Chapter 63: Anomalous Time 29 Part 2

With that thought, Yu Bai hesitated before asking, “Is this still that extra timespace that emerged from my choice?”

Aside from that fleeting moment of disorientation earlier—while Xie Wufang slept—Yu Bai had detected no unusual changes in the world around him. He remained in Uncle Zhang’s beautiful courtyard, with no sudden shift back to the Golden Elevator or his own home.

It did not feel like a direct return to reality, nor like the worlds had merged in some fashion.

He still sensed he was in that same timespace. Beyond the abrupt arrival of winter, nothing else had altered.

“Yes, it’s still that timespace.”

Xie Wufang’s reply confirmed Yu Bai’s suspicions.

At the same time, this pointed question prompted a brief silence from him before he countered, “Have you figured out what I did?”

“Yeah, I’m not an idiot.” Yu Bai suddenly laughed and turned the question back on him. “Why didn’t you tell me first? It’s such a massive change—even if you said nothing, I’d have noticed eventually.”

Even without the afternoon nap, had he inexplicably returned to the real world, he would have suspected Xie Wufang’s handiwork.

He was the only entity near Yu Bai capable of such a feat.

Yet Xie Wufang, standing with him in the kitchen, insisted, “You wouldn’t have noticed.”

Yu Bai blinked in surprise. “What?”

The god, enveloped in the sweet aroma of osmanthus sugar lotus root, fell briefly silent before finally explaining the deed he had quietly accomplished.

“When time flows normally to the moment we were drawn in, we’ll return to the real world.”

He furrowed his brow, searching for a human-friendly analogy.

“Like waking from a dream, right back where you fell asleep.”

Yu Bai stared blankly for a long moment before the meaning sank in.

They had been pulled from the Golden Elevator into another timespace—from that morning to an afternoon nine days earlier.

Thus, as long as this timespace advanced normally, upon reaching 07:05:13 nine days hence and ticking forward one more second, they would snap back into that Golden Elevator, continuing to watch the morning news on the display screen.

As though everything in between had never truly occurred, merely a dream pilfered in a blink—nine beautiful days stolen away.

The superfluous timespace, one that should not exist, had seamlessly aligned with the authentic real world.

In such a return, Yu Bai truly might never have realized Xie Wufang’s role.

It would have seemed unexpected yet logical, as if fated—even making him suspect the Doom Orb had orchestrated it all along.

Yu Bai fell silent in stunned realization. A moment later, something occurred to him, and he asked the man who had just finished speaking, “Did you handle more than just this one timespace?”

The Doom Orb housed hundreds of looping timespaces, far beyond the single one where he had played chess with Xie Wufang in the park.

Xie Wufang had admitted he could not tamper with those still being processed by the Doom Orb, nor foresee future mishaps.

Yet he could render the real world The Unique.

“If something like this happens again—if I get pulled into another timespace—can I just wait for the timelines to realign and return to reality?”

Yu Bai keenly pierced the veil of unspoken truths.

The god, constitutionally incapable of deceit, replied softly, “…Yes. That world is very safe.”

The real world was secure. They, too—even after being flung into alternate timespaces by the Blue Orb—would remain safe.

No matter which timespace an accident thrust them into, there would be no cause for fear or dread. Nothing could destabilize that singular reality.

No explosions. No annihilation. Just serene eternity.

Yu Bai could scarcely fathom the sheer mental exertion required.

No wonder it had afflicted even an omnipotent god with the need for deep slumber and outbursts of uncontrolled power.

As this dawned on him, plunging him into profound understanding, Xie Wufang—watching his expression closely—seemed to sense his thoughts and offered a preemptive clarification. “I didn’t peek into what happened in those timespaces. They’re still unobservable, so there’s no need to worry.”

The abrupt reassurance jolted Yu Bai from his daze. He quickly averted his gaze.

“…” Staring at the porcelain plate on the table before him, Yu Bai jabbed at a slice of lotus root with his chopsticks and muttered awkwardly, “I wasn’t thinking about that.”

He had cared before, of course.

He had even stashed the small ball in the sofa right in front of Xie Wufang—like a thief protesting too much—terrified the god might glimpse the memories within.

But in that instant, it truly hadn’t crossed his mind. A vague sadness had simply clouded his features.

Xie Wufang pondered this before asking, “Then, once we can observe them later… may I look?”

His tone was guileless, but the chopstick tip beside Yu Bai suddenly stabbed through the lotus root to clink dully against the plate.

The one feigning nonchalance whipped around with a glare and blurted, “Absolutely not!!”

“…” Perplexed by the human’s mercurial moods, the god hesitated before yielding. “All right.”

Yu Bai exhaled silently in relief. He plucked up the mangled slice of lotus root, popped it into his mouth, and circled back to his unanswered question.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Surely not out of fear he’d object?

