Chapter 59: The Necessity of the World's Existence

Suddenly, Yang Yi’s face twitched, her unrestrained laugh turning cruel and resentful; like a puppet, she extended her hands, struggling to grasp at something.

“What? You regret it? … Get off, this body is mine too!”

Yet an invisible force surged upward from within, like a receding tide, pulling the wave back.

“Why? You fickle traitor! Worm! Coward…” It was furious beyond measure.

Yang Yi reopened her weary eyes, sat up, propped her head with her arms, and after a long while, spoke weakly:

“Just kidding.”

This answer was like poking a hornet’s nest—it exploded like a firecracker, “You’re insane! A lunatic! A schizophrenic freak! A nobody orphan! A fickle traitor…”

It didn’t just curse and insult her with maximum malice—it tormented her with her darkest past, her most hated memories; this rage dwarfed all previous cruelty, making even the vilest past insults feel as light as feathers.

It seemed this time, it was truly beyond rage.

Yang Yi listened listlessly to its curses, offering no rebuttal.

Finally, perhaps because it received no response, it grew tired, and its shouting ceased.

“Why?” This time, it was its turn to ask weakly.

“I ask you—if I give you this body, what do you plan to do?” Yang Yi asked.

“Of course, do whatever I want!” it said without hesitation, “Absolute freedom! Absolute unrestrained will!”

“See? That’s exactly why I won’t give it to you,” Yang Yi buried her hands in her hair; the personality shift had split her skull with pain, “This kind of power—doing whatever you want—you’ll throw the whole world into chaos. Absolute freedom is chaos.”

“What’s it to you? You don’t care about them!” it shrieked, “I know—you hate this world!”

Yang Yi fell silent, gazing at the distant twinkling lights of countless homes.

“Yes, I hate this world. Sometimes, I wish it would explode right now, obliterated clean, taking the whole world down with me.” She said:

“But I also know this world isn’t just mine. My world may be painful, hopeless, lost—but others’ worlds may be bright, warm, full of hope. I live in bottomless darkness, but that doesn’t mean everyone does.”

She pointed to a nearby window glowing with dim yellow light—the closest residential complex.

“Do you see that? A new family of three—they just had a baby. The new father is yawning as he prepares formula, the mother is half-asleep, soothing the child…”

“And that one—an elderly couple lives on the first floor but gave the second floor to their son, daughter-in-law, and grandson—they’re terrified of brain-eating worms, yet still gave the safest place to their child…”

“And that one…”

“Enough, enough,” it snapped impatiently, “What does any of this have to do with you?”

Yang Yi murmured, “I don’t know… Maybe after too long in darkness, even a flicker of firefly light makes you think—there’s still some hope… Even if that hope has nothing to do with me, just knowing it exists… makes this world… seem worth existing…”

She plucked a small purple flower from the flowerbed, sniffed it, gazed at the distant street, then pulled out her phone and called Li Mingliang.

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After handing over all subsequent matters to them, Yang Yi dragged her exhausted body back to Lihao Grand Hotel.

As she swiped open the door, Chen Huanyue hurried over.

“Yang Yi, how are you? Are you hurt?” His gaze swept over her meticulously, showing no disrespect—only pure concern.

That night, Yang Yi had felt cast into a deserted desert, then dropped into an endless abyss; now, facing Chen Huanyue’s care, a warmth stirred in her heart.

“You care about me?” A faint smile appeared on her weary face.

“Of course,” Chen Huanyue blurted out.

Yang Yi lifted her head and looked at him intently.

Under that gaze, Chen Huanyue stiffened instantly; his right hand awkwardly adjusted his glasses, and under her stare, he grew unbearably nervous, his hands trembling slightly.

He knew this wasn’t tension from her being the first Awakened One, nor from being watched by a monster rivaling a nuclear weapon—it was because of her. Yang Yi.

Even in student days, when he was the one everyone admired, when his family was wealthy, when he moved effortlessly through social circles—he always grew nervous around her.

Whenever her dark eyes fixed on him, his heart behaved like this—uncontrollable, as if acting on its own will.

Yang Yi said sincerely, “Thank you. I feel better.”

She opened the door, glanced at him once more—Chen Huanyue understood: this was her way of asking him to leave.

Yet, as if that small warmth had suddenly given him courage, he grabbed the doorknob to stop her, asking with hesitant hope, “Do you… have a boyfriend now?”

Yang Yi paused. “Yes.”

Something in the air shattered. Chen Huanyue slowly released the doorknob.

He turned his head away; Yang Yi saw the corners of his rimless glasses—slightly red.

Yang Yi turned her face away, unable to look further; she pushed the door open quickly, stepping inside.

“Do you love him?”

“You’re asking too much,” she made her tone cold, “We’re not that close.”

“So you’re afraid he’ll get jealous?” Chen Huanyue sneered—it was the first time he’d lost composure since they met.

Yang Yi looked at him strangely, but when she met his gaze, she looked away again.

What kind of look was that? His eyes beneath the glasses seemed ready to shatter. Even though she wasn’t sensitive to others’ emotions, this gaze struck her—making her heart ache.

And back then, it truly had been because of her…

“Once you enter a romantic relationship, you should automatically keep your distance from the opposite sex,” she cut through the tangle bluntly, “And the past is past. So stop this ambiguous entanglement—it’s hurting both of us.”

Chen Huanyue sneered, “But back then, we never broke up. I didn’t propose it, you didn’t propose it—this invisible romantic contract doesn’t seem to have ended, does it?”