After My Death, Everyone Repented (Transmigration) - Chapter 33

Xie Shaoyun didn’t quite agree with Chi Yi’s self-doubt that “the whole world thinks she never loved her.”

At the very least, before their romantic relationship was confirmed, Xie Shaoyun could sense that Chi Yi had loved her and needed her.

Though she wasn’t sure if Chi Yi’s affection was an extension of her feelings for No. 1, Xie Shaoyun later fell for Chi Yi precisely because she could genuinely feel that Chi Yi needed her even more than Xie Shaoyun needed Chi Yi.

Xie Shaoyun had always been clear about this.

She was a mission executor, one who was about to complete her tenth fast-transmigration arc. It was like reaching the final step of the Great Wall, victory within sight. only for her to suddenly break character.

Her decision wasn’t because Chi Yi was irresistibly charming or because Xie Shaoyun couldn’t resist worldly temptations.

It was because Chi Yi made her need for Xie Shaoyun unmistakably clear at all times, making her seem deeply devoted.

The first time they ate out together, Xie Shaoyun took Chi Yi to try stinky river snail noodles.

Chi Yi sat unhappily at the grimy roadside stall table, legs bent at a forty-five-degree angle, posture rigidly upright. When the shop owner served the pungent bowl of noodles, she couldn’t help but glance at Chi Yi several times.

“Didn’t you say you’d tutor me? Then eat a bowl of river snail noodles first. Otherwise, I won’t feel close enough to you as my teacher,” Xie Shaoyun teased, crossing her legs and snapping apart bamboo chopsticks. She deliberately called out, “Right, Auntie?”

In truth, Chi Yi looked even younger than Xie Shaoyun with her curly perm, but her poised, quiet, and introverted demeanor gave off the air of an elite academic.

Chi Yi ignored the “Auntie” remark.

Instead, she calmly met Xie Shaoyun’s gaze and asked, “Do you actually want to eat river snail noodles?”

When they first met, Chi Yi struck Xie Shaoyun as a strange person because she always saw right through Xie Shaoyun’s lies.

And she had a way of stating things that would make others uncomfortable in the most composed tone.

During Xie Shaoyun’s stint as the villainess, she had to complete daily tasks to maintain her character.

That day, she brought Chi Yi to the night market partly to annoy her and partly to uphold her image as a good-for-nothing in Chi Yi’s eyes.

According to the original plot, she was supposed to slurp down the stinky noodles something Chi Yi couldn’t stand right in front of her, then smash a beer bottle.

But before Xie Shaoyun could even act, Chi Yi outright called her out on the act.

As the role-player, Xie Shaoyun was left speechless, pausing to wonder where she’d slipped up.

When she couldn’t figure it out, Chi Yi didn’t press further, so Xie Shaoyun played dumb and stayed silent.

Soon after, a local troublemaker bumped into her, and Xie Shaoyun seized the chance to smash a beer bottle.

The troublemaker recognized Xie Shaoyun, she’d tattooed him before so he didn’t dare make a peep, stammering nervously. Luckily, Xie Shaoyun smashed the bottle before he could greet her too warmly.

Chi Yi’s driver arrived with a pair of police officers, only to find there was no brawl to break up.

After the officers scolded the driver, Chi Yi, the instigator showed no embarrassment. She handed Xie Shaoyun’s bowl of noodles to her driver.

“Since when is this fair? Why should my food go to your driver?” Xie Shaoyun glared, raising her voice at Chi Yi.

She wasn’t actually that angry, but to maintain her persona, Xie Shaojun put on an act to make things difficult for her.

Chi Yi glanced at her, suppressing the corner of her lips, and answered honestly, “I don’t think you really wanted to eat here. A minute ago, you snapped apart the chopsticks, noticed red oil stains on the packaging, and then threw the opened bamboo chopsticks into the trash in disgust.”

“When that red-haired man bumped into you earlier, you picked up a beer bottle but didn’t throw it at him. Instead, you smashed it near the middle schooler five meters away. because you saw a fly land in her bowl. To be precise, you noticed it the moment we sat down. I suspect that when you went over to apologize, you were actually looking for a chance to warn her.”

Chi Yi looked at Xie Shaojun.

Xie Shaojun looked back at her.

Their gazes met, and Xie Shaojun was momentarily speechless.

Eventually, Xie Shaojun realized that her role-playing had hit a Waterloo with Chi Yi, a woman who dealt in cold, hard evidence.

With the facts laid bare and no room for rebuttal, Xie Shaojun irritably dragged Chi Yi out of the restaurant. She admitted that it was her school-recognized “sworn sister” who had recommended the place.

The corners of Chi Yi’s lips curled ever so slightly, as if pleased to have discovered a shared preference with Xie Shaojun. The delicate folds of her eyelids crinkled as she smiled, her voice laced with amusement as she called out from beside her, “Xie Shaojun.”

