Chapter 49: Anomalous Time 15 Part 2

Yu Bai would answer them plainly with that same line.

Then, in the next exam, he’d deliberately score something shockingly low: second-to-last.

Close enough to dead last.

The stunned teachers would get the hint and never ask again.

Yu Bai hated that question. He didn’t want to explain himself in detail to anyone who’d ask it—not even a little. It could even make him start resenting them.

Over all these years, Doctor Chen, who was like a mother to him, had never asked. Neither had Tian Ge or Uncle Li, who were like fathers. Yan Jing’s parents, who’d always been so kind to him, hadn’t either.

Xie Wufang was the first to ask—and get an extra, real answer in return.

Oh, not human, technically.

He existed entirely outside human social norms.

There was no trace of that familiar, subtle disdain or snap judgment in his tone.

Just a pure, straightforward question.

So Yu Bai kept answering earnestly. “Yan Jing’s parents run a funeral parlor. You probably know that already.”

Xie Wufang murmured in acknowledgment from time to time. “Mm.”

“But you might not know that in our culture, people really shy away from death—even though it’s something everyone has to face eventually.” He paused. “A funeral parlor means death, so folks think it’s bad luck and avoid it like the plague.”

“That’s why before me, no kids wanted to be friends with Yan Jing. They either kept their distance or found ways to bully and mock him. He didn’t have a single friend his own age.”

Young kids don’t really grasp death at that age—they don’t know to avoid it. But worldly adults whisper warnings and set the example with their own behavior.

And so the children learn, bit by bit.

“Why were you willing?” Xie Wufang asked.

Yu Bai gazed into those clear, water-like gray-blue eyes and let out a soft laugh. “Because back then, I didn’t have any friends my age either.”

“I probably haven’t told you about my family.” His tone stayed even. “My mom walked out not long after I was born. My dad died when I was ten—doing the heroic thing, stepping in to help someone. So yeah, I’m basically an orphan who lost both parents.”

He might have mentioned it offhand in some time loop, but not in this real world yet.

“Sounds pretty pitiful, huh?”

Before Xie Wufang could reply, Yu Bai pressed on. “But at the same time, I’ve been really lucky. I’ve had so many good people in my life—even the teachers at school went out of their way to look after me. No one dared bully me. Everyone handled me with kid gloves… because my dad was a hero in everyone’s eyes.”

So, not that pitiful.

But after a short silence, Xie Wufang said, “You don’t seem to like it.”

For all his ignorance of worldly matters, the non-human had a keen sense for emotions.

“Yeah, I don’t.” Yu Bai smiled at him and murmured, “It’s not a normal life.”

Normal was having people who loved you, hated you, or just passed you by without a thought. That’s where real, everyday happiness came from.

Anything too perfect felt like a fragile illusion.

And when that illusion stretched too thin, the cold reality underneath showed through.

“All the adults fussed over me. Classmates were extra nice, always deferring to me first. I was forever the special one among the kids, getting treatment way above and beyond. Even if I turned it down, it didn’t matter.”

“So no one my age wanted to be real friends. They kept their emotional distance in their hearts.”

Xie Wufang clearly couldn’t follow the contradictory logic. “Why?”

“No why about it.” Yu Bai’s eyes curved in amusement. “That’s just humans for you.”

Humans were complicated creatures, impossible to sum up neatly.

He stopped trying to explain and circled back to that errant paper airplane.

“That day, I was playing alone in a corner of the schoolyard, folding paper airplanes and dreaming of sending one way up into the distant sky.”

Yan Jing from the next class over was sitting alone on the steps in another corner, face blank. He’d just been pranked by the other kids.

Suddenly, a white paper airplane came plummeting down—and plunged straight into his messy chicken coop head.

“It wasn’t on purpose. I rushed over to apologize. He looked up at me, stared blankly for a second, then burst into loud sobs. Scared me half to death.”

Every time Yu Bai remembered that day, he wanted to laugh.

Grinning, he said, “I was the first person to ever say sorry to him. Everyone else just bullied him or ignored him.”

