The Black Forest was covered in ice and snow, and news of the king’s death had already spread from Eberon. Many players, unable to find their goal, chose to return to the city-states. However, some followed their own pace, continuing to search for the witch in the forest.
The swamp had frozen over. Three young men dressed as knights, holding a parchment map, arrived at a wooden hut.
“Head north,” the bearded young man said in a deep voice, his breath turning to mist in the air. “The map tells us to go north.”
Following the guidance of the Pars priest, they used shovels to clear the snow-blocked path.
To the north, the road was buried under heavy snow. The artificially carved passage was difficult to traverse, wedged between mountain crevices.
Beside them, the snow shimmered under the moonlight, and the deep blue sky was illuminated by swirling green auroras.
One of them murmured, “Are we really going to find the witch here? And now that the king is dead, what if someone takes advantage of the chaos to steal the crown? By the time we return, the game might already be over.”
The young man remained silent.
Another scratched his head. “That’s unlikely, right? Even if we turn back now, we wouldn’t make it in time.”
The bearded young man suddenly halted, cutting them off. “Wait.”
“Listen,” he said.
The wind howled, carrying a bone-chilling cold. The auroras flowed above the icy forest, and in the farthest reaches of the sky, a mournful humming could be heard.
A woman’s voice.
Ethereal and cold, floating gently through the stillness, eerily out of place.
The two others turned pale, their voices shaking. “Sh*t, sh&t, sh&t—are we seeing ghosts?!”
The young man’s gaze lifted steadily. “Not a ghost. A witch.”
They were stunned. “A witch?!”
Ahead stretched an endless frozen plain, the deep green auroras swirling in the sky.
The young man’s gaze locked onto the horizon.
He suddenly recalled what the mysterious bard in the palace had told him:
“Only those with deep affection can see the witch.”
And then, he thought of the song that often played in Eberon’s square—
“The River of Memories.”
Eberon was once home to a deeply loving couple. One day, the wife suddenly lost her memory. Her devoted husband, desperate to restore it, made a pact with a demon.
The young man murmured, “Deep affection…”
Then, all at once, he turned around and stretched out his hand to his companion. “Give me the flute.”
His companion looked baffled. “What do you need it for?”
“Just give it to me.”
—
The story was rewritten.
Charles’ breathing grew heavy, his eyes bulging as though they might pop from their sockets. Beneath his skin, his muscles twitched violently. “What did you just say?”
Lin Jing no longer wanted to waste time with him. This conversation had only been a means to confirm his own suspicions.
As expected, the glass bead had to be obtained from the vagrant.
Luck played a significant role in this game when drawing identity cards.
The withered vines on the first floor moved at his command, slithering like serpents toward Charles. Their cracked surfaces remained lined with sharp thorns. With a sudden roar of fury, Charles erupted.
The three figures ahead, startled by the outburst, turned toward him with their torches raised—only to see the frenzied vines, dark as ink and emitting an eerie sound, slowly devouring Charles inch by inch.
The noble girl in the white dress stood aside in terror, clutching a flower pot as she retreated step by step.
“What’s happening?!” The small, brown-haired girl swallowed nervously, eyes wide with alarm.
Lin Jing’s voice trembled. “I don’t know.”
Even the tall, chubby boy felt uneasy in this eerie tower. He gulped and said, “Forget it. Let’s just go upstairs.”
In a five-hundred-point game, no player would waste sympathy on their teammates.
The others fell silent.
Charles, his mouth bound by vines, glared at Lin Jing with bloodshot eyes, full of resentment. But the more he struggled, the tighter the vines coiled, until he fell straight to the ground. His blood was silently absorbed by the branches.
The vines, now stained with crimson, glowed ominously yet quivered in satisfaction, slithering aside to clear a path leading straight to the staircase at the back.
Everyone was stunned.
No one expected that their companion’s death would pave the way forward.
Just as they were about to ascend the stairs—
Bang!
The castle doors burst open. Frantic footsteps echoed through the hall.
Then, a noblewoman’s urgent voice rang out: “Stop him! Don’t let Charles go upstairs!!”
A dozen players assigned to Task 1 and 2 came barreling in, panic-stricken. Flames raged in the front hall, while delicate snowflakes landed on the noblewoman’s wide-brimmed hat. Her face twisted with fury as she gritted her teeth and bellowed, “Stop him! That b*stard Charles used us! The Heart of the Rose is in his hands—if he reaches the princess, the game is over! Stop him now!”
—The Heart of the Rose is in his hands!
The revelation exploded in everyone’s minds.
The noblewoman’s shrill voice dripped with rage.
The four people standing at the staircase entrance were dumbfounded.
She trembled with anger, cursing, “I knew something was off with that boy’s enthusiasm! Turns out he planned this all along.”