Xie Shaojun lifted her eyelids slightly, annoyed at heart, but Chi Yi’s smile was so captivating that she couldn’t help but steal a few more glances.

Then she heard Chi Yi complain, “Good thing you didn’t like it. That was the smallest, dirtiest restaurant I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Xie Shaojun shot her a sidelong glance. “Then why didn’t you leave when I told you to earlier?”

Chi Yi’s lips parted slightly, her gaze holding a multitude of unspoken words, like “Because I wanted to stay with you,” or “Don’t go to places like this again, I don’t like it.” But perhaps she was inherently bad at, and inexperienced in, voicing such explanations.

So she awkwardly changed the subject, her eyes lingering on Xie Shaojun’s reddened hands before murmuring, “Aren’t you cold?”

Xie Shaojun paused, surprised by Chi Yi’s outdated attempt at small talk, and replied, “This is how us ‘tough girls’ dress.”

“Can you not be a tough girl?” Chi Yi responded swiftly, retrieving a spare coat from her car a knee-length beige overcoat.

Xie Shaojun watched as she held the coat, hesitating as if searching for the right words. When none came, Chi Yi simply handed the coat to her directly.

Her expression was so earnest that Xie Shaojun had no choice but to drop the exaggerated bravado. Stepping over a manhole cover, she put some distance between them and said, “I’m not cold.”

“Wear it,” Chi Yi insisted, frowning disapprovingly as she quickly caught up and stubbornly shoved the coat into Xie Shaojun’s hands.

Chi Yi was a self-assured person, but with Xie Shaojun, she obstinately carved out a space for her within that self-assurance.

How much space exactly was unclear. But if someone were to claim that Chi Yi had never loved, Xie Shaojun would reject the idea outright it couldn’t possibly encompass the journey from their romance to marriage.

From their first meeting to falling in love, in every gathering where Xie Shaojun was present, Chi Yi’s gaze, outside of work, always found its way to her.

Before marriage, Chi Yi could effortlessly and expressionlessly see through every single one of Xie Shaoyun’s flawlessly executed performances.

As “Xie Shaoyun,” she initially struggled with the stifling feeling of having to be herself at all times, unable to act. But later, she actually came to relish it, because no one dislikes being themselves, and also because Chi Yi needed her to be genuine.

Chi Yi was like a lie detector, constantly picking apart the flaws in Xie Shaoyun’s acting and presenting evidence that left her no room to pretend.

But unfortunately, after marriage, this very trait became a burden and a source of doubt.

Back then, Xie Shaoyun didn’t quite understand. Now, from an outsider’s perspective, she could probably analyze the reasons for their separation. After marriage, their expectations of each other grew higher.

Even when Xie Shaoyun reverted to her true self, Chi Yi still interpreted her actions through her own lens. And when Xie Shaoyun grew weary, she too began to regard Chi Yi with impatience.

They were like the base and the apex of a pyramid, the apex wanted the base to climb up and see things from her elevated perspective, while the base wanted to stay true to herself, needing the apex to descend and appreciate the crude humor in phrases like “returning the cherry,” then respond in kind.

The result? Neither could meet the other’s demands. Forcing them together would only cause the pyramid to collapse.

Loving Chi Yi was exhausting. Xie Shaoyun no longer had the courage to scale those heights, but that didn’t mean Chi Yi had never loved her.

No one had the right to judge that relationship.

Which was why Xie Shaoyun couldn’t agree with Chi Yi’s self-deprecation.

Yet Chi Yi was drowning in remorse and the grief of Xie Shaoyun’s death perhaps those emotions were crushing her. Her shoulders slumped, her expression one of unbearable self-reproach.

Her slightly parted lips, her bent legs, the silent tears in the car every detail screamed how much Chi Yi was suffering.

Xie Shaoyun watched this shattered version of the once-proud Chi Yi in silence. She didn’t try to straighten Chi Yi’s legs or jump away from the seat beside her. She didn’t sit on Chi Yi’s lap. Instead, she chose the safer, more stable airplane window.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but Chi Yi seemed even more heartbroken than before.

Xie Shaoyun lowered her head, resisting the urge to pity her. But as the plane descended, the sudden weightlessness forced her to grip the armrest and turn her head only to see Chi Yi again.

Chi Yi hadn’t moved an inch, still sitting in the same position. The clinical reference book on cancer lay untouched on the table.

The flight attendant reminded her to stow it away for landing.

Chi Yi didn’t respond.

Watching her like this, Xie Shaoyun felt utterly helpless. Guiltily, she whispered, “I’m sorry, Chi Yi.”

“I shouldn’t have loved you.” If she hadn’t broken character, hadn’t crossed the line, maybe Chi Yi wouldn’t be in such pain.

Xie Shaoyun stopped swinging her legs. She lowered her lashes, remorseful for Chi Yi’s suffering.

Helpless, she made a promise: “From now on, I won’t disturb your life anymore.”