“And he was the first kid to show anything but fake niceness around me. He didn’t care if it got the teachers involved or if they’d side with me no matter what. Even if they did, he never got mad.”

“Pretty weird way to meet, huh?”

They were just two little kids whose lives had barely begun.

But death had already walled them off from the rest of the innocent, clueless world.

Until a white paper airplane, carrying the child’s tears, flew back toward the distant blue sky.

“So, from that moment on, we became best friends.”

Not only because of their similar lonely circumstances, but also because of their perfectly complementary personalities—and sometimes those bizarrely matching flights of fancy.

One was bold, the other timid; one sharp, the other a little dim; and both dismissed issues that others saw as monumental.

Yu Bai often silently thanked Yan Jing’s oblivious cheerfulness and iron nerves in his heart. They had rubbed off on him, lightening what should have been a bitter and heavy childhood.

Friends could shape and transform a person’s life.

But Yu Bai would never say any of that to Yan Jing.

He really didn’t want to see that guy bawling his eyes out with snot running everywhere.

At this point, Yu Bai thought, he had answered Xie Wufang’s question quite clearly.

If it could even be called answering a question—it felt more like an open exchange of past events and secrets.

Outside the window stretched a tranquil night, perfect for such a conversation.

This was exactly the sort of thing friends did during a sleepover.

Except he’d been the only one talking until now.

Yu Bai paused for a moment before turning to the man beside him with curiosity. “Why were you in a bad mood?”

Xie Wufang had asked him a question, so now it was his turn.

Fair was fair.

After Yu Bai’s earlier response landed, the man had fallen into a long silence, his eyes slightly downcast, lost in thought.

Only when Yu Bai posed his question did those lake-blue eyes turn back toward him.

And he answered in his usual honest tone.

“I don’t know,” Xie Wufang said. “Was I in a bad mood?”

Yu Bai was momentarily stunned.

How could he not even know that!

And who was questioning whom here, anyway?!

Yu Bai stared at him in surprise. “Yeah, you looked really fierce just now—totally different from usual.”

“…Did I scare you?” Xie Wufang paused, the strange glint in his eyes settling into stillness. “Sorry.”

“No, you didn’t scare me,” Yu Bai said softly. “You don’t need to apologize.”

He suspected that Yan Jing, who had been acting so strangely tonight, had been the one frightened by Xie Wufang.

But not him.

Others might find the non-human mysterious and terrifying, but Yu Bai saw him as a friend. He only cared whether he was feeling down.

Just as he had treated his own best friend all these years.

Xie Wufang fell quiet for a bit before asking, “Can there only be one best friend?”

Yu Bai blinked, then chuckled. “Of course. Why else use the word ‘best’? It means the one that tops all the other options.”

He stated it as plain fact, yet he caught a serious unfamiliarity in Xie Wufang’s expression.

After a slight hesitation, Yu Bai ventured, “You don’t get the concept, do you?”

Xie Wufang nodded faintly. “I didn’t before. Our language doesn’t have words like ‘best’ or ‘other options.'”

He really didn’t understand.

Eager now, Yu Bai pressed, “So how do you express something like that? Picking from a bunch of things, or picking your absolute favorite…”

“No need to pick or compare.”

The man cut in calmly. “Only the unique.”

Yu Bai’s face registered shock.

Only the unique.

It was utterly unlike humans, social creatures who formed all sorts of relationships.

It felt like some distant, exotic legend.

Or the simple mindset of a wild beast.

He couldn’t help asking, “Is this uniqueness… mutual?”

“Yes.”

Yu Bai’s imagination immediately ran wild. “What if you encountered a ‘unique’ from another race—one with lots of options? What then?”

Xie Wufang’s voice stayed even. “Then make it so he has only the unique.”

Did that mean erasing all the other options outright?

…Talk about domineering.

This was the first time Yu Bai had delved into these topics with Xie Wufang, and it felt like discovering a new continent.

