Kicked off the high-rise by a merciless Ji Yushi from a month ago, Song Qinglan found himself in a free fall from the 116th floor.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp tug upward—someone had grabbed his arm at the last possible moment, leaving his entire body dangling in the air, with only his weapon, Shenmian, falling into the abyss below.

“Get up!!!”

A voice shouted from above—two words squeezed out through gritted teeth.

Song Qinglan looked up to see that the person who had grabbed him was another Ji Yushi.

This Ji Yushi had half his body wedged against the railing, his arm unnaturally strained as he held onto Song Qinglan. His face was flushed red from the exertion: “Hurry… up!!!”

The long, slender hand holding him was so tense that veins bulged on the back. This Ji Yushi was from a new loop—the same one who had disappeared in Song Qinglan’s arms earlier.

Apparently, after Song Qinglan had been kicked to his death for teasing his boyfriend, the team had soon been wiped out, leading to the emergence of a new loop, and this new Ji Yushi had reached the 115th floor and caught him before he died.

One timeline, one floor apart, two Ji Yushis.

Two completely different treatments.

This bizarre and absurd experience was something only these time travelers could understand.

Song Qinglan immediately grabbed Ji Yushi’s wrist with his free hand, using his strength to pull himself up.

The broken railing creaked under their combined weight, threatening to snap and plunge them both into the abyss.

Fortunately, Song Qinglan was exceptionally strong. With Ji Yushi’s help, he quickly grasped a solid part of the railing and used his arm strength to pull himself up with Ji Yushi’s assistance.

Once over the railing, Song Qinglan barely had time to steady himself before Ji Yushi rushed over.

They stumbled backward, and this time, Song Qinglan was the one slammed against the wall. Ji Yushi’s strength was not insignificant, and the impact made Song Qinglan’s back ache.

The adrenaline from the fall had yet to subside, leaving Song Qinglan in a heightened state of alertness.

Leaning against the wall, he panted heavily.

He couldn’t help but laugh shortly, seemingly satisfied.

Then, with even greater force, he pulled Ji Yushi into a tight embrace, burying his face deep into Ji Yushi’s neck.

It was warm.

It was real.

Tears welled up uncontrollably.

They hugged each other tightly, as if trying to merge into one.

That initial kiss was now a thing of the past—now, they just wanted to fully feel each other’s presence, to sense each other’s every breath, every heartbeat.

For Ji Yushi, this was the first time he truly felt alive.

Ever since the Ouroboros mission began, he had constantly felt on the verge of losing his mind.

But the moment he encountered Song Qinglan, he knew he wasn’t alone, knew that the hallucinations hadn’t overtaken him—he was finally back in a world of rationality.

This realization excited him more than anything else.

Ji Yushi’s heartbeat was rapid, pounding in his ears. He didn’t catch what Song Qinglan whispered by his ear, so he loosened his grip slightly and looked up, asking, “What?”

Those eyes, clear and wise, usually cold and analytical.

Only when facing Song Qinglan did the defenses drop completely, leaving only trust and a dependency even he wasn’t aware of.

Song Qinglan’s throat tightened under Ji Yushi’s gaze.

Time shifted, years flowed like water.

All those experiences he’d traveled through finally started to turn into the future he’d once longed for.

The past was past.

Song Qinglan quickly processed his emotions, tossing the past aside in an instant.

He repeated what he’d just said: “I said, this really is a world of extremes. First, you kick me off a building, then you save me and throw yourself into my arms. Who has such a thrilling love life?”

Ji Yushi had been right beneath where it all happened.

He naturally heard everything, and he was a bit speechless, though what the other Ji Yushi did was entirely understandable.

Song Qinglan couldn’t resist teasing him: “Consultant Ji, doesn’t this count as a slap followed by a sweet reward?”

Ji Yushi had to clarify: “Weren’t you the one who said it was worth it to die? I thought that meant your wish was granted.”

Song Qinglan raised his hand, a flash of cold light as his knife flew out, taking down a zombie that had rushed at them: “Let’s be reasonable here—I didn’t even get the kiss.”

“That doesn’t count. At 4:05 p.m., 19 years ago, at Ning University Affiliated Kindergarten, you kissed me for three minutes.” Ji Yushi recalled easily, “Even if we calculate one kiss as three seconds… Captain Song, you can still die 60 more times.”

Song Qinglan squinted.

Why didn’t he remember doing something like that as a child?

Now he wanted to know the details.

Ji Yushi added, “I don’t think you’re losing out.”

“How am I not losing out?” Song Qinglan chuckled lowly, temporarily setting aside his curiosity about his childhood exploits to focus on settling the current score. “Just now, I kissed you and got a mouthful of medicine taste—it’s still bitter. So be honest, how many pills did you take this time? Aren’t you listening to what your partner says?”

Ji Yushi: “…”

“Refusing to talk?” Song Qinglan kissed the tip of his nose, “Then come here, let me taste for myself.”

“Bang, bang, bang!!”

Gunfire suddenly erupted around them.

Zombies began to swarm from both sides as their teammates moved into a defensive circle.

The Song Qinglan from the new loop, holding Shenmian, fired at the zombies pouring in from both sides across the circular atrium.

Amid the gunfire and smoke, Song Qinglan turned to look at the other version of himself.

Perhaps seeing each other repeatedly across loops had made them somewhat immune.

Except for the other Song Qinglan, who didn’t quite understand what the two of them were doing at that moment, they both remained calm despite the circumstances.

In a flash, more and more zombies emerged from the surrounding rooms.

