Chapter 273: This Life—The Beginning (XIV)

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Chapter 273: This Life—The Beginning (XIV)

Lately, nothing had gone smoothly for the Wei family, as though an invisible hand were manipulating events from the shadows. Ever since Old Master Wei suffered his stroke, officials aligned with the Wei family had been suppressed or transferred one after another. At first, the pattern was not obvious. Their network of relationships was enormously complicated, and one or two unstable positions would have been normal. But as the leadership transition approached, actions targeting the Wei family became more frequent, nearly reaching the core of their political power.

After extensive investigation, several of the Wei family’s political enemies appeared to be involved. When the new chairman of the Central Military Commission finally took office and the Wei family lost the contest, the conflict erupted into open struggle. Even so, Wei Xun’s business remained largely unaffected. If anything, RT Intelligence’s research attracted enormous positive attention and improved public opinion toward the Wei family. Shang Ke’s existence, however, still stuck in Wei Xingye’s throat—and in the throats of most of the Wei family—as painfully as a fishbone.

One day, Shang Ke suddenly received an anonymous text message: 【Keep a close eye on the documents in your possession.】

The “documents” naturally referred to the material Shang Ke had once used to threaten Wei Xingye. Wei Xingye had never forgotten that ticking time bomb. He wanted it removed, but Wei Xun blocked him at every turn. Shang Ke’s technology unquestionably benefited the Wei family, yet his relationship with Wei Xun also threatened to bring them serious negative attention. If Wei Xingye had been given an uncomplicated choice, he would rather have destroyed the technology than allow a relationship the family could not openly acknowledge to become a permanent stain on the Wei name.

Wei Xun’s mother, Song Mizhen, pressed him to marry every few days and frequently kept Wang Qinya beside her as though she were already the Wei family’s future daughter-in-law. Wang Qinya was no innocent bystander either. In private, she deliberately—or perhaps simply carelessly—spread malicious rumors about Shang Ke, describing him as a gay man who had deliberately seduced Wei Xun. According to her version, Wei Xun stayed close to Shang Ke only because of Shang Ke’s expertise in artificial intelligence, while Shang Ke was the one shamelessly clinging to him.

Most people found the story believable. Wei Xun had never been romantically linked with a man in his entire life. Shang Ke, on the other hand, had lost his parents in his teens and had lived with the Qi family ever since. Qi Chen was a notorious playboy. If there had been nothing between him and Shang Ke, why would someone with Qi Chen’s personality have been so generous toward an unrelated orphan?

To make the gossip more convincing, busybodies posted photographs of Qi Chen and Shang Ke to their social circles. There were intimate pictures of the two from childhood through adulthood, along with Qi Chen’s private collection of Shang Ke reaction images—hundreds in total. Looking through them, almost anyone would have found it difficult to believe they were merely ordinary friends.

Certain conspiracy theorists loudly admired Shang Ke’s supposed skill: when he had nowhere to go, he latched onto Qi Chen; once he began climbing socially and financially, he hooked Wei Xun. According to them, he was practically a master player of the pleasure scene.

Qi Chen looked through the photographs with complicated emotions. They had spent more than ten years together, and yet he had never realized what he felt for Shang Ke. If his memories had not returned, perhaps he would still be acting like a fool—happily circling around Shang Ke while searching the entire world for his so-called true love.

He had only needed to take one step for Shang Ke to become his lover. With their relationship as childhood companions and Shang Ke’s gentle temperament, Qi Chen believed Shang Ke would never have rejected his pursuit. Yet he had somehow missed the opportunity entirely and could only watch while happiness that should have been within reach was taken by another man.

Qi Chen could not accept it. He wished desperately that time could run backward.

Wait. Turn back time? A sharp gleam flashed through Qi Chen’s eyes. Perhaps it was not impossible. The Reincarnation Lamp was now in his possession. As long as Shang Ke and Wei Xun died in this lifetime, he could immediately activate the Lamp and return time to ten years earlier. Back then, Shang Ke had been isolated and helpless, Qi Chen had been his only support, and Wei Xun had been nothing more than an irrelevant stranger.

To Qi Chen, who now possessed Wu Du’s memories, the lives of ordinary mortals meant very little. Eager to put the idea into action, he failed to notice the faint flicker of the mole in his palm.

Elsewhere, Wei Xun was practically exploding with rage. His first response was to have every slanderous post about Shang Ke suppressed. Then he saw the photographs of Shang Ke and Qi Chen, and his jealousy surged out of control. Shang Ke in his school uniform, Shang Ke playing ball, biting a pen, hugging a stuffed toy, cosplaying Garfield, tying up his hair… From middle school through university, Qi Chen appeared in nearly every stage of his life. The two hugged, wrestled, played around, and even kissed each other on the cheek. They looked almost exactly like a couple in love, and the sight drove Wei Xun nearly insane.

Although Wei Xun tried to control himself, the jealousy became intolerable. In the middle of sex one day, he suddenly asked, “Have you ever slept with Qi Chen? Between me and him, who’s better?”

Shang Ke glared at him darkly. Fucking idiot. If I’d slept with Qi Chen, what would I still need you for? I would have switched lovers ages ago! Just looking at him, you can tell he’s an expert in romance and probably qualified to teach a whole course on sex, okay?

Shang Ke shoved him away, pulled free from the cock still inside him, and turned as though preparing to leave.

“Keke!” Wei Xun immediately caught him and silently cursed his own mouth. He loved Keke deeply, but in Keke’s presence he could never seem to control his emotions. He was jealous that Qi Chen had occupied the brightest years of Keke’s life and had become his most important family. Wei Xun, by contrast, had only been able to keep him close through forceful methods.

Shang Ke struggled in Wei Xun’s arms for a long time without escaping, then turned and glared at him. “In this entire lifetime, you’re the only pig who’s rooted up this cabbage!”

“You’re right. I’m a pig.” Wei Xun was remarkably pleased to be one. After all, he was the only pig who had successfully rooted up Shang Ke, this tender cabbage.

Shang Ke’s face went cold. “Get off me. I don’t want to talk to you for now.”

“Then when will you want to talk to me?”

“Depends on my mood.”

And that mood lasted three months.

Shang Ke buried himself in the laboratory and isolated a certain man outside like a virus. By the time he completed development of the renovation robot and finally emerged from seclusion, he discovered that Wei Xun had disappeared.

Two days earlier, Wei Xun had texted him that he needed to make a trip to Xiutayue Mountain. After that, there was no further contact, and calls showed his phone outside the service area. Shang Ke immediately began investigating. He soon discovered that Wei Xun’s father, Wei Xingye, had been sent to the Xiutayue Mountain border two weeks earlier to observe a military exercise. The trip had originally been expected to last seven days, but Wei Xingye still had not reappeared. All related information had been sealed, making it impossible to tell what had happened.

Shang Ke carefully watched the Wei family’s movements and found that most of its important members had gathered together. The situation plainly did not look good. After waiting several more days with no news, Shang Ke decided to go to Xiutayue Mountain himself.

“You’re going to Xiutayue Mountain?” On the day Shang Ke was due to leave, Qi Chen found him at the airport.

“Mm.” Shang Ke answered casually. “Your information network is pretty efficient.”

Qi Chen smiled. “Of course. I’m the one who arranged for Wei Xingye to be sent to Xiutayue Mountain in the first place.”

Shang Ke’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”

“He hurt you. I wanted to teach him a lesson.”

“So the Wei family’s recent instability was your doing too?”

“That’s right.” Qi Chen admitted it without hesitation.

“What did you do at Xiutayue Mountain?” As far as Shang Ke knew, there was a military base near the mountain border. Ordinary people could not approach it at all. Wei Xingye was surrounded by armed police and traveled in an armored vehicle; even a sniper would have difficulty harming him.

Qi Chen moved closer and wrapped his arms around Shang Ke’s waist. “Kiss me once and I’ll tell you.”

“Get lost.” Shang Ke tore his arms away without mercy, then grabbed him by the collar. “Where is Wei Xun?”

“How would I know?” Qi Chen spread his hands, all innocence.