The small girl still seemed dazed. “Y-You mean…”
The noblewoman yanked a letter from her sleeve and flung it before them. Sheets of white paper scattered like snow.
Her face twisted into a feral expression as she bared her teeth. “I found this in the front hall! It says the Heart of the Rose on the king’s crown is fake—the real one was taken by a bird, witnessed by a vagabond—who just so happened to be Charles’s grandfather!”
Her last words were practically a scream.
Lin Jing, still holding the flower pot, silently watched the haughty, vicious woman.
The players who had followed her were momentarily stunned, then furrowed their brows.
“But… even if Charles has the Heart of the Rose, shouldn’t we be focusing on saving the princess?” one hesitantly asked.
The noblewoman shrieked, “No! If he reaches the princess, he wins! Even if I lose, I won’t let him win so easily!”
“Charles, get out here!”
She stormed into the tower, raising her torch and shouting furiously.
Some players hesitated behind her.
—If I can’t win, neither can you.
A sentiment everyone shared, though none had dared to voice it so bluntly.
Lin Jing gazed at the distant night, colored by snow and fire, then quietly lowered his head, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the slumbering magic fruit. He remained silent.
The small girl, cowed by the noblewoman’s aggression, finally spoke up in a trembling voice. “B-But, madam, Charles is already dead.”
“Dead?!”
The noblewoman, clad in a purple court gown and towering hat, spun around, torch raised, her voice sharp with disbelief.
The tall, chubby youth nodded, still dazed. “Yeah… Charles is dead. He got strangled by the magic vines as soon as he entered the tower…”
The noblewoman’s face drained of color, then twisted in fury. She demanded, “Where did he die?”
Lin Jing calmly lifted a hand and pointed to the spot where Charles had fallen. “There.”
Without hesitation, the noblewoman lifted her skirts and dashed over, as if possessed. She clawed desperately at the bloodstained vines, heedless of the danger, frantically searching for something. She muttered under her breath.
A man who had been silent all this time suddenly let out a low chuckle.
His left eye was blind. He wore the attire of a foreign noble, with a golden longsword at his waist.
After a moment, his voice rang out through the darkened castle: “Are you looking for the Heart of the Rose, madam?”
His rough, gravelly tone stilled the air.
The noblewoman froze amidst the blood-red vines.
The one-eyed man took a step forward, smirking.
“Madam, you were so certain that Charles reaching the princess would end the game. That means…” His voice dropped to a devilish whisper. “You all already know how to wake the princess, don’t you?”
Another bombshell detonated among the gathered players. The entire first floor of the tower was packed with people, yet all their minds buzzed with shock.
The noblewoman stiffened. Her voice was ice-cold. “That’s none of your concern.”
The one-eyed man unsheathed his sword. He stood behind her, the tip of his blade pressing against the back of her head. A predatory grin spread across his face.
“Madam, don’t take us for fools. We’re all here now. Do you really think we’ll just let you walk away? Spill everything you know—or take the secret to your grave.”
The noblewoman stood still, head lowered.
It was an eerily strange scene within the snow-swept tower.
Players stood on the stairs, at the doors—men, women, old and young, clad in either opulent garments or ragged clothes.
Yet their expressions were identical.
Cold.
Unfeeling.
They stared, motionless, at the noblewoman kneeling amidst the thorny vines, and at the one-eyed knight holding a blade to her head.
At last, the noblewoman realized the gravity of her mistake.
If she revealed the way to clear the game, she might still live.
But if she refused—
She would certainly die.
The players would prioritize eliminating her.
Everyone returned to the “original fairness.”
In the corner beside the staircase, hidden in the shadows beyond the reach of the torches, Lin Jing silently stepped back, cradling the magic vine.
If the noblewoman revealed that waking the princess only required the fruit of the magic vine, then he would become the next target. The vine in the flowerpot was still fast asleep.
Lin Jing gritted his teeth and pinched its leaves, leaving a crescent-shaped mark with his fingernail.
Useless as always when it matters most.
He had considered using the vines to entangle everyone again and making a run for it. But the well-fed vines were now as lazy as pigs, unwilling to move.
“Will you speak, madam?”
The knight sneered, pressing the blade forward.
“I will!”
The icy touch of steel against her skin drove the noblewoman to scream in terror.
She lifted her head, eyes burning with dark flames, filled with fury and venom.
“I will…” The noblewoman pulled a crimson fruit from her sleeve, her lips trembling. “To wake the princess, she must consume—”
Bang—
A gunshot suddenly rang out from outside.
The bullet tore through the raging blizzard and the seething darkness of the night, striking the noblewoman square in the temple.
Blood burst forth. Her eyes widened in shock, and a crimson mist splattered across the one-eyed knight’s face.
The noblewoman in the violet gown never finished her words. She died with her mouth still open, falling backward.
Silence.
The one-eyed knight was frozen in place.
The players turned pale.