With their vast power imbalance, his refusal would have meant nothing.

Besides, Yu Bai didn’t peg Xie Wufang as someone who fretted over such things.

He was always straightforward and candid.

In the next breath, Xie Wufang’s response caught him off guard once more.

“Because you seemed so happy while puzzling out solutions.” His voice was even, utterly honest. “I didn’t want you to realize you no longer needed to devise ways to escape this timespace.”

The words hung flatly in the air, and Yu Bai’s mind drifted back to that afternoon in the Chess Room—the go board scattered with black and white stones between them.

The ordinary human had racked his brain for world-saving strategies, chattering on with a faint smile tugging at his lips, his eyes alight with fervor.

The man across from him had simply watched in silence, holding back whatever he had meant to say.

“Sorry,” the one beside him now ventured uncertainly. “Does this upset you?”

His earnest apology only deepened Yu Bai’s melancholy.

Human happiness was such a fleeting, insignificant thing.

Too trivial to feature in grand dreams of life, loved ones’ hopes, or societal blueprints—barely worth a mention.

Yet from this god, so scantily versed in humanity, it commanded such profound consideration.

“No, I’m thrilled. And no more apologies.”

Yu Bai ducked his head, blinked hard, and prodded at the remaining lotus root once more. His words tumbled out haltingly. “It’s delicious, isn’t it? Sweet treats make anyone happy… Even if we don’t need escape plans anymore, human life is full of troubles to tackle. I’ll always have plenty to keep me busy, so don’t worry on that score.”

As if in echo of his reassurance, a peculiar commotion erupted amid the kitchen’s lively bustle.

Boisterous footsteps pounded first, trailed by the chefs’ exasperated pleas. “Whoa there, little ancestor—stay out! It’s all sizzling oil pans; you’ll get burned!”

One figure was intercepted even as another diminutive one was hustled behind the chefs for protection.

The chef who had sliced lotus root for Yu Bai earlier chimed in. “Quit picking on the little girl. She’s a guest your grandpa invited!”

A childish boy’s voice piped up indignantly at once. “What guest? I’m not bullying her!”

“Enough, A Zhe. The kitchen’s no place for roughhousing—too dangerous.”

Shadows shifted in the direction of the voices, obscured by cabinets. Yu Bai couldn’t make out the details, only catching what sounded like a calm, elegant female voice gently leading the little boy away.

The people in the kitchen breathed a collective sigh of relief upon seeing this and returned to their stations to resume their work. The chef who had been slicing the lotus root led a familiar figure back inside, comforting her gently. “I’m really sorry about that. Why don’t you stay here for a little while? Are you hurt anywhere?”

The kitchen staff had already come to recognize this little girl, who had sneaked in twice before to peek at the dishes.

But at this moment, the joyful, curious smile was gone from her childish face. Her two braids, draped over her shoulders, were a tangled mess. Clutching the one near her scalp with a frightened expression, she shook her head ever so slightly.

When Yu Bai spotted her, surprise lit up his face. “…He Xi?!”

The little girl immediately turned toward the sound of his voice. The moment she caught sight of these two big brothers she trusted so deeply, her eyes instantly reddened.

“Don’t cry,” Yu Bai said at once, rising to his feet and approaching her. He tried to comfort her, though somewhat at a loss. “What happened? Did someone bully you?”

Tears of grievance welled up in the little girl’s eyes, on the verge of spilling over. Yu Bai quickly scanned their surroundings, looking for some tissues.

A flicker of movement in his peripheral vision made him suddenly remember something, and he halted in his tracks.

Xie Wufang was terrifying in his current sickly state. He might well harbor some inexplicable, uncontrollable hostility toward every human except Yu Bai.

Yu Bai didn’t even hope for any help from him—he only prayed that Xie Wufang wouldn’t frighten the already scared little girl any further.

That aura of oppressive terror was enough to overwhelm even ordinary adults, let alone a child.

With some trepidation, he glanced back at the man still seated at the table.

After Yu Bai called out He Xi’s name and headed straight toward her without a moment’s hesitation, that chilling low pressure had indeed begun to spread once more.

Yet Xie Wufang didn’t follow. He even actively withdrew the gaze he had initially cast their way.

So the little girl, standing a short distance away, remained completely unaware.

Under Yu Bai’s astonished gaze, the black-haired, blue-eyed man lowered his eyes to the tabletop, presenting only an inscrutable side profile to the others.

But the movement of his hand was visible.

Just as Yu Bai had been doing unconsciously moments before.

The light illuminated that fair, slender hand, elegantly curved around the chopsticks, its knuckles sharply defined.

The tips of the chopsticks extended downward, gently prodding the soft, glutinous sugar lotus root in the pristine white porcelain dish.