Stolen by the First Love - Chapter 77

A hazy white mist enveloped the surroundings, like a thin veil or a soft, dreamy filter. Between heaven and earth, there was only endless white, stretching for thousands of miles with no end in sight.

A faint, flickering light emanated from a translucent orb, so weak it seemed it might vanish at any moment. At its center hovered a slender, delicate woman in a pristine white dress, her long black hair cascading like a waterfall, accentuating her pale complexion. She resembled a wisp of ethereal existence clinging to life in this world.

Beautiful, yet devoid of vitality.

Her feather-like lashes fluttered slightly as Meng Xia slowly opened her eyes, her cold gaze settling on the young girl curled up on the ground nearby, fast asleep.

Meng Xia’s lips curled into a mocking smile.

How could she still sleep? Tch, how nice.

She closed her eyes briefly, and fragmented memories surged into her mind once more.

The orb crackled with electricity as her emotions fluctuated, its glow dimming and brightening intermittently.

She often dreamed of Ji Tong’s abuse, of Xia Nianzhi’s car accident. Over and over, in painful dreams or even more vivid experiences, she would weep bitterly, praying for an escape from her suffering.

She struggled repeatedly in this cyclical world, yet the predetermined plot bound her, leaving no room for a different outcome.

Raised on fairy tales, she had once firmly believed that as long as she remained kind, gentle, and resilient, a handsome and noble prince would come riding on a white horse to rescue her, and she would live out her ordinary life in peace.

The story would surely end in happiness.

But at some point, she suddenly realized it was all a lie. What awaited her was not a refined prince, but a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

And her tragic life was nothing more than the creation of another person’s pen.

The most laughable part? That person was a girl.

Meng Xia could never understand as a woman, shouldn’t she know best the hardships women face?

How could a girl treat another of her own gender like this?

Did she hate her? Of course she did.

Meng Xia had thought more than once about making Rou Rou taste her suffering, forcing her to experience the same violation firsthand.

She had even tried. But at the last moment, her heart would always soften. She couldn’t bring herself to make another girl endure even greater torment just because she had suffered.

Perhaps it was the warm comments left by that kindhearted girl who shared her name that preserved a shred of her conscience.

She knew all too well the horrors of such an experience, the shadow that would never fade, the nightmare that would haunt her for eternity, the pain that even revenge could never soothe.

This kind of suffering… she truly didn’t wish it upon another girl because of her.

Meng Xia took deep breaths to steady herself. After a long while, she guided the orb to drift toward the sleeping girl.

The girl’s legs were bent, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees as if braving a blizzard. Trembling slightly, she curled into herself like a wounded animal.

Her delicate brows were furrowed, her long but not overly thick lashes quivering. Meng Xia realized, she was trapped in a nightmare.

Suddenly, Meng Xia remembered the early days, when Rou Rou’s soul had first entered this mental space. Distrustful of each other, neither of them had dared to sleep, afraid the other might take advantage of their vulnerability.

So Meng Xia rarely got to see Rou Rou in deep sleep.

How strange—could someone who wrote such vile and narrow-minded novels also have nightmares?

The glowing orb approached Rou Rou, its faint light enveloping her. In an instant, everything from Rou Rou’s dreams surged toward Meng Xia like a tidal wave.

Rou Rou was terrified of sleep. She feared dreaming of everything from before her death. Seeing the scenes before her, she knew she was dreaming again, had become Li Tu’nan from her past life once more. Though aware it was all a dream, she couldn’t wake herself.

The dream world was chaotic, yet the events unfolded with crystal clarity, as if they’d happened just yesterday.

Her younger self stood at the podium giving a self-introduction. Her name didn’t suit her, it sounded like a boy’s name, though she was a thin, petite, quiet girl.

A complete mismatch.

Her deskmate asked, “Your name doesn’t match you at all. Did your parents think you’d be a boy?”

She didn’t answer, slipping away to the bathroom after class.

On the way, she overheard teachers talking. The P.E. teacher said, “Tu’nan? That family must prefer sons over daughters.”

“Not necessarily,” the literature teacher explained. “I think it’s from Zhuangzi’s Free and Easy Wandering: ‘Only after having piled up wind to bear him aloft with nothing to hinder or entangle him, only then did he begin to think of journeying to the south.'”

She froze, then entered the bathroom and burst into muffled sobs.

In the dream, her younger self argued with her little brother, shoving him hard as he cried, “Jiejie! Jiejie!”

Then, a car came speeding. A wash of crimson flooded her entire dreamscape.

