’re even?”
Jin Zhaoxuan glared at him for a long time before letting out a dissatisfied snort and looking away, barely admitting defeat.
The atmosphere in the room, which had been tense for too long, finally dissipated completely, enveloped in a warm, tranquil gentleness, as if one had survived a catastrophe.
The crisis has temporarily subsided, and the long night is coming to an end.
Some people, however, finally crossed the chasm between life and death and reality and illusion, and held each other firmly before the first light of dawn.
This time, it's for real, I'm going home.
Yin Shaoqing's awakening was like a gentle spring rain, quietly seeping into every crack of the old house.
He is no longer just a mirage or a screen image. Although his physical form remains fickle, his "presence" asserts itself in a more blatant and pervasive way. In the early morning, Jin Zhaoxuan is awakened by the perfect aroma of (simulated) coffee; when working on the computer, the room temperature automatically adjusts to the most comfortable ergonomic setting; and when he's working on documents late at night, the water glass beside him is always at the perfect temperature—"one degree too hot to drink, one degree too cold to chew."
He even began to "insubordinately" manage Jin Zhaoxuan.
“Mr. Jin, according to human physiology, 2 a.m. is not a legal time to be awake.”
"The seventh data point in this report has a statistical bias of 0.15%, and it is recommended that it be recalculated."
"You've already eaten the chive boxes that Brother Liu gave you four times in a row, which has caused a serious imbalance in your intake of dietary fiber and vitamins."
"..."
Jin Zhaoxuan went from initially saying "Who are you to meddle so much?" to later saying "Okay, you're right," and now... he's secretly enjoying it. He found that he actually liked this kind of "housekeeper-like" nagging, especially when Yin Shaoqing pointed out his various "unhealthy lifestyle habits" in that serious academic tone, he couldn't help but want to tease him.
"Teacher Yin, you're an artifact unearthed from the Republic of China era, and you even know about dietary fiber?" Jin Zhaoxuan asked, raising an eyebrow as he chewed on half a leek pancake.
Yin Shaoqing's virtual avatar was "sitting" on the tablet today, accompanying him during the meal. Upon hearing this, it slightly turned its head, its expression as serious as if it were answering a question: "Data knows no borders, nor does it have any era. Moreover, monitoring your physiological fluctuations is my... duty."
"Obligation?" Jin Zhaoxuan leaned closer to the screen, grinning like a fox that had caught someone red-handed. "What kind of obligation? Did I hire you as a health consultant? Did I pay you?"
Yin Shaoqing paused for a moment, his virtual eyelashes trembled almost imperceptibly, then he looked away and said in a softer voice, "It's a voluntary service, no payment is required."
Jin Zhaoxuan looked at his profile, which was slightly glowing with blue light and trying to appear calm, and his mischievous urge to tease him intensified. He slowly took a sip of soy milk and casually added, "Oh, a volunteer. Well, volunteer, next time I'm working late into the night, could you please not let the coffee machine 'automatically' brew coffee at two in the morning? It's kind of creepy, like it's haunted."
Yin Shaoqing: "..."
He silently placed the virtual chopsticks back next to the virtual bowl and plate, and stopped making a sound. The faint light behind his ear seemed to... brighten a little bit?
Jin Zhaoxuan was overjoyed at his victory, his mood soaring to new heights that even the bland chive pancakes in his mouth seemed like delicacies. He noticed that Yin Shaoqing, now awake, seemed even more...vibrant than before he was "lying in a corpse." Those subtle little movements, the occasional glimpses of embarrassment, and the speechless, dumbfounded look he gave Yin Zhaoxuan all made him feel that this ancient soul, which had existed for over a hundred years, was becoming more and more real, more and more...lovable.
Of course, the "settling accounts after the fact" will come eventually, albeit be late.
It's not one-sided; it's mutual harm.
Jin Zhaoxuan pulled out the hardcover notebook filled with embarrassing stories and shoved it in front of Yin Shaoqing's "face" through the tablet's camera: "Look, for as long as you slept, I wrote a long list of rambling and nonsensical articles. How are you going to compensate me for emotional distress, lost wages, and damages to my feelings?"
Yin Shaoqing stared at the hastily written, incoherent sentences on the screen, each word clearly expressing his longing for her. He remained silent for a full minute. His virtual fingers unconsciously twitched, as if trying to reach through the screen to touch the warm, lifelike words. He looked up at Jin Zhaoxuan, his eyes filled with complex emotions: "...Then how do you account for my unauthorized use of the 'Main Consciousness Link Point' for the highest priority defense, causing the repair progress to regress and the energy to almost run out?"
