Scene 1: Morning Light at the Tunnel Entrance · A True Heartbeat
The morning mist hadn’t yet dissipated, and dewdrops clung to the weeds of the abandoned industrial area.
Jiang Mian stood by the old, discarded fire hydrant, staring at the silver ring on her little finger. The surface was smooth as glass, and the tiny inscription on the inside gleamed in the soft morning light:
“Observation complete. Life begins.”
She twisted the ring on her finger. The metal scraped lightly against her knuckle with a faint “click.” Too real—its texture, temperature, and weight were all palpably authentic. Just like the person standing in front of her at that very moment.
Pei Yuyan leaned against the rusted hydrant, the gauze on his left shoulder stained dark red, his complexion pale as paper, yet his eyes shone like a sky washed clean by a torrential rain. He wore the same deep gray loungewear, smeared with dust and dried blood, hair disheveled, the corners of his mouth still marked with crusted blood—but he was smiling at her.
A real, bleeding, hurting, mortal human was smiling at her.
“Gift,” he repeated, his voice raspy as if sandpaper had scraped against rusted iron. “To celebrate… officially becoming a resident of this world.”
Tears rolled down Jiang Mian’s cheeks without warning.
She rushed forward, throwing herself into his arms—too quickly, and she collided with his injured shoulder. Pei Yuyan grunted softly, his body swaying slightly, but his right arm wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her firmly against his chest.
“Sorry… does it hurt?” Jiang Mian panicked, trying to pull back.
“Don’t move.” His chin rested on the top of her head, his voice vibrating through his chest. “Let me hold you for a moment. Just a moment.”
Jiang Mian froze.
She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of blood, dust, and a sharp, cold trace of something else. His heartbeat pulsed through the thin fabric—steady, strong, real. Not the illusory fluctuation of a light-point figure in a consciousness space, but the heavy, rhythmic thump of a living, breathing body pumping blood.
One… two… three beats.
Each one seemed to say: I’m still alive. I’m really here.
“I thought you…” Jiang Mian’s voice trembled against his collar, unsteady. “When the countdown reached zero, I thought…”
“I know.” Pei Yuyan patted her back gently, awkwardly—he clearly wasn’t used to “comforting,” but every motion was careful and deliberate. “I thought the same. But Rong Xubai said that was just the final stress test.”
He paused:
“He said that if at the moment the countdown hits zero, we still choose each other instead of escaping separately, the test is passed.”
Jiang Mian lifted her tear-blurred face. “So… it was all an act? Your injuries, your weakness, those… moments of transparency…”
“The injuries are real,” Pei Yuyan said, lowering his head to look at her. His deep gray eyes glimmered with warmth. “The blood loss is real, the pain is real. Just not life-threatening. As for the transparency…”
He raised his right hand, palm up.
A faint golden light appeared, spinning like fireflies on a summer night. Slowly, the light dissipated, leaving only an almost invisible golden trace in his palm.
“This is the real state,” he said. “The dimensional descent is complete. I’m now a genuine ordinary human. Vulnerable, sick, aging, mortal—just like that.”
Jiang Mian stared at the trace in his palm for a long while, then laughed.
She laughed and then cried, big tears spilling down onto his palm—warm, heavy, real.
“You’re insane,” she choked out. “For someone like me…”
“You’re not ‘someone like that.’” Pei Yuyan interrupted, using his thumb to wipe her tears. “You are Jiang Mian. The Jiang Mian who solves problems with logic under the spotlight, the Jiang Mian who calmly exposes lies before the Guanyin statue, the Jiang Mian who fights to protect a stranger in a bank, the Jiang Mian who kissed a fading observer in the tunnel.”
He cupped her face, making her look into his eyes:
“You are the Jiang Mian worthy of giving up eternity to love.”
At that moment, the morning sun broke through the clouds.
Golden rays pierced the mist, bathing them both. They gilded Pei Yuyan’s pale face in warmth and scattered delicate sparks of light across Jiang Mian’s tear-stained lashes. In the distance, the faint hum of morning traffic pulsed like the awakening heartbeat of the city.
And they stood in the overgrown ruins like two trees that had just weathered a storm, their roots intertwined tightly.
