Chapter 167: The Warmth of Reality

Chen felt a knot of frustration tighten in his chest. He looked into Qiong’s eyes—the same eyes that once held a universe of curiosity, innocence, and a burgeoning reliance on him—and found nothing. The light he’d seen growing within them day by day had been snuffed out, leaving only a cold, desolate wasteland.

“Honestly…” he muttered, the word a low growl of annoyance aimed at their unseen tormentor. He’d had enough. The usual antics, the witty banter—none of it would work here. This required a different approach.

He stopped trying to shock her awake with words or silly gestures. Instead, he reached out, his own hand radiating the warmth of a living being, and gently covered the back of hers where it was clamped tightly around the corpse. The contrast was stark—his living heat against the deathly chill of her skin.

“Qiong,” he said, his voice deepening, all traces of his usual joking tone gone, replaced by a gentle gravity. “I know you’re afraid.”

“Afraid of loss, afraid of being left all alone. But listen to me—” He applied the slightest pressure, letting his warmth envelop her cold hand. “I won’t leave you behind. Not in the real universe, and not in some damn illusion.”

“I promised to take you to see more stars. I promised to help you figure out the secrets locked away inside you. To help you find your place and your happiness in this world.”

“So, don’t be fooled by this fake,” he urged, his voice a steady anchor in the swirling blizzard. “And don’t be defeated by your own fear. Look at me. Feel it. The real me is right here.”

With his other hand, he gently tapped his own chest, right over his heart, where the beat was steady and strong. “I, Chen, am still alive and well, and I plan to keep pestering you for a long, long time. This,” he gestured dismissively at the body she held, “is just a low-quality figurine Phantylia cooked up to scare you.”

“Now, throw it away. And then—”

He took her hand, the one clutching the fake body, and began to guide it away, gently but firmly prying her stiff fingers from the corpse, one by one. “Grab my hand.”

Her fingers were rigid, resisting with a desperate strength, as if letting go would be an admission of a final, terrible truth. But Chen’s grip was patient, an unyielding warmth against her frozen senses, slowly seeping past the ice encasing her heart.

“I’ll take you out of here,” he murmured, his voice a constant, soothing presence. “We’ll find the real everyone. We’ll find the real stars.”

Finally, her fingers loosened their grip completely.

The instant Chen’s corpse left her embrace, it didn’t fall. It silently dissolved, breaking apart into a shower of fine ice crystals and shimmering specks of light. The cold wind caught the glittering dust and scattered it into the white expanse, leaving nothing behind.

Qiong’s hollow eyes shifted. Her focus, once lost in a void of despair, slowly, painstakingly, began to return. It drifted from the space where the body had been, finally landing on the face of the living, breathing Chen who held her hand so tightly.

She stared at him, at the worry etched into his features, at the strained smile he was trying to maintain for her. A thin, glistening layer of moisture first appeared in those once-empty eyes. It gathered quickly, and then, without warning, tears began to roll down her cheeks, carving warm tracks through the skin reddened by the biting wind.

She made no sound, but the tears fell in a silent, rapid torrent. Then, the corners of her mouth began to tremble, struggling to curl upward into a smile that warred with the grief still etched on her features. Crying and laughing became a single, messy, beautiful expression. She was a wreck, and in that moment, she had never looked more real.

The tears were still flowing, but a true, genuine smile was blooming on her face. She said nothing, her gaze locked on Chen. Then, she slowly pulled her hand from his grasp and opened her arms, reaching toward the real, warm Chen who stood before her.

“Chen…” Her voice was a choked, fragile thing. “Hug me.”

Watching her, laughing through her tears and reaching for him, any lingering irritation Chen felt toward Phantylia’s cruel game vanished without a trace.

Without a shred of hesitation, he closed the distance between them, leaned down, and pulled Qiong into a firm, solid embrace.

“Alright,” his voice rumbled softly above her head, far gentler than usual. He gently patted her back in a steady, rhythmic motion. “A hug it is.”

“It’s alright,” he murmured into her hair. “It was all fake. I’m right here.”

Qiong buried her face in the crook of his neck, her arms wrapping tightly around his back as if to anchor herself to reality. Her body, once stiff and cold, slowly relaxed in his hold, soaking up his warmth as soft sobs shook her frame.

After a long while, her muffled voice came from his shoulder. “I thought… you really…”

“No ‘thoughts’,” Chen interrupted her, his tone absolute and certain. “I’m like a cockroach; I’m tough as nails. Besides, I promised to take you to see more stars, and I always keep my word.”

Qiong nodded against him, the movement tickling his neck slightly.

She finally pulled back enough to look up at him, her eyes and nose still red from crying. But her gaze was clear now, the desolate emptiness replaced by a perfect, sharp reflection of his own face. She studied him carefully, then reached out a hesitant hand to touch his cheek, confirming the warmth of his skin. Her hand then moved to his chest, pressing flat against the fabric.

Intact. His heartbeat pulsed, steady and strong, a living rhythm beneath her palm. The obvious, real sensation finally washed away the last dregs of fear, and she let out a long, shuddering breath.

She gave a soft hum of agreement and haphazardly wiped at the tear stains on her face with the back of her hand, smudging them more than cleaning them.

Just then, the world around them began to fail.

The scenery of the Belobog snow plains, the eternal blizzard, the endless white—it all started to flicker violently, like a television screen with a faulty connection.

The corpse Qiong had been holding was long gone, and now the entire illusory stage was collapsing in on itself.

“Looks like this layer of the illusion is about to give way too,” Chen said, pulling Qiong up and tucking her securely by his side. “Hold on tight to me. Don’t get separated this time.” He shot a glare at the dissolving landscape. “This crappy place of Phantylia’s has terrible service. The environment is always under renovation.”

Qiong immediately gripped his hand back, her hold surprisingly strong, and nodded vigorously.

The familiar, disorienting sensation of darkness and weightlessness struck again, pulling them down into the abyss between illusions.

But just before the darkness swallowed them whole, Chen heard Qiong’s voice, a whisper so faint it was almost lost to the void.

“Chen… you’re real. That’s… good.”

[Elysian’s Note: Having a good time with the story? Every single bit helps immensely: