Chapter 50: Anomalous Time 16

Time slipped by silently. The pitch-black night quietly faded, its moonlight melting bit by bit into the ever-brightening sky.

Dawn had broken.

A gentle breeze rustled the gauzy curtains by the window. In the serene and peaceful courtyard, faint sounds of morning activity drifted in.

The small lamp on the desk had long since gone out. Beside it sat a closed notebook, its pages naturally yellowed at the edges but utterly free of creases, as if preserved with the utmost care.

When the clock on the wall struck exactly five o’clock, a nearly inaudible patter of footsteps echoed through the elegantly appointed suite.

The footsteps crossed the living room and halted at the doorway of the open bedroom.

The large central bed dipped softly under a weight. The person buried in the fluffy quilt slept soundly, curled toward the inside. His face was hidden from view, but a glimpse revealed his warm, tousled brown hair fanned out across the pristine white pillow.

Among all the scientific studies and expert recommendations on optimal wake-up times, the most frequently cited window was between five and seven in the morning.

But Yu Bai rarely rose during those hours.

He was no longer a student, nor did he have to commute to an office job. As a freelancer, he hardly ever needed an alarm clock.

Only when racing a deadline might he be awake at five in the morning—because he hadn’t slept at all.

At all other times, this was when he slumbered peacefully, deep in the sweetest of dreams.

Even, steady breaths rose softly from the comfortable bed.

The footsteps lingering at the bedroom door paused for a moment, then departed.

Time marched on. The pale blue air grew brighter by the minute as the sun rose, painting the horizon in rich golds and fiery oranges.

The round clock’s hands ticked steadily onward until they reached exactly seven.

Footsteps sounded once more.

The bedroom had fallen even quieter. The person on the bed had shifted positions, burying his head deeper in the quilt for a sweet sleep, leaving only a narrow gap to breathe. The thick covers muffled his long, drawn-out breaths.

They also blocked out the occasional faint noises from outside.

At the edge of the open bedroom door, a pair of gray-blue eyes silently watched the sleeping figure.

Until a sharp “ding” emanated from the bedside table.

The phone, flipped face-down where it had been tossed the night before, buzzed with a new message alert.

The gaze flicked toward the sound, seeming to hesitate.

A moment later, the phone chimed twice more. The little mountain of quilt on the bed twitched.

In his sleep, the person instinctively burrowed deeper into the covers, scooting a bit farther from the noise, as if unwilling to be disturbed.

The faint footsteps retreated once again, only to return shortly after.

Then, a crisp white pillow from the other bedroom descended over the intermittently buzzing phone.

The dings became almost inaudible.

In the now-quiet room, the quilt-mound shifted back silently. Unconsciously, it tugged away the covers that had been smothering his head, as if needing air.

Morning light fell across his cheek, rendering his already overly pale skin nearly translucent—save for a faint flush from being overheated.

Soon enough, the person on the bed grew restless again, rolling onto his side in sleep. His face remained hidden.

The footsteps at the door departed once more.

The barely audible steps crossed the suite and gently clicked the outer door shut. Only after entering the courtyard did they resume a normal volume.

It was a little past seven in the morning. Aside from the young guest who had arrived the night before, everyone else in the manor had already risen.

Servants hurried along the bright corridor now and then. Beside a verdant path lined with trees, a small boy crouched, teasing the household dog.

Yuan Yuxing was an old man at heart, so like most elderly folk, he slept little and woke early.

Spotting the black-haired, blue-eyed young man, he was quite surprised. “You’re up this early too?”

His words rang out clearly in the morning courtyard, startling the little dog at his feet into a sharp “woof.”

The other man glanced over quietly but said nothing. Instead, he frowned. “Too loud.”

“…”

Where’s loud about that?!

So thought Yuan Yuxing, but he didn’t dare argue in the face of those oppressively gray-blue eyes, like deep, still lakes.

He obediently lowered his voice and asked meekly, “Have you had breakfast? Shall I take you to the kitchen?”

Yuan Yuxing was more than a little intimidated by this mysterious young man of unknown origins—especially after witnessing last night’s match, where each move grew deadlier than the last. He’d broken out in a full pint of cold sweat just watching.

Yet it was precisely that game of Go that ignited a bold spark of courage in him.

Far bolder, at least, than the short-legged corgi now desperately trying to burrow into his arms.

“After you’re done eating…” The little boy rubbed his hands together awkwardly, asking hesitantly, “could you play a game of Go with me too?”