“Spectacular.”
A lazy voice echoed from behind them.
Everyone on the tower’s first floor stiffly turned their heads.
Outside, the moonlight and firelight illuminated the sleepless sky of Eberon.
A silver-haired young man stood at the entrance, holding a gun. A lazy smile played at the corner of his lips. The wind and snow dusted his brows, but his presence was icy and distant.
A thin wisp of white smoke dissipated from the muzzle as he raised the gun again, pointing it at the gathered players.
“But time’s up. The game must end now.”
***
A flute’s melody resonated across the icy plains, as if echoing the witch’s soft humming.
Blackbeard had played this tune countless times, his fingers stiff from the cold, his lips pale.
The wind over the ice field suddenly ceased.
Slowly, Blackbeard lowered the flute.
The snowfall thickened, and the aurora in the sky reflected upon the world like a towering green wall.
The three figures stood up in excitement but were too exhausted to speak.
Within the wall of the aurora, the hunched and shadowed silhouette of an elder appeared.
The vast ice plains carried the witch’s raspy voice, murmuring as if to herself, “How many years has it been? And yet, I hear this tune again.”
She continued, “The last time I was moved, it was by this melody—a man seeking to awaken his wife’s memory.”
The witch’s tone turned odd. “Centuries have passed, and yet, the second time I witness the world again, it’s because of this.”
Blackbeard suppressed his excitement, his voice hoarse as he asked, “Then… may we ask you a question?”
The witch seemed like a mere mirage in the heavens.
Her voice came from the depths of the earth, ancient and deep. “Of course, my dear. What is it you wish to know?”
Blackbeard’s eyes shone brighter than the aurora, his voice trembling uncontrollably.
“Can you tell us how to wake the princess?”
***
Gunfire shattered the air.
Bang.
Another shot.
The one-eyed knight fell.
Bang.
A man who had attempted to escape collapsed.
Lin Jing stood in the shadows, staring blankly at Xu Wanzhi.
The young man stepped forward, black boots sinking into the snow, his expression cold and merciless.
The floor was stained with blood. The magic vines squirmed.
“Aaah—!”
Someone suddenly screamed, and panic swept through the tower.
Everyone retreated, fearfully staring at the man at the entrance.
The only one who remained somewhat composed was the small girl by the stairs. Though her face was as pale as paper, she shook her head and stammered, “This isn’t fair… this isn’t fair. You can’t do this. You can’t just kill us all.”
Xu Wanzhi lowered his gaze, glancing at her indifferently.
Then, as if he had just thought of something amusing, his lips curled slightly. His long fingers withdrew the gun, his voice detached.
“Fine.”
He chuckled. “Ten minutes. I’ll give you ten minutes.”
He stood by the entrance, sliding the gun back into his belt.
Behind him, a legion of Eberon’s soldiers waited.
There was no escape. This thought settled like a heavy stone in the players’ minds.
The high tower, already a living h*ll, now felt like a tomb.
Then, suddenly, someone let out a crazed scream and frantically began ripping apart the vines on the ground, desperately searching for something.
The others snapped out of their daze.
It didn’t matter whether this man intended to kill them all—either way, the game was ending.
The noblewoman had not finished her sentence, but the fruit she revealed had already told them the truth.
Two crucial clues:
The fruit that could awaken the princess.
And the Heart of the Rose, stolen by a bird.
Both were lost in this chaotic tangle of vines.
“Go save the princess first!”
Someone suddenly shouted hoarsely.
But the players had already lost all reason. They swarmed toward the blood-stained fruit.
They shoved, punched, and clawed at one another in a frantic scramble.
In the chaos, the fruit was crushed.
It tumbled to the floor, its blood-red juice splattering, mingling with the pools of real blood.
Like a cruel joke mocking their desperate struggle.
Everyone froze.
Despair consumed them.
Then—
Light burst forth from the hall, illuminating the thorns.
A shimmering green glow appeared, wrapping around every droplet of fruit juice, every fragment of pulp.
Like a dream.
The blood on the ground was drawn into the light, merging bit by bit—
Reforming into fresh, untainted fruit.
“This is…”
A dozen players lay sprawled in the tangled vines, disheveled, their pupils constricted to tiny points. Their breaths trembled as they stared at the liquid staining their fingers, watching as it transformed under the green radiance into a fruit that rolled into their palms.
“Now we… only need the Heart of the Rose.”
A voice, trembling, whispered so lightly it was barely audible.
It was as if the game was determined to drive them to the brink of slaughter.
Outside, the wind and snow howled.
The silver-haired gunman, however, did not spare even a glance at the chaos unfolding inside. He stood like a pine tree, gaze fixed on the distant horizon, his expression indifferent.
Inside the castle lay bodies, blood, and an expanse of thorny vines.
No one knew who struck first.
