Chapter 54: Anomalous Time 20

As he spoke face-to-face with the man across from him, that exceedingly clear gray-blue lake water flowed unreservedly into Yu Bai’s eyes.

It was pristine and serene inside, rippling with gentle waves, as if it could reflect the transparent heart at the lake bottom.

Perhaps because Xie Wufang’s tone was too earnest, or his gaze too pure, Yu Bai momentarily forgot the shyness that had been surging up frequently lately. He even forgot to blush.

He simply stared in a daze, his eyes suddenly widening, his thick lashes quivering lightly. Deeply flustered, he answered the man so close at hand.

“I… I’m really happy right now,” Yu Bai said.

He had felt happy catching sight of Corgi Zhang Wei’s round butt under the sunlight by chance.

Of course, he felt happy hearing such sincere and straightforward concern.

“That moment earlier, yes.”

But Xie Wufang’s voice was firm as he calmly pointed out the small flaw in Yu Bai’s vague response.

“Not now, though. And not while you were learning Go, either.”

“Your expression and eyes looked completely different.”

The brown-haired young man, already caught off guard by the sudden question, froze again at this serious statement.

Immediately after, a faint blush—late but inevitable—stained his pale earlobes.

Why was he observing all this so closely!

Hadn’t he been supposed to focus entirely on teaching Go just moments ago?!

This guy was sometimes too detached, sometimes too perceptive. He didn’t get the joke about the corgi’s name, yet he caught every subtle shift in Yu Bai’s countenance.

How long had it even been? Back when they first met in the loop, this non-human had uncertainly asked if Yu Bai was angry. Now, he could already discern from the tiniest expressions whether Yu Bai was truly happy.

…What a terrifying learning curve.

Yu Bai thought that the question the non-human had asked today couldn’t be brushed off with delays or deceptions anymore.

He had asked with such gravity that Yu Bai felt too embarrassed to change the subject.

Looking into those unwavering gray-blue eyes, Yu Bai shouted toward the door without turning his head before giving a proper answer. “Taking a break!”

This wasn’t Go lesson time anymore. No more eavesdropping.

His clear, bright voice fell, and instantly, a flurry of panicked footsteps echoed from outside.

Followed by three distinct voices.

“…Ahem! How did I end up strolling over here?”

That was the old man, usually so dignified.

“Oh dear, how did Zhang Wei wander off again? I’ll go chase it!”

That was the incorrigible old kid.

“Brother Little Bai, sorry! We won’t peek anymore.”

That was the little girl, the most honest and unmasked of them all.

Before standing up and leaving, He Xi—who had been squatting on the ground—thoughtfully closed the chess room door for the people inside, sparing them further interruptions.

The wooden lattice door slid shut with a soft click, like a train receding into the distance. The early summer sunlight remained vivid and intense, flooding the elegant, poetic chess room.

Now, nearby, there was only the man with his tranquil gaze.

On the cushion across the Go board, Yu Bai sat primly, waiting for the people outside to fully depart. Unbeknownst to himself, he zoned out for a moment.

Outside the window, the trees were lush and dense, the air humid and sweltering, with occasional long cicada cries—like a serene yet vibrant summer oil painting.

Those rare heterochromatic eyes were even more crystalline and beautiful than the distant blue sky.

It wasn’t until another distant cicada call rang out that Yu Bai snapped back to reality. He finally gathered his wandering thoughts and shifted his gaze away, a bit embarrassed.

“I guess I really don’t like Go much. I don’t have any talent for it either. And it’s harder to learn than I thought, so I keep spacing out… Sorry.”

He picked up on Xie Wufang’s earlier conclusion first, honestly admitting his fault.

Xie Wufang listened quietly and asked, “Then why did you say you wanted to learn before?”

“And you were in such a hurry to come to the chess room today.”

…Because humans were a species that often died on the hill of pride, suffered for it, and made trouble for themselves!

Yu Bai punched himself mentally and gave the most sincere answer he could muster—one that wouldn’t make humans sound quite so foolish.

“Because watching you play looked so impressive. I got really focused on it, so I thought I wanted to learn Go.”

Why had he been so focused?

…

Well, scientific reasons.

No need to mention the hand fetish!

Fortunately, after hearing this, Xie Wufang didn’t press further on the why.

The Go board was no longer in his line of sight. Instead, he returned to that question once more.

“You don’t like Go,” he said. “So what would make you happy?”

Yu Bai answered reflexively, “Actually, I’m happy right now… Really.”

Because he no longer had to pretend he wanted to learn Go. The relief washed over him like a weight lifted.

Also because he had suddenly realized someone cared this much about him.

…Oh, not a someone.

“Lots of things can make me happy.”

To add weight to his answer, Yu Bai tried giving examples. “Like hearing a dog has a weird name, or noticing the weather’s especially nice today.”

“Or knowing those three were hiding outside eavesdropping on the lesson and finding it funny—that makes me happy too.”

But as he said this, while gazing at the man quietly listening across from him, a strange feeling gradually welled up.

These didn’t seem to be the answers Xie Wufang wanted.

