The biting cold of winter descended without warning, turning the once serene courtyard into a frenzy of activity. People in their summer clothes hurried along in a panic, instinctively ducking into the nearest indoor space to rummage through storage for winter garments or anything that could provide temporary warmth against the chill.
Amid the chaos, one figure actually bolted out from the relatively warmer restaurant, darting abruptly across the courtyard toward an unknown destination.
Yan Jing watched that mop of wind-tossed brown hair recede into the distance. His attempts to call out and stop him went unanswered, leaving him momentarily stunned. Then, gritting his teeth, he ignored the heater that had just kicked on beside him and strode after the fleeing figure.
The moment he stepped out of the restaurant, the cold hit him like a slap, making him shiver violently. He hunched his shoulders and hugged his arms to his chest as he chased onward, trembling all the way.
This was way too damn cold!
Where the hell was Little Bai going?!
Yan Jing was completely baffled, though he had to admit that running at least warmed his body a little.
The temperature, which had plummeted straight down from over thirty degrees Celsius, seemed to be stabilizing now. It wasn’t dropping to the point where it could freeze a person solid on the spot.
Yan Jing figured the outdoor temperature was probably below zero at this point. In thick clothing, it would have felt like perfectly normal winter weather.
…But this was supposed to be summer!
Everyone was dressed in short sleeves!
And for the temperature to crash by thirty or forty degrees all at once—nobody’s body could adapt to that.
The frigid air swirled around them. Yan Jing trailed behind the familiar silhouette ahead, a mix of confusion and worry gnawing at him.
He worked out year-round and had better stamina than most, yet even he was struggling with the cold. Little Bai, dressed just as lightly, had to be freezing.
Why had he suddenly run out of the restaurant, which was on the verge of getting cozy and warm?
If not for his concern for Little Bai, Yan Jing never would have followed.
Such thoughts raced through his mind as he finally saw Yu Bai stop in front of a certain room.
The person who had been hurrying along in such panic came to an inexplicable halt, as if steeling himself.
Only then did he push open the door and step quickly inside.
Seeing this, Yan Jing breathed a sigh of relief and hurried to catch up.
At least they could get inside and escape the icy air.
It wasn’t until he followed Yu Bai into the room—taking in the familiar large-screen TV and gaming console—that Yan Jing belatedly realized where they were.
This was the suite where, just before heading to the restaurant together, they had searched high and low for the supposedly sleeping Xie Wufang.
Was Little Bai planning to hole up in bed for warmth?
So why was he now standing frozen in front of Brother Xie’s bedroom door…?
And why was it so warm in here?
Yan Jing, who had trailed Yu Bai inside, was full of bewilderment as he adjusted to the sudden shift from freezing cold to toasty warmth. He instinctively opened his mouth to ask, but then he caught sight of the figure ahead and inexplicably held his tongue.
Yan Jing noticed the fingers hanging at Yu Bai’s side twitch slightly, as if numb from the cold. With sluggish movements, he raised a hand, removed the glasses he always wore, and seemed to rub at his eyes—or perhaps press against those unreadable eyes.
His other hand dropped back down, the black frames dangling precariously from pale fingertips, on the verge of falling. The sight carried an oddly forlorn air.
Dazed by it all, Yan Jing didn’t dare speak. He even lightened his breathing.
Only when Yu Bai vaguely sensed the movement behind him and glanced back over his shoulder did things shift.
Yan Jing had braced himself, expecting to be startled by Yu Bai now freed from his glasses’ seal. He was even ready to step back.
But the young man before him—with his pale hair and eyes, exquisite brows and features—wore no expression. That peculiar, contradictory aura lingered, but without the usual oppressive weight.
His eyes were faintly reddened, standing out starkly against his paper-white skin, revealing a rare vulnerability.
For a moment, Yan Jing was at a loss. The words slipped out unbidden: “Little Bai, you…”
Were those tears? Or just from the cold air?
He didn’t get to finish the question. Yu Bai, who had been briefly startled upon seeing him, immediately pressed a finger to his lips, signaling silence.
Yan Jing obediently shut his mouth and looked on curiously.
As Yu Bai turned, Yan Jing caught sight of the scene inside the room: that large bed, no longer empty.
…Huh?
