Chapter 105

Chapter 105

"Qianqian, let me take you back first." Outside the hospital helipad, Wen Yanxu reached out to straighten Wen Jueqian's collar, which had been ruffled by the wind.

Wen Jueqian shook his head. "The Security Bureau asked me to come in. They said they found traces matching the evidence I submitted in the Other Shore full-reality network, and they want me to assist with the investigation."

Wen Yanxu's expression relaxed at the news.

Since the Security Bureau had also found such leads, it meant the investigation was progressing in a favorable direction. Once the official report was released, proving that Lingjing Era had been framed, the current public pressure and legal risks would be greatly reduced.

He grabbed Wen Jueqian's hand and said, "I'll go with you."

As he spoke, Wen Yanxu's optical brain rang—it was his assistant, Chen Suye.

He answered the call, and Chen Suye's tone was urgent: "Mr. Wen, Mr. Su called. There's an emergency at Bio-Mech that requires your personal presence on site."

Wen Yanxu's brows furrowed. He glanced at Wen Jueqian and replied, "I understand. Tell him to stabilize the situation first. I'll be there as soon as possible."

After hanging up, Wen Jueqian spoke up on his own: "Go ahead and handle your work. Don't worry about me. I'll bring the bodyguards."

He tried to curl his lips into a smile, but that smile only made Wen Yanxu's heart clench tighter.

Wen Yanxu stood there, an inexplicable unease stirring within him. He insisted, "I'll go with you. Su Lan can handle Bio-Mech for now—it can spare a few minutes."

Wen Jueqian let out a soft sigh and reached out to straighten Wen Yanxu's tie, his tone carrying a hint of fond, helpless teasing: "Qiao Yuexun said you should let me weather the storms of life. If he knew you couldn't even trust me to go to the Security Bureau alone, he'd be green with envy."

Wen Yanxu's expression remained serious.

Wen Jueqian looked at his tense jawline, knowing he was still worried, so he changed his tone and said earnestly, "How about this—the route from here to the Security Bureau and the route to Aegis share part of the route. We'll part ways at the fork in the road up ahead. From there, it's only ten kilometers to the Security Bureau, and the aircraft will be there in no time."

He squeezed Wen Yanxu's hand. "Don't worry, okay?"

Wen Yanxu looked down at him and finally nodded. He instructed, "Text me when you get there."

"Okay."

The two parted ways at the helipad, heading toward their own aircraft. Wen Yanxu took a few steps, then looked back. Wen Jueqian was about to board, and as if sensing his gaze, he turned around and waved at him.

The two aircraft lifted off one after another, merging into the busy skyways of Yinmian City.

Just before the fork, Wen Yanxu's optical brain rang—it was a call from Wen Jueqian.

Wen Yanxu answered.

"Axu, I've reached the fork. I'm about to turn now."

Wen Yanxu murmured in acknowledgment, his gaze following Wen Jueqian's aircraft: "Reach out if anything comes up."

"Got it." There was a hint of a smile in Wen Jueqian's voice. "By the way, can we have dinner together tonight? Have Xiao Q cook—it's been ages since we sat down for a meal together."

Wen Yanxu felt a gentle tug at his heart at those words.

Both of them had been buried in work lately, and indeed, it had been a while since they sat together at their own dining table, under the warm glow of the lights, having a proper meal together.

"Alright. I'll try to finish up early and come home for dinner."

"Then I'll go home and wait for you." Wen Jueqian's voice was warm and gentle.

"Mm."

The call ended, and Wen Yanxu saw the messages Chen Suye had sent on his optical brain's screen. He needed to review several urgent documents before arriving at the Bio-Mech R&D center.

After finishing the last document, Wen Yanxu pulled up his optical brain and sent a message to Wen Jueqian: "You there yet?"

He noticed a change in the light inside the aircraft and absentmindedly glanced out the window—then froze.

The sky had darkened without warning.

Thick storm clouds rolled in, rapidly engulfing the clear sky. Lightning flashed intermittently within the clouds, and a few seconds later, low thunder rolled across the sky.

The air felt heavy with the threat of an approaching storm.

Wen Yanxu stared at those clouds, his heartbeat quickening for no reason.

The vague unease that had been lingering suddenly intensified, and he had a premonition that something terrible was about to happen.

Wen Yanxu checked the weather forecast on his optical brain, which clearly showed: Yinmian City, clear, light breeze, temperature 23–28°C, 1% chance of precipitation all day.

He glanced out the window again.

The storm clouds had already covered the entire sky.

Wen Yanxu had only seen this kind of weather once before.

The day Qiao Yuexun and his True Love System had shown up.

The call to Qiao Yuexun connected, and Wen Yanxu demanded bluntly: "Where are you?"