[System notification softly sounded in the back of consciousness]
[Achievement unlocked: Dimensional Love · Final Verification]
[Rating: SSS (Observer voluntarily descended dimension, case #001)]
[Point Reward: +50,000]
[Current Points: 263,800]
[Special Permission Unlocked: Can redeem ‘Eternal Pocket Watch’ (freeze time for three minutes per use, once per day)]
[Golden comments scroll slowly, carrying an almost sacred silence]
[User “I Want Milk Tea Today”]: “You are worthy of giving up eternity for love, Jiang Mian… I’m gone, I’m really gone…”
[User “Night Owl Champion”]: “A three-hundred-year god… turned into a mortal just like that…”
[User “Clear Skies”]: “But look at Pei Yuyan’s eyes—they’re so happy.”
[User “Get Lost, Scumbag”]: “This is true love. Not rescue, not pity. ‘You are worth it.’”
Jiang Mian closed the comment feed.
Now, all she needed was to look at the person in front of her. The one who gave up eternity for her, choosing to age and die alongside her.
“Let’s go home,” she whispered.
“Home?” Pei Yuyan blinked.
Jiang Mian pointed to the abandoned factory behind him. “Wasn’t your ‘anchor point’ in this world over there?”
Pei Yuyan smiled. “That ‘home’ is probably full of police and reporters now. Rong Xubai arranged a new place for us.”
He pulled a key from his pocket and placed it in her palm.
An ordinary brass key, the teeth clearly cut, with a small label: Yunqi Garden, Building 7, Apartment 302.
“Fu Chenyu arranged it,” Pei Yuyan said. “He said… consider it a wedding gift.”
Jiang Mian’s face immediately flushed. “What wedding…”
“His exact words,” Pei Yuyan said with deeper mirth in his eyes. “‘Since that lunatic gave up being a god for you, at least you deserve a proper place to live.’”
Jiang Mian clutched the key, the edges pressing into her palm, a sharp and clear reminder.
Good.
Pain—so good.
Alive—so good.
Scene 2: New Residence · First Human Dawn
Yunqi Garden was an old-style community, its red-brick walls covered with creeping ivy. Elderly residents practiced morning exercises in the courtyard, and the radio played faint, sing-song opera.
Apartment 302 on Building 7 was on the top floor, complete with a small loft. Fu Chenyu had clearly prepared everything meticulously—furnished but not extravagant, cream-colored sofa, natural wood dining table, and even a few potted plants on the balcony, their leaves still beaded with morning dew.
Jiang Mian pushed open the door, and the morning sunlight poured in from the east-facing window, spreading a warm golden glow across the floor.
“Not bad,” Pei Yuyan said, following behind her, surveying the room. “Better than I imagined—”
He didn’t finish. His body swayed slightly.
Jiang Mian quickly steadied him. “Your wound needs immediate attention. Where’s the first-aid kit?”
“Should be in the bedroom,” Pei Yuyan leaned against her shoulder, breathing a little fast. “Rong Xubai said everything’s ready.”
The master bedroom was simple: a double bed, two nightstands, a wardrobe. The first-aid kit sat on the nightstand, neatly arranged with bandages, alcohol, anti-inflammatory medicine, and even a set of clean pajamas.
Jiang Mian helped Pei Yuyan sit on the bed and carefully unwrapped the gauze from his left shoulder.
The wound, exposed to the morning light, made her inhale sharply.
A gunshot wound—though the bullet had been removed, the torn flesh was still shocking. The edges were red and swollen, oozing a pale yellow fluid. Even more unsettling were the faint golden patterns radiating like a spiderweb from the wound, glowing subtly under the skin.
“This is…” Her fingers trembled as she touched the markings.
“Traces of dimensional descent,” Pei Yuyan said calmly. “Residual high-dimensional energy on a low-dimensional body. Rong Xubai said it will fade gradually—probably within a month.”
Jiang Mian bit her lip and began treating the wound. As the alcohol swab passed over it, Pei Yuyan tensed noticeably but didn’t make a sound, his right hand clutching the bedsheet until his knuckles whitened.
“Say if it hurts,” Jiang Mian said softly.
“It doesn’t,” Pei Yuyan replied, though his voice wavered. “Compared to watching you crash into the glass at the observation station… this pain is nothing.”
Jiang Mian paused.
She lifted her head, tears welling up again as she looked at his sweat-dampened forehead and pale face.
“I’m sorry… back then I—”
“You did the right thing,” Pei Yuyan interrupted, holding her wrist with his uninjured hand. “If you had tried to save me instead of destroying the γ-7 sample, the Shen family would have gotten what they wanted, and I would have… been trapped in that dimensional rift forever.”
He paused briefly.