Yu Bai had said he’d played with Xie Wufang before, but not this timeline’s version of him.

Watching their match last night had left Yuan Yuxing’s fingers itching unbearably.

The short boy gazed up with earnest longing. The corgi trembled cutely. But the man across from them remained utterly unmoved, eyes on neither boy nor dog.

“No.” Xie Wufang’s tone was flat. “Not hungry.”

…

Fine, no game then—but skipping breakfast too?!

Sigh, what a cold one.

Disappointed, Yuan Yuxing scooped up the innocent corgi, who was on the verge of fainting from fright, and watched the man’s retreating back.

At the same time, curiosity stirred in his heart.

Up so early, skipping breakfast, and with Little Bai not around…

Just what was he off to do?

In a certain corner of the courtyard, another early riser—an old man accustomed to dawn hours—was rummaging through things in his study when a knock sounded at the door.

Zhang Yunjiang assumed it was one of the servants. He turned with a casual “Come in,” only to freeze in surprise. “Oh—Comrade Xie?”

“Up so early?” Still startled, he asked with concern, “Didn’t sleep well? Was the room uncomfortable?”

Young people usually loved sleeping in, after all.

“No.”

After the denial, Xie Wufang paused, offering no further explanation. Instead, he changed the subject.

“I have a question for you.”

Zhang Yunjiang was caught off guard but immediately set aside what he was doing. He smiled. “Fire away! Ask whatever you like!”

Had last night’s game sparked some Go insights he wanted to discuss?

The old man speculated eagerly.

But Xie Wufang’s question blindsided him completely.

“What happens if someone completely loses their best friend?”

…

Huh?

Zhang Yunjiang blinked, taking a moment to process.

Before entering the chess room last night—tidied up—the two had chatted about friends until Little Doctor Yu arrived.

This enigmatic young man, blessed with extraordinary Go talent, straightforward honesty, and a strange innocence, seemed particularly curious about friendship.

“Completely loses them? You mean a falling out, or… they’re gone forever?”

“You’ll never see them again.”

Never see them again.

That sounded like death.

“I see… Let me think how to put it.”

Though it wasn’t the question he’d expected, Zhang Yunjiang pondered it seriously.

“Emotionally, you’d be heartbroken, of course.” He chose his words carefully. “But the depth of the blow depends on how close you were.”

Xie Wufang echoed, “Best friend.”

“I know that’s the premise.” Zhang Yunjiang chuckled patiently. “But it still varies by person.”

“For some, even their ‘best friend’ is just a casual acquaintance. They might not value friendship much, prizing other bonds instead. But for others, friends matter more than life itself. Losing one would be like the sky falling.”

“Which kind does your hypothetical mean?”

After he finished, the young man fell silent for a beat before replying.

“Someone you’ve known since childhood. The only one who ever treated you with true sincerity.”

As the words hung in the air, Zhang Yunjiang couldn’t help wondering: who was this “you” referring to?

But he didn’t voice the unnecessary question. Instead, he followed the thread and thought of someone right away.

Not everyone could answer such a specific premise from the heart.

He, however, could.

Known since childhood—a bond spanning decades.

The only one who treated him sincerely, without chasing status or other externalities like everyone else.

“If I completely lost a friend like that…” Zhang Yunjiang’s expression grew wistful. “It wouldn’t just be heartbreak.”

“I’d be utterly desolate. Life would lose all meaning; even the sky would turn gray.”

Composing himself, he smiled. “But I’m an old codger at this age. I don’t have much to look forward to anyway, so I cling harder to what little I have. A young person might not feel it as keenly.”

Xie Wufang stood quietly at the study door and listened until he finished speaking. He didn’t ask anything more, only murmuring softly, “I understand. Thank you.”

As he spoke, he suddenly tilted his body to the side and glanced in one direction.

“What’s there to thank…” Zhang Yunjiang trailed off with a laugh, instinctively stepping over to follow his line of sight.

At the corner of the hallway outside the study stood Yu Bai’s nephew, who had apparently been eavesdropping on their conversation.

In that moment, the odd little boy clutched the corgi from Zhang Yunjiang’s family. His shoulders shook as tears streamed down his face, soaking the trembling fur of the little dog in his arms.

“Little Hang?!”

Zhang Yunjiang stared in bewilderment and instinctively turned to Xie Wufang beside him. “Wh-what’s going on, Comrade Xie? Why is the kid crying again!”

