Chapter 123: [End of the First World] - 123: Extra Story

Chapter 123: [End of the First World] Chapter 123: Extra Story

Lucien had thought that after his soul was extracted from Lucien Sinclair’s body, his consciousness would be returned to his real world, just as 000 had promised. To his absolute surprise, his soul actually lingered in this world for nearly ten whole years, watching Dominic Vance writhe in agony as he gradually came to realize his own feelings.

"Do you know that it is incredibly boring for me to just keep looking at him like this? Not to mention, it is a massive waste of time." Lucien cast a sidelong glance at the semi-transparent entity with wings flapping frantically beside him. It looked exactly like a chubby, flying water droplet, which was the physical manifestation of 000’s second personality.

Lucien had protested several times against the fact that he had to sit here and watch Dominic Vance like this, but ultimately, 000 rejected his complaints. According to its words, he had to stay and observe, ensuring that the subsequent plot developed correctly and that the world would not collapse because the male lead went insane from unfulfilled desires.

As for whether Dominic would go mad from love and cause the world to collapse, that was completely outside the scope of what 000 and Lucien needed to worry about.

[I already told you that the time ratio has been adjusted; these ten years are equivalent to merely one day in your real world.] The water droplet entity pouted, looking at the man writhing and embracing the tombstone to pour out his heart, and could not help but smack its lips: [Do you not feel moved at all, host? You are truly heartless.]

"Stop speaking as if you are a human, 000, you are merely a system after all."

000 shot him a glance but had absolutely no way to refute the statement. Finally, it let out a heavy sigh: [Alright, get ready, I am taking you back to the real world. Remember carefully, you only have one single day.]

Before Lucien even had time to reply, originally intending to ask what form he would return in, the scenery before his eyes abruptly went pitch black. By the time he regained his senses, he appeared in a room again, which, judging by its appearance, was likely an intensive care unit in a hospital.

Then Lucien saw his own self lying on the bed, covered in various tubes and wires, his face deathly pale.

It turned out that he had returned in the form of a spirit.

While Lucien was spaced out in a daze, the door next to him swung open, even brushing right through his body. Since he was a soul anyway, he could not obstruct anything at all. At this moment, Lucien saw a man step inside, possessing a face that bore a forty or fifty percent resemblance to the person on the bed. However, the man’s eye sockets were deeply sunken, his chin was covered in stubble, and his haggard appearance was extremely evident.

Lucien could not help but murmur softly: "Brother..."

Unfortunately, the man did not hear a single thing, he carried a small container of porridge, approached the hospital bed, and sat down: "Was Lucien lonely being here today? I have come to visit you. Father just left on a business trip, so please do not blame him. For this entire past month, he refused to go to work, just staying at home to comfort Mother, and it took endless persuasion before he finally agreed to go."

Speaking up to this point, the man picked up the glass cup on the bedside cabinet, poured a little filtered water, and then used a cotton swab to dab it gently onto the lips of the person lying on the bed: "The skin on your lips is all peeling, does it hurt?"

Lucien’s brother carefully wiped every little bit, his movements so profoundly gentle as if he were terrified of hurting the person on the bed. But the person lying there had absolutely no reaction whatsoever; only his chest rose and fell faintly in rhythm with the ventilator, proving that he still existed in this world. After finishing the wiping, he picked up a small bottle of rose water resting on the table, sprayed a little bit onto a tissue, and then placed it near Lucien’s pillow.

"You love this scent the most, I remember that." He said, his voice as hoarse and thick as if he had just endured a completely sleepless night: "Yesterday, Mother cried again, Lucien. She just kept blaming herself. Mother said she should not have let you go out that day, and then she stopped speaking, probably afraid that I would blame myself. Truthfully, I am also incredibly regretful, if I had not taken you out that day, absolutely nothing would have happened."

"We clearly got into the accident together, so why is it only you lying here? Why could the person lying here not be me instead?"

Lucien stood beside the bed, silently looking at his brother. His soul could not touch anything at all, yet the agonizing pain piercing through his chest felt incredibly real. He wanted to reach out his hand and pat the man’s shoulder, wanting to say, "I do not blame you at all", but his hand simply phased right through his brother’s shoulder, and the words caught tight in his throat. Lucien pursed his lips, muttering: "You utter fool, why do you not take care of yourself at all."