"Stop." Jin Zhaoxuan quickly raised his hand, his ears burning. "That matter... is over, we're even."
"Oh?" A faint smile flashed in Yin Shaoqing's eyes, so fleeting it was almost imperceptible. "Then what Mr. Jin said when I was in a state of deep mental confusion, including but not limited to 'I'm used to having you here,' 'The room is eerily quiet,' and the last sentence 'I need you,' should also be included in the settlement and calculated... as compensation for mental disturbance?"
Jin Zhaoxuan: "!!!"
He nearly choked on his own saliva, his face instantly turning red to the roots of his neck. He glared at the seemingly "innocent" guy on the screen: "You...you even saved that?! Isn't that just rambling nonsense from someone who's not thinking straight?! How can that be considered evidence?!"
“The system automatically backs up the original data in high definition and without loss.” Yin Shaoqing’s tone was calm, but the smile in his eyes was almost overflowing. “Do you need me to retrieve the voiceprint for comparison and playback? Although there was noise in the signal at the time, the restoration accuracy of the key words and phrases is as high as 97.3%.”
"...You dare to try and release it!" Jin Zhaoxuan was enraged and pretended to pounce on the tablet.
Yin Shaoqing's virtual image instantly "floated" to the other end of the screen, leaving behind a lingering, smiling voice: "Yes, sir. So, we're even now?"
Jin Zhaoxuan stared at him for a long while, then couldn't hold back and chuckled softly, with a hint of helplessness and resigned indulgence: "...Fine, we're even. We're even."
A “settling accounts” session, amidst the mutual digging up of each other’s dark pasts and the tacit tug-of-war, quietly transformed into a deeper bond and a tacit understanding that “you know what I know.”
They began to seriously plan for the future.
The Takeda family's troubles have been temporarily averted, but the shadow remains. The authorities have taken over the underground affairs of Shenyang, and they will inevitably come to light sooner or later. As for Yin Shaoqing's existence, it remains an ultimate secret that cannot be openly discussed.
“The museum’s AR project can continue, but the ‘Teacher Yin’ IP needs to gradually step down from its central position,” Jin Zhaoxuan calculated. “The technical framework and content library can be packaged and licensed, and new virtual employees can be trained to take its place. As for you…”
He looked at Yin Shaoqing: "This will always be your home. But if you get tired of it and want to 'live' somewhere else, or 'live' in another form, we'll figure something out."
Yin Shaoqing listened quietly, then shook his head. His virtual figure glowed with a calm light on the screen: "It's fine here. It's best with you here." He paused, then added, his tone as serious as if he were giving an academic presentation, "Moreover, my form of 'existence' is deeply intertwined with the industrial memories of this land. If I leave here, my energy will diminish, and the stability of my consciousness will decrease."
He looked at Jin Zhaoxuan with clear and firm eyes: "Mr. Jin, I don't need poetry and distant places. Being able to stay here, stay with you, watch this city grow new branches from the rust, and tell those memories that are about to be weathered to those who are willing to listen... This is the most down-to-earth and best future that I can think of after I 'came back to life'."
Jin Zhaoxuan's heart skipped a beat. He recalled Yin Shaoqing's humble longing for "spring" and his obsession with "being remembered." Now, he seemed to have truly found his anchor—not a wandering, lonely soul, not a reflection trapped in a mirror, but a real "existence" with a "home," "people" to rely on, and things to do.
“Okay.” Jin Zhaoxuan nodded emphatically, his voice a little hoarse. “Then we won’t leave. We’ll go together.”
He stroked his chin and began to daydream: "But shouldn't we upgrade the server at the old house? Otherwise, it'll be difficult for you to 'physicalize' yourself and play chess with me. Also, staying cooped up in the house all the time isn't a good thing. How about I get you a mobile 'vehicle'? Like... a modified campervan? Then you can 'sit' and go for a drive with me, although you still won't be able to touch the steering wheel..."
He rambled on and on about his plans, like a silly old man designing and decorating his new house—meticulous, yet full of the warmth of everyday life.
Yin Shaoqing listened quietly, his virtual figure glowing with an increasingly soft light on the screen, his eyes as gentle as spring water that could drown a person.
Outside the window, the sunlight was just right, casting dappled patterns of light through the newly changed linen curtains.
The storm has temporarily subsided, and the long night is breaking into dawn.
And their story, in this warm morning light, has just begun to unfold a new chapter that truly belongs to each other and is inseparable.
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