At that moment, Yu Bai’s face registered astonishment, his eyes widening slightly.
He asked, “A star?”
Why had Xie Wufang suddenly thought of making a star?
He replied, “The stars in the sky.”
Yu Bai laughed and replied without thinking, “I know it’s that kind of star from the sky. That’s not what I meant…”
It was shaped so realistically. Compared to the watermelon nearby, which still wasn’t particularly round, this was an exquisitely detailed snow star. Xie Wufang clearly wasn’t bothered by the cold—his fingers were far more nimble than Yu Bai’s.
Moreover, the non-human was obviously making a snowman for the first time. There was even a clumsy, bungled example right beside him, messing around clumsily, yet he had done it so perfectly.
But Yu Bai didn’t continue speaking. He was too preoccupied to clarify that subtle misunderstanding.
He was far more curious about something else. “How did you know this shape represents a star?”
Almost everyone pictured a bright, golden five-pointed star when they thought of stars.
But that was merely a beautiful human invention.
The real stars visible far in the distance weren’t shaped like that at all. They were distant planets and celestial bodies—spherical or irregular.
In short, none of them had five sharp points.
Xie Wufang answered concisely, “From the phone.”
In the quiet night, while the drunken humans slumbered soundly, the sober god was learning about snowmen and stars in this world.
It was something the sleeping man knew nothing about.
So Yu Bai simply laughed, pure delight sparkling in his eyes.
“Very pretty,” he said. “It’s the most star-like star I’ve ever seen.”
It had five adorable pointed tips, made of soft white snow yet impossibly firm—a contradictory and wondrous sight.
The man with the snow star cradled in his palm then asked, “Do you want it?”
Yu Bai nodded without hesitation and reached out to take it. But suddenly, he hesitated.
Xie Wufang noticed the subtle shift in his expression. “What’s wrong?”
“My hands are freezing stiff from playing in the snow,” Yu Bai said, the corners of his lips curving upward uncontrollably. “I can’t hold it like you can… Let me think where to put it.”
A moment later, the man with the clear gaze gently placed the snow star atop the unquestionable snowball watermelon, right beside the shoulder made of withered twigs.
But the moment he set it down, the star went plop and slid right off.
Like it was riding a slide.
Caught off guard, Yu Bai nearly swore in surprise. He quickly bent down to check on the snow star that had fallen to the ground.
…So his painstakingly rolled snowball really was round enough!
“Good thing you packed it so solidly.”
Yu Bai picked up the perfectly intact star and let out a sincere sigh of relief. “It would be such a shame if it broke. It’s so cute.”
Xie Wufang, gazing down at him, said softly, “It won’t break.”
With his chilled, reddened fingertips cradling the star, Yu Bai carefully tried placing it on the watermelon again. His face full of focus, he added offhandedly, “I hope it takes a while to melt.”
This time, the star successfully settled atop the watermelon’s head.
His fingers, quickly withdrawn into his coat pocket, gradually felt a rich warmth spreading through them.
The surroundings, somehow both winter and summer in this autumnal scene, suddenly didn’t feel so cold anymore.
Yet the vast, gentle snowfall continued to drift down mercifully.
And the snow star never melted.
When the pure white watermelon gained its first beautiful star, the people nearby—who had been boisterously playing—finished their snowball fight. Hands on their hips, they panted for breath as they gathered around to look. After a brief moment of bafflement, they all agreed it was obviously a big watermelon.
“What a huge snowball! It looks just like a watermelon!”
The panting little boy clutched at his aching old back, a remnant of an amused smile still on his face. But he hadn’t forgotten what was on his mind. “Um, Little Bai, I want to ask you something.”
Yu Bai asked, “What is it? Go ahead.”
“How do we make this so we’ll leave this timespace?” Yuan Yuxing asked, a hint of anxiety in his voice. “…Have you found a way?”
He had asked how we make this so we’ll leave, not how we can leave.
From that, Yu Bai caught a familiar whiff of reluctance.
Just like his own past self, who had once clung to the time loop and refused to leave.
But after a moment’s thought, he could only say apologetically, “We don’t need to do anything. We just wait until time flows back to the moment we entered, and we’ll return to the real world.”
He hadn’t had a chance before to tell them what Xie Wufang had done.
The little boy froze, murmuring, “So only six days left, huh.”
