Chapter 25

After the incident with Liu Yinan’s suicide, the school instructed all teachers to warn students against spreading rumors. Anyone caught discussing the matter would face disciplinary action.

On the surface, the school appeared calm, but beneath that facade, everyone harbored a quiet fear.

Two lives snuffed out in such a short span—how could panic not spread? Every student wondered if they might be next.

A heavy gloom hung over the entire campus.

To ease the tension and lift spirits, the school moved up the Autumn Sports Meet, originally scheduled for early October, by more than two weeks.

In previous years, seniors weren’t permitted to join such recreational events; their college entrance exams loomed too close, and distractions were to be avoided at all costs.

But this year was different. With the oppressive atmosphere threatening everyone’s mental health, the school decided every student would participate.

At last, the good news washed away the lingering dread. Conversations shifted from whispers of death to excited plans for the Athletic Meet.

In the classroom of Senior Year 3 Class 31, students buzzed about this hard-won break from the routine.

Class Leader Nan Musheng stepped to the front, rapped on the desk, and addressed the class below.

“Senior year is special this time around. We’re cleared to join the Athletic Meet. Following tradition, sign up for events voluntarily. We’ll draw lots for whatever’s left.”

Certain events always drew a crowd of eager volunteers, but there was one everyone dodged: the boys’ 2000-meter run.

After the sign-ups wrapped up, only the girls’ 1500 meters and the boys’ 2000 meters remained.

“Shall we draw lots for the boys’ 2000 meters first?”

A ripple of unrest passed through the room—no one wanted to be picked. Then, a boy muttered from the back.

“Isn’t the 2000 meters always Yu Xingzhou’s event every year?”

The other boys latched on immediately, chiming in agreement.

“Yeah, yeah! Class Leader, just ask Yu Xingzhou.”

Nan Musheng frowned, his expression tinged with reluctance, but he didn’t shoot down the idea.

He stepped down from the podium and stopped beside Jing Chi’s desk. With a smile directed at Yu Xingzhou, he asked, “Are you running the 2000 meters this year?”

Yet for some reason, his gaze drifted to Jing Chi.

There was something about this transfer student that drew him in—a peculiar sense that they belonged to the same hidden world.

Nan Musheng had hoped to strike up a conversation with Jing Chi, to test if it was merely an illusion. But Jing Chi only really opened up around Yu Xingzhou; with everyone else, he remained politely distant.

At that moment, Jing Chi was slumped over his desk, eyes closed in rest.

Jing Chi hadn’t expected them to shove the 2000 meters onto Yu Xingzhou like this, banking on the boy’s inability to say no.

He held back from intervening, curious to see how the boy would react.

Yu Xingzhou glanced up at their class leader, only to notice the man’s eyes fixed on Jing Chi.

The boy’s face grew taut. A spark of displeasure ignited in his chest, as if something that belonged to him was being eyed by someone he despised.

For a fleeting moment, he wanted that gaze to vanish for good.

The thought startled Yu Xingzhou, leaving him momentarily stunned.

That’s when the Evil Spirit piped up again.

“What’s so wrong with that? It’s perfectly natural. Have you forgotten? We’re the same person.”

With a seductive lilt, it continued, “Things have been too quiet lately. Someone’s itching to stir trouble again. Why not make this guy our next target? Or that boy who just suggested you run—I’m getting impatient.”

“No,” the boy refused. “He wouldn’t like it.”

The Evil Spirit bristled with anger but sensed Yu Xingzhou’s resolve. With a helpless snarl, it spat, “Just you wait. He’s only curious about you now. Once that’s gone, he’ll toss you aside.”

“Look—he’s not even speaking up for you,” it added smugly.

Yu Xingzhou murmured to himself, “This is my problem. Why should I rely on him? He doesn’t owe us anything.”

The Evil Spirit snorted. “Then refuse it yourself. I’m not helping.”