Shang Ke stared at him for a long moment. Only when the airport announcement sounded did he let go. “I have to board.”

Qi Chen caught his arm, his expression finally turning serious. “You really have to go?”

“I do.”

“Why?” Qi Chen finally burst out angrily. “What is so good about Wei Xun? He’s arrogant, domineering, and looks down on everyone. His father, Wei Xingye, tried to get rid of you in secret. His mother, Song Mizhen, brought people together to humiliate you. His friends all treat you like a joke. Is a man like that really worth loving? Why won’t you give up?”

“Give up?” Shang Ke looked at the sky outside the window and said softly, “If even I give up on him, then he’ll truly have nothing left.”

No memories. No lover. Not even a complete soul or personality. Lifetime after lifetime, empty and alone until he vanished into nothingness.

Qi Chen smiled bitterly and slowly released him. He watched Shang Ke’s resolute back recede into the distance, pain twisting through his chest. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, all emotion had disappeared.

Keke, you refuse to give up. So do I. Then let death completely sever the fate tying you together in this final lifetime. Once time is rewound, everything will begin again…

When Shang Ke reached the area around Xiutayue Mountain, he found the entire region sealed off. After asking locals for information, he learned that several avalanches had struck in succession not long ago, blocking the roads and burying a number of people. Armed police and militia were organizing rescue efforts.

An avalanche?!

Shang Ke’s heart sank with a terrible premonition. Where was Wei Xun? What condition was he in? Shang Ke did not care whether Wei Xingye lived or died. He only wanted Wei Xun safe.

He tried calling again. Still no answer. The bodyguards accompanying him searched for information and fortunately found one of the men who had originally followed Wei Xun. From him they learned that Wei Xun had joined other rescue personnel in the search effort and had not been heard from afterward.

“How long has Wei Xun been inside the mountains?” Shang Ke asked.

“About twenty-six hours.”

Looking at the endless white mountains in the distance, Shang Ke naturally had no intention of standing there waiting like a fool. When his bodyguards were distracted, he quickly slipped into the crowd. Armed police had sealed the area, and unrelated civilians had no chance of getting inside.

But that could not stop Shang Ke. He secretly obtained a search-and-rescue uniform, added his name to the rescue roster, checked the necessary equipment, and joined one of the teams.

In avalanche incidents, usually only people left exposed near the surface had much chance of survival. Once someone was deeply buried, the survival rate plummeted. More than twenty hours had already passed since the previous avalanche. The new rescue team’s main task was to deliver equipment and supplies to survivors trapped inside while recovering bodies along the way. As for anyone still buried under the snow, practically no one expected to find them alive.

Shang Ke followed the rescue team across the snowy mountains for several hours before finally reaching the area where survivors had gathered.

And then he saw the familiar figure among the crowd. Wei Xun wore full snow gear and stood straight-backed. He looked somewhat battered, but he was alive and well.

Shang Ke rushed over and threw his arms around him.

“Keke?” Wei Xun pushed up his goggles, astonishment covering his face. “Why are you here?”

“I was worried about you.” Shang Ke’s eyes shone, white clouds of breath spilling from his lips.

Wei Xun barely resisted the urge to kiss him. He glanced around, pulled Shang Ke aside, and lowered his voice. “Do you realize how reckless this is? It’s dangerous here. The outside perimeter is already sealed—how did you even get in?” When he noticed the rescue uniform Shang Ke was wearing, he stopped questioning him and instead warned, “Stay beside me. Don’t run around.”

“Mm.” Shang Ke paused, then asked, “What about your father? Is he all right?”

“He’s fine. He had just been evacuated by helicopter when I arrived.” Wei Xun’s tone was indifferent.

The border outpost lay only a few dozen kilometers away, surrounded by snowy mountains and ice-covered rock. The road ran beneath the mountains, so even if an avalanche struck, evacuation was ordinarily possible. Unfortunately, an earthquake hit during Wei Xingye’s return trip that day, collapsing several walls of snow and sealing the road. Most of his entourage were buried. Wei Xingye was relatively fortunate: he remained inside a vehicle with equipment and supplies and survived for several hours until rescuers reached him. After emergency treatment, he was flown out by helicopter. The remaining soldiers and civilians—including stranded people found nearby—had to remain where they were and wait for additional support.

