TRYMBPIETM 112: Revival of All Things (33)

Chi Qingning, who had been about to complain to Chi Qingzhou, froze.

He looked blankly at the artists, only to find that their expressions were even more bewildered than his own.

Beyond confusion, their faces were filled with utter disbelief.

How to describe it…?

It was like having an online relationship with a beautiful girl for three years—exchanging photos, video calling regularly—only for the moment of their first in-person meeting to arrive, and the other party gave a wicked smirk, lifted their skirt—

And bam! Bigger than them!

Every inch of their bodies radiated a sense of having been utterly deceived, disbelief practically oozing out of them.

Chi Qingning’s first thought was: Did these people get dragged here by force to ‘clear up the misunderstanding’?

His second thought came right after: Since they mentioned a misunderstanding, that means they were probably badmouthing me before.

Badmouthing me = Saying bad things = Lowering Chi Qingzhou’s opinion of me.

This simple equation instantly formed in Chi Qingning’s mind. He froze for two seconds—then exploded in fury.

He let go of Chi Qingzhou’s arm, threw aside the blanket in his hands, and completely disregarding his image, pointed at the artists and began a fierce denunciation.

“Oh, so that’s why people keep spreading rumors that my second brother and I don’t get along—it’s all because of people like you running your mouths!”

“I don’t care what misunderstanding you have about me, but I’m making this clear right now.”

“There is no one in this world I respect and admire more than my second brother!”

“Trying to drive a wedge between me and my second brother? Dream on!”

The young artists, who had been preparing excuses to defend themselves: “…?”

Wait, Chi Qingning—are you sure you’re arguing about the right thing?

What do you mean your second brother is someone you respect and admire?

What do you mean we’re trying to drive a wedge between you two?

Do you even hear what you’re saying?!

At first, they thought Chi Qingning might be mad about being slandered or simply angry that they were gossiping behind his back. But in the end, he was furious because they had badmouthed him in front of Chi Qingzhou.

This reaction caught them completely off guard. For a moment, they didn’t even know how to respond.

Chi Qingning immediately saw their hesitation—how could he not guess what they were thinking?

He scoffed and lectured them all over again with complete confidence. However, not once did he hint at suppressing them.

Of course, this wasn’t because Chi Qingning had suddenly turned into a good person. It was just that Chi Qingzhou always emphasized kindness, and even though he could think of a hundred different ways to teach them a lesson, he didn’t dare act on them in front of Chi Qingzhou.

What if Chi Qingzhou decided he wasn’t kind anymore?

After all, for someone like Chi Qingzhou, a well-behaved person was called a little brother. An uncooperative one? They might just become the next example in a cautionary tale.

Not even their ashes would be left behind.

Suppressing his simmering frustration, Chi Qingning kept preaching about kindness and professionalism. Sure enough, his efforts earned him an approving look from Chi Qingzhou.

Feeling a rush of excitement, he slung an arm around one of the artists’ shoulders and casually said, “Come, come, come, let me explain to you why good deeds are always rewarded.”

The artists: “……”

They had so many complaints they wanted to voice, so many excuses they wanted to make, but after struggling internally, they ultimately failed to resist.

First, Chi Qingning’s status in Yade was undeniable. His attitude was firm, and they didn’t dare offend him too much.

Second, they saw Chi Qingzhou’s smile—and instinctively felt danger. Even if they didn’t have the mental energy to recall exactly what had happened earlier, the eerie detail of all of them getting pulled back at once still sent shivers down their spines.

Compared to Chi Qingzhou, they would much rather deal with the seemingly normal Chi Qingning. And so, half-willing, half-forced, they followed after him.

——

The system, watching from the shadows, couldn’t help but click its tongue in amazement.

Back then, Chi Qingning was the perfect villain.

Whether in terms of personality or background, he was the ideal character for the classic “fake and real young master” trope—the kind of antagonist that could stir up drama for over a hundred chapters. Who would’ve thought that after meeting Chi Qingzhou, he’d turn into the designated victim in no time?

Just look at him now. His entire demeanor practically screamed “obedient and cautious.”

Chi Qingzhou, you’re truly a menace.

If this kind of character got handed over to the “Cannon Fodder Self-Rescue System” next door, he might even end up as the Best Host of the Year.

So… did the system really have a chance of helping Chi Qingzhou reincarnate?

The system let out two quiet clicks of disapproval before curling up in a corner to sulk.

Xing Shuangzhan swept his cold gaze over the system, covering a portion of the corridor with a layer of yin energy as he stepped out from the shadows. Silently, he wrapped an arm around Chi Qingzhou’s waist.

“Why do you keep watching them?”

Chi Qingzhou tilted his head slightly, his eyes filled with confusion.

“Nothing much,” he replied. “I just find it a bit of a coincidence—just as they were talking bad about my brother, I happened to hear them.”

But there didn’t seem to be anything particularly strange about these people. Maybe he was just overthinking it.