The chubby water droplet 000, which had been silent this entire time, suddenly fluttered its wings and flew over to land on Lucien’s shoulder. The electronic voice echoed inside his mind: [Eight hours of time in this world have already passed. Host, you have approximately sixteen hours left. Do you wish to go see your mother?]

Before Lucien could answer in time, the room’s door opened once again. This time, it was a middle-aged woman with silver tinging her temples, her face no less haggard than Lucien’s brother. She wore a thin, gray cardigan, carrying a thermal bag in her hand. Right as she entered the door, she forced out a strained smile, but the corners of her eyes had already quickly turned red.

"Mother." Lucien’s brother stood up to support her: "Why did you not rest a little longer? I am already here, after all."

Lucien’s mother shook her head, gently pushed the man’s hand away, and walked straight to the bedside. She said nothing, merely bending down to carefully smooth out the already neatly combed hair of her youngest son on the bed. Her gaunt hand trembled; each finger, calloused from years of doing household chores, was now shaking terribly like a leaf at the end of the season.

"Lucien, I cooked lotus seed porridge." Her voice was as soft as a wistful sigh: "This silly boy, when you were little, you loved my porridge the most, always demanding to eat it no matter what. Now that I have finished cooking it, you simply refuse to wake up and eat..."

Speaking to this point, she could no longer hold it in, tears fell silently onto the back of the hand she was resting on Lucien’s forehead. She did not cry out loud, it was just transparent teardrops continually rolling down, falling onto the snow-white bedsheets, seeping into them to form damp, stained patches. Lucien’s brother hastily turned his face away, his shoulders trembling faintly.

Lucien stood frozen dead in his tracks. This scene was not something he had never imagined before, but seeing it with his very own eyes made him truly understand just how profoundly heartbreaking it was. He staggered forward, desperately trying to open his arms to embrace his mother, wanting to wipe away her falling tears. Yet, his transparent arm simply phased right through the woman’s body, grasping nothing but empty void.

Seeing his mother’s hair, which was once glossy black and meticulously cared for, now tinged with a silvery sheen, Lucien’s heart tightened painfully: "Mom, please do not cry. Mom! Brother!"

Tragically, no one heard him at all.

000 subtly moved its wings, for the very first time not uttering a single word of teasing. A moment later, it gently patted its wings against Lucien’s cheek; although it could not actually touch him, that comforting gesture more or less helped Lucien to calm down again.

Lucien continued to just sit there, watching the two people weep and mourn for the entire session.

[Twelve hours remain.] 000 reminded him, its tone no longer possessing its usual playful demeanor: [I do not have a function to counsel humans, but you still have a mission ahead of you. The more emotionally attached you become, the harder it will be to depart.]

Lucien did not reply; he merely stood there, watching his mother and brother take turns caring for his completely lifeless and senseless body. In the afternoon, Lucien’s father made a video call home, his aged face appeared on the phone screen, with the scenery of an airport serving as the background behind him. He instructed Lucien’s brother on all sorts of things, and finally uttered only one extremely soft sentence: "Let Dad take a look at Lucien for a moment."

The phone screen was brought intimately close to the pale face resting on the bed, the other end of the line was silent for a very long time, with nothing but the sound of heavy, labored breathing. Then, the call simply ended.

For that entire day, Lucien stayed silently by his family’s side just like that. He watched his mother wipe his body for him, watched his brother meticulously massage his limbs to prevent muscle atrophy, and watched his grandmother being supported by family members to visit, holding onto his hand without ever letting go. Only when night finally fell and the hospital sank into absolute tranquility, leaving nothing but the steady, rhythmic sounds of running machinery, did Lucien sit down on the edge of the hospital bed, even though he knew full well he could not genuinely sit on it.

He lowered his head, whispering to his own physical body: "Lucien will try his absolute best to wake up. You... you must try to endure just a little bit longer, okay."

[It is time.]

000’s voice rang out, allowing absolutely no room for hesitation. Lucien felt an invisible, powerful force yanking him right out of the room, out of the hospital, and entirely out of this world. Right before everything blurred completely away, he still managed to catch a glimpse of his brother resting his weary head beside the hospital bed, still tightly clutching onto his cold, lifeless hand even in the midst of a hazy slumber.