Please, Don’t Die - Chapter 38

“Oh?”

Mortals had a weaker perception of illusions, and He Qingsheng looked at Prince Liang with great interest. “How did you know it was fake?”

“My mother has never worn any jewelry other than gold and jade in her entire life,” Prince Liang declared firmly, his tone resolute.

“The room was too dim to see the clothing clearly, but the glimmering glass hairpin was far too eye-catching.”

Prince Liang raised his hand and pressed his fingertips to the corner of his eye.

In her mind, He Qingsheng automatically replaced the butcher’s wife’s thornwood hairpin and plain dress with silk robes and a golden hairpin adorned with dangling ornaments.

Now that she thought about it, it did seem much more harmonious.

An illusion that was so blatantly obvious, letting everyone know it was an illusion, how interesting.

Prince Liang threw off the covers and got up, perhaps not realizing his current physical condition. Miscalculating the distance, he stumbled and fell to the ground with a thud, letting out a pained groan.

His hands pressed against the floor, small, soft, and delicate, like a child’s. Prince Liang’s eyes widened as he scrambled to his feet, repeatedly checking his height and perspective, muttering to himself, “No way, I’m a full-grown man, eight feet tall…”

“How am I supposed to meet Miss Chu like this?”

Ah, the secret admirer, if you really had the chance to see her, you wouldn’t dare.

He Qingsheng kept her expression neutral, though inwardly amused. Yan Xingyi had once gossiped to her, saying that despite Prince Liang constantly talking about Miss Chu, he only ever sent gifts and wrote letters in secret, mostly just pining from afar.

As for whether Miss Chu knew Prince Liang had feelings for her, that was still up for debate.

“No, this place is strange.”

Prince Liang paced anxiously in circles before his gaze gradually hardened with determination. “Senior He, this is definitely an illusion. We need to get out of here quickly.”

He Qingsheng: “…”

The power of a lovestruck fool was truly terrifying.

Prince Liang moved swiftly, heading for the door, but before he could take two steps, he stumbled again and fell straight backward.

He Qingsheng had just risen to follow when she nearly got flattened by Prince Liang’s falling body.

She nimbly sidestepped.

Thud.

Prince Liang lay sprawled on the ground, his face as pale as paper, lips tinged blue, and hands trembling like a sieve.

The faint light of dawn cast over him, making him look fragile and broken.

He Qingsheng hovered leisurely to the side, calling his name a few times, but he didn’t respond.

Poisoned?

She hesitated between two choices “What a hassle, just leave him” and “Fetch Ying Qujie to take a look at him” before suddenly realizing: Prince Liang’s condition might just be low blood sugar.

Pursing her lips, she crushed the pastries on the table into a paste with water and poured it into Prince Liang’s mouth.

After a while, Prince Liang gasped sharply, clutching the back of his head with a groan.

“What did Dai Xianyun tell you?” He Qingsheng seized the initiative, asking the question outright to prevent Prince Liang from derailing the conversation again.

Prince Liang looked utterly confused. “Who’s Dai Xianyun?”

Suppressing her temper, He Qingsheng patiently explained, “The woman you went to see at Tianxiang Tower, her name is Dai Xianyun. Why did you go to see her?”

Prince Liang’s expression was blank, as if he was genuinely struggling to recall who Dai Xianyun was, as though he had never met her before.

He Qingsheng smiled. “I suggest you think harder. And don’t tell me you just hit your head and lost your memory.”

Prince Liang’s eyes darted around guiltily before he lowered his head.

Under He Qingsheng’s murderous glare, he figured he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Stiffening his neck, he muttered in a voice barely louder than a mosquito’s buzz, “Well… you could’ve at least caught me to soften the fall.”

He Qingsheng’s expression remained amiable, but his tone turned icy: “I think you’d better forget about seeing your Miss Chu. Since you can’t remember, you’ll stay in this illusion until it comes back to you.”

The Prince of Liang’s face suddenly twisted in pain as he clutched at his chest, gasping for breath. His features contorted grotesquely, his agony palpable. Gritting his teeth between waves of torment, he managed to force out a single question:

“Who… is Miss Chu?”