When the red faded, her adult self stood in a hospital corridor, watching her mother, hair now completely white cover her face and weep.

Her mother’s tearful voice reached her: “Tu’nan, your brother… still needs money. So much money.”

Her nails dug into her palms, the pain piercing, yet her voice remained eerily calm: “Okay. I understand.”

Her mother pressed, “Do you have any ideas?”

She forced a smile, feigning nonchalance. “Worst case, I’ll just sell myself.”

Her mother froze. Her chapped lips parted perhaps for a moment she wanted to say there had to be another way, that they’d face it together.

But she said nothing.

Li Tu’nan felt her heart gouged out by her mother’s indifferent stare, leaving a gaping hole.

From that hole poured comments and tips, surging relentlessly before her eyes:

[This is the trashiest novel I’ve ever read. The female lead’s IQ is room temperature, a CEO only sending 520 yuan red packets? Even a middle schooler could do better. Avoid at all costs.]

[The heroine is so stupid and weak. What kind of garbage writing is this?]

[Just another cash grab. At least put some effort into it!]

[What does your brother’s illness have to do with us?]

Malice attacked from all sides, icy wind stabbing through the cavity in her chest until Li Tu’nan was numb with cold.

She didn’t know when she’d started writing those stories. People chasing thrills tipped surprisingly well.

Virtual silver coins rained down from above. Though intangible, each one struck her flesh with very real pain.

Every time she finished writing, physical revulsion followed. Nausea churned as she gritted her teeth to type the final character, then stumbled to the bathroom to vomit until empty, stomach cramping violently as she collapsed against the tiles.

The cold from the ceramic seeped into her heart.

Would death be easier? She was so tired. But she couldn’t stop, she had to take responsibility for her mistakes.

Her younger brother still needed her.

She had finally awaited an unexpected death, but not the release she longed for.

“Isn’t this your favorite plot? Mother dearest?”

No, she didn’t like it, not at all. Why must she be tormented like this?

“If you don’t like it, why did you write it this way? Did you enjoy watching the me you created suffer?”

Li Tunan’s fingers, which had been clawing at the ground, slowly loosened.

Ah, she was the cause of it all.

Her brother’s accident, Meng Xia’s life, all were shaped by her own hands.

Li Tunan felt as though she had fallen into an abyss, the icy waters of a deep pool engulfing her. The bone-chilling cold seeped in through her nose and mouth, the suffocating waves closing in around her. She reached out, trying to touch the shimmering shore on the other side, but grasped nothing.

Something tugged at her feet, dragging her deeper into the darkness. Li Tunan glanced back it was the male lead from her story, but in an instant, his face twisted into the visages of countless loathsome figures.

Just as she was about to give up, a pale, delicate hand plunged into the water, seizing hers and pulling her upward.

The moment she broke through the surface, she heard the woman’s icy voice.

“If possible, I’d rather all girls be cherished and loved, spared from suffering like this.”

Li Tunan’s eyes snapped open. It was as if she had just survived drowning, gasping for air as she took in the vast whiteness around her. A sudden calm settled in her heart.

She turned to look at Meng Xia beside her, brows furrowing with a trace of displeasure in her eyes. “You peered into my dream, didn’t you?”

Meng Xia remained composed, answering frankly, “Yes.” She closed her eyes briefly before turning her back to Li Tunan. “Leave.”

Leave?

Her heart trembled violently along with her lashes. Li Tu’nan pushed herself up from the ground, her gaze fixed on the halo surrounding Meng Xia.

The glow of the orb had weakened to near transparency.

Every time someone was chosen to enter, every time fate’s trajectory was forcibly altered, every time someone was sent away, this person expended fragments of her own soul.

They had selected many, but only that child had defied the norm. It was from the moment that child revealed the truth to Ning Qingwan that the course truly began to change.

Had they not met that child, Meng Xia’s soul would have been exhausted, plunging her once more into the cycle of this world, reliving the repulsive and vile scenarios Li Tunan had written and once endured herself.

But now… the halo had faded to this extent, and this world had already undergone irreversible change…

“If you send me away, what will happen to you?” Li Tunan’s fingers clenched unconsciously. “Will you, disappear?”

Her voice quivered faintly.

Meng Xia’s eyes lowered slightly, her tone indifferent. “No. I can still open the space one more time.”

As she spoke, her hands formed a seal, and the light around her flared brilliantly.

The surrounding whiteness was splashed with color, transforming into a dazzling kaleidoscope. The space twisted, and amidst the riot of hues, a rift opened, revealing an abyss of darkness on the other side.