Shang Ke was speechless. Wei Xingye certainly had good luck—good enough to leave by helicopter while his son remained behind. The altitude here was high, and the helicopter could carry no more than about 150 kilograms. If not for Wei Xingye’s status, there probably would have been no helicopter evacuation at all.

“We leave in one hour.”

There were roughly twenty or thirty survivors. They changed into gear delivered by the rescue teams, replenished their energy, treated the injured, and prepared to move out.

Once the group had rested, the search-and-rescue captain took the lead and began guiding everyone along the planned route out of the mountains.

Because the rescuers had already traveled the route once, the journey initially went fairly smoothly.

The disaster struck two hours later. The ground trembled slightly at first, then several deafening booms rolled across the mountains. A high wall of snow collapsed. Clouds of powder burst into the air, while the ground split layer by layer as though the entire landscape were being swallowed.

“Run!” the team leader screamed. “Drop your packs!”

Everyone threw away equipment as they ran, following the leader in a desperate sprint.

The avalanche surged toward the fleeing crowd like a burst dam. In the blink of an eye, dozens of people vanished into the churning wall of snow.

The avalanche came quickly and ended just as quickly. Within only a few minutes, scattered survivors began struggling out from the surface.

The leader had survived by sheer luck. He looked around. Their group had originally numbered twenty-five. Only seven people were now visible.

“Switch your personal beacons to receiver mode. Keep moving toward the destination while searching for other survivors,” the leader ordered immediately.

After an avalanche, waiting for outside rescuers was rarely realistic. The critical rescue window was only about fifteen minutes. Those buried beneath the snow had to rely on companions who had survived near the surface.

In darkness, Shang Ke felt himself enclosed by a warm body. At the instant the snow engulfed them, he had seen Wei Xun throw himself toward him and lock Shang Ke tightly in his arms.

The space around them was narrow and bitterly cold. Only a tiny pocket of air remained between their bodies.

Shang Ke could hear Wei Xun’s heartbeat and breathing, but the man’s body was rigid and motionless. He had probably lost consciousness. Shang Ke had no idea how deeply they had been buried. Judging from the pressure around them, digging out under their own power was impossible. No matter what, they had to buy time until help arrived.

The oxygen in their pocket was disappearing rapidly. Within minutes, they would begin to suffocate. Shang Ke painfully searched across both their bodies and found one beacon and one Avalung breathing device. Unfortunately, Wei Xun’s beacon had been smashed. Shang Ke’s Avalung still worked, but it could support breathing for only about forty minutes.

Without a functioning beacon to mark their position, the chances of rescue within that time were extremely small. Shang Ke had to find some other method to help the people above locate them quickly.

He managed to pull out his phone and turned on music at maximum volume. There was no cellular signal in this area; communication required specialized equipment. Even if the phone had connected, Shang Ke had no way to tell anyone their exact position.

Loud music echoed through the darkness. Wei Xun’s body twitched once, but he did not wake. His temperature only continued to fall.

Shang Ke took his own Avalung and placed the mouthpiece between Wei Xun’s lips. He slowed his own breathing as much as possible to conserve oxygen.

Shang Ke forced himself to remain alert. With an arm already stiff from the cold, he raised the phone and slowly pushed it upward into the snow. His arm felt like a rusted machine; every fraction of movement demanded all his strength.

He knew he could not die yet. He first had to ensure Wei Xun survived. Otherwise, Shang Ke’s own death would mean nothing.

But it was so cold… Shang Ke curled closer into Wei Xun’s arms. The man’s chilled body could no longer give him any warmth. Only the faint heartbeat remained, bringing Shang Ke a fragile sense of peace.

The snow was too deep and his arm too heavy. Moving only a few dozen centimeters felt as though an entire century had passed.

The closer the phone came to the surface, the greater the chance someone would hear it. No matter how difficult it became, Shang Ke had to continue. Yet when the phone was only a little more than ten centimeters from the surface, the music abruptly stopped. A shutdown tone followed. One second later, the darkness sank into complete silence, dragging Shang Ke toward despair.