How had the once-missing Brother Xie ended up back in the bedroom!
A minute later, in the adjacent bedroom, Yu Bai carefully closed the door behind them. Yan Jing let out a hushed exclamation: “He really was just back here sleeping!”
He had assumed it was an excuse and felt a bit guilty for doubting him.
But Yu Bai murmured softly, “…If it were just sleeping, that would be fine.”
Yan Jing was totally out of the loop. He pondered for a moment but still didn’t get it. “What do you mean?”
His question was casual, but it prompted a stretch of silence from Yu Bai before he replied with something seemingly unrelated: “Why do people sleep?”
“Huh?” Yan Jing answered on reflex. “Because we’re tired, right? Or sleepy. You have to rest when you’re worn out, or you can’t keep going!”
“So humans need sleep. It’s a basic instinct—no one has to learn it… and no one can learn it if they don’t have it.”
Yu Bai murmured, “Someone who isn’t hungry can still force down food, but what about someone who never feels sleepy at all? How do they fall asleep?”
Listening to the increasingly subdued tone, Yan Jing’s not-so-sharp mind finally caught up, albeit slowly.
He couldn’t help glancing toward the wall. On the other side lay Xie Wufang, seemingly lost in deep slumber.
“You’re talking about Brother Xie?”
Yan Jing slapped his forehead in sudden realization. “Right! How did I not think of that earlier? He’s so powerful—he probably doesn’t get tired or sleepy like us humans. But if he doesn’t feel the need for sleep, how does he even do it?”
That enigmatic Non-Human might not need sleep at all.
So what was happening now…?
As Yan Jing marveled, Yu Bai softly affirmed, “I didn’t think of it either.”
After all, he was just an ordinary person, accustomed to viewing the world through a human lens.
So when Xie Wufang had said he might need to sleep, Yu Bai hadn’t found anything off about it. He’d even foolishly wondered if the Non-Human wanted to experience the sensation of sleep.
Humans had limited energy and stamina, requiring regular rest to sustain life—otherwise, collapse and death awaited.
But why would an apparently omnipotent, godlike being close his eyes in slumber?
Yan Jing eyed Yu Bai’s downcast expression, then recalled the freak cold snap outside. Realization dawned. “So the sudden chill—is it connected to Brother Xie?!”
Ever since the temperature plunged, he’d been shivering nonstop. He’d chalked it up to the cold alone, but now…
Along with the bone-deep chill had come an indescribable sense of dread.
Perhaps it was an innate human reverence for nature’s whims, or panic over apocalyptic what-ifs. Or maybe fear of some unspeakable horror.
…It felt a lot like the unease he’d sensed over the past couple of days around Little Bai, his Non-Human neighbor.
But worse.
“I don’t know,” Yu Bai said. “But I suspect it is.”
Only Xie Wufang knew the truth.
And just now, gazing at the man sleeping on his side in bed, Yu Bai hadn’t dared approach—or wake him.
An inexplicable fear coiled in his chest.
He wasn’t sure what state Xie Wufang was in now. He had no idea what the other man had done between leaving the Chess Room and appearing in the bedroom.
The one thing he was certain of was that Xie Wufang was truly “asleep.”
The man who had once keenly noticed Yu Bai spying and trailing him—who had even left a note on the watermelon gift asking if they could greet each other next time—showed no reaction now to Yu Bai standing right at his bedroom door.
His thick black hair lay quietly disheveled across the snow-white pillow.
Frowning tightly from just beyond the wall, Yu Bai racked his brain, replaying every detail before the temperature drop for any clues.
Suddenly, something clicked. He turned to Yan Jing. “Right before the temperature fell—when it was still normal—I felt this inexplicable daze for a moment… You happened to mention lunch, so I thought it was low blood sugar or dizziness from skipping the meal. I didn’t pay it any mind then.”
Yan Jing’s eyes widened. “Me too! I got dizzy right around then. I figured it was from thinking too hard!”
They exchanged a glance, instantly recognizing it was no coincidence.
Yan Jing asked, “Did we both zone out at the exact same time? Think anyone else did?”
“Possibly. We can check with others later.”
Yu Bai delved deeper into his memories and recalled more. “I’ve had a similar dizzy spell before—exactly like that. It was the day before yesterday.”