A petite girl let out a sudden scream as blood gushed from her chest, pierced by a dagger. Everyone had the same thought: rather than finding the Heart of the Rose and becoming a target, it was better to kill everyone first and then search for it. After all, the space was only so big—clear away the vines, and it would surely be found.
In an instant, the castle turned into a battlefield.
A savage fight among players who had completely lost their sanity, desperate and frenzied.
Lin Jing remained in the shadows, staring in disbelief at the flowerpot. He marveled—was this thing capable of asexual reproduction?
Then, through the blood-splattered battlefield, he cast a complicated look at Xu Wanzhi.
The fire in the front hall had been contained. The nobles had settled down, and the revelry of music and feasting had resumed, lively and boisterous.
Princess Kate stormed toward them, lifting the hem of her gown in fury.
“I must see for myself what kind of uninvited guests have barged into my brother’s palace.”
She pushed through layers of guards until she stood before Xu Wanzhi. Under the flickering firelight, she finally took in the fantastical scene inside the castle.
“Oh? So these are the people who disrupted my banquet?” Princess Kate trembled with rage. “Where’s the fire? I said I wanted this cursed tower burned to the ground tonight! Now’s the perfect time—let these rats from the gutter perish along with my brother!”
“Burn it down!”
Her command was regal, furious, and deafening.
Xu Wanzhi’s expression remained unreadable, but the guards behind him immediately obeyed.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Torches, blazing fiercely, were thrown straight into the palace, just as they had once been used to destroy the queen’s underground chamber.
The dry vines were the best kindling.
The players, still locked in combat, were jolted awake by the suffocating smoke.
“Ahhh! Fire!”
“It’s on fire!”
At that moment, they all froze, bending down frantically, searching for the bead Charles had dropped.
The smoke thickened, blanketing the room. Some, severely injured and struggling to breathe, tried to escape in the chaos.
Bang.
A gunshot tore through the nerves of everyone present.
Lin Jing’s legs almost buckled from the shock.
The rat had been urging him frantically for what felt like forever, tugging at his hair in desperation. “Jingzi, what are you staring at?! If we go upstairs now, the game is over! Why are you still standing there?!”
Lin Jing opened his mouth, but he had no idea how to respond.
His chest felt unbearably tight, as if an unfamiliar force was manipulating his mind. Yet, he couldn’t find the words to explain it to the rat.
The stench of burning filled his nostrils, firelight mixed with thick smoke. When the black haze finally obscured his view of Xu Wanzhi—and Xu Wanzhi could no longer see him—Lin Jing gritted his teeth, turned, and ran toward the stairs with the rat.
The closest person to him was the tall, slender young man.
Christine’s high heels had thin soles that clicked crisply against the steps. Thud, thud, thud.
Suddenly, the tall young man shouted, “Someone’s going upstairs!”
Human nature was laid bare in moments like these. They would do anything to stop you from winning.
In an instant, the fire-and-blood-soaked players, long stripped of their reason, all turned with bloodshot eyes, lunging to drag Lin Jing back.
Lin Jing pursed his lips and ran forward, his heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest. His white dress fluttered over the ascending steps.
The smoke was suffocating, the wind howled with fury. The staircase was impossibly tall, endlessly spiraling. After a while, Lin Jing grew impatient, yanked off his high heels, and ran barefoot over the thorn-covered vines.
The sharp pain from the thorns piercing his feet jolted him into a daze.
It hurt.
Every particle in the air seemed to crash against his bloodstream, pulling forth an agony that felt like his soul was being torn apart.
Amid his daze, Rossi’s tear-streaked face surfaced in his mind.
The Black Forest. The stormy night. Twice, that girl had walked barefoot through the thorns, bleeding as she approached him.
This time, finally, he cast everything aside and ran toward her.
The rat screamed, “Jingzi! That lunatic is catching up!”
Lin Jing clutched the flowerpot and ran.
It hurt too much.
Every inch of his body screamed in agony, his mind overwhelmed by an inexplicable pressure.
Then, at last, the iron door engraved with roses appeared before him.
Beyond it lay the sleeping princess.
Just then, a hand clamped onto his ankle. “You think you can win? Dream on!”
A voice, cold and venomous, sneered from behind him.
Lin Jing was in so much pain his soul felt as if it might shatter. His mind was a muddled mess. As the person behind him yanked him back with force, he lost his footing, his body tilting backward.
But in the next instant—
A gunshot, chilling and sharp, cut through the smoke and raging wind, echoing in the stairwell.
“Aaaargh!” The man let out a howl of unwillingness.
Lin Jing felt the grip on his ankle loosen.
For a fleeting moment, the gunshot brought a rare clarity to his mind.
And then—the dark, endless stairwell became a scene of h*ll. Screams, wails, furious curses, frantic pleas for mercy.
But the gunfire was relentless.
Deafening, never stopping, drilling into his ears.