"Qinghe Prefecture. I'm at the Su family home with my mother..."

Wen Yanxu's face went pale in an instant.

He jumped to his feet and shouted at the security personnel in the cabin: "To the Security Bureau! Follow Wen Jueqian's flight path to the Security Bureau! Now!"

The security personnel were startled by his unusual loss of composure, but their trained reflexes took over, and they immediately changed the autopilot's destination.

Wen Yanxu called Wen Jueqian's optical brain over and over, but every call only returned the system prompt that the call wouldn't go through.

The aircraft flew at top speed. Outside the window, a massive bolt of lightning tore through the clouds, lighting up half the sky, followed by a deafening crack of thunder.

At the same moment, Wen Yanxu's optical brain suddenly blared with a piercing alarm.

He looked down at the screen, and his eyes widened in shock.

An urgent alert had popped up on the screen, its contents stark and alarming:

"URGENT ALERT: Neural activity of W-85 chip holder has flatlined. Location coordinates have been sent to the emergency contact's optical brain."

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The exterior of Yinmian City Library had a classical architectural design.

On the fifth floor of the library, in a corner seat by the window, the "Mentor" sat alone at a small desk.

In front of him lay a book on federal botany, making him look like an ordinary person passing the time on a leisurely afternoon.

His current features were plain and unremarkable, and his S-grade Alpha pheromones were carefully suppressed, with not a trace leaking into the air.

He looked like an ordinary, average Beta.

It was a state the "Mentor" occasionally enjoyed—blending into the crowd, savoring the simple, carefree ease of ordinary life.

This, too, should have been his original fate.

If he had not received the gift of a god.

Fifteen years ago, he became the host of the Scapegoat Counterattack System.

He had willingly participated in his father's experiment—the man who had captivated his mother with his brilliance during an academic exchange between the Federation and the Empire, only to abandon her after returning to the Federation.

The wheel of fortune has turned.

Twenty years ago, after Wen Shiqi fled from the Federation to the Empire, he found his former lover again, and with her help, rose from the lowest-ranking researcher to dean through sheer talent. He was regarded as the "Mentor" who led the Empire's progress, and privately even arrogantly called himself the "Creator."

As his son, he inherited his bloodline and resources, and also acted as his proxy in the outside world.

Thus, Cecil also called himself "Mentor" and "Creator"—after all, that was the gift he had received.

Without the help of the Scapegoat Counterattack System, Wen Shiqi could never have transformed an ordinary Beta into an S-grade Alpha.

Cecil went from being a beta Wen Shiqi had ignored to his most perfect work. Wen Shiqi was overjoyed, believing his experiment had finally achieved ultimate success.

Cecil's ultimate goal was to repay the cost of that "gift."

The Scapegoat Counterattack System gave him only one task: to destroy the destined mission of this world's Child of Destiny.

After the transformation succeeded, Cecil spent eight years laying his plans—seizing power, expanding his influence.

Leveraging Wen Shiqi's research results and resources, Cecil steadily established a foothold in the Empire.

Now, he was the master of Natural Law, the Empire's largest infiltration organization within the Federation, and a powerful figure pulling the strings behind numerous Imperial nobles and officers.

Everything was proceeding according to plan.

But this small world, which should have been able to accommodate only one system, had somehow seen the appearance of another outsider. The first time he tracked that system, it gradually attracted divine punishment, nearly dragging him into destruction along with it.

The Scapegoat Counterattack System believed that was the other party choosing mutual destruction, knowing they couldn't win—a desperate act at death's door.

He didn't think so.

He began investigating those around the Child of Destiny and quickly locked onto another target. He made a probing move.

It was a carefully designed trap, using means beyond the current world's technological level, which should not have been detectable by any technology in this world.

Wen Jueqian found the clue.

Cecil had also found his prey.

He disguised himself as a family member, mingled into the hospital crowd, and conducted a close-range inspection. In that brief contact, he confirmed that Wen Jueqian carried residual traces of higher-dimensional power.

A system could only bind one host in the same world. Could this system transfer between different hosts?

Wen Jueqian was stubborn to the bone. Cecil could not extract any clues from him, and instead drew the attention of the Heavenly Dao.

To prevent the other party from using the same tactic as before, he gave Wen Jueqian the same ending as those players.

He recalled the beta he had seen while disguised as a family member—even with red-rimmed eyes and a wounded expression, there was still stubbornness and grievance deep in his gaze.

Cecil smiled softly.

If they both became victims, Wen Jueqian would no longer feel guilt or grievance, would he?

He withdrew his thoughts, and a voice only he could hear reached his ears.

"You've finished the matters you insisted on handling. Can we continue with the mission now? You've already wasted too much time on him."