To think such a civilization existed out there in the vast universe.

Amid his amazement, he remembered to circle back to his earlier point. “Best friends can only be one… but you’re not human, so you’re outside that selection.”

He had stressed “one” before; now he emphasized “human.”

Who would be so tactless as to tell one friend they were closer to another, right in front of them?

With that in mind, Yu Bai grinned and said, “You’re my best non-human friend. Really. I promise.”

He only knew one non-human anyway.

…Humans could be so scheming.

Xie Wufang might or might not have caught the wordplay. He gazed at the man’s bright, smiling face for a quiet moment before suddenly asking, “Why were you sad today?”

Yu Bai, who had started dozing off again, blinked in confusion for a second before realizing he meant back at the restaurant that evening.

Just like Yu Bai had asked about his mood earlier.

He really was a quick study.

Unable to hold back a grin, Yu Bai replied, “Because how could it not be sad?”

The dinner was breaking up; they had to say goodbye to Zhang Yunjiang with no good excuse to linger.

Until Xie Wufang had suddenly suggested a game of chess.

“We all know Uncle Zhang is going to die, but we’re powerless to stop it and can’t bear to say goodbye. That’s why we were all so sad,” Yu Bai explained. Then he couldn’t resist asking, “Aren’t you worried about death?”

“No. We don’t die.”

…They didn’t die?

That sparked Yu Bai’s earlier suspicions. He asked in astonishment, “You’re not actually a god, are you?”

Xie Wufang countered, “What is a god?”

Yu Bai pondered how best to explain.

“Probably something that transcends time, lives forever, with extraordinary powers.”

As he murmured it, his mind settled on a conclusion, his voice trailing off softer. “…You’re a god.”

A god who couldn’t lie.

Humans were so complicated by comparison.

Yet this god had a heart as clear as glass.

Yu Bai mused on that in silence.

Having just confirmed the non-human’s true nature, he supposed he should feel wonder, unease, or excitement.

But none of that came.

He was too exhausted; his brain wouldn’t even turn over properly, not even with a god for company.

What a relentlessly long day it had been: spinning tales at the police station to wriggle free, picking up that self-proclaimed reborn fool, rescuing the little girl from a beating, bringing the childlike old man to reunite with his long-lost friend, sharing his buried memories with a god of unknown origins…

The fragile human, with his limited stamina, rubbed his eyes and murmured sleepily.

“Xie Wufang, I’m heading back to my room to sleep.”

He quickly added, ” …For real.” Yu Bai chuckled at himself even as he explained on instinct. “I’m seriously about to pass out any second now.”

In his increasingly slurred words came the man’s brief response: “Mm.”

Yu Bai suddenly laughed amid the thick fog of drowsiness—his instincts kicking in.

“You should say ‘goodnight’ at a time like this.”

The human, shuffling toward his room in slippers, told him so.

The god promptly picked up the gentle farewell.

“…Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The utterly spent human uttered those words and promptly face-planted into the soft, welcoming bed. He hadn’t bothered with the lights, and he even forgot to close the door.

In the hushed depths of that early summer night, distant cicada cries occasionally drifted through, mingling with the faint, steady rhythm of his breathing.

What did a non-human who required no sleep do on such a long, lonely night?

Faint stars dotted the night sky, hazy moonlight spilling across the windowsill lit by a single dim lamp.

The black-haired, blue-eyed god sat at the desk, an old notebook spread before him—its pages yellowed and brittle, reminiscent of parchment from some fantasy tale.

His eyes lowered, the pen tip trembled lightly over the paper, tracing one mysterious symbol after another, intricate lines like script from the heavens.

Had Yu Bai not gone to bed, he might have noticed a familiar symbol cropping up often amid the elegant, unreadable script—a plump little arrow, scattered throughout.

But in the room just beyond the wall, he slumbered deeply, soon lost in sweet, peaceful dreams.

The summer night stretched on forever.

He dreamed of a gray-blue lake, cool to the touch.

Its surface lay covered in shimmering, transparent moonlight.