That day at the hospital, the nurse informed Zhang Shu that Mu Dai had awakened. Excited and surprised, he stumbled toward her room.

He saw Mu Dai sitting up, the blanket pushed aside, head lowered, pulling the IV needle from the back of her hand.

Sometimes people truly have a sixth sense. Just from her body movements, even before seeing her facial expression, Zhang Shu knew something was off.

He called out tentatively, “Little boss?”

She raised her head, her eyes bright, but her gaze quickly reined in its luster. Her face was expressionless, showing fatigue as she said, “Ah, Zhang Shu.”

Her tone carried a hint of impatience.

This face, this expression, this tone—Zhang Shu had only seen it once before, in the recorded video, but it was unforgettable.

Luo Ren asked, “What triggered it?”

What triggered the primary personality’s return, or rather, its retaking control?

He Ruihua hesitated, then said, “Probably some balance was broken.”

Due to Luo Ren’s earlier outburst, he now spoke with noticeable restraint.

He gathered himself—changing his approach wasn’t possible now, and he still had his professional pride and convictions, so he continued.

“Let’s imagine if the life she faced was just that of an ordinary person. Then this Mu Dai would have been sufficient.”

“She’s beautiful, gentle-natured, beloved by family, and would eventually be cherished by a boyfriend. She’d make a good marriage and live a satisfying, ordinary life.”

He pointed to the circle labeled “Mu Dai” on the whiteboard: “This personality would be more than adequate to handle such a life.”

Luo Ren made a sound of acknowledgment.

He had a good habit—regardless of how much he disliked the person before him, he could still calmly listen to reasonable words.

He Ruihua spoke thoughtfully: “One can imagine that if life had continued that way, perhaps for her entire lifetime, Number Two and the primary personality might never have appeared again.”

This statement carried deeper implications. Luo Ren had a strange thought: perhaps the world itself was a great hospital, and people could be divided into two types—those who had fallen ill in this lifetime and those who hadn’t.

What is normal? Who dares claim they are normal? This word didn’t exist at the beginning of creation—it was merely invented by someone who created characters, assembled by someone who combined words, given definition and usage, and so continued down to the present day.

He Ruihua pointed to Huo Zihong and Zhang Shu: “According to them, Number Two has never been seen.”

This made sense. The everyday lives of Huo Zihong and Zhang Shu were ordinary and peaceful—Number Two had no reason to appear.

He Ruihua then abruptly changed direction: “But Mr. Zhang mentioned that Mu Dai has been frequently going out recently, seemingly experiencing various incidents, and, Mr. Luo, you were by her side when these things happened. Please tell us truthfully, have you seen Number Two or something similar appear?”

Luo Ren sighed lightly to himself.

“Yes.”

“Once or multiple times?”

“Multiple times, I suppose.”

He Ruihua exhaled softly, his face showing a trace of “I knew it” satisfaction.

“You see,” he said, “the balance of a single personality dominating for nearly eight years has been broken. Sometimes we say that split personalities don’t know of each other’s existence, but that’s not entirely accurate. A person isn’t isolated—they’re social beings who reason, analyze, and doubt. Following that, there will inevitably be a struggle for the right to exist.”

“It’s like…” he considered his words, “one morning, you wake up to find someone identical to you lying beside you, occupying your family, lover, social relationships, name, and wealth. What would you choose? To coexist peacefully? No. We’ve conducted surveys—ninety percent of people would choose to eliminate the intruder by any means necessary, returning life to how it was before.”

Human nature includes possessiveness toward lovers and even more so toward oneself. It’s just that most of the time, one doesn’t encounter a situation where one has to compete with oneself for affection.

Luo Ren asked, “Then what?”

“The situation continues to deteriorate, potentially leading to chaos and collapse—either madness or… self-preservation activates again, and the personality truly in control emerges to maintain order.”

He Ruihua thought carefully again: “But such deterioration requires a process, so I believe that the rapid return of her primary personality may be related to her car accident.”

Although some believe that body and consciousness are separate entities, tending to treat them as disconnected, various signs indicate a mysterious connection between them. Just as a stronger body sometimes nurtures a more powerful soul, physical pain can instantly wear down willpower.

Having received too much information, Luo Ren felt a headache coming on.

He asked, “When can I see Mu Dai?”

He Ruihua remained silent. This wasn’t his decision to make—it should depend on the family’s opinion.

Huo Zihong spoke up at the right moment.

“Luo Ren, we didn’t inform you before taking Mu Dai away because, on one hand, Zhang Shu told me your relationship hasn’t been long. In my heart, you’re not yet considered family.”

Luo Ren smiled slightly: “I understand.”

“On the other hand…” Huo Zihong smiled bitterly, “We’re also learning how to… interact with this Mu Dai.”

Luo Ren felt an involuntary chill.

“Is she different?”

Huo Zihong didn’t know how to answer: “Very… different.”