“I… I…”

Yu Xingzhou clutched at his clothes, a faint flush creeping across his pale cheeks from the anxiety. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

“No more ‘I-I-I’s. We get it—you’re in. Thanks a lot, Student Yu.”

The boy who’d spoken up earlier jeered.

At that, Jing Chi could no longer hold back.

He sat up straight in his chair, leaning back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. A touch of cold severity sharpened his refined features as he locked eyes with the boy who had just spoken, his voice cool and edged with sarcasm:

“Wang Shuo, if you’re so eager, why don’t you sign up yourself?”

Jing Chi’s words caught the boy off guard, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“I-I… mind your own business.”

Wang Shuo’s face flushed crimson at Jing Chi’s retort, and he quickly ducked his head.

Boys his age were full of pride but lacked any real backbone—mere paper tigers that deflated at the slightest challenge.

They could only pick on people like Yu Xingzhou, who never fought back.

Jing Chi shifted his gaze to Yu Xingzhou. His expression softened as he watched the young man and said gently,

“If you want to join, then say so. If not, just say you’re not interested. There’s nothing wrong with that—you need to learn how to say no.”

Yu Xingzhou listened to Jing Chi’s words, his eyelashes fluttering as the hand gripping the hem of his shirt slowly relaxed.

No one had ever told him before that refusing was fine—that it wasn’t a big deal.

All he had known was that saying no would bring even more isolation and torment.

The Evil Spirit froze for a moment, then his expression darkened:

“We don’t need to refuse anyone. We can just kill them. Then we won’t have to say no, and we won’t face any humiliation.”

The Evil Spirit would never forget all the hardships Yu Xingzhou had suffered in the past. He had been born to destroy those wicked people, even if it meant covering himself in sin.

Just as Jing Chi assumed Yu Xingzhou wouldn’t speak up, the young man’s voice reached him—soft, but resolute:

“I’m sorry, I won’t participate.”

Finally summoning the courage to meet Nan Musheng’s eyes amid the surprised stares from those around them, he voiced his true feelings, one word at a time.

This courage had been given to him by Jing Chi, but it was also Yu Xingzhou’s way of atoning for his past self.

Back then, he had never dared to refuse. Now, he didn’t want to let Jing Chi down—or himself.

Nan Musheng blinked in surprise, then replied awkwardly, “What about the two-thousand-meter run, then?”

Jing Chi cut in this time, his tone sharp as he glanced indifferently at Nan Musheng:

“We’ll draw lots for it, of course—just like the Class Leader said. Any event without volunteers gets decided by lottery.”

“Since the Class Leader wants to call the shots, why doesn’t he step up himself? It’d be a fine contribution to the class. Or maybe Wang Shuo here—he seems awfully enthusiastic about class business.”

Jing Chi tapped the desk lightly with his knuckles, each soft knock landing like a weight on Nan Musheng’s chest, leaving him short of breath. His face drained of color.

He knew full well that Jing Chi’s words were designed to corner him.

But hadn’t he ever considered that Yu Xingzhou might end up in the exact same spot?

Wang Shuo immediately turned pleading eyes to Nan Musheng:

“Class Leader, I don’t want to do it.”

Nan Musheng had always been well-liked in the class, but moments like this showed that popularity wasn’t always a good thing.

Refusing now would still earn him resentment—people were selfish creatures, after all.

Everyone’s gazes converged on him in an instant.

Nan Musheng swallowed his frustration and forced a stiff smile:

“Then, like Jing Chi said, I’ll do it.”

He turned and hurried away, his retreating figure tinged with defeat.

The boy from earlier shot Jing Chi a glare, but he averted his eyes the moment Jing Chi looked his way.

Jing Chi curled his lip in disdain. He had nothing but contempt for cowards who bullied the weak and feared the strong.

When he turned back, he found himself meeting the young man’s bright, sparkling eyes.

