Ji Yushi’s response was calm, and the words came out of his mouth without much hesitation, as if he had already thought about them countless times in his mind, carrying no burden at all.

This was extremely unusual.

It didn’t seem like the Ji Yushi Song Qinglan knew.

A trace of anxiety rose in Song Qinglan’s heart: “How can you say you don’t have such a reality? You have parents, colleagues, friends, and even a brother—didn’t we just run into him in the hallway?”

As they stood facing each other, Ji Yushi seemed trapped by something, every part of his body tense, his breathing almost imperceptible.

When he heard the question, his eyelashes trembled slightly, but his expression remained largely unchanged.

Clearly, he was somewhat shaken.

Seeing his reaction, Song Qinglan continued, “If not them, then you have someone you’re dating. If you disappeared, how would they feel?”

Three people becoming one… such things were too much for a straightforward man like Song Qinglan to consider.

Song Qinglan realized this was a poor example, so he paused, quickly moved past it, and tried to steer the conversation back on track: “Everyone has a reality that truly belongs to them. Everyone has their own life. Think about it—don’t you have something you most want to achieve in your true reality? Like an unfulfilled dream, a lifelong pursuit? If you give up now, what will all those years of effort mean?”

At this point, Song Qinglan abruptly stopped, stunned, because Ji Yushi’s eyelashes trembled again, and a tear quickly slid down his cheek.

Song Qinglan had never seen anyone’s tears fall so fast, so decisively.

Amid his shock, his heart suddenly tightened, and a sharp pain shot through it.

Song Qinglan only now began to grasp what it meant when Ji Yushi said he didn’t have such a reality.

Could it be that Ji Yushi’s life wasn’t as happy as it appeared?

Such extremely pessimistic words coming from Ji Yushi suggested they weren’t just an emotional outburst; they might well be the truth.

Clearly, Ji Yushi had left him behind without explanation—Song Qinglan should have been angry and upset. But after learning this, he found himself at a loss, even struggling to find the right words for the first time in his life, feeling a bit panicked.

He lifted his hand, then let it fall back down.

Song Qinglan cursed silently to himself, Damn it, why did no one ever teach me how to comfort someone?

But Ji Yushi wasn’t actually crying.

The tear had been a reflex, like a handful of snow shaken from a pine branch by the wind, falling to the ground and disappearing as quickly as it appeared. After that single tear, there were no more.

It was more of an instinct than actual crying.

For some reason, though they were standing so close, Song Qinglan found himself unable to reach out and touch Ji Yushi’s face, unable to wipe away that tear.

It was as if touching Ji Yushi might shatter something fragile beyond repair.

Ji Yushi’s eyes, clear and bright in the light, just looked at him.

His eyes were slightly wet, yet colder than ever before, as he repeated, “As long as I’m here, I can have everything I want.”

This was delusion.

“Ji Yushi.”

Song Qinglan couldn’t hold back any longer. He used his thumb to wipe away the barely noticeable tear, his heart inexplicably burning, his hand trembling slightly.

He felt like he understood something, but now wasn’t the time for reflection. In a low voice, he said, “Even if you don’t have such a reality, you still have us. Me, Chun’er, Duan Wen… The other six members of Team Seven are all waiting for you. You can’t let a phone call mess with your mind. It’s all fake—”

A phone call.

The words reached Ji Yushi’s ears.

In that instant, his pupils dilated slightly, and then gradually, his entire body visibly relaxed.

“Fake.” The tension in his mind snapped, and Ji Yushi slowly returned to his senses, as if all his strength had left him, collapsing onto Song Qinglan’s shoulder. “Captain Song, it was that phone call…”

Song Qinglan froze as Ji Yushi leaned against him.

He had practically fallen into his arms.

A faint scent reached Song Qinglan’s nose, coming from Ji Yushi’s hair.

Ji Yushi didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. He was breathing in small gasps, his body covered in cold sweat now that he was fully awake.

He was scared.

If Song Qinglan hadn’t caught up with him, he might have truly been drawn into that fatal attraction.

With his head buried in Song Qinglan’s shoulder, Ji Yushi spoke quickly and briefly: “There was something wrong with that phone call. It grabbed hold of the thing I wanted most in my heart. After I hung up, there was only one thought in my mind: nothing else mattered; the only important thing was to get it.”

The crisis was over. It had indeed been that phone call.

Song Qinglan let out a sigh of relief. “Damn.”

In this position, his chin rested on top of Ji Yushi’s head, leaving him unsure how to respond.

Ji Yushi didn’t move, so Song Qinglan awkwardly raised his hand and patted him on the back: “It’s good that you’re back to your senses. We need to tell Old Duan and the others immediately and have them be on alert.”

Ji Yushi gave a faint “mm” but still didn’t move.

Song Qinglan hesitated to lower his hand.

A few seconds later, he changed to a hugging posture. Since his teammate was in a bad mood, he felt justified in fulfilling his duty as captain.

Loosely protecting him, Song Qinglan asked with exasperation, “One moment we’re discussing the double-slit experiment, and the next you’re walking away. That’s worse than Li Chun. Consultant Ji, what was in that phone call that was so irresistible?”

Song Qinglan really wanted to know what Ji Yushi had experienced, what kind of life he had lived, and why he was so pessimistic that he would say something like “I don’t have such a reality.”

But it seemed they weren’t yet at the point where they could share everything.

