11. The Disappearing Old Guy and the Broken Old Qiu

Yu Dongxi stared blankly at the first-floor lobby. Everything that had just happened felt like a dream—so unreal, so unclear… The only proof that person truly existed had completely disappeared.

For a moment, a thought crossed Yu Dongxi’s mind: Did that person really exist?

A warm, soft touch pressed against Yu Dongxi’s calf. She looked down and saw a small black dog wagging its tail and circling around her. The dog’s eyes were watery, tongue sticking out. Yu Dongxi’s heart immediately softened.

But that softness brought pain.

Her current sadness was multiplied by the dog’s gaze.

The little dog tilted its head, looking at Yu Dongxi, lifting a paw to scratch its eye, then suddenly said, “Why didn’t that old guy come back?”

Yu Dongxi: ?

Wait, what just spoke?

Yu Dongxi looked around but didn’t see a single person.

“Look down. What are you staring at? Your eyes aren’t even as good as that old guy’s,” the dog said.

Yu Dongxi couldn’t believe it. Slowly, she lowered her gaze, and the next moment, she collided with a pair of amber eyes.

The little black dog looked at Yu Dongxi and said, “You two went out together, so why did you come back alone?”

Although a dog talking was ridiculous, thinking that this was happening in the Underworld made it somehow more acceptable.

“You still remember him?” Yu Dongxi looked at the little black dog thoughtfully. “Tell me, what’s his name?”

“What’s his name?” The dog sneered disdainfully. “You actually need to ask such a simple question? You don’t even know his name? His name is…”

The dog suddenly choked, as if something was stuck in its throat, unable to make a sound.

“What’s his name?” Yu Dongxi looked at the dog with hopeful eyes.

“It’s… oh man, I forgot,” the dog’s face briefly blanked.

Yu Dongxi: “……” Alright, alright.

She didn’t believe that in such a short time, everyone, humans and dogs alike, had forgotten his existence.

Some simply never knew he existed, but like the little black dog before her—it knew that person existed but had forgotten his name.

“Xiao Hei, you and I are probably the only two left in this Underworld who still remember him.” Yu Dongxi hugged the little black dog under her arm. The dog yelped, thinking of someone, struggling and scratching with its paws while saying, “Men and women shouldn’t touch like this, and besides, I’m not called Xiao Hei… I know there should be one more person who remembers—Qiu Sui! Qiu Sui! They were really good buddies. You should ask Qiu Sui.”

To be honest, Yu Dongxi really didn’t want to contact Qiu Sui, but at this point, with lives—ghost lives—at stake, personal feelings simply weren’t worth mentioning.

“Alright.”

“But how are we supposed to find Qiu Sui?”

“Qiu Sui! Get out here!” Yu Dongxi shouted with full force, her voice so loud it made the little black dog’s ears twitch and its fur stand on end.

“Girl, what, you think your throat’s a speaker or something? Just yelling like that and you expect Qiu Sui to just—”

“I’m here.”

A voice came from behind Yu Dongxi, carried by a cold gust of wind. The temperature around them instantly seemed to drop several degrees, enough for the little black dog to shiver.

That voice—who else could it be but Qiu Sui?

Yu Dongxi turned around and saw Qiu Sui holding a red umbrella, a string of keys hanging from his wrist. His usually cold, expressionless face was smudged with dust—probably still in the middle of work.

Taking a bold guess, he had likely ditched his work just now to show up.

She remembered during one of the Underworld’s internal evaluations, there was an award titled “Most Impartial and Unyielding.” It was given to Qiu Sui. But as the Underworld’s top workaholic, Qiu Sui completely ignored the organizers. He didn’t show up to accept it, and he didn’t even know he had won until six months later.

Someone that rigid and by-the-book actually cared this much about a rookie in the Underworld—it was truly unbelievable.

The little black dog gave Yu Dongxi a thoughtful look. In fact, it had vaguely overheard some gossip about Qiu Sui’s love life… The female lead, if memory served, might just be his childhood friend.

After all, every time someone brought up the topic, it would hear a teasing voice calling her “your girl.”

“I want to confirm something with you.”

“What is it?”

“Was there ever a person named Song Daqian whose name was moved from the Book of Life and Death for humans to the one for animals?”

Qiu Sui froze for a moment, then shook his head. “That has never happened.”

Yu Dongxi more or less understood the situation now. She needed a reliable ally—someone with actual authority. Otherwise, she might not even be able to leave the Underworld.

“If I want to leave the Underworld, what should I do?”

“The gate of the Underworld can only be opened with a key,” Qiu Sui replied.

