### Chapter 77: Zhao Mingyue’s Confession??
The country road was a tricky one to walk on, especially on the ridge paths where the weeds and broken stones seemed to be the only companions. During festive times, Zhao Mingyue usually dressed in sporty attire, ready to breeze through the rough terrain with ease.
But today was different! After her prayers, she was headed out to have fun with Bai Yu, so of course, she had to look good.
“It used to be quite nice around here. In the village I grew up in, there were lots of people, and the fields were lush and farmed—nothing like this bald patch of land we see now.” Zhao Mingyue pointed at some desolate fields ahead with a sigh, reminiscence washing over her eyes.
“In my childhood memory, this place was stunning. But then, who knows what happened? The population dwindled, with the young folks moving out. The old folks either left or passed away. It’s not just the fields that are bare; the village’s practically ghost town now.”
“Look, there’s that willow tree ahead—it’s hanging on by a thread. I used to play there a lot. There used to be a little pond right by it.”
“I wasn’t brave enough to play with other kids, so I’d just sit under the willow by myself. In the summer, I even fished for crayfish there!”
There was a complex mix of emotions in her gaze, mostly happy nostalgia.
She wasn’t alone this time! At least she had someone to chat with on the way.
“Aren’t there supposed to be other villagers around?” Bai Yu glanced around, noting that the nearest village was quite far.
“Yeah, my childhood village is over that way, but it’s a long trek to get there, and we’re skipping it today. No one’s likely to be living there anymore anyway.”
“Do you know why I came all the way out here? Because it’s the only place where the other kids won’t find me, allowing me to play alone.”
“Kids in the village were pretty nice. They didn’t shy away from me just because I seemed a bit odd, but I was still scared to hang out with them.”
“Let me tell you something. That little pond by the willow? I had a long spell of being scared to go back there. After what happened, I never played there again.”
“What happened?” Bai Yu turned to her, sensing the sadness and regret in Zhao Mingyue’s voice.
“Well… It’s actually pretty simple. I had a really good friend who drowned in that pond.”
“I can still remember his name—Zhao Bin.”
“He was a kid from our village. One day, while working in the fields with his family, he stumbled upon me while I was bored and playing by myself. We became really good friends.”
“After that, rain or shine, I’d wait for him under that tree every day.”
“I was ten, and he was twelve—older than me. I would follow him around calling him ‘Brother’.”
“Then one day, I went really early to our spot, and from a distance, I saw a crowd gathered by the pond, whispering and pointing.”
“Curious, I nudged my way through to see. I saw Zhao Ge’s parents on their knees, holding something and crying. I hadn’t noticed what they were holding until the village chief pulled them away—I saw Zhao Ge’s corpse.”
“He looked so pale, like he had no life in him, dressed in that brown shirt and black shorts he always wore. His clothes were soaked, water weeds were everywhere, and his mouth was filled with mud. His belly was swollen from the water. It was terrifying.”
“I even saw his eyes wide open, staring right at me.”
“And then I fainted. When I woke up, I was back at home, with my mom holding me.”
Zhao Mingyue kicked a small stone, letting it fly away, clutching a carnation in her arms, her eyes momentarily lost in thought.
“I know it must’ve been my fault that something happened to Zhao Ge.”
“I was heartbroken and filled with guilt then. Why did disaster have to follow me of all people?”
Bai Yu furrowed her brow, “Did this happen more than once?”
“Four times in total, and I remember it clearly.”
“Four times…”
Once could be a coincidence, twice could also be a coincidence, but three or four times? Bai Yu wasn’t one to buy into coincidences, especially not with Zhao Mingyue’s friends ending up like this.
“When did this start happening?”
“I… don’t know. My last friend died when I was thirteen. After that, my parents went missing. Maybe it’s because I stopped playing with kids my age?”
“Have you experienced anything strange during that time? Like recurring nightmares or dreams about a particular person?”
Bai Yu wondered if there was a ghost following Zhao Mingyue as a child, a ghost that had taken her friends.
“Dreams? Well, sort of, but they weren’t exactly nightmares, and they weren’t about someone specific—just a group of people.”
“A group of people!?”
“Yeah, I dreamed of a bunch of strange folks hopping in front of a small building. They seemed to be divided into three types: one group had their eyes covered with red cloth, another had their ears blocked, and the last covered their mouths.”
After some consideration, Zhao Mingyue added, “When was the last time you had this dream?”
“About a week ago?”
“……”
Bai Yu slowed her pace. Zhao Mingyue’s background was definitely not simple; she had guessed as much.
The female protagonist’s identity couldn’t be just a blank slate.
“So, do you get this dream often?”
“No.” Zhao Mingyue shook her head. “I haven’t had those dreams for years, especially after my sister and I moved away.”
Now Bai Yu was sure that Zhao Mingyue’s previous village had serious issues. Her parents and sister probably knew something and had been hiding it from her. They must’ve done something before they died, which led her sister to take her away to ensure safety during those years.
But now her sister was also missing, and worse, something from that village could be coming back.
What exactly was it? Bai Yu didn’t have the answer yet, but she suspected it was some malevolent being.
Not just a ghost— but a terrifying evil god, something far too formidable to be compared with mere spirits.
The biggest issue at hand wasn’t just that Zhao Mingyue had become a target but that she’d been oblivious to it all.
There were only two possibilities: either the other party’s methods were too covert to detect, or they were simply too powerful for her to notice.
A casual chat had revealed such a significant issue, and Bai Yu felt a headache coming on—not that she didn’t want to fix the problem, but Zhao Mingyue’s carefree attitude was troubling. Sure, she could be in pain, but she didn’t seem to care.
“Mingyue, this isn’t simple.” Bai Yu offered helplessly.
