Doctor Jiang stopped outside the door, staring at it. She closed the monitoring interface and retracted her auditory range.
The argument inside was still going on, fierce enough to penetrate the door panel. Thus, the faint sigh from the hospital bed was drowned out by the sounds of quarreling, making it difficult to hear.
Doctor Jiang turned to leave and process her data.
“Sigh, her good friend is in trouble, and she doesn’t even shed a tear.”
“Xiao Jiang must have had a falling out with her family, right? Now that this has happened to Didi, maybe she’s secretly pleased.”
Doctor Jiang knew that in the original world line, this little girl would be discharged from the hospital soon. Her parents would argue at the hospital entrance, and no one would pay attention to her, just as no one heard her cry out in pain at this moment.
Afterwards, as if in a daze, she would walk step by step into the traffic and get hit.
Unfortunately, the pianist saw this scene and fainted from shock.
In the original world line, Wen Qianshu was just a person whose name was never even mentioned. Her priority was very low, completely outside the Main God’s consideration.
Repairers never change the fate of irrelevant individuals, as it could very well alter the trajectory of the original world line and increase the difficulty of the repair.
Doctor Jiang shouldn’t have gotten involved. She only needed to prevent the pianist from seeing it, she only needed to—
She turned her head and looked at that door.
“I’m watching the wind.”
“I’ve never had ice before, is it good?”
“You’re so beautiful, why are you still so sad?”
“Why are you so sad—”
Doctor Jiang counted and realized that the previous world lines hadn’t seemed to be completely repaired either. The world lines assigned to her were mostly dead ends. The best-case scenario was merely delaying the inevitable for a few more years.
This world line will probably fail too—she always fails—
The night crept in through the window, cowering outside the light. Doctor Jiang was about to walk in but suddenly stopped.
She lowered her eyes and turned around.
The wind lifted her white coat as she walked towards the door. “Open world line rewrite permissions.”
An alarm sounded in her mind, but Doctor Jiang paid it no heed. She stepped forward, her body turning ethereal as she passed directly through the door and stood inside the room.
The people in the room finally stopped arguing—they were unconscious on the floor.
Doctor Jiang stood before Wen Qianshu. The girl’s eyes were closed, her face turned towards the window. She looked small and fragile, devoid of life.
Doctor Jiang raised her hand, tracing a line with her fingers from between Wen Qianshu’s eyebrows, down her neck, stopping at her abdomen. Where her fingers passed, silvery-white code flowed out, imprinted on her skin, then sank into her body and disappeared.
When Wen Qianshu opened her eyes, she found herself standing on a street.
It wasn’t late at night yet, and the street was full of people. There were snack shops by the roadside, a shopping mall not far away, couples arm in arm, and spouses holding their children’s hands.
The place was bustling with noise.
Wen Qianshu was stunned and muttered to herself, “Am I… dreaming?”
As soon as she spoke, she felt something being placed in her hand—it was an ice cream cone, piled high with light orange ice cream.
Wen Qianshu turned her head and saw Doctor Jiang standing beside her, holding another identical ice cream cone.
She had taken off her white coat and was dressed in casual clothes, with a wallet tucked under her arm and her long hair tied up. The lights and moonlight reflected on her cheeks, a blend of bustle and tranquility outlining her profile—breathtakingly beautiful.
Doctor Jiang tasted the ice cream and frowned slightly—she wasn’t very fond of cold things.
Wen Qianshu, on the other hand, was a bit dazed. “Can I eat this?”
Doctor Jiang: “Yes, go ahead.”
Wen Qianshu convinced herself, “I’m dreaming. I can eat anything in a dream.”
She carefully licked the ice cream and exclaimed in pleasant surprise, “It’s orange-flavored!”
Wen Qianshu: “How did you know I like this flavor?”
“Even my mom doesn’t know.”
Doctor Jiang was a little surprised. She thought it was obvious—every time she brought fruit candies, Wen Qianshu would always unwrap the orange-flavored one first.
Wen Qianshu was the type of person who lived in the moment, with a “seize the day” attitude. She inherently craved immediate gratification, always putting her favorite things in her mouth first.
However, before Lou Jiu could phrase an explanation, Wen Qianshu understood and marveled, “You’re so observant.”
She was devilishly perceptive; she could understand everything without Doctor Jiang even needing to speak.
Doctor Jiang tacitly agreed. “Want to walk around?”
Wen Qianshu ate her ice cream bite by bite, smiling so much her eyes crinkled. “Okay.”
She followed Doctor Jiang, eating her ice cream, her eyes fixed on the cotton candy by the roadside. Without even turning her head, Doctor Jiang bought one for her and let her hold it.