This beautiful dream had less than a week remaining.
“Yes, seven o’clock on the morning six days from now,” Yu Bai said softly. “Sorry.”
“Cough, no need to apologize.” Yuan Yuxing quickly waved it off, stumbling over his words. “It’s not your fault. I should thank you—getting back to reality is great. I can’t stand this winter cold anyway. Summer’s definitely better—”
But midway through, he abruptly asked out of nowhere, “Can… can I stay here?”
Yu Bai glanced at the man beside him, recalling their earlier conversation, and shook his head. “Probably not. Once the timelines overlap, only one timespace can continue existing. Otherwise, there’ll be problems.”
No one could remain in a timespace that was about to vanish completely.
A flash of deep disappointment crossed the little boy’s youthful face, but he immediately declared, “Summer really is better!”
Yu Bai didn’t call out the old man’s insincerity. After a moment of silence, he asked softly, “Do you want to play Go with Uncle Zhang? I mentioned it to him last night—he’s very willing to play with you.”
“No way!” The little boy hung his head, his tone hurried and sharp. “…I can’t beat him anyway.”
Yu Bai didn’t press further.
With fingers no longer so numb from the cold, he shaped a snowball into something vaguely polygonal and showed it to the old man. “Look, does it look like a star?”
“…” The little boy, with his puffy goldfish eyes, hesitated to speak. “Yeah, it looks just like one. Super like.”
Even as he uttered the insincere words, he quietly turned his face away and sniffed.
A glistening teardrop fell into the soft snow, vanishing without a trace in an instant.
When the pure white watermelon gained its second bizarre star, an impromptu star-making contest inexplicably broke out across the vast courtyard.
Passersby would always marvel first at the exquisite cuteness of the star on the left, then shake their heads at the utterly chaotic one on the right.
Taking Xie Wufang’s star as the standard, everyone tacitly tried to craft a snowflake star to rival it.
It was probably that innate human drive to join the fun and one-up each other.
For instance, the first thing He Xi did after getting up that morning was run out to the yard and practice her star-making skills with the accumulated snow.
She’d try shaping one star, then go eat breakfast.
Not having to go to school felt amazing.
She could fully savor this precious, unforgettable snowy day.
The little girl with her hair in braids sat under the quaint corridor, head bowed in deep concentration as she shaped her five-pointed star.
Before long, a boy in black leather shoes appeared at the other end of the corridor. He was heading out to play in the snow too. Spotting her, he hesitated, as if wanting to come over and play with her.
But the little girl, who had been smiling brightly, heard the noise. She looked up at him, then immediately turned her back without a second thought, shifting her seat to face the other way.
Stunned by the view of her back turned squarely on him, Zhang Yizhe looked a bit embarrassed. He stopped in his tracks and walked alone into the pristine snow.
Ever since that family reunion banquet, the old man’s children and grandchildren—who had come to visit—had been deeply shaken. Some had left one after another in the days since.
But others remained in this home they rarely returned to.
Some still refused to give up, racking their brains to flatter the old man and wrest back the inheritance they felt was rightfully theirs from the sudden illegitimate child.
Others had been subtly moved by something and wanted to linger a few more days in this usually empty mansion, amid the apocalyptic winter rumors.
Or perhaps it was a bit of both.
Under the snow-dusted eaves, where flakes swirled, a woman’s bright red nail polish stood out strikingly. Her slender, pretty fingers held a cigarette, the orange glow flickering now and then.
From afar, she watched her son playing alone in the snow while she smoked and talked on the phone.
“Yeah, we’re still at his grandpa’s place, so I need a few more days off… How many exactly? I haven’t decided yet.”
Ahead of her, the silver-haired old man passed by the corridor and smilingly patted his grandson’s head. “Do you like snowy days?”
The boy, usually so brash and spoiled, smiled back at him, revealing a rare glimpse of genuine childlike innocence. “I love them! Grandpa, are you coming to build a snowman?”
Under the eaves in the corner, Chang Baoqin’s words trailed off. When she spoke again, her voice carried a note of daze. “…We’ll wait until the snow stops.”
“From childhood to now, it’s A Zhe’s first time seeing it snow here.”
On such a beautiful snowy day, it was as if people’s hearts had softened a little.
And this moderate snowfall showed no signs of letting up.