Those gray-blue eyes were exceptionally still, a silent anticipation spreading within them.

Only then did it belatedly dawn on Yu Bai.

Why was he learning Go in this refined chess room right now?

Why had he and Zhang Yunjiang—who were supposed to part ways after a lively dinner—ended up spending an adventure-like night in this quaint, serene courtyard mansion?

Because Xie Wufang had suddenly brought up playing Go.

At the time, Yu Bai had thought it a lucky coincidence, glad it gave Yuan Yuxing a legitimate excuse to linger longer with his old friend.

And last night in the suite, Xie Wufang had asked why he was sad today.

The scattered pieces suddenly connected into a line.

So… Xie Wufang had noticed Yu Bai’s low mood as he prepared to bid farewell to the old man. Remembering Yu Bai’s earlier claim of wanting to learn Go desperately, had he brought it up at dinner to cheer him up?

It was something Xie Wufang had done to make Yu Bai happy.

Not the weird dog name, or Earth’s fine weather, or the humans sneaking listens outside… things that seemed unrelated to Xie Wufang on the surface.

But in truth, all these happy moments had come to Yu Bai precisely because of Xie Wufang.

Without this non-human living next door, Yu Bai would still be leading his dull, ordinary days. He wouldn’t have met a corgi named Zhang Wei, wouldn’t have tried learning tricky Go, and wouldn’t be seeing this beautiful weather right now.

That sudden time loop, the precious gift named eternity, and the Doom Orb’s reckless plunge into alternate timespace afterward—they had brought far more than trouble and pain.

They had delivered vibrant, brilliant feelings too splendid for words.

This serendipitous meeting and time together already made him so happy.

Xie Wufang didn’t need to do anything else for him.

With that realization hitting him, Yu Bai was about to share his feelings when Xie Wufang’s voice came first.

“You want to leave this timespace and return to the real world, don’t you?”

Lost in thought, Yu Bai had gone silent for too long. The man staring steadily at him spoke up ahead of him.

At his words, Yu Bai paused blankly for a moment.

In truth, less than twenty-four hours had passed since their group got pulled into this timespace.

But so much had happened in between that he barely had time to sort through his initial concern upon crossing: how to leave this timespace.

Yu Bai had even actively avoided thinking about it.

Perhaps because, in this timespace, the little girl who had escaped abuse now smiled with innocent joy; the old man who had passed away could chat with them about lunch dishes; and the grieving living could weep freely in a child’s body.

…And Yan Jing, free from work or deadlines, could wander with him like in their sweltering student summers of old—tossing aside unwanted assignments, roaming carefree and happy through days that should have been idle.

Did he want to leave this timespace and return to the real world?

“Yes,” Yu Bai answered softly. “I have to go back.”

If only one of these timespaces could exist.

But that was an obvious if.

When the Doom Orb inexplicably turned Yuan Yuxing into a kid, Yu Bai had asked Xie Wufang what other accidents this small ball might cause—like if the timespace inside leaked out, would it create paradoxes or blow up Earth?

Xie Wufang’s answer was possible.

If only one spacetime could exist, Yu Bai would choose that reality with the Golden Elevator over this current one, which might be even better.

Of course, that presupposed he could find a way to leave.

Hearing his extremely soft voice, Xie Wufang fell silent for a moment before asking, “Why?”

“In this spacetime, you have more moments of happiness.”

…Why was he still hung up on the question of happiness?

Yu Bai couldn’t help but laugh, a flicker of amusement dancing in his pale eyes.

“That’s true for me, but it might not be for others.”

The real world and this spacetime had diverged from the moment he finished telling the Water Pipe Little Stars Story in the counseling room.

It was like parallel spacetimes branching off from a single choice.

Originally, the differences between them weren’t great. The life paths of most ordinary people remained unaffected by Yu Bai, and even where there was influence, it was confined to Skystar City.

But the moment he had dragged Xie Wufang out of the police station, it had triggered a global celestial anomaly in the skies.

Even if the real world had seen the same anomaly later on, the timing differed. Yu Bai wasn’t sure how many people’s life trajectories that might alter.

What if someone in the real world who had safely passed yesterday afternoon met with some accident in this spacetime because of the sudden anomaly?

A butterfly gently flapping its wings could stir up a hurricane a thousand miles away.

Whether that hurricane struck nine days ago or nine days from now, it would still affect countless fates.

Humanity had always lived in such an interconnected chain, where everything influenced everything else.

Yu Bai didn’t want to indulge his own selfish desires at the cost of actively altering the original destinies of countless strangers.

“Besides,” he continued, “once we’re back in the real world, I’ll have plenty of happy moments too.”

But Xie Wufang asked, “Others?”

“Yes, everyone else on Earth.” Yu Bai explained, “I don’t want to rashly change their lives.”

He saw that indifferent blankness in those gray-blue eyes, as if they couldn’t comprehend.

A god who had come alone to the mortal world simply didn’t care about those insignificant humans.

Yu Bai had gradually come to realize this since yesterday.