The words struck like thunder.

A howling gale swept in from afar, stripping the courtyard of its spring apricot blossoms before slamming open windows and doors, rushing through the hall with wild abandon, here in a tempest, gone in a flash.

Before the last petals could settle, the sun soared high, greenery thickening in its wake. The cacophony of cicadas and birdsong lasted mere moments before being drowned out by the mournful cries of migrating geese, startling leaves from their branches.

Scattered yellow leaves had barely touched the ground when they were buried under a dusting of snowflakes. Then, another deafening roar.

Spring thunder shook the world anew.

In the span of a few breaths, before the creaking of the doors could fade, three seasons had cycled past.

He Qingsheng looked down abruptly, Prince Liang, who had been groaning on the ground moments earlier, had vanished without a trace. The courtyard stood eerily silent, as if she were the only soul left between heaven and earth.

She immediately drew out the Water-Born Wood talisman, but the black-and-red threads woven into it lay dormant. Ying Qujie hadn’t summoned her.

This illusory realm had shifted through three cycles of time, seemingly abandoning her in this secluded corner.

She bolted for the courtyard gate, only to find an invisible barrier sealing every exit.

An ordinary mortal or even a low-level cultivator wouldn’t have noticed the spellwork here. A moment’s hesitation, and they’d wither to dust within these walls, aged to death in an instant.

He Qingsheng reached out. Runes suppressing spiritual power shimmered in the air.

This was Endless Cycle!

According to the Twelve Walls Chronicles, when the ancient Demon King ascended to godhood, he crafted the mystic formation Endless Cycle, a secluded realm meant to pacify his former subordinates and weapon spirits, offering them a place to cultivate.

It severed all ties to the outside world, serving as a gentle prison.

But with the tiger gone, the monkeys declared themselves kings. The Demon King’s remnants within Endless Cycle were far from united, splintering into factions vying for dominance.

Over the eons, strife tore the realm apart. Endless Cycle fractured into four fragments: Endless Spring, Endless Summer, Endless Autumn, and Endless Winter.

Of these, Endless Autumn had long been subdued by the Heart-Questioning Sect, the foremost orthodox sect of the Twelve Walls, now a permanent asset of their estate.

He Qingsheng still remembered the late-autumn peaches an old friend had brought her, soft, honeyed, bursting with juice. Most importantly, they brimmed with spiritual energy, a boon to cultivation.

Other sects had once schemed to claim a share of Heart-Questioning’s bounty, only to retreat empty-handed, humiliated.

A single fragment of Endless Cycle could sustain an entire sect. Naturally, the remaining three, Endless Spring, Endless Summer, and Endless Winter, drew relentless pursuit.

During her flight from assassins, He Qingsheng had heard rumors that Li Fu’an of the Immortal Dao Oversight had seized Endless Winter. She’d planned to visit the Oversight Bureau after leaving the Northern Wall, if only to witness the spectacle.

Yet fate had other plans. Cast into the mortal world, trapped in this pocket realm, she now found herself face-to-face with a crude imitation of Endless Cycle.

The true Endless Cycle, forged by the Demon God himself, was a self-contained prison, entry permitted, exit forbidden.

The former subordinates of the Demon King and the artifact spirits were no benevolent figures, so naturally, they couldn’t be restrained by mere self-discipline.

The most distinctive feature of the Endless Cycle was its ability to gather spiritual energy from all directions.

One could say that staying within the Endless Cycle was immensely beneficial for cultivation. Even the most mediocre talents could break through a major realm after just a few seasonal cycles.

The array in the courtyard now might not have been a perfect replica, but it was undeniably rich in spiritual energy. Yet, none of this held any appeal for He Qingsheng at the moment.

Simply put, their paths were different, spiritual energy was of no use to her.

Adhering to the principle of squeezing every last bit of advantage, He Qingsheng filled the artifact she had previously taken from Yan Xingyi with spiritual energy while tracing the runes on the wall, murmuring incantations under her breath.

