Chapter 236: The Collapsing Illusion

The fatigue in her eyes quickly vanished, replaced once more by that indifferent calm.

She waved her hand lightly, and a very ordinary, even somewhat old envelope drifted over from the study in the distance. The envelope had no stamp, no address, only a simple "C" written in water-based ink.

"You just mentioned 'the past'." Yang Yi held the envelope, not handing it to Chris immediately, but gently rubbing the edge with her fingertips. "I found this when moving into the Lingxu Villa, probably written in Haibei City during some... chaotic moment after drinking. I never intended to give it to you, nor did I think there would ever be a chance for you to see it."

She handed the envelope over.

Chris's fingers were somewhat stiff as he took the light envelope and slowly opened it.

Inside was only a page torn from an ordinary notebook, the strokes revealing the confusion stirred up by alcohol at the time.

C:

If one day we had an equal opportunity to converse, I would approach you pretending to be casual.

Wearing a polite smile on my face, saying "Hello".

I know my heart is beating, but I must act as if nothing is wrong, as calm and indifferent as the clouds and wind, "I've seen your work, could you sign it for me?"

I can imagine how you would gentlemanly show appropriate honor, and do as I wish.

I would further ask for your contact information, even though this is somewhat immodest—that is why I want equal status; only with equality, or even higher status, would such out-of-line actions not be seen as rude, but rather as anecdotes, interesting, and approachable.

Before that, it would only be self-inflicted humiliation.

I hate formalities, these things deliberately creating inequality, class, and barriers.

I disdain all indirectness, all hiding of feelings, all pretense.

But because of pride, because of fear that this deep and winding emotion, like a black pool, would frighten you.

These thoughts are myriad, like a tangled spiderweb, hard to express.

This viscous emotion is like honey, like bitter water, like asphalt, like a swamp.

I will not contact you often, just like ordinary friends, neither warm nor cold.

Even though I will look at your number tens of thousands of times, waiting for the right moment—when will that be? I don't know.

When you are depressed?

When you suffer a blow? Misfortune?

I will take you to see ten thousand rivers and a thousand mountains, look down on rolling seas of clouds, shuttle through thunder and dark clouds, dive deep into the sea to see sunken ships and giant beasts. To see this Earth, and the entire universe.

Before the eternal and unchanging nature and time, human troubles are too insignificant, human life is too short, and our desires will also recede.

I will slowly reveal my true intentions.

We will gradually become familiar, exchanging messages and videos, sharing our respective hobbies and lives.

Deepening mutual understanding—mainly your understanding of me, and specifically the part I want to show you.

I have long known you thoroughly: your appearance, your experiences, your work, your hobbies, your habits, your family, friends, colleagues, your romantic history, your past lovers...

The only thing I do not understand is your heart, and the path leading to it.

I want to be a strategist, a military advisor, planning step by step.

Yet I worry I am a clumsy actor, having already leaked my hand, after all, you are the professional.

I want to get closer, yet I cannot help but retreat.

I want to obtain, yet I fear losing.

I waver, yet I try to move forward.

I feel I love you, yet I feel I am loving an illusion, loving an unreachable dream.

But letting you go is impossible.

I will practice the talent bestowed by heaven, perhaps one day I can bring you a unique and unparalleled experience.

Before making a promise, I may not be very loyal.

I may try various things I have never tried before, things I long for, to experience, to enjoy, to enrich my own life, making up for the monotony and pallor of the past.

Those things once desired but unattainable: fine food, beautiful scenery, beautiful people, and freedom...

I may explore every corner of the Earth alone, or go camping, live in seclusion, or travel superficially, or savor every detail.

Or travel, or enjoy, or wander, or drift with the current.

While I still have the capital.

Only you have ever been my obsession, and you still are.

Once I had no qualification to approach you; now I am still cautious.

I have gilded you with imagination.

You are the most precious gem, jade, pearl in the world, more dazzling than gold; you are the embodiment of dreams, you are metaphysical, you are perfection itself.

You are an illusion, a flower in the mirror and moon in the water, a palace in the air, a mirage.

You are a projection, a channel. Through fantasizing about you, I fantasize about another possibility in life.

A life that is more beautiful, more dreamlike, simpler, and happier.

Even though the dream may wake and the phantom may shatter, no matter what, I must have you.

Before meeting you, I would wish you happiness.