“You saved me, Jiang Mian. In your way.”
Her tears fell onto the bandage, soaking it with dark, wet stains. She continued wrapping his shoulder, her movements gentler and slower, as if handling a fragile porcelain piece.
Once the wound was dressed, Pei Yuyan leaned against the headboard, eyes closed, exhausted. The blood loss and the night’s ordeal had clearly drained him.
Jiang Mian helped him into the clean pajamas—perfect fit, a detail Fu Chenyu had clearly anticipated. Then she pulled the blanket over him, her fingers brushing his cheek unintentionally.
Cool.
Yet beneath the skin, warm blood flowed.
Alive.
Truly alive.
“Sleep,” she whispered. “I’m here.”
Pei Yuyan opened his eyes, looked at her deeply, and then truly fell asleep. His breathing soon became steady and long, his brows relaxing. The observer’s usual detachment had completely vanished, leaving only an injured, exhausted mortal in need of rest.
Jiang Mian sat at the bedside, watching him for a long time.
Then she stood and walked to the living room, taking in this unfamiliar “home” in the morning light.
On the coffee table was a document envelope. She opened it. Inside were several documents: property deeds (both her and Pei Yuyan’s names listed), bank cards (password written on a note), and a letter.
Fu Chenyu’s handwriting, strong and confident, read:
*”Jiang Mian,
Consider this apartment a small token of my regard. Don’t refuse—it’s like… a dowry from a brother to his sister.
The account contains three million, the first compensation from the Shen case. There will be more later, which I’ll handle for you.
Pei Yuyan’s ID, household registration, and diploma are in the study drawer. Rong Xubai used his connections to provide him a reasonable identity—a visiting researcher at the Binhai University Astronomy Department. Modest salary, but sufficient.
The procedure to restore your parents’ reputation has begun, with a formal posthumous ceremony next week.
Also, Shen Yanxin attempted to escape from the psychiatric center last night and was caught. She says she wants to see you. Decide for yourself if you want to go.
Take care,
Fu Chenyu”*
Jiang Mian held the letter, standing in the morning light for a long moment.
Outside, birds chirped sweetly. From downstairs came the footsteps of children with schoolbags, mothers calling “slow down,” and the sizzling of breakfast stalls.
The warmth of ordinary life—the pulse of humanity—soothing to a mortal heart.
And she, finally, had become a part of it.
Scene 3: The Final Round at the Psychiatric Center
Two o’clock in the afternoon, Binhai City Compulsory Medical Center.
Jiang Mian stood in front of the one-way glass of the visitation room, looking at Shen Yanxin inside.
In just a month, the Shen heiress had completely changed. She wore a blue-and-white striped patient uniform, hair dry and messy, no makeup, lips cracked, eyes sometimes vacant, sometimes wild. At that moment, she hugged her knees in the corner, muttering to the air:
“I am the real Shen family heiress… Jiang Mian, that bitch… she stole my things… my engagement… my Hoshino brother…”
A nurse whispered to Jiang Mian: “She’s like this every day. Sometimes she screams, saying someone is trying to kill her. Other times she kneels, begging us to let her out, promising she can give you a lot of money…”
Jiang Mian asked calmly: “Can she recover?”
“Hard to say,” the nurse shook her head. “Schizophrenia with severe persecutory delusions. She insists voices are in her head, saying everyone wants to harm her. Medication has limited effect.”
Jiang Mian nodded. “I’ll go in and see her.”
“Are you sure? She might—”
“It’s fine.”
Jiang Mian pushed the door and entered the ward.
The smell of disinfectant mixed with the sharp tang of medication hit her. Shen Yanxin’s head snapped up at the sound, and the instant she saw Jiang Mian, her pupils constricted violently:
“You… how did you come here?!”
Her voice was sharp and piercing, filled with fear and anger.
“I heard you wanted to see me.” Jiang Mian sat down on a chair three meters away, posture relaxed, as if on a normal visit.
Shen Yanxin stared at her, fingers digging into the fabric of her patient uniform until her knuckles whitened.
“You came to laugh at me, didn’t you? To see the Shen heiress, now trapped here like a dog…”
“I have no interest in laughing at you,” Jiang Mian interrupted calmly. “Why did you want to see me?”
Shen Yanxin suddenly laughed—a twisted, manic sound.
“I want to ask you a question, Jiang Mian.”
“You won the Shen family, you won Gu Xingye, you even won against me—but do you really think you won?”