“Alright, do you have the key?”

“I do.”

“I want to go out.”

“Where to?” Qiu Sui softened his tone. “I’m not trying to stop you, but with your current condition, going out alone is dangerous. I’ll go with you. Otherwise, I won’t be at ease.”

“Okay.”

Yu Dongxi agreed so quickly that Qiu Sui was briefly stunned. He had mentally prepared for a long back-and-forth, but Yu Dongxi had no intention of “debating” with him at all.

Yu Dongxi was in a hurry. “We’re leaving now.”

Qiu Sui sighed, grabbed her wrist, and softly chanted a spell. The keys tied around his wrist began to emit a blinding white light. In the next second, a sinister-looking gate appeared before Yu Dongxi. It was painted in black and red, with broken hands and feet—and even some exposed skulls—crawling all around the frame. Even though Yu Dongxi was already dead, the sight of this still made her feel a chill run down her spine.

A cold hand gently covered her eyes. Qiu Sui’s voice, rarely this soft, spoke beside her: “Don’t be afraid.”

The little black dog shuddered. Was this really Qiu Sui?

Whoever you are, please get off Qiu Sui right now.

This was creepy as hell.

Qiu Sui placed a hand on Yu Dongxi’s shoulder. The gate slowly opened, and light from outside poured in, illuminating the countless decaying souls inside. Like dying creatures clinging to life, they struggled to crawl toward the light—only to vanish in a puff of smoke the instant they touched it.

Screams echoed relentlessly. Yu Dongxi couldn’t see, but she could hear them clearly.

And in the future, she might have to listen to this sound for many years to come.

Yu Dongxi followed Qiu Sui’s pace, walking slowly forward. The voices faded behind her until they could no longer be heard. Qiu Sui lowered his hand. When Yu Dongxi opened her eyes again, she had returned to the world of the living.

After death, the living can no longer see you. Qiu Sui stood out with his red umbrella, and Yu Dongxi carried a fierce-looking fat black dog in her arms. Despite the odd combination, not a single person seemed to notice them.

There were only two possible explanations. One: this was an extremely tolerant place. But having lived in Hacheng for years, Yu Dongxi knew that while the locals were open-minded, they weren’t that open.

Two: no one could actually see them.

That was the real answer.

“Bingcheng. Jiuwei Avenue Street.” The location was oddly specific. Qiu Sui couldn’t figure out what connection Yu Dongxi could possibly have with this place.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

He softly chanted a spell, and in the blink of an eye, the two of them and the dog arrived in Bingcheng. Hacheng and Bingcheng were incredibly far apart—practically worlds away. Yet another benefit of being dead: no travel expenses.

Jiuwei Avenue Street. Counting this time, Yu Dongxi had only been here twice—once now, and once in Xiao Chu’s fantasy realm.

“Why did you want to come here?”

“Because I want to confirm something.”

Hugging the little black dog tightly in her arms, Yu Dongxi walked purposefully in one direction. Qiu Sui followed, puzzled. As far as he remembered, Yu Dongxi had never been to Bingcheng before.

In front of an old bookstore—now preserved as a tourist site—Yu Dongxi came to a stop. The store didn’t look much like what she had seen in the fantasy realm.

But it was still similar in general appearance.

Most importantly, her vision was sharp now, and she clearly saw a framed portrait displayed in the center of the store.

And in that portrait… was the Old Zhong she knew.

Yu Dongxi walked into the bookstore as if no one else were around. Of course, unless someone was a ghost or born with the ability to see spirits, they wouldn’t be able to see her.

In the center of the bookstore stood a framed portrait with a detailed introduction about the founder, Old Zhong. It even included a bit of history—how the bookstore had once fallen into a crisis, and to save it from collapse, Old Zhong came up with the idea of selling books in a “blind box” style. This almost genius marketing strategy had actually been proposed decades ago.

Yu Dongxi suddenly thought of the first time she had visited this bookstore, when Song Ke had started to tell her a story but never finished. Maybe… this was that story.

She glanced at the tightly shut lounge, then turned to Qiu Sui and said, “I want to go in.”

Qiu Sui tugged on the hood of her sweatshirt, and the two of them—plus the dog—walked straight through the wall.

“How do you know how to do so much?”

“When you’ve been dead long enough, you naturally learn everything.”

Yu Dongxi rolled her eyes. “Tch… You make it sound like you’ve been dead for centuries.”

Enough chatter.