The stench of gunpowder mixed with thick, sticky blood.
Lin Jing stood on the last step. Beyond that door lay the game’s conclusion.
Yet, he shut his eyes for a moment, and instead of stepping through, he turned around, still clutching the flowerpot.
The final staircase was long, littered with scattered bodies.
Cold moonlight filtered through the tower’s small windows, casting a pale glow. Xu Wanzhi stood at the first step of this final ascent, his gaze calm as he looked at Lin Jing.
Blood had dyed the thorns into something dark and ominous.
The wind swept through Lin Jing’s hair and white dress. He stared at his newly confirmed boyfriend, his lips dry, throat hoarse, suddenly at a loss for words.
Xu Wanzhi holstered his gun, stepping over the barely-breathing bodies on the ground as he walked toward him.
The fire hadn’t reached this high yet.
The air here was only filled with the cold brought in through the windows and the lingering scent of roses that had long since taken root in Eberon.
Lin Jing didn’t know when a drop of blood had splattered onto his face.
Xu Wanzhi approached, his breath cool, and reached out a finger to gently wipe the blood away. His voice was soft: “Was it really that hard to wait for me?”
Lin Jing was in so much pain that tears nearly welled up. His voice, hoarse and foreign even to himself, rasped: “No, I’m just about to clear the game.”
“Clear the game?” Xu Wanzhi chuckled, a sound laced with ambiguous amusement. But his eyes were impossibly gentle as he said, “You won’t be able to clear the game like this, baby.”
What?
Lin Jing froze, clutching the flower pot in his arms, staring at him in confusion.
The rat, terrified of this killing god Cyril, buried his cries in his throat, shrinking back and trembling, frantically tugging at Lin Jing’s hair with his teeth.
Run, run, Jingzi, run! This man is a demon.
But Lin Jing couldn’t sense The rat’s frantic warnings at all.
The surviving players on the staircase, struggling on the brink of death, gritted their teeth as they watched the scene unfold.
Xu Wanzhi turned and, with one hand, pushed open the iron door entwined with roses.
The moment it swung open, a gust of wind and snow roared in, the moonlight washing the floor like frost.
The familiar blood-red array. The familiar expanse of thorns.
But inside—nothing.
It was completely empty.
Lin Jing’s blood ran cold.
He heard Xu Wanzhi’s voice: “Mirror, this is the real ending of the story.”
***
Icefield wilderness.
The witch bathed in green auroras fell silent for a moment before murmuring in confusion, “Awaken the princess? But there is no princess here who needs saving.”
Blackbeard was stunned, bewildered. “Are you sure you haven’t mistaken? Eberon has a sleeping princess.”
The witch shook her head, her voice raspy. “No. If you mean Eberon’s temperamental little princess, she is alive and well. As a god’s chosen, how could she be wounded by mere earthly vines and fall into slumber?”
Blackbeard was completely dumbfounded.
—The princess is alive and well?
—Then what the h*ll have they been doing all this time?
The witch grew impatient. “If this was all you woke me up for, then you should leave now.”
“No, no, no—we still have questions!” The young man beside Blackbeard immediately raised his voice. Like h*ll they were going back empty-handed after coming all this way.
Standing in the snow, the young man, flustered and desperate, suddenly had a stroke of inspiration and asked outright, “C-can you tell us how to obtain the Heart of the Rose?”
Yes.
To obtain the Heart of the Rose.
The three of them suddenly had an epiphany.
That was the only objective of this dungeon all along.
The icefield was silent for a moment before the witch let out a slow, rasping laugh.
It echoed across the tundra, eerie and strange.
After a long time, she muttered,
“The Heart of the Rose? Eberon has two Heart of the Roses. The glass bead and its little princess.”
“But the story has already changed.”
“The glass bead is now in the hands of a girl.”
“As for obtaining the divine favor from the little princess…”
The wind howled, weaving into a strange, sorrowful melody—the same song that a husband once composed for his amnesiac wife.
The witch, lost in memory, let out an eerie chuckle and said,
“Then just kiss her.”
—
Thud.
The flower pot slipped from Lin Jing’s hands and tumbled to the ground.
His blood ran backward in his veins. He jerked his head up, staring at Xu Wanzhi in shock.
Inside his mind, towers collapsed, worlds crumbled, everything was overturned.
Lin Jing looked into those silver-blue eyes—only now recalling that the queen had the same silver-blue gaze. That when Rossi was young, her golden-white hair, if it darkened with age, might very well turn silver.
The rat was so frightened he couldn’t even speak.
The window at the top of the tower was wide open, the wind and snow sweeping in with dust and silence.
Xu Wanzhi quietly lifted a hand, brushing over Lin Jing’s eyes, and stated with quiet certainty: “I liked the glass bead because you gave me divine favor through it.”
“I liked crickets because you said they were nature’s blessing.”