The young man who had been called didn’t respond right away.

His gray-blue eyes fixed on the sobbing, disheveled boy. Gradually, something occurred to him, leading to a certain decision. After a brief silence, he finally answered the old man at his side.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you the reason.”

Xie Wufang spoke earnestly, which only left Zhang Yunjiang more baffled.

Before the old man could ask again, the eavesdropping boy snapped out of his grief. He stumbled back a step.

Then, with a panicked, desperate look in his eyes, he gritted his teeth, hugged the corgi tight, and bolted away.

Muffled sobs mingled with shaky barks faded into the distance.

“…”

The old man was utterly stunned, frozen in place without knowing which way to turn.

Unable to make sense of what had just happened, he turned once more to Xie Wufang, who seemed more familiar with the child. With uncertainty in his voice, he asked, “Should we go after him—”

But Xie Wufang wasn’t even looking at the fleeing boy anymore. Instead, his attention had shifted to something on the bookshelf. “Are those books related to Go?”

Zhang Yunjiang followed his gaze. “Ah, yes.”

Before Xie Wufang had knocked, the old man—who had gained much from last night’s game—had been rifling through the Go-related books he had collected since his youth in the bookcase.

“Chess manuals, joseki, theory books, and some of my own accumulated notes… This shelf is a mess of anything even remotely connected to Go.”

Zhang Yunjiang explained casually, noticing where Xie Wufang’s gaze lingered. An idea struck him. “Do you want to take some to look at? They might not help you much, but they should be useful for Little Doctor Yu.”

He still remembered that Xie Wufang had said he planned to teach Little Doctor Yu how to play today.

The moment the old man mentioned that name, the young man’s gaze shifted toward him.

The gray-blue lake waters rippled faintly.

Twenty minutes later, several different Go books were stacked atop the familiar yellowed notebook.

The man sat quietly at the desk, reading. Pages turned silently under his fingers.

Outside the window, the courtyard was a tapestry of deep and light greens, lush and beautiful, with the distant hum of cicadas.

Behind him, the person in the bedroom was still asleep.

When the wall clock struck nine, there was still no sound from within.

The man who had been at the desk entered the bedroom and gazed at the silent mound of covers. He couldn’t see the person buried beneath at all.

His footsteps paused there for a moment before he finally left the room.

In another part of the courtyard, the antique-style dining room held a table laden with steaming breakfast dishes.

Yan Jing, who had spent the night tossing and turning through nightmares, was devouring his food to soothe his battered body and soul.

Though he had no idea why.

Even so, at some point this morning, the inexplicable suffocating sensation that had clung to him vanished without a trace.

A surge of post-trauma relief welled up in Yan Jing’s heart.

The only downside was that Little Bai was probably still sleeping and hadn’t replied to his messages. He couldn’t share this wondrous feeling.

He wondered how Little Bai had gotten along with that Xie guy last night.

Why wasn’t Little Bai afraid of that terrifying fellow at all?

Yan Jing pondered in confusion. In the next second, he nearly choked on the youtiao in his mouth. A terrified “Grandpa!” almost escaped his lips.

Because a figure he wouldn’t forget even as a ghost had suddenly appeared at the dining room door.

…Speak of the devil and he shall appear!

In a panic, Yan Jing swallowed the youtiao and forced an enthusiastic, fawning, energetic smile onto his face.

“Morning, Brother Xie!” he said with exaggerated inflection. “What would you like? We’ve got Chinese, Western—whatever you want!”

“…”

Those gray-blue eyes swept over him silently, offering no reply.

Yan Jing’s legs began to weaken involuntarily. On instinct, he sensed that the enigmatic non-human before him really disliked him.

It was the kind of cold stare that found him utterly distasteful but, for some reason, couldn’t act on it.

So scary.

Shivering in fear, Yan Jing reluctantly set down his food and jumped up to yield his seat. “I’m done! I’ll head out—you take your time!”

He wisely chose to scram and get out of sight.

But that icy gaze followed him as he tried to make for the door.

Yan Jing froze in momentary confusion.

Wasn’t he here for breakfast?

Why did it feel like he was here for him?!

…Then why ignore him!!

This left him stuck, unable to leave or stay!

Just as the eerie silence stretched taut, light footsteps approached from outside.

The elementary schooler who had slept in on a school day for once followed the servant’s guidance into the dining room. She took in the scene with some surprise but greeted them politely one by one.