Shang Ke trembled violently. His mind had begun to blur, the first signs of hypothermia setting in. He curled inward and glanced at the Avalung, but ultimately did not take it back. The device did not generate endless oxygen; it merely concentrated oxygen trapped in the surrounding snow. After dozens of minutes of use, even that nearby supply was probably nearly exhausted.

After more than thirty minutes, their estimated survival rate had already dropped from twenty percent to ten. Was there truly nothing else he could do? Were they supposed to lie here and wait to die?

Fuck that. He refused. He had died and come back through so many worlds—was the ending really supposed to be freezing to death in the snow while holding his man?

Just then, a faint scraping sound came from somewhere above. Joy exploded through Shang Ke. He tried to stretch an arm upward and signal the people overhead, but the packed snow kept pressing inward, leaving him no room to move.

“The beacon signal seems to be nearby.”

“I thought I heard music a moment ago too.”

“Over here. Come here.”

Shang Ke thought rescue had finally arrived—then heard the footsteps gradually moving farther away.

Damn it, they were right here. Where the hell were those people going?

In reality, the rescuers had found Shang Ke’s beacon where it had fallen, more than forty meters from the place where the two men were actually buried. Only forty meters separated them, yet it might as well have been the distance between life and death.

Trembling uncontrollably, Shang Ke pulled open his collar and shifted Wei Xun’s head against his still-warm chest, trying to give him whatever heat remained. Shang Ke had already spent more than thirty minutes in low-oxygen conditions, far beyond ordinary human limits.

His brain slowed, and consciousness grew increasingly heavy, but the will to survive kept him hanging on.

【Why haven’t you given up yet?】 Qi Chen’s voice sounded inside his mind.

Give up? Why would he give up? Hope was right in front of him. He would never give up.

Shang Ke began eating snow while he dug, swallowing mouthful after mouthful. Icy meltwater soaked into his body, froze his throat, and seemed to solidify his blood.

He kept eating and digging, forcing a hollow through the packed snow—forcing out one tiny opening toward life.

“Captain, there’s only a beacon here. I don’t see anyone.”

“They should be nearby. Keep searching. If we can save even one more person, we save them.”

“Twenty more minutes. After that, we continue moving.”

Twenty minutes disappeared quickly into the search. The captain finally sighed, gathered the others, and prepared to leave.

Just then, one team member caught sight of a spot of vivid red against the snow. He hesitantly pointed. “Captain, what’s that?”

The captain turned, stared for several seconds, and suddenly shouted, “A glove! Hurry! Someone’s under there!”

The group rushed over at once. Those with shovels dug; the others clawed snow aside with their hands.

We’re saved. Wei Xun, hold on. Don’t die… don’t die…

Shang Ke’s eyes remained open but empty. His face was as pale as the surrounding snow, his lips like two pieces of pink crystal. That beautiful life had frozen forever in that moment.

Wei Xun’s heart had actually stopped tens of seconds earlier. Yet at the exact instant Shang Ke died, a burst of unbearable pain tore his consciousness awake.

Don’t die!

Those words acted like a spell, reigniting Wei Xun’s life.

He slowly opened his eyes. As light gradually filtered down from above, he saw Shang Ke beside him—already no longer breathing.

Inside a nearby inn, Qi Chen stood at the window facing Xiutayue Mountain, waiting for news that the two men had died.

Suddenly his expression changed. He dropped to his knees with a heavy thud, clutched his head, and let out a groan of agony.

His brain felt as though it were being torn apart. Qi Chen’s entire body convulsed while large beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

“No… no!” His features twisted. He roared unwillingly toward the window, then collapsed sideways and lost consciousness.

When the rescuers finally cleared away the snow and saw the two figures in the hollow beneath, everyone froze.

One man’s face was covered in blood, his skin cracked from the cold, his eyes bloodshot and staring at them with the terrible chill of a ghost.