At least, she had never interacted with Mu Dai like this before. Like Zhang Shu, the only time she had seen this version was in the recorded video.

Luo Ren asked a question.

“During these days, has she mentioned me?”

Huo Zihong looked at Luo Ren, hesitating, her gaze almost apologetic.

Luo Ren said, “I understand.”

Before letting Luo Ren see Mu Dai, He Ruihua gave him a warning.

It boiled down to one word: complicated.

On the surface, Mu Dai’s case seemed simple—just that video and some fragmented historical data. But worldly matters are perverse—sometimes the simplest things are the most complex.

How to explain? He Ruihua believed that for the current Mu Dai, the incident from eight years ago felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. The difference was that she was now facing it with the age and experience of a 23-year-old.

Luo Ren said, “Then I hope she can be strong.”

Though he said this, he still worried: “There aren’t any dangerous items in her room, right? Like knives?”

The image of the knife tip pointing at her heart wouldn’t leave his mind.

He Ruihua said, “You’ll see when you meet her.”

The room was specially furnished. Of the four walls, two were one-way mirrors for easy observation. Standing outside, one could see everything inside.

You’ll see when you meet her.

Luo Ren had imagined various scenarios of meeting Mu Dai again—her being sad, distressed, helpless, confused, even frenzied.

But reality was the most unexpected of all.

Mu Dai was playing a video game.

In the room was an arcade-style shooting game, with realistic equipment operated by coins. A person would stand several meters from the game screen, with gun stations on the side featuring both long and short firearms.

Mu Dai wore headphones, completely focused, standing straight with her feet slightly staggered. She held the gun with a cold expression, fully concentrated. Her gaze followed the changing images on the screen, the gun barrel rising and falling as she continuously pulled the trigger.

Next to her on the counter was a basket full of game tokens.

Luo Ren moved to the other side to see what game she was playing.

It was similar to a zombie siege—various zombies, progressively upgrading. At first, they moved slowly, swaying, and she pursed her lips as she aimed carefully, shooting each one in the head. Later, the monsters became more numerous—tentacled, enormous, poison-spewing creatures—and she kept her finger on the trigger, firing continuously.

But in such games, you’re destined to die eventually, defeated by the arcade owner’s ultimate ambition to profit.

When it was game over, she would grab a handful of tokens, insert them one by one into the coin slot, and start again. When her hand dipped into the pile of tokens, silver gleamed between her fingers.

Huo Zihong said softly, “She said she feels annoyed and doesn’t want to talk to us, so she needed something to distract herself.”

“Does she remember me?”

Huo Zihong was surprised by Luo Ren’s question: “Of course she remembers you, Yi Wansan, and her new acquaintance Hong Sha. She’s not suffering from amnesia.”

He Ruihua added from the side, “But her feelings might be different.”

He continued, “Do you want to go in and see her? The door isn’t locked—just turn the handle.”

Luo Ren’s gaze fell on the doorknob—antique bronze, turned many times, polished to a shine from friction.

He hesitated for a moment, didn’t approach, and instead sat down in one of the chairs behind him.

Through the one-way mirror, his gaze never left Mu Dai’s face.

Her every closing of the eyes, raising of the eyebrows, pursing of the lips, and expressions of anger.

A lover’s eye is both meticulous and cutting. In the Mu Dai before him, he couldn’t find a trace of Little Pocket.

That girl who liked to embrace him, kiss him tenderly, call his name with a hint of coquettishness, occasionally blush but firmly say “I like you”—Little Pocket.

All those soft and adorable qualities he loved seemed suddenly swept away by a great wind, leaving only a rigid, hard skeleton.

Luo Ren felt as if he’d been hit by an ice-cold bullet. The entire search process culminated in this moment—the most painful one.

He Ruihua sighed as he sat down beside Luo Ren.

He said, “You see, one second ago, you were her fiercest defender and protector. But when you finally see her, you’re the one with the lowest acceptance. Just like love itself—intense yet fragile.”

Luo Ren felt annoyed. He naturally resented others analyzing and prying into him.

He Ruihua seemed unable to sense his mood: “In situations like this, in terms of acceptance, it’s indeed family > friends > lovers.”

“For family, blood is thicker than water. No matter what happens—insanity, idiocy, foolishness—they will accept it.”

“As for friends, there might be initial hesitation, but as long as the person hasn’t committed serious wrongdoing or violated moral principles, the foundation of friendship remains, and they can still be friends.”

He stopped there, not further analyzing “lovers.”

But Luo Ren understood his meaning and recognized his issue.

He hadn’t fallen in love with Mu Dai—he had only fallen in love with Little Pocket.

The Mu Dai before him was like a stranger. He couldn’t immediately transfer his feelings and accept her. He even felt an inexplicable aversion and hostility toward her.

He felt it was because of her that his girl had disappeared.

He had an impulse to burst through the door and ask her, “Where have you hidden Little Pocket?”