Yu Xingzhou’s eyes were slightly almond-shaped, with curved upper lids that winged up at the outer corners—classic doe eyes.

Right now, his gaze was clear and innocent, carrying just a hint of pitiful vulnerability, like a fawn lost deep in the woods.

Truth be told, Yu Xingzhou was quite striking in his own right, every bit as handsome as Jing Chi. He simply had a habit of keeping his eyes downcast, rarely meeting anyone’s gaze directly.

A joy unlike any he’d felt before welled up in Yu Xingzhou, mingled with a touch of shyness as he said,

“Thank you, Jing… Jing Chi.”

He murmured the name softly, letting it roll over his tongue until it came out smooth and natural.

Jing Chi fell silent for a moment.

The boy before him showed no trace of the evil spirit anymore. He was simply an eighteen-year-old youth, with a soft heart that lit up over the smallest things and a shy reluctance to voice his thanks.

If only he could return to Yu Xingzhou’s true eighteenth year, rather than lingering in this Illusion Realm.

Seeing no response from Jing Chi, the fragile and sensitive boy grew a little uneasy. He asked softly, “What’s wrong?”

Jing Chi immediately shook his head, scattering his tangled thoughts.

He pulled a fruit candy from his pocket. It wasn’t the same flavor as last time—this one was a refreshing watermelon.

“Hold out your hand.” A smile tugged at Jing Chi’s lips as he arched a brow at Yu Xingzhou.

The boy obediently extended his palm.

Jing Chi placed the candy, still warm from his own body heat, into Yu Xingzhou’s hand and gently closed his fingers around it.

In a soft voice laced with tenderness, he said, “This is Jing Chi’s reward to you, classmate Yu Xingzhou—for finally showing a bit of bravery. I hope you can grow into a boy who dares to say no.”

He couldn’t rewrite the past, but Jing Chi wanted to overwrite those painful memories, one gentle moment at a time.

No one had come to save the boy back then. Now, he would be that person, even if it was too late.

Yu Xingzhou’s eyes curved in a smile, and he nodded.

Suddenly, the Evil Spirit felt his power diminish. If it had been a big watermelon before, now it was just a small one.

What nonsense about watermelons? He shook his head with a headache and let out a sigh.

But for once, the Evil Spirit didn’t leap into Yu Xingzhou’s ear to snap him back to his senses.

In that fleeting moment, even he had been touched—touched by the long-lost warmth of another person.

The Little Evil Spirit quickly reined in his emotions. He wasn’t moved, no way. It had to be that simpleminded main body filling his head with rubbish. Hmph.

.

The night was utterly still.

In his bedroom, Jing Chi watched the feed synced from the System. It showed Yu Xingzhou.

Upon returning to his room, Yu Xingzhou first cleared away the two Wooden Puppets from the top shelf and stowed them under the bed.

Then, with great care, he placed the candy from Jing Chi in the most prominent spot, where it would catch the eye at once.

The Evil Spirit took umbrage. “Why are you hiding our spoils of war?”

The boy’s expression didn’t change. He explained earnestly, “They’re too ugly.”

To his surprise, the Evil Spirit found the logic sound and was momentarily speechless.

But he pressed on. “Then why haven’t you eaten this candy? What’s the point of leaving it out?”

The Evil Spirit would never admit he wanted a taste.

He had forgotten, though, that their thoughts were linked.

Yu Xingzhou frowned and clutched the candy tight, his tone carrying a warning. “Don’t sneak it and eat it. I’m keeping this one.”

Caught red-handed, the Evil Spirit squirmed with discomfort but doubled down out of sheer stubbornness. “As if I’d eat it. What’s so great about it? The last one was mediocre at best—way too sweet and cloying. Only you’d like that stuff.”

Yu Xingzhou saw right through the bluster and brushed it off. “Sure, sure. Only I like it.”

Watching the boy, Jing Chi couldn’t hold back a laugh. He was just too adorable.