“I liked roses because Royal Mother said that when you descended from the tower, there was a flower about to bloom at your feet.”
Lin Jing’s mind went blank.
[You must be wondering why I love these things. But that’s a secret.]
Lin Jing wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. Whether from pain or sheer shock, he wasn’t sure. His eyes reddened as he looked at Xu Wanzhi.
Xu Wanzhi chuckled lightly, lowered his head, and leaned in beside Lin Jing’s ear. His breath was ice-cold, yet it burned against Lin Jing’s skin.
“The princess, grown after all these years, has only one thing left to say.”
His gaze was gentle yet maddening—whether it was from embodying Rossi’s role or his own emotions, it was impossible to tell.
In a lover’s whisper, he murmured: “I was important to you after all.”
—“Wait! Just wait! M!”
—“Sorry, Rossi, but I really have to go save someone very important.”
Above the snow-laden skies of Eberon, the heavens cracked open, spilling down wisps of blue light, cradling the world like a mother’s embrace.
Every particle, every speck of dust, danced in the blue radiance.
The pain in Lin Jing’s body had never ceased.
He only stood there, blankly staring at Xu Wanzhi.
The story was finally complete.
So, in their story, there was never a witch, nor a sleeping princess.
There was only an intricate web of cause and effect, and roses that never withered.
Everything had been meticulously orchestrated.
A princess pretending to sleep, stubbornly waiting for the witch in her memories to come and save her.
This story always unfolded in the midst of storms and snow.
The only moment of tranquility seemed to be that night when fireflies descended upon the open plains.
Lin Jing blinked, and in his daze, his eyes stung with pain and moisture.
Xu Wanzhi lowered his arm, wrapped it around Lin Jing’s waist, and chuckled, “I worked so hard to help you clear this level. Don’t you think you should reward me?”
Even though his entire body ached, Lin Jing, now regaining his senses, was also starting to burn with frustration, his nerves twitching in protest.
He wanted to grit his teeth and push Xu Wanzhi away.
But before he could, Xu Wanzhi grabbed his wrist.
The playful glint in the young man’s eyes was gone, replaced by something serious, calm, and laced with a madness that Lin Jing couldn’t yet comprehend.
A darkness vast and deep.
Xu Wanzhi lowered his voice, almost pleading, revealing for the first time a fragile yet persistent side of himself: “Lin Jing, kiss me. Just one kiss, and you’ll clear the level.”
The little rat, though utterly dumbfounded by this development, had its desire to clear the game amplified to the extreme. It screamed frantically in Lin Jing’s ear: “Ahhh! Jingzi, just kiss him already! D*mn it! This is the final step! Stop being stubborn! Just kiss him!”
Lin Jing, jolted back to reality by the rat’s frantic yelling, found his emotions magnified by the pain coursing through him.
Looking at the lover in front of him, eyes bloodshot, he finally grabbed Xu Wanzhi by the collar, rose onto his toes amid the tangled vines, and bit down on his lips like a wild beast.
Lin Jing wasn’t just kissing—he was venting.
Venting his pain, venting the grievances of being kept in the dark, venting the sorrow that had sunk deep into his bones.
He knew Xu Wanzhi had done this to help him clear the game, yet as he blinked, tears still fell.
Perhaps this feeling of injustice wasn’t even about the game. He simply looked at Xu Wanzhi and felt unbearably sad.
An inexplicable sadness.
A suffocating weight of emotions in his chest, crushing him completely.
His scalding tears soaked his consciousness.
Xu Wanzhi reached out and embraced the boy who had thrown himself into his arms.
Lowering his head, he silently indulged him in this kiss, one filled with the taste of blood.
The banquet hall was ablaze with lights, the festivities continuing, and on this snowy night, that familiar melody played once more.
“The River of Memories.”
Beneath the tower, chaos reigned.
“Cyril!” Princess Kate’s voice rang out in urgent panic.
Mixed within were the calls of Madam Mary.
And the shouts of Christine’s two elder sisters.
The world collapsed, blue light engulfing all of Eberon.
It illuminated the snow-covered narrow streets, the huddled vagrants, the white-skirted, curly-haired statue in the plaza, the towering arched cathedral, and the flocks of white doves.
The flute melody soared, ethereal and sorrowful, flowing through the night like the river of memories itself.
Lin Jing’s breath trembled as he deepened the kiss with no finesse whatsoever.
Firelight licked at the thick smoke, vines climbed the ancient castle.
Dong—
The clock struck midnight. The final chime signaling the end of the banquet.
Lin Jing’s entire body was wracked with sudden, searing pain, and his eyes snapped wide open.
But before he could react, Xu Wanzhi tightened his hold on him, parted his lips with his tongue, and reversed their roles—seizing control of the kiss.
The twelfth chime rang out.
