With a beauty at his side, although accompanying a beauty in composing poetry, admiring scenery, stopping and strolling had always been one of his life’s pursuits—what kind of life pursuit was that, honestly—Ning Xuan spent the following stretch of time in a state of wandering distraction and self-abandonment, completely giving up and letting his body control his mind while his mind exiled itself.
Could it be that he had been alone all these years not because his hardware was lacking, nor because his software was deficient, but because his emotional intelligence was simply so fucking impossibly high that it did not fit with worldly convention? So he had been unable to lower himself to say those utterly insincere lines that not only sounded fake but also made one lose all appetite, and had instead insisted on chasing some modern concept of love. So it had all been bullshit. Just look at these women, one after another throwing themselves to their deaths over these worthless lines that sounded like lies the moment one heard them. After suffering both physical and emotional devastation, they would depart in tears like pear blossoms in the rain, still lingering with a line like, “I don’t blame him; I can only blame the fact that we were not fated.” Could someone explain to him what the hell was going on?
“That’s enough. You’ve already given yourself away. Stop pretending.”
A loud flick struck his forehead. Although it did not hurt, the fright factor was enough for five plus signs. The beauty gradually faded away from him, and even the picturesque pavilions, terraces, little bridges, flowing water, green hills, and clear streams vanished in an instant. What remained was a hard bed that dug painfully into him, a thin blanket that made him want to curl into a ball for warmth, a dim room, and rafters hung with cobwebs. His gaze landed on Yi Xuan beside him, who looked as fierce as an evil spirit. Ning Xuan instinctively shrank his neck. Could that beauty just now have something to do with him? Brother, I didn’t mean to dig at your corner. It’s just that your woman couldn’t resist temptation. She got fooled by just two sentences. You really can’t blame me!
Seeing Yi Xuan’s hand reach toward him, Ning Xuan immediately flailed backward. In just a few movements, he bumped into the wall, his face full of terror, yet Yi Xuan showed no intention of stopping.
“No way. I really didn’t mean it. If you like her, I’ll let you have her. Although she is pretty, we’re brothers, aren’t we? A rabbit doesn’t eat the grass beside its own burrow—ah, no! A friend’s wife must not be deceived!” Ning Xuan piled on what he believed was his most sincere smile.
“What nonsense are you babbling?” Ignoring Ning Xuan’s scrunched-up face, Yi Xuan placed one hand on Ning Xuan’s forehead and the other against his own. “Looks like the fever has gone down.” He pushed a bowl of dark, pitch-black substance in front of Ning Xuan and said with complete seriousness, “Drink the medicine while it’s hot. I still have things to do. I don’t have time to waste with you here.”
“What’s going on? I only slept for a while. How did you suddenly become so—very—nice to me?”
“Only slept for a while?” Yi Xuan gritted his teeth. “You slept very lightly indeed. You only slept for three whole days.”
“Three days?” Mother of God, what was going on?
“You had a fever. These past few days, the fever wouldn’t go down. The physician said that if you didn’t wake up today, we could start preparing your coffin.”
“Go to hell. I’m in the prime of my life. What coffin?”
So there had been a reason he had felt so groggy back then. The burned area must not have been treated properly, and since the burn covered a fairly large area, it had become infected and inflamed, causing the fever. Yet he had somehow managed to endure it and recover. Sure enough, his vitality was abundant. Even a cockroach would have to concede defeat.
“Stop letting your imagination run wild. If your body were really that good, would you be so fragile? If the physician hadn’t arrived in time, your little life would have already gone west. You took a stroll around the Palace of the King of Hell and came back without even knowing it, and you’re still secretly pleased with yourself. Serves you right if you don’t even know how you died.”
“I may not have known how I was going to die before, but now I know how I’ll die in the future. I’ll definitely be nagged and cursed to death by you.”
Aside from his right arm still burning with fiery pain, everything else was manageable. Especially his spirit—it was practically glowing with renewed vitality. Sure enough, traditional Chinese medicine was the true kingly path.
“Looks like you’re more or less better now. At least you won’t die. I’ll go back first. You have to drink this medicine. You can’t stop. After this dose, there are three more packets. If I have time, I’ll come make the medicine for you. If I don’t, don’t be lazy. If the illness leaves behind a root, you’ll be the one suffering. And that arm of yours—the physician mixed a new ointment for you. Remember to apply it yourself. No matter how much it hurts, you have to apply it. Otherwise, just wait for that arm to rot off.”
Holding the medicine bowl, Ning Xuan listened as Yi Xuan rattled off a string of instructions, then vanished in a flash. There was no floor heating in the room, but now there was a charcoal brazier. Although Ning Xuan’s face still wore that same dead expression and his mouth stubbornly insisted on arguing with Yi Xuan, he knew clearly in his heart that Yi Xuan was probably the one who had taken care of him these past few days. Only Yi Xuan would come to check on him. Whether it was the sole source of warmth in this room or that life-saving physician, Ning Xuan was grateful to him. In truth, he had understood most of it immediately, yet he remained stubborn as a dead duck, determined to keep groaning and protesting.
With a miserable expression, he stared at the bowl of ink-black liquid whose thickness rivaled caramel, cold sweat breaking out all over him. Although he knew this was something that could save his life, no matter how he looked at it, it seemed more like something meant to rob him and murder him. Instinctively swallowing, he gathered his courage, shut his eyes, gritted his teeth, lifted the bowl, and gulped it all down.
The bitterness of Chinese medicine was not the problem. What medicine was not bitter? But he had thought it only looked thick, with larger particles and greater density. Only after drinking it did he realize that it was not merely thick. It coated his throat like paste. After an entire bowl went down, whether he breathed normally or swallowed by instinct, the bitterness lingered endlessly and left him suffering.
He anxiously searched the whole room for water, but there were only cups on the table, just like Ning Xuan’s current situation—a complete tragedy. He could only lie on the wooden bed, gasping heavily like a fish stranded out of water.
Staring up at the crisscrossing wooden rafters, he seemed to see through them and into everything from his dream. Roommates whose names he could not say. A classical beauty whose name he could say, yet who felt unfamiliar.
Yi Lan. He felt as though he had heard that name somewhere before. He racked his brains, desperately searching his mind for any related information. Perhaps she had been an elementary school classmate. Perhaps a desk mate in middle school. Perhaps the object of his affections in high school. Or maybe the campus belle from his university days?
After searching bitterly for a long while, Ning Xuan suddenly broke out in cold sweat. Since when had his memories become so confused? Since when had he suddenly forgotten so many things? Ning Xuan was his name, and before he transmigrated, his name should have been Ning Xuan too, right? He was no longer certain. If childhood memories faded because they were too distant, then why could he no longer remember the names of his university roommates? Although they had not been close enough to take knives for each other, they had still been the entire source of his friendships over the past year. Why had he forgotten even them? If he had simply failed to remember them in the dream, then how could he explain the fact that even now, after racking his brains, he still made no progress? And thinking back now, even their faces seemed to be growing blurry…
If that had been a dream, then what was this moment? Could this also be one of his dreams? Perhaps he had never transmigrated at all, and this was merely a dream that had lasted a little too long. But if this was a dream, why was it so real? Why was even the sensation of every hair on his body so clear?
What was real, and what was a dream? He truly had no confidence anymore. Everything about himself was suddenly thrown into doubt, denied in an instant. He did not know whether one day, he might even forget who he was…
If this was a dream, then please let him wake soon, while he still at least remembered who he was. Because Ning Xuan did not know what would happen if even he forgot who he himself was…
Futile Devices Scans 
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