Early in the morning, Yi Wansan went to the bathroom, then returned to bed, but couldn’t sleep well. Perhaps he hadn’t fallen into deep sleep, with too many thoughts mingling in his dreams.

He dreamed of a wild woman using stones to draw on rock walls. He approached and saw she was drawing the scene of her being killed by villagers, trapped at the bottom of a pit, struggling hopelessly. He was in the picture too, arms crossed, watching coldly with a sneer.

Yi Wansan woke in a cold sweat, repeatedly denying, “It wasn’t like that!”

The wild woman smiled at him, then suddenly changed her face, grabbed his neck, and with a crack…

Then he dreamed of Luo Ren. Yi Wansan approached him to ask, “Have you found the little boss? Is she still getting treatment?”

Luo Ren didn’t speak, just pointed upward. Yi Wansan looked up to discover countless windows opening in the wall. In each window appeared the figure of Mu Dai. Then the central window opened, and Mu Dai looked down at him, smiling meaningfully.

The sound of firecrackers—Phoenix Tower was opening. Somehow, the firecrackers ignited a fire, and in the blink of an eye, Phoenix Tower was engulfed in flames…

“Brother San? Brother San?”

Cao Yanhua called Yi Wansan’s name urgently, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him vigorously—a simple, brutal motion like pounding rice.

Upon waking, Yi Wansan didn’t bother to rebuke Cao Yanhua. He felt relieved to wake from the nightmare but also thought that lately his luck had been poor.

He needed to worship at a Buddhist shrine, burn some paper offerings, throw away a pair of shoes (to cast away evil), or fly a kite to dispel the recent bad luck.

Seeing Yi Wansan staring blankly, Cao Yanhua waved his hand frantically in front of his eyes, as if summoning a spirit.

Yi Wansan said, “Are you sick?”

Cao Yanhua said, “I saw it!”

Yi Wansan was puzzled: “Saw what?”

Cao Yanhua was exasperated: “Earth! Earth! Don’t you remember?”

After retrieving the third death note, everyone had openly or secretly breathed a sigh of relief, like students who had completed a semester and final exams, feeling entitled to a rest.

Moreover, they had truly suffered losses.

Mu Dai’s car accident, Yan Hongsha’s loss of a relative, and the others narrowly escaping death with their dignity in tatters—naturally, their enthusiasm for the death notes had diminished.

Why was it so important to retrieve these death notes? It was a pointless task, still mysterious and perilous, with no sense of achievement or motivation.

Only Cao Yanhua, perhaps driven by his Virgo’s obsessive-compulsive disorder, felt he couldn’t rest until all seven notes were collected.

So whenever he had free time, he looked at the Earth.

Clay soil, sandy soil, loess—he’d stare intently at whatever he found. He eagerly took on all sweeping duties, each sweep raising clouds of dust. After the dust settled, he’d sweep again.

Once, a customer at the bar asked Yi Wansan, “Is that worker of yours a bit… off here?” He tapped his forehead with his index finger, looking concerned.

He also reminded Yi Wansan, “Modern people are under a lot of pressure. Who knows if he has mental issues? Don’t dismiss it! Early detection means early treatment—eliminate all hidden dangers!”

This person must work in advertising.

Finally, his perseverance paid off—he saw something.

Yi Wansan sat up lazily.

“What did you see?”

Cao Yanhua didn’t know how to describe it.

“I just… You know that small flower bed in front of the bar? Zhang Shu mentioned planting new seasonal flowers, so I thought I’d loosen the soil first. I took a shovel to dig…”

His recent practice might not have yielded remarkable results, but at least he was physically fit. Tasks like loosening or digging the soil were a piece of cake.

In the gentle morning breeze, tourists wandered in small groups. A girl in a short skirt had her dress blown up by the wind, causing his heart to flutter as he secretly whistled. Then he stepped on the edge of the shovel and dug down.

Yi Wansan was tired of this rambling prelude: “And then?”

Cao Yanhua swallowed, seemingly still in shock.

“I saw a hole.”

Yi Wansan looked at him as if he were seeing a ghost, but Cao Yanhua seemed oblivious, his face showing that he thought this was perfectly reasonable.

Yi Wansan couldn’t take it anymore: “Aren’t you stating the obvious? You dig down with a shovel, of course you see a hole!”

Cao Yanhua trembled: “No, that’s not it.”

It was dark red, like flesh, with wrinkled skin-like folds, rhythmically rising and falling.

This description made goosebumps rise on Yi Wansan’s arms.

“Then what?”

“Then it seemed like the wind started blowing. Can you imagine?” Cao Yanhua struggled for words. “Wind was blowing from inside the hole, carrying a fishy smell, rising…”

Then there was nothing more. He looked carefully with cold sweat on his body, but it was just soil dug up by the shovel. Under the sunlight, some dust particles floated down, as if…

As if the wind was truly blowing up from the freshly dug earth.