Yu Dongxi remembered that on the third shelf, first row, fourth book from the left in the reading room, there was a copy of Compendium of Materia Medica. Inside that book was a portrait. She found the book and turned to page 72. Sure enough, there was a picture on that page—a woman still smiling gently and sweetly.

“Qiu Sui, if there were someone who was suddenly forgotten by everyone except you… how would you prove that this person really existed?” Yu Dongxi asked as she stroked the image.

“I’d do everything I could to find evidence that they once lived.”

“No wonder you’re the top student—you’re so precise with your words.” Yu Dongxi suddenly smiled. Although she sounded like she was joking, there was a hint of sorrow in her tone. She raised the portrait in her hand. “Look, would this count as evidence?”

Qiu Sui took the picture, and all of a sudden, a strong sense of familiarity surged within him. Faintly, he seemed to see a man with his eyes covered by cloth, flashing a lazy smile and saying, “Hey, Qiu Sui, off to look for someone again?”

Qiu Sui didn’t believe that this inexplicable sense of familiarity was just an illusion.

“It counts. Why wouldn’t it?” Qiu Sui picked up the little dog that had slid down to Yu Dongxi’s feet. “Come on, we’re definitely going to find more evidence of his existence.”

“Song Daquan is gone,” Yu Dongxi murmured, “Qiu Sui, all I know is that his surname is Song, he was the head of the department next to ours, and his eyes were covered by a piece of cloth…”

“Alright. His surname is Song, he was the head of the department next door, and he had his eyes covered. Then we’ll start looking from people with the surname Song. Since he’s dead, whether it’s the Book of Life and Death or the Registry of the Living, there will definitely be traces of him. We’ll find him.”

“But… why would everyone suddenly forget about him?” Yu Dongxi still couldn’t understand why.

“Dongxi,” Qiu Sui turned her head and looked her in the eyes, coaxing her gently, “Don’t panic. Tell me, what exactly happened before all this?”

Yu Dongxi sniffled and recounted the earlier events, focusing on the key points.

Her thoughts were a bit scattered now, and parts of her story sounded illogical, but Qiu Sui listened carefully. At the end, Yu Dongxi asked, “Why can’t I contact Brother Du anymore?”

After leaving the fantasy realm, she had tried to reach him, but no matter what she did, she simply couldn’t get through.

“The system only allows contact with your partner while inside the fantasy realm. Now that you’ve left it, your connection to the system has been severed.”

Yu Dongxi fell silent for a moment, then suddenly asked in a serious tone, “Qiu Sui, do you believe what I said?”

“I do.”

“Why? To be honest, even I think the story sounds ridiculous. It’s like something a kid would make up—one of those children who lie and invent creepy experiences just to get their parents’ attention…”

“Dongxi, you’re not a kid who lies, and I’m not a parent who neglects their child. I believe you simply because I believe in you. No reason. It’s that simple. Just like how you like mangoes—you just like them, no explanation needed.” Qiu Sui’s voice was so gentle, it made Xiao Hei absolutely certain of one thing—Qiu Sui must have been possessed by someone else.

Yu Dongxi promised herself she wouldn’t cry.

She wiped her tears. She hadn’t felt wronged before, but after talking to Qiu Sui, even the things that hadn’t made her feel wronged started to weigh on her so much that she wanted to cry.

So, it was all Qiu Sui’s fault.

Qiu Sui gently wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes with his thumb and said, “I’ll help you find him.”

“When we do, I’m going to beat him up. He’s dead meat.” Yu Dongxi’s voice was a little hoarse. She didn’t want her mighty and heroic image to be ruined by a few tears—but it didn’t matter. It was Qiu Sui. They had already seen each other at their worst, there was no such thing as embarrassment between them anymore.

“Alright, I’ll help you beat him up.”

To be able to hold a work in the Underworld, the first requirement was—naturally—that you had to be dead.

Qiu Sui flipped through nearly a century’s worth of the Book of the Dead, especially the section on people surnamed Song, but there was no one that fit. That person had truly vanished into thin air. If he wasn’t listed in the Book of the Dead, then there was even less chance he’d appear in the Book of the Living. The only trace he could have left behind would be in the life records of someone else, appearing as part of their fate or destiny.

Qiu Sui looked at Yu Dongxi. It had been a long time since the two of them had been together so calmly.

From being inseparable friends to becoming lovers who quietly admired each other, they had walked this road together for more than ten years. Yet in the end, they still went their separate ways.

But more than a decade of being side by side had forged a deep bond—a silent understanding etched into their bones and blood. It had formed a barrier that set them apart from the rest of the world. In that small, shared world, there was only the two of them. No one else could cross that boundary.