Wen Qianshu was ecstatic.
They first browsed through the mall, and it was then that Doctor Jiang realized Wen Qianshu was truly still a young girl. The things she liked were simple: small trinkets, pretty notebooks and stationery, fancy decorative tape—
She stared at a notebook for a long time. Doctor Jiang: “Want to buy it?”
Wen Qianshu shook her head. “No, I can’t use that many.”
She was clear-headed to the point of cruelty. “With my illness, I won’t live much longer, right?”
Doctor Jiang knew she indeed wouldn’t live long.
Doctor Jiang: “It’s okay, buy it.”
Wen Qianshu smiled but still refused. She tilted her head up, her eyes shining as if stars had fallen from the sky and landed in them. She had been sick for so long, her face perpetually pale, that it was rare to see her looking so charming and lively.
Her lips were stained with sugar, her eyes darting around, yet her feet stuck close to Doctor Jiang. She looked both curious and scared, soft and vulnerable.
Like a little kitten.
The mall was a bit crowded. At one point, Wen Qianshu was almost bumped into, and Doctor Jiang reached out, raising an arm to shield her. As they walked, Doctor Jiang felt something was off. She turned her head and found Wen Qianshu looking at her.
Doctor Jiang assumed she was bored. “Anywhere else you want to go?”
Wen Qianshu thought for a moment. “I want to climb a mountain!”
Doctor Jiang nodded. Wen Qianshu asked strangely, “You’re not going to ask me why?”
Doctor Jiang: “This is your dream. You can do whatever you want.”
Wen Qianshu paused her steps and asked, “Really?”
She repeated, “I can do whatever I want?”
Doctor Jiang: “Really.”
Because this was a “dream,” anything unreasonable could happen. Leading Wen Qianshu to a corner and confirming no one could see them, Doctor Jiang moved her fingers, and they appeared at the foot of a mountain.
This day was not a special occasion, just an ordinary weekday; this mountain was not a famous scenic spot, just an ordinary mountain. Therefore, there were very few people at night. Only the lamps beside the steps were lit, faint and indistinct, pointing the way.
But Wen Qianshu was incredibly excited, chattering nonstop, saying whatever came to mind. She said she had wanted to climb a mountain since she was very young; that her school’s autumn trips were always to climb mountains, and she heard from classmates that it was very interesting; that the mountains were beautiful, but because of her poor health, she always had to stay home alone during those times.
“Once, I signed up for the spring trip behind my mom’s back—our school’s spring trip was to a lake. I begged the teacher to take me, saying I would just sit in her car and just have a look when we got there—”
The Wen Qianshu of that time was not like her later self; her joys and sorrows were written all over her face, obvious at a glance. She had been extremely happy, but as she spoke, she sighed, dejected and sad. “Unfortunately, my mom found out. She made a huge scene and scolded me in front of the whole class.”
Li Huai’ai was furious and spoke without thinking, calling her a money-losing good-for-nothing, scolding her for not cherishing her body, for not cherishing the money spent on her—
“After scolding me, she went to scold the teacher and even filed a complaint against her. The teacher was later transferred and stopped teaching us. The students in my class all secretly blamed me—but they were right, it was my fault for letting the teacher down.”
She had long been without friends. After that, even the teachers who cared about her backed away.
Doctor Jiang wasn’t good at comforting people, so she could only say, “Well, you can climb the mountain today.”
“I overheard them saying that climbing a mountain is very tiring.” Wen Qianshu’s attention was indeed diverted. “What if I can’t climb anymore? Can I still get down?”
Doctor Jiang: “Yes, you can.”
Wen Qianshu continued to ask, “How do we get down? They said there are people who carry sedan chairs, are there any at night—”
Even Wen Qianshu didn’t know she could be so talkative. Wen Qianshu was never focused when doing things, but when she truly focused all her attention on one person, it was overwhelming.
Doctor Jiang stopped abruptly. Wen Qianshu also stopped, swallowing the rest of her words. She watched this excessively beautiful doctor lower her eyes and say, “There’s always a way.”
She’s so beautiful.
Wen Qianshu thought to herself, she was the most beautiful person she had ever seen—as beautiful as the moon in the sky.
Seeing Wen Qianshu in a daze, Doctor Jiang thought she was still worried and said, “I’m here.”
Wen Qianshu nodded and said obediently, “Okay.”
They climbed the mountain.
Step by step, they went up.
The mountain wind carried a chill, a starkness different from the city, whistling past their ears. The night was deep, the surroundings silent, and only their footsteps could be heard, as if they were the only two people left in the world.