After a brief recitation from memory, the black-red baleful energy surged violently, instantly breaking through the barrier.

Without a backward glance, He Qingsheng dashed out of the place.

The Water-Generating-Wood mechanism spun rapidly, and the fine threads of baleful energy trembled faintly.

As if the person on the other end had sensed this subtle change, the black-red baleful energy thread in He Qingsheng’s hand began to tremble more intensely, the vibrations growing stronger and more frequent until suddenly, it snapped taut, tightly coiling around her wrist.

It was Ying Qujie!

He Qingsheng quickened her pace, following the direction guided by the baleful energy.

Along the streets, corpses of the starved lay everywhere, the people gaunt and sallow. The once-prosperous city of Jimo was now unrecognizable.

Frowning, He Qingsheng swiftly passed by the grim scenes before her.

She drifted a long distance before finally spotting Ying Qujie outside an apothecary.

He had grown thinner and taller, his frame beginning to stretch into adolescence, no longer the delicate, doll-like child from when they first entered the illusion.

At that moment, Ying Qujie was surrounded by a noisy crowd, all clamoring and jostling for attention.

His still-youthful figure seemed almost swallowed by the throng.

He Qingsheng couldn’t make out what the crowd was shouting, but as if by some unspoken understanding, she lifted her gaze and across the sea of shifting bodies, their eyes met.

Amid the clamor and bustle, Ying Qujie’s eyes lit up with a slow-spreading smile. He pushed through the crowd like a nimble fish darting through water, breaking free from the human tide.

With an almost jubilant energy, he ran toward her.

“Miss He!”

Ying Qujie moved swiftly, scooping up the small wooden puppet mid-air and placing it on his shoulder without slowing down, leaving the crowd far behind.

“Run!”

All of He Qingsheng’s questions were swallowed by the rushing wind as she clung to a strand of Ying Qujie’s long hair to steady herself on his shoulder.

From above came the sound of his light, breathless laughter.

From East Street to South Alley, the roads, the people, the houses, everything blurred past them in a dizzying rush.

Strangely, He Qingsheng could hear a note of exhilaration in his panting breaths.

Once again in Jimo, once again as if fleeing.

Ying Qujie stopped outside a courtyard gate and knocked in a specific pattern, three long, two short, repeated three times.

After a moment, the wooden door cracked open cautiously.

Yan Xingyi’s urgent voice came from within. “Hurry, get inside.”

With a creak, the door shut firmly behind them.

Ying Qujie strode straight to the stone table in the courtyard, poured himself a cup of water, and drained it in a few gulps, his movements bold and unrestrained.

“Physician Ying, why are you here today?” Yan Xingyi turned, his tone familiar yet still tinged with lingering fear, as if ghosts were chasing Ying Qujie.

He Qingsheng met Yan Xingyi’s gaze, and the man exclaimed in surprise, “Xiao He! You’re finally back!”

Yan Xingyi was so excited that he almost handed the small puppet over, but Ying Qujie deftly withdrew his wrist, skillfully avoiding the gesture.

Ying Qujie, now about ten years old, wore a stern and rigid expression on his young face. “Let’s get to the point,” he said seriously.

Yan Xingyi’s attempt thwarted, he plopped down onto a nearby stone bench. As if recalling something, his expression also turned grave.

He Qingsheng asked, “What do you mean?”

For her, three years had slipped away in the blink of an eye. But for Ying Qujie and Yan Xingyi, it had been three years of real survival in this bizarre illusion.

Yes, survival, not life.

This illusion seemed to have scripted a life for everyone who entered it.

Yet, whether out of mockery or the twisted amusement of the illusion’s creator, a higher being, they were not entirely marionettes controlled by the script.

They had a degree of autonomy, a certain space to act.

But whenever it came to key plot points, they would uncontrollably follow the script’s demands.

Then, when the script led them to a dilemma, the unseen hand behind it would generously offer them different choices to make.

He Qingsheng listened as Ying Qujie and Yan Xingyi took turns recounting the pivotal plot points of the past three years.