Starting from that serene, leisurely night, it blanketed the world for an entire week. The ground lay pristine white, countless snowflakes drifting as if they might flutter all the way to the ends of the earth.
Zhang Yunjiang passed what was perhaps the happiest week of his life—a happiness so profound it felt like an illusion he had never dared dream of before.
He had never been this happy.
There were no disputes over money or companies, no headache-inducing words that chilled the heart—nothing about shares, inheritance, or handing everything over to outsiders.
Instead, there was his great-grandson, who had built a snowman with him for the first time, along with those new friends he had bonded with over Go. They had all accompanied him through this sudden winter day.
The old man had gotten swept up in the star-making craze as well. With his reading glasses perched on his nose, he had spent half the day crafting snowflake stars by hand. Yet they were not much prettier than the bizarre polyhedrons clutched in everyone else’s hands.
They simply could not compare to Teacher Xie’s masterful skill.
Whether it was making stars or playing Go.
These days, Zhang Yunjiang felt more convinced than ever that the endgame Xie Wufang had solved for him in the park still held at least one path to victory.
But it eluded him, hazy and just out of reach, no matter how he searched.
Perhaps he was simply getting old, his mind growing dull.
Or maybe there were too many happy distractions lately, leaving little room for the Go he had once been obsessed with.
In the early morning stillness, the old man sat alone in his study, poring over Go records for a long while. He glanced at the time and figured the children would be rising soon for breakfast. With that, he decided to head to the dining room and join them.
But as Zhang Yunjiang pushed open the study door, he spotted a little boy pacing back and forth in the corridor.
“Little Hang?” he called out in surprise. “Were you looking for me?”
The boy hastily stepped back, feigning nonchalance. “Huh? No, I was just taking a stroll.”
“Oh,” the old man replied smoothly. “Have you eaten yet? Heading to the dining room?”
“I ate ages ago.” The words slipped out reflexively. After a moment’s thought, he added in a small voice, “Are you going there? Then I’ll come too… I wasn’t full anyway.”
“Good,” Zhang Yunjiang said with a smile. “Let’s go together. Eat a bit more this time—there’s still a while until lunch.”
And so, one tall figure and one short made their way to the dining room side by side.
Amid the soft, overlapping rhythm of their footsteps, the little boy whispered, “What were you doing in the study just now?”
“Pondering an endgame.”
After answering, the old man recalled what Little Doctor Yu had said—that Yu Hang was a real Go fanatic. “Want to play a game with me after breakfast?”
The boy, who only came up to the old man’s waist, froze for a moment before abruptly shaking his head.
“No!” Yuan Yuxing whispered. “I’m not playing with you.”
Senior Brother had always been better than him.
He had lost to him time and again.
This time, he might end up losing in a blubbering mess of uncontrollable tears.
How embarrassing that would be.
And so the quirky little Go fanatic turned down the old man’s invitations to play, again and again.
But they shared meal after meal together—three times a day, twelve hours at a stretch.
Until the seventh morning, when the first faint light of dawn tinged the pale blue air, and pure white snow still drifted outside.
The clock on the wall had just ticked past five. The old man, who needed little sleep, was already up and in the study. He was about to open his notebook of Go records for his customary solo practice before the others awoke.
But then came a now-familiar patter of footsteps, drawing nearer, accompanied by an urgent knock at the door.
The little boy who had been hovering for days finally pushed open the study door.
Without waiting for a response, he broke his usual pattern and asked outright, “Want to play Go?”
The child’s eyes shone brightly, shadowed by emotions far too heavy for his age.
The old man at the desk paused briefly. He set aside his notebook without asking why and said warmly, “Sure. Right now?”
“Yes, now.”
Now, with only two hours left.
In this long, unbearable life of his, he could afford to lose one last time.
But once they reached the elegantly appointed Go room and the little boy sat properly on the cushion, the old man spoke with a hint of hesitation. “Little Hang, would you like to try solving an endgame?”
“An endgame?” he asked. “The one you’ve been mulling over in the study?”
“That’s right.”
Yuan Yuxing was on the verge of nodding when Zhang Yunjiang continued, “It was from a game I played with an old friend—the one I was searching everywhere for the day you all came over.
“Teacher Xie already found a way to turn that seemingly clear-cut loss into a win. But I’ve always felt there’s another solution. Unfortunately, my skills are limited. I’ve thought about it for days and still have no clue.”