“I know. I might not have believed it before, but now that I’ve been exposed to your world, I do. But what does that change? Even if I know, it doesn’t change anything, does it? I’ve already left the village, and as long as I don’t go back, I should be fine.”
Zhao Mingyue seemed to have reconciled this with herself as she gazed off towards the village, “I don’t want to drag you into this; I have a feeling it’ll be a tough nut to crack.”
She wasn’t foolish. Her parents had vanished, possibly meeting their demise, and her sister’s disappearance was undeniably connected to it all. Wasn’t that reason enough?
So dangerous, with not a single lead, not even knowing who the enemy was. She had only known that whatever it was was terrifying. Having seen it once, she hardly wanted to involve Bai Yu.
Bai Yu was indeed very strong, but on the other side was an incomprehensible entity.
That mysterious essence was the scariest.
“Mingyue, I can understand your feelings.” Bai Yu stopped. Sensing something, Zhao Mingyue turned to face her.
“This is a hazard, a significant one. You can’t escape just because you’re scared; evasion is futile. One day, whatever you’re running from will find you and snatch everything you have…” Bai Yu briefly paused, “I can relate to that.”
“But Mingyue, you and I are different…”
Zhao Mingyue opened her mouth to respond but fell silent. After a long pause, she suddenly smiled—not in mockery, nor was it a joke, but a beautifully sweet smile.
“I know. At that time, you had no one to rely on, but I… have you.”
Bai Yu’s eyes flickered behind her sunglasses.
Was this what she meant to say?
Probably.
The girl was right; she did have someone to lean on—Bai Yu was her support.
“That’s why I don’t want to take risks,” Zhao Mingyue’s smile faded, revealing a hint of sadness, “We may not have known each other long, but to me, you’re my family, and you’re all I have left.”
“Sometimes I really feel we’re quite alike. You’re like a wandering ghost without a home while I… I’m just a pitiful creature without a place to go, even during festivals.”
“Once I met you and learned about you, I thought—we are probably each other’s only companions, right? That’s why I cherish every second we have together. It’s proven to be quite useful. I feel like we’ve been partners for years.”
“Just like you said, ignoring hidden dangers is a big risk.”
“But it also buys us time, doesn’t it? During this time, we have those beautiful moments together.”
Zhao Mingyue might look silly sometimes, but she was quite insightful, as she was articulating now.
Most of the time, she would follow Bai Yu’s lead, but at special moments, she would resist.
“Stolen things are treasured more because they were never truly had or were lost for various reasons, making one realize their true value.”
“I’ve always been an exceptional thief; I can even steal time.”
“Therefore, in this stolen time we have, I will treasure it doubly.”
Bai Yu fell silent, noting that today’s Zhao Mingyue was a bit different from the one she had known. This was the real her; she realized she had not fully understood her until now.
She had been worried about keeping a distance while maintaining closeness.
Keeping a distance was to prevent her from genuinely feeling something, and maintaining closeness served the mission.
With such a mindset, how could she ever come to truly understand the real Zhao Mingyue?
Bai Yu never considered herself much of a person who understood emotions; she was a killer.
For some reason, she couldn’t bear to look Zhao Mingyue in the eyes at that moment.
What she had said was sincere; eyes don’t lie. But what about her?
Just because Zhao Mingyue valued her didn’t mean she had to do the same—if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be a slight against her. Absolutely not.
She just pondered that she should care more about Zhao Mingyue’s feelings.
So…
“Mingyue, you’re scared.” Bai Yu stepped forward, closing the distance to Zhao Mingyue, “I think you must know the terror of that thing, which brings forth some despair.”
“You feel that the time before that thing finds you is stolen, don’t you?”
Zhao Mingyue froze, realizing Bai Yu had seen through her heart.
Removing her sunglasses, Bai Yu slightly raised her face, staring into her eyes. “Why not give it a shot?”
“You could try to have a little more confidence in me.”
“After all, I used to have some power.”
If Shen Shuyun stood here and understood the whole situation, she would definitely fall silent, giving Zhao Mingyue a baffled look, then gently nodding without saying a word.
As far as she recalled, she had once bought a head from the “doctor’s” stall, and the expression on that head was undeniably one of crying and regret.
·
·
In front of the grave, Zhao Mingyue carefully wiped the dust off the gravestone with a handkerchief, then placed the light-colored carnations Bai Yu had been holding before the tombstone. She also retrieved a stack of ghost money she had bought a year prior when a certain app had a sale, still unused, along with the soul lighter she had won in a draw.
As the ghost money burned, Zhao Mingyue knelt and bowed her head.
She stood up, brushing dirt off her knees, and quietly asked, “Yuyu, do you think any ghosts will linger here? Do you think they’ll receive the ghost money I burned?”
With the combination of carnations and discounted ghost money from a year ago, only Zhao Mingyue would think to do this at a tomb.
“Ghosts? There are only decaying shells left behind.”
“Yeah, that’s a good thing,” Zhao Mingyue nodded. “Not being a ghost means at least I’ll suffer less.”
“Uh, I’m sorry.”
“Hmm?” Bai Yu turned back.
“I meant about earlier. It’s not that I don’t trust you; I just want you to be okay. I don’t want to lose you.”
Humans are not saints; who is without faults? Zhao Mingyue was, after all, just a living person with her own thoughts. Furthermore, Bai Yu didn’t hold it against her; it was perfectly normal. In the face of terrifying unknowns, fear was the most common emotion, especially since Zhao Mingyue had been traumatized by it—there was no way she wouldn’t be concerned.
“It’s alright. I’ll turn this stolen time into your real time.”
“Sure! I believe you. When I get the chance, I’ll tell you more about it.”