Wen Qianshu climbed while watching Doctor Jiang’s back. But given her physical condition, she quickly grew tired and started panting. Doctor Jiang noticed her heavier breathing. “Do you still want to continue?”
Wen Qianshu: “I do.”
She bent over slightly, resting her hands on her knees. “Let me catch my breath—huh?”
Doctor Jiang half-turned. “Walk by yourself, or should I carry you on my back?”
Wen Qianshu was a bit flustered. “Then… you’ll carry me?”
Doctor Jiang crouched down. For some reason, Wen Qianshu felt her cheeks flush. She took two steps and gently lay on Doctor Jiang’s back. “Am I heavy?”
Doctor Jiang shifted her weight. She was light. Besides, with rewrite permissions active, she could freely modify the values of this world line. If she really couldn’t carry her, she could just reduce her weight. “Not heavy.”
Doctor Jiang carried her, feeling the girl’s slender arms wrap around her neck, carefully, as if afraid of hurting her.
Doctor Jiang’s back was so comfortable. Unlike her father’s, it was somewhat soft and had a nice scent. Wen Qianshu rested her cheek on her shoulder and suddenly asked, “Doctor, I still don’t know your name.”
Doctor Jiang: “Jiang Mingyue.”
Before she finished speaking, she heard the person on her back laugh. Jiang Mingyue: “What are you laughing at?”
Wen Qianshu said, “This name suits you so well.”
Jiang Mingyue: “Why?”
Wen Qianshu: “Because you’re like the moon.”
As a system, Jiang Mingyue really couldn’t understand why humans always had these strange metaphors.
But she still responded, “I don’t look like the moon.”
“You do.” Wen Qianshu said with a laugh, her warm breath tickling her ear. “You are both just as warm, just as bright.”
Jiang Mingyue: “What about the sun? Isn’t the sun warmer and brighter?”
“That’s why I said you’re the moon,” Wen Qianshu said. “You’re not as conspicuous as the sun. Your emotions are faint, just like moonlight.”
Jiang Mingyue paused her steps, then continued walking up. “I don’t have emotions.”
From the moment she gained consciousness, the Main God had told her she had no emotions.
She was root, a system, an artificial intelligence. She did not possess the rich and complex feelings of humans. That was why the Main God gave her the most difficult and painful tasks, because she wouldn’t despair over a collapsing world line or grieve the loss of friends and family like human repairers would—
Wen Qianshu: “How could that be?”
“Aren’t you very sad right now?”
The long wind blew through the leaves, rustling.
Jiang Mingyue paused, hearing Wen Qianshu continue, “Are you sad for someone else? Or—”
“For me?”
Wen Qianshu smiled, her voice soft. “In any case, some of it must be for me, right? Otherwise, why would you indulge me so much?”
Her breath was so light, like a feather about to scatter in the wind. “Thank you, jiejie. I’m so happy.”
Jiang Mingyue wanted to say it was nothing, wanted to say she had done much more for the protagonists of various world lines—those were vast and hopeless projects that took years.
But she couldn’t say anything, letting Wen Qianshu hold on to that little bit of happiness.
Wen Qianshu: “You know, sometimes I wonder, do I really exist in this world?”
Does she really have joys and sorrows? Can anyone hear her speak?
Her innate perceptiveness made her passively and constantly receive all the complaints, despair, and pain around her; and it made her realize from a young age that all this suffering was because of her.
In contrast, the people around her never noticed her. They never listened to what she wanted, nor did they care about what she refused. It was as if she wasn’t sick but mute, and her mother acted as her mouthpiece and proxy for her desires—whatever her mother said, she had to like; whatever her mother did, she had to accept. They arbitrarily decided that her only need in life was to get well; anything else was unimportant, optional.
They were always arguing, arguing over her.
But she wasn’t actually afraid of the pain; she just wanted them to stop arguing.
No one listened to her—
No one saw her—
Sometimes she wondered, would the family’s suffering only end if she left? Would they finally stop and listen to what she was thinking?
But she left again and again, was saved again and again, and they still argued, using it as a new weapon to attack each other.
The moonlight, like frost and snow, fell all over them.
The mountain forest was silent, the path long.
The clamor and voices faded into the distance. There was only her, carrying her, walking step by step towards the summit.
“You exist.”
Jiang Mingyue suddenly spoke. “I see you.”
She felt the person behind her bury her head, soft hair brushing against her neck, a little ticklish. Wen Qianshu rested on her shoulder, looked up, and saw the boundless dark night, and in the night, a bright moon.
Wen Qianshu: “Mhm.”
She said softly, “I see you too.”