“Would you give it a try?” Zhang Yunjiang looked at him expectantly. “I haven’t seen you play yet, but when we were eavesdropping on Teacher Xie’s lessons together, I could tell you have exceptional insight…”
His words hung in the air. The little boy stared off into space for a long moment before reaching out and picking up the jar full of black stones.
“I’ll win,” he murmured.
The old man blinked in surprise. “I do want you to play black—because it’s the side that looks hopelessly lost and needs a miraculous reversal.”
The boy’s movements faltered. He shoved the jar back toward the old man as if to cover his reaction. “…You set it up.”
The old man did as asked, laying out the endgame he knew by heart.
It had begun as a casual game between two old men under the shade of trees in the park. White stones serene and measured, black aggressive and hasty—they had alternated moves until black faced inevitable defeat. The old man playing black first had been so displeased that he had vented his frustration on an innocent passerby.
In his childlike form, Yuan Yuxing dimly realized he had no exceptional insight at all. He had always been just a talentless stinky Go player.
Yet he was utterly convinced that he would win this game today.
Even playing the black stones that were fated to lose.
Like this timespace’s Zhang Yunjiang, who had pored over the records for days, he knew the position backwards and forwards.
In the reality where he had not encountered Xie Wufang and Yu Bai in the park, he too had buried himself in studying this endgame for many days.
That day, Yuan Yuxing had lost as usual—to a wildly lopsided endgame. Even Zhang Yunjiang, the winner, couldn’t immediately find a solution for black.
But somehow, deep down, they both sensed there was one.
It would be a single, heaven-sent wonder move.
With furrowed brows, the two had puzzled over it together until sunset in the park. As dusk fell, the game broke up. They went their separate ways home, still lost in thought, as if transported back to their youth learning Go.
Yuan Yuxing, who always lost to Senior Brother, had nursed a stubborn determination. He avoided playing with him for days, vowing to turn the tables. He simulated the position obsessively, forgetting to eat or sleep.
Until he finally devised a brilliant solution.
The old man had excitedly called his friend—whom he hadn’t spoken to in days—to meet in the park and play. He could hardly wait to claim victory.
Only to learn, out of the blue, that he had passed away.
In that moment, Yuan Yuxing gripped the phone, unable to utter a word.
In that world of advanced age, death was as commonplace as breathing.
Now, holding the black stones, Yuan Yuxing’s fingers trembled uncontrollably as he placed that crucial move on the board.
A move utterly different from the one a novice learner might have played to break the position.
Lacking talent, he had compensated with relentless effort—a completely different path.
The old man holding white stared in shock. He held his breath without realizing it, his face lighting up with sudden enlightenment and pure exhilaration.
In the pin-drop silence, the old man and the boy alternated black and white stones, weaving a reversal of fortunes across the board.
Black and white. Victory and defeat. Life and death.
The crisp clacks of stones echoed sparsely in that small space.
When the final stone fell, Yuan Yuxing’s victory was beyond doubt.
He had known he would win.
At last, he had thoroughly beaten the clever Senior Brother of his youth and the kindly Go companion of his old age—just this once.
Using the solution he had labored over so long in another world, the one he had been bursting to show Zhang Yunjiang.
The one he had thought he would never let the other man see.
“This is a heaven-sent move!”
Zhang Yunjiang, defeated, could not contain his excitement. He broke into a hearty laugh. “Absolutely brilliant—brilliant! Little Hang, do you know what a heaven-sent move is?”
The victorious little boy simply stared at him in a daze, saying nothing, as if his soul had wandered far away.
Still buzzing with enthusiasm, Zhang Yunjiang explained, “In Go, it’s that exquisite, game-winning stroke—like the black stone you just played. A single tiny piece drops, and in an instant, the entire board flips.”
But the reluctant-to-leave boy replied, “It’s an immortal who came from a very distant place.”
…No, perhaps two immortals.
Outside the window, snow swirled in a vast white expanse, pristine and dreamlike.
Inside the room, at opposite ends of the Go board crisscrossed with black and white, sat the old man and the child.
Time itself stood utterly still.
Still as an immense river stretching beyond sight.
On one shore, Zhang Yunjiang smiled kindly. “You don’t understand.”
On the other, the little boy smiled through tears in his eyes. “Neither do you.”