The excruciating, soul-deep pain in Lin Jing’s body transformed into something purely physical.
Blood seeped from his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. His skin cracked open.
He could feel the life draining from his body.
Only then did he realize—
The clock had struck twelve.
The third day had come.
The curse of the Soul Reversion Array was about to be fulfilled.
The little rat was utterly terrified. It had already tumbled from Lin Jing’s shoulder the moment he kissed Xu Wanzhi, left in a daze as it stared at the two entangled figures, completely at a loss.
It scrambled backward and bumped into the overturned flowerpot.
The leaves trembled. The magic vine awakened, its fruit blinking in confusion at the scene beside it.
Why am I on the ground?
It pouted in grievance, letting out a faint red glow.
At that moment, all the old vines at the top of the tower stirred to life.
Their branches withdrew, making way.
But the flowerpot, having forgotten its precarious position, rolled forward uncontrollably.
“Hey—” The little rat tried to catch it, but it was too far.
Lin Jing, now entirely engulfed by Xu Wanzhi’s presence—his scent cold, metallic, tinged with gunpowder and blood—could no longer focus on anything else.
Blood pooled at his feet, flowing out in torrents, soaking the floor and spreading across the vast formation.
Dong.
The flowerpot rolled straight to the center.
The flowerpots from noble classrooms were always lined with a faint layer of gold at their base.
Lin Jing’s blood, having fully covered the formation, at last activated its core.
A sudden, blinding golden light burst forth from the array.
The little rat was completely dumbstruck.
At the same time, Xu Wanzhi ended the kiss.
Everything dissolved into blue particles of light.
As the golden light flared, Lin Jing’s pain abruptly ceased.
Eyes rimmed red, lips bloodstained, he looked ahead.
Xu Wanzhi stood amidst the scattering starlike embers of blue radiance.
His silver hair shortened, darkening to black, revealing his true appearance.
A teardrop mole at the corner of his eye, both wicked and tender.
He looked like a long-lost figure from the depths of memory.
The flute melody continued.
The golden light was so blinding it left white spots in Lin Jing’s vision.
In his daze, he saw white hyacinths filling the sky.
A test tube filled with a shimmering blue liquid.
A laboratory flashing with red warning lights.
Fragmented images flashed through his mind—childlike, distant, hazy.
In a sea of flowers, he stretched out his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers, smugly telling someone about how beautiful fireworks were beyond these walls.
Xu Wanzhi’s smile had always been cold and sharp, but at this moment, it was impossibly gentle.
His eyes curved slightly as he stood bathed in the blue glow of radiation—
And spoke a sentence that made no sense at all.
“Actually, the moment you kissed me, I woke up.”
His soul was being pulled downward by the golden formation. Lin Jing’s brown pupils widened as he reached out, but his hand only grasped at an illusion.
“Lin Jing—!” The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was the rat’s terrified scream.
And Madam Mary’s sobbing: “Christine!”
***
Lin Jing felt like he had a long, long dream—a dream of his childhood memories.
It happened at the experimental base. This time, besides fairy tale books and hyacinths, there was also a cold and distant companion.
A solitary boy who disliked speaking yet was extraordinarily good-looking.
They sat on a rock amidst a sea of hyacinths, talking about something, but Lin Jing couldn’t make out the words.
It was as if he had woken from a great dream—his mind blank, his senses lost. He opened his eyes in confusion.
The wind blew through the sixth-floor windows, carrying the crisp scent of the highlands.
The surroundings were particularly noisy—chairs scraping, pens scratching, curtains rustling.
Even a white pigeon flapped its wings and landed on the windowsill.
Voices buzzed around him.
So noisy.
“Brut’s hair looks like dead grass—God, could she wear a hat?”
“Why is that annoying pigeon here again?”
“I heard Helena was grounded by her father. My God, I couldn’t be happier! That b*tch had such obvious feelings for Cyril yet always acted so high and mighty.”
“Speaking of Cyril—Bella, isn’t your sister interested in him too? Tell her to be careful. She’s no match for Helena.”
“Christine? Obviously. That girl couldn’t even keep a sunflower alive as a child. With that level of intelligence, she’s only good for feeding pigeons.”
“Hahaha, I remember she once raised a pot of dirt—wait, Christine, you’re awake?”
Lin Jing was still dazed. When he sat up, he realized he was in a classroom. The room was spacious and bright, with white desks engraved with roses, faintly fragrant. The glass windows were exceptionally large, revealing a sky so blue it seemed freshly washed.
Suddenly, a girl from another class poked her head in, breaking the peaceful recess.
“Ahhh, guess who I just saw? Cyril! He’s playing music in the square again!”
“Ahhh, really?”
In an instant, the classroom erupted into a flurry of excitement.
After all, these were noble ladies of Eberon—they had their status to uphold. Instead of rushing out, they crowded at the classroom entrance, gripping the railings, gazing down from the sixth floor at the elegant and charming silver-haired young man in the square before the cathedral.