“God…” The little girl paused, then changed tack. “Morning, Big Brother. Morning, Yan Jing Brother.”

Amid her clear, childish greeting, Yan Jing Brother let out a huge sigh of relief, as if spotting his savior. “Morning, morning! You’re extra cute today—super cute!”

The God Big Brother hiding his identity also seemed to relax slightly, turning his gaze to her and calling her name. “He Xi.”

He Xi responded reflexively. “Yeah? What’s up?”

Five minutes later, the elementary schooler—who had been led hungry to a certain suite in the estate—shifted from curious bewilderment to a serious expression barely suppressing her laughter.

After touring the bedroom and seeing the quiet little mountain, He Xi followed Xie Wufang outside and whispered, “Brother Little Bai is sleeping!”

The much taller God Big Brother murmured in response, “But he’s already slept for eleven hours.”

“Eleven hours?” The little girl didn’t find it odd at all. “That’s what sleeping in is like. I sleep that long too.”

Seeing the God Big Brother’s worried look, He Xi took the initiative to explain. “If you’re really tired or sleepy, sleeping longer is totally normal!”

“Brother Little Bai is just sleeping in. He’s sleeping great.”

A hint of unrestrained amusement bubbled onto her young face as she emphasized to the god who knew so little of the mortal world, “Nothing’s wrong—really!”

Her confident tone finally earned a slight nod from the God Big Brother, as if he’d learned some new knowledge not found in books.

Then the air fell quiet again. The god with beautiful blue eyes had his answer but stared at her fixedly, as if hesitant to speak.

Huh.

The clever little girl suddenly realized something.

She immediately schooled her features into her most solemn, serious expression and whispered very softly.

“I won’t tell Brother Little Bai, I promise!”

“…” Only then did the God Big Brother look away, murmuring softly, “Mm.”

He paused, then added, “Thank you.”

The little girl, thanked by a god, felt flustered and honored.

“N-No problem.” She said timidly, “Can I go eat breakfast now?”

On this bright, sunny morning, the permitted little girl skipped lightly through the courtyard, an unknowing smile of joy on her face.

Gods could feel embarrassed too, huh.

In the still-quiet suite, the round wall clock ticked relentlessly onward.

A little past ten in the morning, a rustle finally came from the cloud-like covers.

Pale fingertips emerged from the warm bedding, groping toward the usual spot for his phone. They met only empty air and soft sheets instead.

…What a huge bed.

Having woken naturally, Yu Bai gradually came to, realizing he wasn’t at home.

This sleep had felt so good.

And he seemed to have had a long, beautiful dream.

Yu Bai lazed around under the covers with his eyes closed a bit longer before finally throwing them off and getting up.

He found his phone from last night—forgotten without silencing—under a pristine white pillow.

The screen was piled high with unread messages.

Had he covered it with the pillow during sleep because it was too noisy?

On this spacious king-sized bed, there were already the standard four pillows. So why was there an extra one here?

…Did Uncle Zhang’s house have a custom of placing five pillows in every room?

Yu Bai felt a flicker of surprise, but he had no time to dwell on it. He also lacked the spare moment to check his messages.

He soon remembered that today brought a host of matters demanding his attention.

Subconsciously, Yu Bai drifted to the window and nudged it open a crack.

The courtyard outside lay in tranquil silence. Servants occasionally passed through his line of sight, their footsteps light and their expressions utterly ordinary.

The room he occupied was equally still.

Right—he had shared this very room with Xie Wufang the night before.

With that realization, Yu Bai promptly stepped out and made his way with curiosity to the bedroom next door.

The bed there mirrored his own exactly, yet it lay in pristine order, as if no one had ever slept in it.

Yu Bai focused his gaze more intently and only then spotted a familiar figure seated at the desk beside it.

The sound of his footsteps drew the other’s attention. The man turned his head, his eyes locking precisely with Yu Bai’s.

In the man’s hand rested an antiquated book, its pages dense with text halted between long, powerful fingers. The scene lent an even deeper hush to the surroundings.

Aside from that mysteriously superfluous pillow, it felt like a morning untouched by any disturbance.

How wonderful.

Especially compared to yesterday’s rollercoaster of events.

This thought eased Yu Bai further. He rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes and called out cheerfully to the man immersed in his solitary reading.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice clear and laced with a lazy smile. Softly, he added, “Little Xie.”