The other lay curled around him, one arm holding the man’s head and the other stretched upward. His body resembled an ice sculpture, skin nearly translucent. Half-open eyes rested quietly on the person beside him, his expression carrying lingering tenderness and attachment.

They had been buried for an hour. One lived. One died. It was almost a miracle.

The team leader saw the phone. He saw the Avalung hanging from Shang Ke’s gear but being used by Wei Xun. He saw that Shang Ke had opened his own clothing to share the last trace of body heat with him. He saw the arm Shang Ke had forced toward the surface with the final strength of his life.

This man had left every possible chance of survival to the person beside him.

Wei Xun and Shang Ke were both taken to the hospital. One was placed in a warm ward. The other lay in the cold morgue.

Wei Xun’s frostbite was not severe. The cracked skin and bleeding around his eyes, nose, and mouth looked frightening, but his life was no longer in danger. After a period of proper recovery, he would be able to leave the hospital.

No one noticed that a small black mole had appeared in the center of his once-unmarked palm.

“Master Xun, the Commander…” A bodyguard entered the room with a phone in hand, then abruptly fell silent at the scene before him.

Shang Ke lay peacefully asleep on the pristine white bed.

Wei Xun had his back to the door. Half crouched beside the bed, he held Shang Ke’s hand and gently wiped it clean.

“Get out.” His voice was neither loud nor soft, but the cold in it made the listener shiver.

The bodyguard hesitated, then forced himself to say, “It’s your father calling.”

“Didn’t I already say it? I’m not taking calls from anyone.”

The bodyguard did not dare say another word and carefully withdrew. Ever since Master Xun returned from Xiutayue Mountain, he seemed like a completely different person.

The next day, Wei Xun took Shang Ke to the crematorium.

When he emerged, he carried an exquisite urn in his hands.

“Master Xun, aren’t you going to hold a funeral for Mr. Shang?” the bodyguard asked cautiously.

“He’s already dead. What meaning would a funeral have?” Wei Xun’s fingers stroked the urn while he looked calmly out the window.

“But…”

“Stop the car.” Wei Xun stepped out holding the urn. “Go back without me.”

With that, he ignored the bodyguards behind him and walked alone down the street.

When he reached the sea, Wei Xun did not hesitate for even a second. He walked straight into the water.

He had regained his memories. At the instant Shang Ke died, overwhelming grief had forcibly fused him with his separated soul fragment.

The reincarnation curse. Lifetime after lifetime of separation and death. With Shang Ke’s sacrifice in this life, all of it had finally ended. Qi Chen had lost the Reincarnation Lamp and lost Wu Du’s memories with it. From that point onward, he would never again intrude upon their lives.

But they had also lost the Crimson Skyfire that connected them to one another. Once the curse ended, the Reincarnation Lamp would return to its original owner after their deaths. Without the Lamp, they would be reborn into different worlds, with no way of knowing when they might ever meet again.

Unless the Reincarnation Lamp possessed an artifact spirit willing to protect them.

“You can take away my memories. But don’t take away my love for him.”

“I don’t need to take the love you have for him—because the love I have for him is exactly the same as yours.”

Wei Xun closed his eyes. The agony of splitting his soul made the veins across his body stand out.

Before long, a blood-red tear seeped from his left eye. At the same time, the black mole in his palm disappeared.

I love you.

In the next life, please teach me how to love you twice as much.

As consciousness gradually blurred, Wei Xun held Shang Ke’s ashes and sank beneath the sea…

“Over here! Someone’s drowning!”

Several winter swimmers dragged the drowning man back to shore. After emergency resuscitation, he coughed violently several times and returned from a state of apparent death.

Everyone around him cheered.

The man stared blankly at his surroundings, ears buzzing. He unconsciously opened his hand. The center of his palm was empty. Nothing remained there.

“Don’t move. Emergency responders will be here any moment.”

The surrounding noise made him dizzy. He had no idea what anyone was saying. He staggered several steps, then abruptly stopped and turned to look around.

One unfamiliar face after another appeared clearly before his eyes.

But the one face he most wanted to see was gone forever.

So cold. He had no idea why, but suddenly he wanted very badly to curse: What a fucking life.

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