Chi Yi lifted her eyelids and glanced toward the window. She picked up her coffee and drained it in one go.

When Chi Yi said nothing, Xie Shaoyun assumed she couldn’t hear her. She turned back to the pitch-black sky outside the window.

She didn’t turn around, so she didn’t see Chi Yi’s lips move with an expression of utter disgust toward the porthole window.

Not long after, Xie Shaojun heard Chi Yi’s voice behind her: “Just disappear already.”

Xie Shaojun’s eyes snapped open, and she whipped her head around. As expected, Chi Yi was staring in her direction, but her gaze was unfocused proof that she couldn’t actually see Xie Shaojun.

This sent Xie Shaojun’s emotions into turmoil. She leaned in close to Chi Yi, waving a hand uncertainly in front of her face. No blink, no reaction.

Pursing her lips, Xie Shaojun stared into Chi Yi’s eyes and cautiously tested her: “Can you hear me?”

Chi Yi clenched the book in her hand so tightly that the edges began to crumble into dust, yet she didn’t loosen her grip. She refused to look at the black hallucination anymore.

From the car to the plane, this shadowy illusion had never left her side.

It sat in the farthest corner of the car, keeping its distance from Chi Yi.

Multiple times, it had tried to leap out of the vehicle, as if desperate to escape her.

When Chi Yi spoke of memories involving cherries, the apparition recoiled in revulsion, drifting outside the car only to be pulled back moments later.

Only after boarding the plane did it drift closer to Chi Yi, but it seemed repulsed whenever Chi Yi expressed affection, quickly retreating again.

At first, Chi Yi had no intention of engaging with it. After all, it was an eerily accurate reflection of how Xie Shaojun would have acted if she were still alive aloof, distant, and avoiding Chi Yi at all costs.

The only reason Chi Yi knew it was a hallucination was because its voice was Xie Shaojun’s, even though it was nothing more than a faceless, limbless mass of shadow.

This allowed Chi Yi to remain lucid, treating the illusion with cold detachment.

She reasoned that this must be her mind’s final, desperate ploy either to stop her from taking her own life or to hasten her demise.

As the plane landed and the weightlessness faded, Chi Yi, her lips pale, exchanged pleasantries with the doctor. She offered to drive him home, but he declined, eyeing her with concern. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Chi Yi replied. “I’ll be on my way, then.”

She arranged for a driver to meet her at the arrivals gate.

Throughout it all, she didn’t utter a single word to the black illusion the “heartless Xie Shaojun”, because she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

And because the hallucination had just spat at her with unmistakable loathing: “Chi Yi, I shouldn’t have loved you.”

It took every ounce of Chi Yi’s self-control not to banish this cruel specter conjured by her own deteriorating mind.

Just moments ago, she had nearly stooped to arguing with a figment of her illness, desperate to plead, “Xie Shaojun, don’t stop loving me” a humiliating, pitiful act.

Her head throbbed with a toxic, unwarranted rage ugly and bitter.

Thankfully, when she opened her mouth, even the air seemed to mock the absurdity of it all.

From the moment she had last seen Xie Shaojun, ignoring the sound of the toilet flushing as she left, to the elevator ride where she dismissed the doctor’s hesitant words, to the days she spent stewing in post-divorce resentment, waiting for Xie Shaojun to apologize, all while overlooking Xie Shaojun’s increasingly frail body

She had already forfeited any right to ask for love.

The thought made the oxygen in her lungs feel like shards of glass, her throat filling with the stench of rotting flesh.

Chi Yi walked into the airport restroom, shutting Xie Shaojun out of the stall. She stayed inside alone for what felt like an eternity, unable to bring herself to leave.

The only sound inside was the rush of water from the flushing toilet.

Xie Shaojun stared at the tightly closed stall door, waiting for a long time. In the end, she couldn’t hold back and drifted through the door.

She saw Chi Yi kneeling in front of the toilet, her lips cracked like shriveled orange peel. The lipstick had been wiped away, leaving her pale pink lips colorless and trembling as she retched up yellow bile.

Chi Yi’s lips convulsed as she dry-heaved, expelling nothing but stomach acid into the toilet.

On the brown square tiles, her slender legs were folded beneath her, kneeling on the filthy floor. She must have been vomiting for a long time—the toilet bowl was filled with yellow bile.

Chi Yi didn’t look up. Her hair was tied back, but strands clung to her face as she repeatedly bowed and lifted her head.

Xie Shaojun couldn’t help but close her eyes, overwhelmed by a deep, unbearable sorrow.

She couldn’t stand seeing Chi Yi like this so defeated, so self-loathing. Even if she had resolved to leave her behind, Chi Yi had never been the problem. It was Xie Shaojun who couldn’t be enough, who no longer wanted to try.

Xie Shaojun drifted closer, wanting to lift Chi Yi up, but her hands passed right through her body.

Because you’re the best Xie Shaojun. It’s them who aren’t good enough. Don’t soften your heart.