Without further words, Song Qinglan, in front of his other self, grabbed Ji Yushi: “Let’s get out of here first!!”

It was only then that he noticed something was wrong—Ji Yushi’s right hand was limp, bent at an odd angle.

No wonder he had charged into him with such force when they embraced earlier.

Song Qinglan’s expression changed: “Your hand—”

Song Qinglan was, after all, a man over 1.9 meters tall and weighing more than 70 kilograms.

It was already a stretch for Ji Yushi to catch him from such a height without breaking a bone.

Ji Yushi seemed unfazed, switching his Diamond Bird to his left hand: “Let’s go!!”

Song Qinglan snapped back to reality.

The Consultant Ji he liked was never a character who needed protection.

Having gone through far more missions than Ouroboros, their tacit understanding had grown far beyond what could be achieved even with another version of himself in the loop.

Everyone saw how they managed to find the perfect route to break through with just a Diamond Bird and a few energy grenades.

“So, what’s the situation now?” Ji Yushi asked as he fired and retreated, taking a moment to pose the question, “Role-playing or mission review?! I remember I died.”

“Died?” Song Qinglan snapped the necks of several zombies with his bare hands, his expression defiant as he looked back, “It’s just a bigger loop.”

They retreated to a corner.

Their teammates immediately filled in with a round of gunfire, sending dust and zombie flesh flying.

“A new time anchor, a bigger loop.” Song Qinglan explained briefly, “Sky Vault’s creation, tailored just for the two of us.”

As sharp as ever, Ji Yushi quickly understood what he was saying—Sky Vault had set up a new time anchor for them, sending them back to their present from the future, similar to what they had encountered in the Ouroboros mission. In fact, it had likely borrowed from the original time anchor, forcibly inserting them into it.

So, the trigger conditions for this time anchor must be set the same way.

He had indeed died, but Song Qinglan hadn’t.

Ji Yushi looked at Song Qinglan, whose strong brow and determined profile seemed to confirm something.

After he died, Song Qinglan had followed him here.

Everything that happened with the cat, everything that happened in those years, seemed to have been destined long ago.

Ji Yushi had many things he wanted to say, but now wasn’t the time.

The corner of the wall was riddled with bullet holes, dust covering both of them. Song Qinglan spat out some dirt, using his fist to smash a zombie’s head before continuing: “It named this loop ‘Overload.'”

“Overload?” Ji Yushi echoed.

That’s it!

They didn’t belong to any of the existing loops in the Ouroboros mission—in these loops, they were unique to each other.

Each loop was simultaneous from the time anchor’s perspective, so it was highly likely that they would appear in mismatched loops, as their addition could be considered an overload.

No wonder the versions of each other they met in every loop didn’t retain memories from the last.

Despite understanding this, Ji Yushi was still a bit stunned.

He felt a sense of awe toward the “Sky Vault in all ages,” and even began to understand the meaning of “allowing time to detach from linear progression, letting all ages exist simultaneously.”

For example, the Sky Vault Team 12 that went back to 1456, or their current situation… without the balance provided by the “Sky Vault in all eras” calling itself the mother system, this terrifying possibility could expand indefinitely, making this scenario ubiquitous, where life and death would no longer have any boundaries.

This development was all thanks to—

“You should thank your self-sacrificing father who dedicated himself to the world,” Song Qinglan said emotionlessly, “He didn’t do nothing for you.”

Ji Yushi was momentarily stunned.

In fact, ever since he woke up and found himself back in the Ouroboros loop, he hadn’t thought about Sheng Yun again.

He had died once and returned to that day.

After witnessing everything, it seemed he had finally been able to distinguish the past from the present.

Even if he was back in the loop, he was no longer the Ji Yushi who carried everything on his shoulders.

Song Qinglan peered ahead, seeing their teammates moving toward them: “This is how things stand now. We need to wait for the black wall to arrive simultaneously; only then can we return to the capsule together. The problem is, we’re not in the same loop.”

“Not hard,” Ji Yushi thought out loud, “As long as we complete the mission when our loops overlap, we’ll return together just before the paradox occurs.”

Song Qinglan had thought of this too: “It’s not hard at all.”

Meeting Ji Yushi in these recent loops had gradually provided Song Qinglan with answers to questions he had long been uncertain about.

But he liked listening to Ji Yushi’s analysis.

“Then you’ll have to find me every time before I die,” Song Qinglan said, “I’m pretty easy to spot.”

At this point, he got no response.

Song Qinglan turned to find the space beside him empty—Ji Yushi had disappeared again.

Not far away, the teammates who had been closing in on them also vanished.

The zombies that had just been killed in the gunfire also came back to life.

Song Qinglan’s heart sank.

He lightly punched the wall, then sat down on the spot.

Three or four zombies rounded the corner and charged at him, but he had no intention of moving.

“Bang, bang, bang!!”

Several gunshots rang out.

The zombies’ pale eyes burst open as their heads were shot through, one by one, with deadly precision.

Blood, foul and thick, pooled on the ground.

A tall, lean figure in a black combat suit emerged from around the corner, holding a Diamond Bird in the right hand, the left hand extended into the air.

Song Qinglan raised his arm and grasped the hand.

He used it to pull himself up.

“This time, so soon.” He said.

“Yeah.” Ji Yushi replied, “Didn’t want to keep you waiting too long.”

Song Qinglan lowered his head and kissed those lips.

Ji Yushi wrapped his arms around his neck, returning the kiss.

Amid the smoke and fire.

They were each other’s salvation.