“The day before yesterday? The day I went with you to the Funeral Parlor to burn the Doom Orb?” Yan Jing recalled along with him. “We were together the whole time that day. I don’t think I felt anything like that.”
“Because back then, you were like a lifelike wax statue,” Yu Bai said. “The time of the entire world had been paused. All humans were frozen in place, devoid of awareness—except for me.”
In that moment, the world had been as still as an oil painting, with only him and the god remaining truly alive.
“At the time, I didn’t pay much attention to that dazed feeling. I thought it was just an illusion. I was too focused on urging Little Xie to get time flowing again. But after time resumed, that’s when I noticed Uncle Yuan had turned into a kid.”
Yu Bai’s tangled thoughts gradually cleared. In a calm tone, he pieced together the details he hadn’t dwelled on before.
“When I saw it, my first thought was that Little Xie had done it. But he said it wasn’t him, and he didn’t seem surprised at all—like he’d noticed the strange event even before I did.”
Yan Jing quickly chimed in. “It was the Doom Orb that did it!”
“Right, he said it was the Doom Orb too,” Yu Bai summarized. “So when the Doom Orb uses its power to alter reality like that, we humans sense it—like a sudden wave of dizziness.”
Yan Jing gradually pieced together Yu Bai’s hypothesis. He whipped his head around to glance at the sky outside the window. “That moment of daze we both felt earlier—was it because some supernatural event happened again? Was it the Doom Orb?”
Yu Bai shook his head. “It should have been Little Xie.”
That Small Ball, which had shifted from grayish-white to deep blue, was the gift Xie Wufang had given him. It contained countless timelines, fixed into eternity by divine power—and in doing so, it had given rise to many unforeseen anomalies that even a god couldn’t predict.
Since their powers shared the same origin, it wasn’t surprising that altering reality would produce the same disorienting sensation in humans.
Yan Jing couldn’t help clicking his tongue in amazement, his expression puzzled. “So what exactly did Brother Xie do? Turn summer into winter?”
At that question, however, Yu Bai fell silent. Only after a moment did he answer in a quiet voice.
“He… was helping me return to the real world.”
As he spoke, Yu Bai lifted his gaze to the faintly grayish blue sky outside. His tone was dim and uneasy.
“I don’t know exactly how he did it, but this weather is probably a side effect. It wasn’t intentional.”
The god, whose skin was ice-cold to the human touch, had been momentarily distracted by the warmth of those fingertips. In that instant, he forgot to rein in his power, turning the sky across the entire world into a vast, gray-blue lake.
He was so different from warm, fragile humans.
Yu Bai had always wondered just how much of his true self the other had deliberately suppressed while living among mortals.
Where had he lived before? What kind of world and environment was normal for him?
Was Xie Wufang’s skin so cold because he didn’t know how to mimic human body temperature?
Or was he simply unable to do so?
Perhaps this was already the result of deliberate effort on his part.
That frigid chill was consciously confined within a shell that seemed no different from a human’s. Only in moments of intimate contact could the abnormality be felt.
So, under what circumstances would that icy winter break free without restraint, surging forth on instinct to ravage everything—even blanketing an entire planet?
…When he was “asleep.”
When he had warned of side effects but still silently granted his wish.
Yu Bai’s voice was barely audible. Yan Jing, sitting beside him, hadn’t fully grasped it yet. He couldn’t help asking, “The weather is a side effect? A side effect of what?”
Lost in his complex thoughts, the other man didn’t reply. He simply tilted his head back slightly, staring blankly at the gray-blue sky beyond the window.
Sunlight without warmth filtered through the gauzy curtains and glass, falling softly on his cheek and illuminating his pale skin until it was nearly translucent.
Seeing this, Yan Jing no longer asked about the weather.
He hesitated for a moment before posing the question that had been on his mind since stepping into the room and seeing Yu Bai.
“Little Bai, have you been crying?”
At that tentative voice, the man who had been lost in a daze abruptly turned his face away. Strands of light brown hair brushed past his still-reddened eye corner.
Evidently feeling that wasn’t enough to hide it, he drew up his legs and hugged his knees.
“I haven’t been crying,” came the muffled voice from where his head was buried against his knees. “…It’s just too cold outside.”