Lin Jing felt like his head was about to explode from the noise.
Like a puppet, he was dragged outside by Bella, his mind an empty void.
Bella clasped her hands to her cheeks. “Cyril is truly handsome. Even though he’s a commoner, I’ve never seen a more beautiful man in all of Eberon. Hmm? Why is there a pigeon?”
A pigeon landed on the railing.
Bella recoiled in disgust, but just as she pulled her hand away, she felt a sudden chill on her skin. She looked down and immediately shrieked.
The pigeon had pooped on the back of her hand.
“AHHHHHH!”
Bella’s scream pierced the sky.
The deafening noise jolted Lin Jing’s frozen, hollow thoughts back to life.
The noble girls nearby burst into laughter.
The pigeon flapped its wings and suddenly dove into Lin Jing’s arms. But Lin Jing, like a soulless doll, paid it no attention. Dissatisfied, the pigeon pecked at his eye.
At the moment its feathers brushed against his skin—
Drip.
Like a droplet of water rippling through his mind.
His senses came rushing back—hearing, sight, touch.
At the same time, the flute melody from the square drifted to his ears on the wind of the first snowfall—bright, clear, and beautiful.
The familiar tune instinctively made him expect the taste of blood on his lips.
Bella was still screaming and cursing, the girls giggling at the spectacle—an incessant buzzing like mosquitoes.
Lin Jing stared blankly.
Suddenly, the pigeon snatched the white rose decorating his hair and took off, its wings beating as it flew toward the vast, distant sky.
“D*mn pigeon!”
Bella reached out, but only managed to grab a few white tail feathers.
White—floating against the blue sky, like drifting hyacinths.
Lin Jing’s sluggish eyes moved.
Hyacinths?
The next second, his body moved before his thoughts caught up. He turned and ran.
Downstairs!
Chasing the music!
Without thinking, without questioning—just running!
He ran down the stairs and collided with someone.
“Christine?”
His second sister’s puzzled voice and his eldest sister’s furious scream rang out simultaneously.
“Christine!”
But Lin Jing didn’t stop. He kept running.
The pigeon led the way ahead.
He lifted his skirt and leaped over obstructing stones.
Gasps echoed from the sixth floor.
Sunlight dappled through the trees, falling upon him.
He ran faster and faster, the wind growing sharper.
As the flute melody became clearer—
The boy’s voice from his dream, once lost in time, slowly emerged.
Run forward.
Through the narrow garden, past the cathedral.
In an instant—
Blinding sunlight poured down.
With a great flutter, a flock of pigeons soared into the blue sky.
The winter streets of Eberon still had traces of lingering snow.
Cold air filled his lungs.
In the square, beneath the gentle statue, stood a man, his silhouette tall and straight, his face obscured by the backlight.
Lin Jing stood frozen.
“The River of Memories” played just within reach.
And at last, the voice of the boy from his dream rang clear:
“Fireworks look just like this—they bloom in front of your eyes with a whoosh! When you go outside in the future, you can come with me. I’ll set them off for you to see!”
“Do you want to hear a fairy tale? I can tell you one. I’m really good at it—way better than my mom. She should probably be learning from me.”
“Why am I nice to you? Uh… because I like you, I guess.”
“I just like you. Wanting to be good to someone, wanting to make someone happy—if that’s not liking, then what is?”
Memories surged like a tide.
Lin Jing closed his eyes briefly, then suddenly rushed forward.
His white dress flared in the golden sunlight, like a great bird, like a blooming rose. No longer able to suppress the emotions in his heart, all the noise around him vanished. Tears blurred his vision, but he could still see the figure standing against the light.
Lin Jing practically flung himself into the person’s arms, wrapping his arms around him.
The young man froze, and the sound of the flute came to an abrupt halt.
At that moment, it was as if the entire world had paused.
Passersby gasped.
Carriages came to a stop.
Behind him were exclamations and shouts.
Pigeons circled overhead.
The statue cast a gentle gaze that seemed to transcend time.
Lin Jing’s tears fell as he trembled with laughter, saying, “Yes, it’s liking. Xu Wanzhi, this feeling of wanting to make someone happy—it’s liking!”
“I’ve always liked you!”
He lifted his head to kiss him.
But in the blink of an eye, everything vanished.
No square.
No pigeons.
No snow.
Only darkness, and KK’s cold voice.
【Dear player “Shuang Mu Cheng Jing,” congratulations on successfully clearing the script “The Kiss of Thorns.” Category: Role-Playing. Difficulty: Intermediate. Score: +25】
【Background Summary of “The Kiss of Thorns”: May she receive all she desires. May her hopes always come true. Like the roses of Eberon, may romance and innocence remain eternal.】
Romance and innocence remain eternal.
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