Jiang Mian didn’t answer.
Shen Yanxin leaned forward, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret:
“Do you know where Gu Xingye is now?”
“In Switzerland. With that new ballerina he met.”
“They were photographed at a lakeside restaurant in Zurich last weekend. He looked so happy… like he’d never known you at all.”
She stared at Jiang Mian, trying to find a crack in her expression.
But Jiang Mian looked back calmly:
“So?”
“So?!” Shen Yanxin’s voice pitched higher, hysteria seeping in. “So the man you schemed to steal, he just forgets you the moment he turns around! And me? I did so much for him, I—”
“You perjured for him, hired people to hurt others, even risked destroying yourself,” Jiang Mian said, taking over. “And what did you get? A bed in a psychiatric hospital, and a lifetime of sins that can’t be washed away.”
Shen Yanxin’s laughter abruptly stopped.
Her face twisted, and her eyes filled with madness and hate:
“It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t appeared, I’d be Mrs. Gu by now! I’d be wearing a Vera Wang wedding dress, marrying Gu Xingye with everyone’s blessings. We’d have an heir, and I’d be the most envied woman in the city…”
“And then?” Jiang Mian asked. “Like your mother, sitting in an empty mansion every day, waiting for your husband to come home, waiting for him to give you a bit of attention? Waiting for him, like your father, to keep another mistress after mistress?”
Shen Yanxin’s breathing quickened.
“Shut up! You don’t understand! Xingye and I love each other! We—”
“If he really loved you, he wouldn’t have flown off to Switzerland when you needed him most, without a second thought.” Jiang Mian stood and walked to the window, looking at the sky divided by iron bars. “Shen Yanxin, don’t you get it? Gu Xingye never loved you—or me. He loved the position of ‘Mrs. Gu.’ He loved the power and influence the Shen family could give him.”
She turned to Shen Yanxin.
“And now that the Shen family has fallen, you’re worthless.”
“So this is what you call love?”
Shen Yanxin opened her mouth but could not speak. Her face went from flushed to pale, lips trembling, tears streaming down—real, not performance.
“No… it’s not like that…” she murmured. “Xingye said… he said he would always protect me…”
“A man’s promise only matters if he loves you,” Jiang Mian’s voice was soft. “And love can vanish, Shen Yanxin. Just like the Shen family’s power. Just like your beauty. Just like… your father’s life.”
At the word “father,” Shen Yanxin’s eyes flared with one last spark of madness:
“You killed him! You drove my father to his death!”
“He chose that path himself,” Jiang Mian said, kneeling to meet her gaze. “From the day he used live humans for experiments, from the day he recorded three lives as ‘data,’ he should have expected this day would come.”
She paused.
“And you, Shen Yanxin. You knew it was wrong, yet you helped cover it up. You could have stood up. You could have saved more people—but you chose silence. Because silence brought you wealth and power, allowed you to continue as the Shen heiress.”
Jiang Mian stood, looking down at her.
“So don’t paint yourself as a victim.”
“You and your father are both killers.”
“The difference is, he had blood on his hands, and you… you have a debt to your conscience.”
Shen Yanxin collapsed to the floor, utterly broken. She clawed at her head, wailing like a wild animal, tears and snot streaking her face, every trace of her former refinement and pride gone.
Jiang Mian watched her, feeling no satisfaction—only a heavy exhaustion.
Revenge does not bring joy.
It only makes you realize that some things, once destroyed, can never come back—like trust, like conscience, like the normal life a person could have had.
“I will arrange the best treatment for you,” Jiang Mian said finally. “Not out of pity… but to give you a chance for atonement. If you can still salvage even a little conscience.”
She turned and left.
As she reached the door, Shen Yanxin screamed hoarsely:
“Jiang Mian!”
“You will pay too! You will lose everything!”
Jiang Mian stopped but did not look back:
“I’ve already lost everything. And now, I’m learning… to start over.”
The door closed behind her, cutting off Shen Yanxin’s hysterical cries, severing that world filled with madness and resentment.
Sunlight streamed through the window at the end of the corridor, casting bright patches on the floor.
Jiang Mian stood in the light and took a deep breath.
Then she took out her phone and sent Fu Chenyu a message:
“Find a good psychologist for long-term treatment for Shen Yanxin. I’ll cover the costs.”
A few seconds later, the reply came:
“Got it. Also, Gu Xingye contacted me just now. He says he’s getting married next month. Wants to know if you want an invitation.”