Li Tunan knew that stepping through would lead to rebirth. She walked slowly toward the exit.

Yet her mind replayed everything that had happened since she entered this space.

She had hated Meng Xia, hated her for exacting revenge. But she had also ached for her. In the process of struggling alongside Meng Xia time and again, something had unknowingly shifted within her.

“Why are you so determined to change fate?”

“Because I refuse to accept it.”

“Aren’t you afraid it’ll all be in vain?”

“I am. But it’s better than doing nothing.”

Li Tunan stopped in her tracks, staring blankly into the pitch-black void ahead. For a fleeting moment, she recalled herself falling into the deep pool in her dream.

Whose hand was it that pulled her out of the abyss?

Slowly, Li Tunan turned her head. As her gaze met the last faint glimmer of light enveloping Meng Xia, her eyes flickered, and something flashed through her mind.

That day, she had seen Meng Xia give all her beautiful memories to that child…

I can still open the space one more time.

One last time. Would this desolate space then be left with only her, alone? Would she have to endure an eternity of solitude here, burdened with nothing but nightmare-like remnants of the past?

A surge of bitterness rose from her chest to the tip of her nose. Li Tunan spun around and hurried back, throwing herself into the orb of light with all her strength, embracing Meng Xia.

“I’m not leaving.”

Meng Xia’s eyes, still as stagnant water, rippled faintly.

She had chosen people to enter this space in a futile attempt to alter fate. Every time the repulsive plot unfolded, she couldn’t bear to let the children suffer and would send them away, returning alone to bear the consequences. Each time the pain became unbearable, Rou Rou would stay by her side.

She could send others away and endure alone. She could give away all her beautiful memories, leaving herself with nothing but suffering. She was selfless toward everyone except Li Tunan. Selfishly, she wanted to keep her by her side, unwilling to let her go. She had always held onto the chance to open the space one last time, yet never used it for Li Tunan.

Perhaps it was revenge. Perhaps she had simply grown accustomed to Li Tunan’s presence.

But after witnessing Li Tunan’s dreams, she thought, Enough. Li Tunan isn’t at fault either. Let’s stop tormenting each other.

Meng Xia swallowed hard. “If you don’t leave now, you’ll never have another chance.”

She tried to push Li Tunan away, but her strength failed her.

“I know.” Li Tunan’s choked voice exploded in her ears. “But I don’t want you to be alone. Call me a masochist, say I have Stockholm syndrome, I don’t care. I just don’t want you to be alone.”

Meng Xia wanted to say something, but her throat tightened, rendering her speechless. She watched as a brilliant light radiated from Li Tunan, enveloping the orb around her.

She saw the rift seal itself once more, the kaleidoscope of colors around her fading bit by bit until everything returned to its original state.

Li Tunan’s voice reached her, warm like the glow that embraced her.

“You’ve given your memories and the name ‘Meng Xia’ to that child. I want to give you a new name.”

“What?” she asked.

As the light dimmed, she saw Li Tunan’s tear-streaked face, the fog on her glasses clearing, the teardrops hanging from her long lashes falling once more.

“Chu Ji.”

Chu Ji—the clearing of rain and snow, the sky brightening again.

Infused with half of Li Tunan’s soul energy, she regained some strength. Pushing Li Tunan away, she turned and walked off.

Li Tunan wiped her tears and followed. “Do you like it? Does it sound nice?”

After a long silence, just as Li Tunan thought she wouldn’t respond, she heard her ask, “When did I ever abuse you?”

Li Tunan blinked, scratching her cheek. “This place has nothing, and you won’t even let me conjure little flowers or grass.”

Chu Ji shot her a glance. “Since when did my forbidding stop you?”

Li Tunan’s eyes brightened as she waved her hand, conjuring a paradise in the void, a babbling brook, the faint scent of blossoms carried by the spring breeze, peach petals fluttering and scattering, falling into the lake and rippling across its surface.

She glanced sideways at the woman.

Jet-black hair traced gentle arcs in the wind, and the ice in the woman’s eyes seemed to have melted.

“What else would you like to see?” Li Tunan asked softly.

“No need.” The cool voice paused. “It’ll run out.”

Li Tunan smiled faintly. “Didn’t I leave half my soul power with you? When it’s used up, just return it to me.”

“I won’t return it.”

“Ah? Fine, keep it then…” Li Tunan sat down by the water’s edge, trailing her fingers over the surface as she tentatively called, “Chu Ji…”

After a long silence, she heard a very soft reply.

“Mm.”

“I’ll stay with you forever.”

“…Alright.”

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