The "Mentor" picked up his pen and wrote in his notebook: "The Child of Destiny is too difficult to deal with. We must eliminate all other influencing factors before we can fully focus on preventing him from fulfilling his destined mission."

The nagging complaints came again: "You're really not as good as my previous host. You're overcautious in everything. That system is nothing but a low-level one, and you're treating it like a formidable enemy, scheming against it with all your might—it's dragging down my standards. I've been in this world for fifteen years already. How much longer until we finish the mission?"

Cecil's gaze was calm.

This system was overly arrogant and lacked patience, always believing it could crush everything quickly with its own overwhelming power.

It was spoiled by its previous hosts.

It thought that in all worlds, it could rely on higher-dimensional energy beyond the small world to crush everything, while ignoring other factors.

But he did not reveal any of his inner disdain—he knew the system could actually monitor all his reactions, even directly read his true thoughts.

He simply wrote down one line.

"We'll finish the mission soon."

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Wen Jueqian's last location appeared in a garden.

It was a private garden hidden within the city, secluded from the noise of the outside world.

The garden was covered in a stretch of silent white. Large camellia flowers were blooming to their fullest, their layered petals lustrous like jade, showing no sign of dishevelment even after the violent storm that had just passed.

Translucent water droplets slid down the petals, as if just awakening from tears, making the expanse of white all the more breathtaking.

Wen Jueqian lay on his back among the flowers, his ink-blue hair scattered across the snow-white petals.

His brows were relaxed, his expression serene, his lips still holding a faint trace of color. His chest was still rising and falling gently, as if he were merely resting among the flowers, ready to be awakened by the evening breeze at any moment.

But those misty silver-gray eyes would never open again.

In the definition of Federation medicine, brain death was the final criterion for death—a person no longer existed in both legal and medical terms.

There was not a single case in medical history of brain death being successfully reversed.

Camellia petals drifted down onto Wen Jueqian's body, like the gentlest farewell.

The wind rustled through the flower branches.

Wen Yanxu walked to Wen Jueqian's side with stiff, heavy steps.

He bent his knees and knelt on the damp soil and fallen petals, reaching out to gently brush away the petal on Wen Jueqian's face.

He lowered his head, pressing his forehead against Wen Jueqian's, his body beginning to tremble uncontrollably. Suppressed to the extreme, his throat finally released only a broken sob.

In his life, he had made countless decisions, and he had been unwavering in every single choice. He had never regretted anything, because he trusted his own judgment.

But this one time—just a single thought, just ten kilometers of distance—had cost him his beloved.

Wen Yanxu reached out, lifting Wen Jueqian from the flowers and holding him tightly in his arms. The white petals slipped from Wen Jueqian's body one by one, like a silent snowfall.

Wen Jueqian's body was still warm, as if he had merely fallen asleep, as if in the next second he would open his eyes in Wen Yanxu's arms and let Wen Yanxu take him home.

But his consciousness had been permanently extinguished, like a soul departing from its body.

Soul.

This concept briefly snapped Wen Yanxu out of the fog of grief.

The words Qiao Yuexun had once spoken now resurfaced in his mind with startling clarity.

Qiao Yuexun had once been a wandering soul from another world after his death. The True Love System had signed a contract with him before his soul scattered, bringing him to this world and giving him a second shot at life.

Even Qiao Yuexun got the chance to live again.

So why couldn't his Qianqian?

If Qiao Yuexun could be bound by a system, then couldn't Wen Jueqian as well?

Was there still a chance he could open his eyes again and come back to this world?

Wen Yanxu didn't know whether this thought was madness or mere delusion—whether it was self-deception in desperation or the only glimmer of hope in the dark.

All he knew was that he couldn't accept the outcome of losing Wen Jueqian.

Wen Yanxu drew Wen Jueqian deeper into his embrace, his eyes holding a look of obsession. He spoke as if trying to convince the other person, but even more so himself: "Qianqian, I won't let you go like this."

Wen Jueqian remained asleep, offering no response.

==========Author's Note:==========

I originally wanted to write a tragedy built on intricate cause and effect—Wen Jueqian and Wen Yanxu, driven apart by the flaws in their own characters, loving each other deeply yet pushing each other further away with every step closer.

But then I thought, the tragedy on the first timeline cannot be caused by love. Loving each other deeply is not their fault—love is meant to bring people happiness.

Cause and effect cannot be too deliberate either. After tragedy strikes, people look back again and again, futilely searching for the origin of it all, believing that if they could just remove these mistakes, they could rewrite the ending.

But that's not how it works. Fate is not a carefully choreographed script where following the plot guarantees a happy ending.

Fate is serendipity and misalignment—countless coincidences converging into a storm that no one can escape.