After meeting you, I will love you, treasure you, respect you, understand you, become your lover, your sweetheart, your friend, your family, your soulmate, your mother, your daughter... every role you need or do not need.

Or, imprison you, destroy you.

As long as you love me.

As long as you satisfy me.

I am a person who upholds rules, follows morality, and agrees with universal values, a good person in the ordinary sense.

But I do not mind breaking the principles I have always followed and upheld for your sake.

I possess reason, but I do not mind madness.

This world, I thought would be orderly and everything in its place, but it is actually chaotic, confused, gray, and a mix of black and white.

I take pride in my rationality, yet deep within, another voice urges me to liberate myself, to follow my heart's desire, even unto madness.

You are not the cause, but you may become one of the results.

You are the male protagonist of my romantic fantasy story, the pillar supporting me against a mundane and empty life.

You are my yearning for beauty, the solace for life's void, a part of existence itself.

Because of you, I once wished for parallel worlds; in countless similar worlds, there must have been some possibility for us.

Now, that possibility has a chance to become reality.

Accept me, respond to me, love me, and fulfill my expectations.

I will love you and offer you everything in this world.

... Or I will kill you.

The letter had no date, no signature, and ended abruptly.

Chris held the letter, licking his dry lips, yet not because of that phrase "kill you."

Rather, the Yang Yi in this letter was so vivid, so painful, so humble yet arrogant in her desperate longing for a "normal" love, while despairingly convinced she could never possess it.

Every word was filled with the "human part"—fragility, dependence, self-loathing, hope, even pathology.

This letter was written in the past, that "past" he had just been nostalgic for.

And now, the person who wrote it had just told him in a calm, untroubled voice that those emotions were "useless chemical reactions," errors to be stripped away.

A massive sense of dislocation instantly engulfed him.

What he missed was precisely what she now viewed as a burden and had personally stripped away.

The tormented soul he once longed to understand and comfort had now tempered itself into another existence—one that no longer needed, and might even no longer understand, such comfort.

He realized that Yang Yi showing him this letter was not for nostalgia or explanation; it was more like a... display. Like a scientist calmly showing an audience the before-and-after comparison of an experimental subject: Look, this is the past form, full of inefficient flaws; while the current form is the optimal solution evolved or modified to adapt to a new environment.

She was not seeking understanding; she was merely stating a fact: I have changed; this is the path I have chosen, and on that path, there is no place left for the "me" of the past, and naturally, no place left for you, who cling to that "me" of the past.

The light letter became burning hot in his hand.

Chris slowly slid down onto the sofa, the letter in his hand trembling slightly.

Yang Yi leaned against the countertop, watching him silently.

The CIA intelligence analysis of the Ark Country understood her better than she understood herself. The Mirror Project—yes, she did not need a lover; she needed only a mirror, a tool to project herself. She did not even care whether he loved her or had betrayed her; as long as he perfectly played the role of this mirror, his existence had meaning.

What she needed was not a lover or an intimate relationship; she needed only a compliant slave who met her standards, a relationship led by her. She did not care what he wanted to gain from her, nor did she care if he had other schemes in his heart, because as long as she possessed the power to dominate everything, she could bear any consequences of her choices; even the worst consequences were but a drop in the bucket to her.

Yes, she had once been infatuated with Chris, viewing him as a perfect illusion. But true infatuation existed only when he was inaccessible; when he truly came before her, whether physically, emotionally, or intellectually, the space for infatuation was lost.

The "her" of the past was infatuated only with that space, infatuated with the abstract emotions and false narratives created in her mind; she did not understand him, and perhaps she did not truly need him—perhaps when she was infatuated with him, she merely hoped for a perfect existence that needed her.

"Perhaps what I love is no longer you, but the passion I have invested in you. Like a temple, even if desolate, it remains an altar. Like a statue, even if collapsed, it remains a god."

Of course, she still needed him; she needed this collapsed illusion to become her anchor, so she would not drift too far from herself... although that was inevitable...

Yang Yi looked at Chris's dazed face, sat gently beside him, and said softly as she once did, "Darling, you look so pitiful."

Chris's stiff body moved; suddenly, he opened his arms and embraced her. "Yang Yi, don't leave me..."

Which "Yang Yi" was he calling for? Yang Yi thought faintly: the "one from before"? Or the one currently by his side?

The night at Ling Shu Bie Yuan remained silent and still.

But beneath this silence, something that had once lived and pulsed was gradually moving toward a peaceful void...