Time on the Isle of Forgotten Time was a cruel trickster. Without a sun to mark the days, Li Wei
relied on the rhythmic pulsing of the void currents overhead. One pulse, one second. Sixty
pulses, one minute.
He counted them. For the first year, he counted every single pulse.
31,536,000 pulses.
He sat on the roof of the fake Golden Phoenix Pavilion, staring at the swirling purple nebula.
"System," Li Wei croaked. His voice was rusty from disuse. "How long has it been?"
[Answer: 3 years, 4 months, 12 days.]
Li Wei laughed. It sounded like dry leaves scraping together. "Only three years? It feels like a
geological era."
For the first six months, he had kept the shop clean. He dusted the counters. He arranged the
mirrors. He pretended customers were coming. He cooked elaborate meals using the spirit
ingredients Su Mei had left, sitting alone at the table, talking to the empty chair opposite him.
Then, the madness set in. He screamed. He broke the mirrors. He tore the silk curtains. He ran
around the island naked, screaming Su Mei's name until he passed out from hypoxia.
Now, he was in the third stage. Acceptance.
He stopped cleaning. Dust—gray void dust that seeped through the cracks—covered
everything. The mirrors lay in shards on the floor. The silk curtains were rotting.
Li Wei climbed down from the roof. He walked into the kitchen.
He didn't cook anymore. He grabbed a handful of nutrient pellets—tasteless, efficient brown
spheres—and swallowed them dry.
"She's not coming to visit in fifty years," Li Wei said to the silence. "She lied. Or she changed
her mind. Fifty years is a blink for her. She might forget. She might come in five hundred years
and find a pile of dust and wonder where her toy went."
He walked to the counter. He picked up a brush and a piece of paper.
He had started writing. Not a cultivation manual. Not a business ledger. A will.
Or rather, a confession.
"To whoever finds this," he wrote, his handwriting shaky.
"My name is Li Wei. I was a transmigrator. I came from a world of steel and electricity. I thought I
was the protagonist. I thought the System was my cheat."
He dipped the brush in ink.
"I was wrong. The System wasn't for me. I was just the delivery boy. I delivered the
package—Su Mei—to the peak of the world. My job is done. The delivery boy doesn't get to live
in the palace. He goes back to the rain."
He looked at the words. They felt true. They felt heavy.
[System Notification: Host Psychological State Stabilizing.] [Diagnosis: Terminal
Lucidity.] [Host has accepted his role as a narrative device.]
" narrative device," Li Wei chuckled. "That's a fancy way of saying 'fertilizer'."
He put the brush down.
He walked to the mirror—the only one he hadn't broken. He looked at himself. He was
thirty-nine physically, thanks to the Time-Lock. But his eyes... they were ancient. They looked
like the eyes of the statues in the Tomb of the Loveless Immortal.
"I am ready," Li Wei whispered.
He wasn't waiting for rescue anymore. He was waiting for the executioner. He knew she was coming. The System had warned him of her shifting intent. He felt it in the frayed edges of the
Soul Resonance—the cold, calculating logic getting sharper every day.
He went to the closet and pulled out his best robes. They were the red wedding robes he had
worn eleven years ago. He had kept them hidden at the bottom of his trunk.
He put them on. They were a little loose now; he had lost weight.
He sat in the chair in the center of the ruined shop. He folded his hands in his lap.
"System," he said softly. "When she comes... don't activate the defense protocols. Don't try to
save me."
[Override Command Acknowledged.] [Why, Host?]
"Because," Li Wei smiled, a genuine, sad smile. "I don't want her to struggle. If she has to kill
me, let it be easy. Let it be clean. It's the last gift I can give her."
He closed his eyes. He listened to the void pulses.
Pulse. Pulse. Pulse.
He waited for the sound of the lock breaking.