Ji Yushi replied in a muffled voice, “It was my lifelong pursuit.”

As Ji Yushi spoke, his breath tickled Song Qinglan’s neck, sending a tingling sensation through him.

Now fully awake, Song Qinglan couldn’t help but find it amusing that he still remembered the nonsense he heard while confused. “And what is that?”

As soon as he asked, Ji Yushi pushed him away.

“Thank you.” Now that he had recovered, Ji Yushi was cold and distant again, having returned to his usual calm demeanor. “Maybe it’s something like having three boyfriends or so. If I don’t go back, won’t they be heartbroken?”

Song Qinglan had said earlier, “You have someone you’re dating. If you disappeared, how would they feel?” That emphasis on the plural had clearly been deliberate.

Ji Yushi found it grating to hear, and he didn’t expect Song Qinglan to be so fixated on this misunderstanding.

Feeling insulted, Ji Yushi, who tended to hold grudges and didn’t want to argue with a straightforward man, deliberately used this line to block him.

Song Qinglan frowned. “You…”

“I’m very fond of myself,” Ji Yushi coldly replied before getting back on topic. “In that phone call, Minister Lin personally told me that our mission rating had been determined, and the score was very high.”

Suddenly, his arms were empty, leaving Song Qinglan with a sense of discontent.

Song Qinglan crossed his arms over his chest, and haughtily said, “It’s fake. The mission rating couldn’t have come in that quickly.”

Ji Yushi replied, “I know it wouldn’t be that fast.”

They walked inside, knowing they’d have to buy tickets again.

Around them, passengers hurried past, and occasionally a stranger would glance their way.

After the recent commotion, Song Qinglan silently kept a close watch on the person he had just retrieved, knowing now that this reality was far more complex than they had imagined.

If they weren’t careful, Ji Yushi might be drawn away by something again.

Song Qinglan asked, “You were tempted because of the mission rating?”

“Yes.” Ji Yushi explained as they walked, seemingly hesitating before continuing, “After the mission rating, my points would increase, and I would finally receive the reward I was due.”

What kind of reward could be so tempting that Ji Yushi, usually so resolute, would lose his resolve, ignoring what was real or fake, and act like a madman, abandoning his teammates?

In the Sky Vault, the points system was in place.

In the Sky Vault, accumulating points not only meant higher ratings and greater glory, but also the opportunity to exchange points for more advanced missions, granting access to the Sky Vault’s core, which was crucial for career advancement and life planning.

A Guardian with an individual rating of Super One Star could be promoted to an Inspector, with the authority to review any time and space.

But a Recorder with an individual rating of Super One Star… such a figure had never appeared in the history of the Sky Vault.

Though relatively safe, the Recorder’s work was tedious and lacked mobility. They were tasked with witnessing and documenting history’s suffering, but without the power to intervene, they had to remain true observers, a role that tested a person’s endurance and resilience. As a result, even reaching One Star was rare.

Before this mission, Song Qinglan knew that Ji Yushi was about to be promoted from Two Stars to One Star. Though not yet a Super One Star, he would still receive a reward. Song Qinglan didn’t know what the reward for a Recorder might be, but his good manners kept him from asking directly.

Ji Yushi was different from everyone else in Team Seven. He wasn’t someone who easily opened up; even when analyzing and organizing information, he only did so when he was completely certain.

Speaking in front of the others during the Ouroboros mission had also been a challenge that Ji Yushi had to overcome.

The two approached the ticket machine.

Ji Yushi handed his ID card to Song Qinglan to buy tickets for the next train, when he suddenly noticed the swollen bruise on Song Qinglan’s right hand, covering both the back of his hand and his palm.

Song Qinglan seemed oblivious, his slender fingers quickly pressing the transparent panel, though it was clear his hand was not functioning well.

Does it hurt?

It must hurt.

Ji Yushi suddenly realized that from the moment he had left the carriage until Song Qinglan had found him, not once had Song Qinglan blamed him.

Their current situation was entirely related to him.

Regardless of what this reality was, for Song Qinglan, at least, from the moment they had been intercepted during the Chaos mission, this place had been Song Qinglan’s reality.

It was Ji Yushi who first raised suspicions. Song Qinglan had painstakingly gathered information, then rushed to Ning City to discuss strategies with him—despite having no leads, he had done all this. Then, Song Qinglan had been forced to remember the overlapping memories, overturning the reality he had believed in, and had set out with Ji Yushi to find a solution, only to be abandoned by him halfway.

Even now, Song Qinglan had shown no signs of panic or retreat.

But was he truly unafraid?

No one understood the feeling of memory confusion and the inability to distinguish reality better than Ji Yushi, and even someone as strong-willed as Song Qinglan was still a person of flesh and blood.

After buying the tickets, Song Qinglan asked, “If you needed this reward so badly, why didn’t you become a Guardian and participate in high-level missions? That would have earned you points faster. Why choose to be a Recorder?”

“Because being a Recorder and completing 100 Recorder missions is the test I have to pass to earn this reward, so I could only be a Recorder.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Ji Yushi realized that he had actually answered Song Qinglan’s question.

Trust is mutual.

Perhaps opening up wasn’t that difficult.

A maglev train passed through the small station.

Amid the noise, Song Qinglan turned back.

“I was adopted.” Ji Yushi lowered his eyes, his lashes casting a shadow. “I want to go back to the crime scene of my father’s murder from over a decade ago.”