He chose to respect it, with no intention of forcing Xie Wufang to accept ideas that might be uniquely human.

Yu Bai thought for a moment and added, “Of course, this is all just my speculation. We still don’t know how to get back right now.”

He had asked the other man right after arriving if they could return to the real world.

Xie Wufang had said no, because of side effects.

Thinking of that, Yu Bai felt a bit troubled. “If this spacetime keeps developing, won’t it have side effects too?”

“It’s still the past right now, but once time flows to the point when we entered… that would mean two futures existing simultaneously. Wouldn’t that be a paradox? The Earth wouldn’t descend into total chaos and explode, would it?”

He muttered to himself, and the god beside him—who knew far more about time and space—responded accordingly.

“It won’t explode.”

Yu Bai breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good.”

“It will cease to exist.”

So it would just cease to exist.

…Wait!

Cease to what?!?

Hearing this for the first time, Yu Bai’s eyes widened in shock as he blurted out, “What’s the difference between that and the Earth exploding?!”

Unlike his horror, Xie Wufang remained utterly calm, even explaining the distinction to him earnestly.

“It won’t have much impact on the surroundings. This planet will simply be gone.”

…

It took Yu Bai a full minute to process those perfectly straightforward words, and then he sucked in a sharp breath.

Don’t explain such a terrifying side effect in such a calm tone!

Why hadn’t he mentioned something this huge earlier?!!

If he’d said so sooner, he could have—

…Well, it wouldn’t have made much difference anyway.

It had only been a day.

There were still eight days left.

A sense of crisis suddenly gripped Yu Bai. He resolved to ask about Zhang Yunjiang’s dying wish again as soon as possible, to explore every way to end and escape this spacetime.

Assuming there really was a solution.

At the same time, a spark of curiosity struck him. When he’d previously asked Xie Wufang if they could return to the real world, the other man had given a curt mention of side effects. Compared to the Earth’s annihilation, which was worse?

…It might well be him fighting the Doom Orb fairy, ending with the Earth exploding anyway.

They were about even, then.

So Yu Bai didn’t ask. Instead, he comforted himself. “There’s still plenty of time. We’ll find a way.”

Things had come to this. Better to stay optimistic.

Optimism was one of humanity’s most precious qualities.

Especially in the face of a potential apocalypse.

Lost in his jumbled thoughts, every shift in his expression reflected in those gray-blue lake-like eyes.

Xie Wufang suddenly asked, “Is this planet that important to you?”

Huh?

Yu Bai blinked, then couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Of course.”

Where else could he live if the Earth was gone?

That would be as good as him being gone too.

No normal human would even ask such a question!

As expected of a god so detached from the mortal world.

In that moment, Yu Bai felt the vast distance between himself and Xie Wufang with exceptional clarity.

Like a grand lake and a fleeting mayfly.

Yu Bai was sighing inwardly when he heard the detached god pose another pure, earnest question.

“But it hasn’t treated you well.”

Yu Bai froze for a second. “Who?”

“This planet,” Xie Wufang said. “…And everything here.”

The sincerity in the question before him carried a chill not aimed at him personally. It made Yu Bai suddenly recall their conversation last night, when he’d opened up for almost the first time about those long-buried memories.

He had said he was lucky, that he’d met many kind people.

But the listener seemed more focused on the hardships glossed over in his light tone: the parents he’d lost one after another, the peers who felt so distant…

This world truly hadn’t been kind to him.

So on the day the god first met him, that insignificant human had been alone in the kitchen, making a phone call with the noisy range hood drowning out the loneliness threatening to spill from his body.

Why care about a world that had been unkind?

It was another question only Xie Wufang would ask.

And likewise, only Yu Bai would answer it this way.

“Because everyone has a love-hate relationship with the world. Some love it a bit more, some hate it a bit more.”

As he spoke, he added an explanation he felt was apt. “Love is like seeing a puppy’s butt wagging in the sunlight. Hate is like trying so hard to learn Go but not understanding a thing.”

He wasn’t sure if Xie Wufang could grasp those complex emotions, but then he heard the question: “And you?”

Yu Bai thought it over and answered honestly. “In the past, the hate outweighed the love by a lot. Now, I’m not sure. Probably not as much.”

“But no matter what, it’s important to me. I still want to keep living here.”

“So I don’t want it to explode, and I don’t want it to vanish.”

As he spoke, he smiled. The corners of his eyes curved prettily behind his glasses, starlight spilling from his gaze.

Because it was precisely in this imperfect world that he’d encountered a god who was so innocently frank.

It was the grandest and most surprising adventure.

He had lost many things that should have been his by right, but along the way afterward, he’d received gifts beyond imagination.

Gifts that made him very happy.

In the face of that lighthearted tone and radiant gaze so close at hand, Xie Wufang at last had his answer. He nodded slightly.

The blue-eyed god quietly lowered his gaze, as if reaching a decision. The chill and indifference faded from his eyes.

In their place rose a ripple that bordered on gentleness.

“Don’t worry,” he promised softly. “You’ll return to that world.”