# 277
Chapter 277 – It’s Time I Woke Up
“A-Qi, what did the doctor say?” Auntie asked, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped into the room.
“Said I’m recovering well.” Lin Qiye shrugged. He hesitated, then asked, “Auntie, this Doctor Li… was he really sent by the hospital?”
“Of course. Why?” Auntie looked puzzled.
Lin Qiye shook his head. “Nothing. He just feels… off.”
Auntie seemed to remember something. “Oh, right—when I was cooking I realized we’re out of soy sauce. I need to run out and grab some…”
“I’ll go, Auntie.” Lin Qiye offered. “You’ve still got food on the stove.”
Auntie blinked, hesitated, then nodded. “Be careful, stay safe.”
Lin Qiye hummed in agreement, changed his shoes at the door, and stepped outside.
He walked down the stairwell plastered with small ads to the first floor, then followed the familiar alley toward the main street. The gray-white wall beside him was bare, a few yellowed flyers stuck here and there; the cement road underfoot was pitted—easy to stumble.
He ducked into the nearest corner shop, picked the cheapest bottle of soy sauce, and, plastic bag in hand, drifted with the sparse crowd toward home.
Looking up, he saw the sunset dyeing the clouds crimson; cicadas droned in the distance, mixing with music from a corner video-rental store that echoed in his ears.
“I want to go back to that summer,
I want to be by your side again.
I feel I could still see you once more—
those first scenes when you were here…”
Lin Qiye took a deep breath, the corners of his mouth lifting.
Yes—this was the life he loved: simple, warm.
BOOM—!!
Just as he crossed a traffic light, a thunderous roar erupted in the distance; the ground quaked.
“An earthquake?” Lin Qiye steadied himself, stunned, and looked up.
The gorgeous sunset sky had vanished. Black and deep blue split the heavens; everything dimmed.
He lowered his gaze—and froze.
The pedestrians who’d waited beside him at the light were gone. The street was empty, not a soul in sight.
Under the two-toned sky the red signal blinked, dyeing the youth’s figure blood-red.
“What… is happening?” Lin Qiye murmured.
Suddenly, a gray-robed Daoist appeared before him, gazing into his eyes.
“It’s time you woke up.”
The moment the words fell, the street around Lin Qiye cracked like a mirror-built world, collapsing in an instant. Everything dissolved into gray mist.
Weightless, Lin Qiye plummeted.
Streams of light flashed around him—his memories.
Night Watch, Team 136, training camp, Loki, the vanished city…
Memories he’d locked away surged back, flooding his mind. His pupils contracted; pain twisted his brow.
He remembered.
With remembrance came the buried anguish, sorrow, regret—exploding inside him like gunpowder.
“…All of it… was fake?” he whispered, staring at the soy-sauce bottle in his hand as he fell.
Suddenly, as if struck by something, he jerked his head up, eyes blazing.
“I can’t leave like this.” Golden light erupted in his eyes; his falling body stopped mid-air.
“Real or not… this is my last chance to say goodbye.”
At his words, the city that had collapsed into void reassembled. Golden motes rebuilt the street; he stood alone, soy sauce in hand.
The light above still blinked red. Lin Qiye sprinted toward home.
With every step, the city behind him turned to golden dust and vanished into endless fog.
He never looked back, eyes fixed ahead—on the small, old house.
At last he stopped before it.
The entire illusory world had disappeared; only this house remained, an island adrift in mist, flecked with golden light.
He drew a breath, pushed the door, and entered.
“A-Qi, did you get the soy sauce?” Auntie walked from the kitchen, then froze at the sight of his tear-streaked face.
“Auntie.” He smiled.
She hurried over, took the soy sauce, and wiped his tears. “Child, how did a quick errand reduce you to this?”
Lin Qiye gazed at her, throat thick with unsaid words. In the end he only shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
“Hungry, are you?” She glanced toward the kitchen. “Sit down; food’s almost ready.”
He nodded, sat at the table, and stared at her bustling figure.
Soon she brought out two steaming dishes, set them before him, wiped her hands on her apron, and handed him chopsticks.
“Eat while it’s hot.”
He took them, stared at the food, then began shoveling it in.
Auntie always added extra salt—cheapest seasoning—so every dish ran salty. He and Yang Jin had protested countless times, to no avail; they’d learned to live with it.
This meal was no different.
Yet he didn’t waste a grain, gulping it down. Never had her cooking tasted so good; it was as if the salt had turned into the sweetness of everyday life.
“Slow down, don’t choke,” she urged. “You really were starving…”
The walls around them began to dissolve. The last corner of the world started to crumble—door, bedroom, kitchen, bathroom—each room vanishing until only the patch beside the table remained, suspended in fog.
Auntie seemed oblivious, simply watching him eat with tender concern.
Lin Qiye looked up, swallowed, and spoke softly.
“Auntie.”
“Mm?”
“Later on… I still want to eat your cooking.”
She blinked. “Silly child. Whenever you want it, I’ll make it for you.”
“Mm.” He nodded, staring at his empty bowl—not a single grain left.
“I will… bring you all back.”
He set down his chopsticks.
Auntie, table, chairs, empty bowl—all dissolved. Only Lin Qiye remained, alone in the mist.
“It’s time I woke up…”