Jiang Mian stared at the screen for a long time, then typed:
“Wish him happiness. Truly.”
Sent.
Then she deleted all contact with Gu Xingye.
Like erasing a moldy piece of old time.
Act Four: The Evening Farewell
5 PM, Binhai City Airport, international departures hall.
Fu Chenyu’s flight was scheduled to take off in an hour. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching planes land and take off on the runway, holding a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.
“Really leaving?” a voice came from behind.
Fu Chenyu turned to see Zhou Jian leaning against a pillar, dressed in a black jacket, holding a simple travel bag.
“Yes,” Fu Chenyu nodded. “Heading to New York. The group’s operations need someone to oversee things—I volunteered.”
Zhou Jian walked over and stood beside him, looking out the window.
“How long?”
“Maybe three to five years… maybe longer,” Fu Chenyu paused. “There’s… nothing really left for me here.”
Zhou Jian was silent for a moment.
“She know?”
“She does.” Fu Chenyu took a sip of cold coffee; the bitter taste spread across his tongue. “I went to say goodbye yesterday. She cried… said she was sorry.”
“You shouldn’t make her feel indebted to you.”
“I know,” Fu Chenyu said with a wry smile. “But I couldn’t help it. Seeing her cry, I wanted to say, ‘Don’t cry, I won’t leave.’ I wanted to say, ‘I can wait for you, as long as it takes…’”
He shook his head.
“But that wouldn’t be fair to her. She already has someone she wants to spend her life with—the one who would give up eternity for her. What do I have to offer in comparison?”
Zhou Jian said nothing.
The two men stood in silence, like statues in the dimming light. Outside, another plane lifted into the orange-red sunset.
“When do you leave?” Fu Chenyu asked.
“Tomorrow,” Zhou Jian replied. “Northwest’s pushing. Special forces need a tactical instructor—perfect timing.”
“Will you come back?”
“Don’t know.” Zhou Jian looked into the distance. “Maybe when she no longer needs protection, I’ll come back to start a security company… or maybe a martial arts school.”
Fu Chenyu smiled. “Teaching kids to fight?”
“Teaching them how to protect the ones they love,” Zhou Jian said softly.
The boarding announcement sounded.
Fu Chenyu set down his coffee, turned to Zhou Jian, and held out his hand:
“Take care.”
Zhou Jian gripped it firmly:
“You too.”
Their hands stayed together for three seconds, then released. No more words—everything was said without speaking.
Fu Chenyu picked up his suitcase and headed to security. Halfway there, he stopped and glanced back toward the terminal.
Jiang Mian was standing there.
She wore a simple white dress, hair loosely pinned up, face bare, eyes still a little red. But she smiled at him—a smile pure as the sky after rain.
Fu Chenyu smiled back.
He waved at her, mouthing the words: Take care.
Then he turned and walked through the security checkpoint.
Without looking back.
Jiang Mian watched his figure disappear into the passage. Tears fell again, but she didn’t wipe them away—just let them flow quietly.
Zhou Jian walked over and handed her a tissue:
“He’ll be fine.”
“I know,” Jiang Mian took it. “I just… can’t bear to let go.”
“Feeling that way is normal,” Zhou Jian said. “Some people are only meant to walk part of the way with you. The rest of the journey… you walk yourself—or with someone else.”
Jiang Mian looked up at him:
“You’re leaving too, right?”
“Yes.” Zhou Jian nodded and took a card from his pocket. “This is for you. Encrypted military line, 24/7 monitoring. Any time, any matter—call this number, I’ll come.”
Jiang Mian held the card tightly, the metal edge pressing into her palm.
“Thank you, Zhou Jian. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
“No need.” Zhou Jian’s eyes were gentle but restrained. “Jiang Mian, remember—no matter where I am, no matter how many years pass, if you need me, I’ll be there.”
He paused.
“Now… go be with the one who gave up eternity for you.”
“He deserves all your love.”
Tears welled in Jiang Mian’s eyes again.
Zhou Jian gave her a brief, polite hug—short, like an older brother hugging his sister.
Then he stepped back.
“I’m leaving.”
“Wish you happiness.”
“Truly.”
He turned and left, tall and upright, soon disappearing into the evening haze.
Jiang Mian stood still, in the empty terminal, clutching both the card Zhou Jian gave her and the apartment key Fu Chenyu left behind.
The last ray of sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling window, stretching her shadow long across the floor.
Like a grand farewell.