The more she heard, the more she felt the illusion’s creator had a particularly sadistic sense of humor.

During his years as a teacher in Jimo Town, Yan Xingyi had dealt with no fewer than a dozen neighborhood disputes.

Each side had its own version of events, each claiming righteousness. Many of these issues were matters of perspective, inherently difficult to judge as right or wrong. Yet, the illusion forced Yan Xingyi to choose the “correct” side between the two.

The first time he encountered such a dilemma was when two students argued:

One student claimed that the teacher’s school was too generalized, hindering the children of Jimo from learning effectively and should be shut down by the authorities. The other insisted that the school helped people understand the classics, educating the masses, and should be strongly supported.

The essence of their debate was the difference between exam-oriented education and quality education.

Not just in small Jimo Town, even in the highly developed modern society with advanced technology and civilization, this debate remained a hot topic.

It was nearly impossible to rigidly define which was right or wrong.

Background, environment, individuals, even personal experiences, could lead to entirely opposing views on these two educational philosophies.

Yan Xingyi, a liberal arts prodigy from modern society, naturally had deep insights into this.

When the two students brought their debate to him, Yan Xingyi spent an entire day citing classics and bridging ancient and modern wisdom to enlighten them.

But the illusion would not tolerate such neutrality and harmony. Yan Xingyi had to choose one of the two students and support their viewpoint, or he would be trapped at this moment in time indefinitely.

Suspecting that the illusion would assign different outcomes to different choices, he cautiously opted for the school education that was more universally applicable to the small town.

Yet this very choice directly led to the death of the student advocating for quality education.

When the news of the death reached him, Yan Xingyi realized for the first time the malicious intent behind the illusion, it reveled in such cruel dilemmas.

From then on, over the next three years, Yan Xingyi found himself trapped by one ambiguous choice after another, forced to make one reluctant decision after another.

Behind each choice lay a blood-soaked carnival of death.

Especially the people within the illusion were no different from outsiders when choices weren’t involved. Even though it was an illusion, after prolonged interaction, human hearts are made of flesh, Yan Xingyi couldn’t bear to see any of them die, yet he had no choice but to face this agonizing situation.

Every person around him had a chance of meeting misfortune, and by now, he was almost numb to it.

Fortunately, over the past six months, he had made progress, he could now create a protective barrier that could shield him safely for up to half a month.

“Xiao He.” Yan Xingyi called her name softly, his voice hoarse, dark circles under his eyes. “My last choice was between His Highness and Wu Shou.”

“Choosing His Highness would have meant the deaths of many, Li Quan from West Lane, Song Fugui the wine seller, Auntie Zheng’s youngest son… But I-” Yan Xingyi turned his face away in shame, unable to utter another word.

He Qingsheng understood the choked emotion in his voice and gave his shoulder a firm pat.

No wonder Prince Liang wasn’t with them.

It had only been half a month since Yan Xingyi’s last choice, he still had another half-month of respite.

As the Imperial Preceptor of the Su Dynasty, Yan Xingyi knew a thing or two about karma and could glimpse fragments of divine will, yet even he was tormented by the illusions playing with his emotions and sanity.

He Qingsheng worriedly glanced at Ying Qujie.

As a true mortal, burdened with his master’s final instructions, what would he experience in this illusion?

Holding the small wooden puppet, Ying Qujie’s red bracelet swayed slightly in the air.

He Qingsheng lowered her gaze, one end of the black-red thread was tied to the bracelet, the other resting in her hand.

Had he tugged on that bracelet countless times in danger, only to receive no response?

Had he gone through repeated cycles of hope and disappointment?

“I’ll sense it if there’s danger.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.” Her lighthearted promise was nothing but a grand, empty check, vanishing without a trace when it came time to cash it.

Leaving only a mortal who had taken her at her word.

For a moment, He Qingsheng didn’t dare to ask.

Ying Qujie followed her gaze to the red bracelet, as if knowing what she was thinking. His expression remained gentle, lips curving into a smile.

“No need to feel guilty. I never called for you in danger.”