Hearing this, Xing Shuangzhan’s mind stirred.

Reaching out, he hooked a wisp of death energy and let it quietly creep onto the artists’ shoulders.

Their movements stiffened, their steps slowing slightly.

Yet neither they nor Chi Qingning seemed to notice.

Behind them, Chi Qingzhou quietly observed, his expression turning to one of realization.

He spoke softly, “Su-Ge, I’ve seen that symbol on their necks before.”

Xing Shuangzhan glanced over. “On the star disk Cheng Shang made for you?”

Chi Qingzhou smiled.

“It was on that star disk too, but what I’m talking about is the one in the eyes of the deity statue.”

He leaned into Xing Shuangzhan’s embrace, tilting his head up, his tone unreadable. “It seems this really isn’t just a coincidence.”

But why?

The other party was a ghost deity—was there really a need to use such petty tricks to hinder him?

Even if there was some unavoidable reason, there was no point in setting up obstacles that could be easily removed.

Chi Qingzhou couldn’t figure it out.

He closed his eyes. “Su-Ge, do you think I’m reacting too slowly?”

Xing Shuangzhan pressed a kiss to his brow and murmured, “Don’t worry. I’ll always be by your side.”

—

At 3 p.m., after finishing his acting class for the day, Chi Qingzhou spoke with Guan Xihua about joining the crew earlier than planned.

Since the Wanxiang production team had yet to send out any official notice, Guan Xihua felt there was no rush. He suggested Chi Qingzhou take a few more acting lessons, but Chi Qingzhou was adamant.

“I’ve already delayed for too long,” he said.

Guan Xihua didn’t quite understand what he meant and was about to persuade him again when he caught sight of Chi Qingzhou’s smile. A sense of unease suddenly crept up on him.

After thinking for a moment, he finally realized—Chi Qingzhou’s insistence on joining the crew early was likely related to something… less than scientific.

Pressing his fingers to his temple in slight frustration, he cautiously asked, “Does it have to be as soon as possible? Did something happen on set? Is it dangerous?”

Chi Qingzhou didn’t elaborate.

He only let out a soft chuckle and said slowly, “It’s just that someone doesn’t want me to go.”

Guan Xihua: “Huh? Huh???”

His mind, which had been full of thoughts about ghosts and supernatural beings, suddenly went blank. Only one thought kept echoing inside his head—

“Someone’s trying to steal your role or something?”

He shot up from his seat. Without waiting for Chi Qingzhou’s response, he grabbed his phone and strode out. “Qingzhou, let Du Huan take you home first. I need to have a serious talk with Director Fang. Don’t worry—I’ll get you into the crew as soon as possible!”

Chi Qingzhou was stunned for a moment. He got up to stop him, following him to the break room door, only to see Guan Xihua already stepping into the elevator.

Just before the doors closed, Guan Xihua even waved at him, signaling for him not to worry and just go home.

Chi Qingzhou: “…”

Perplexed, he muttered, “Why is Guan-Ge suddenly so motivated?”

Xing Shuangzhan chuckled but didn’t explain, instead urging Chi Qingzhou to go home and rest.

Chi Qingzhou, reminded of what had happened last night and this morning, gave him a half-smiling glare. After checking on the two senior under Guan Xihua, who were seriously practicing Muay Thai, he fell silent for a moment before letting Du Huan take him home.

—

Because of certain actions Xing Shuangzhan had taken the previous night, Chi Qingzhou outright banished him from his shadow that night and refused to let him into the bedroom.

Standing before the shut door, Xing Shuangzhan let out a long sigh. For the first time, he felt that having a physical body wasn’t entirely a good thing.

He spent the night making do on the living room sofa, planning to play the pitiful card when Chi Qingzhou woke up the next morning.

But when morning came, Chi Qingzhou didn’t even acknowledge him. He simply opened the bedroom door and walked straight downstairs.

Xing Shuangzhan quickly grabbed his coat from the rack and caught up with him in a few strides.

“Why are you rushing out? You didn’t even change your clothes.”

Although it was already June, the morning temperature had dropped noticeably. Going out in just pajamas would still be a bit chilly.

Without a word, Chi Qingzhou put on the coat Xing Shuangzhan handed him and continued heading downstairs.

Once outside the apartment building, he moved with clear purpose, heading directly for the small garden on the east side of the complex.

The early morning breeze was gentle, rustling the leaves.

Inside the garden, the roses that had been in full bloom were now inexplicably wilting, their petals barely clinging to the stems.

Beyond the roses, however, tender yellow flower buds were beginning to emerge from the forsythia branches, swaying lightly in the wind.

Chi Qingzhou halted, his expression unreadable.

Xing Shuangzhan, rarely surprised, frowned slightly. “Forsythia? But He Xing City has long since entered summer.”

Forsythia, which bloomed at the end of winter and the beginning of spring, was flowering in summer?

His brows furrowed deeper, his gaze turning sharp. “So the drop in temperature today wasn’t natural—someone tampered with it.”

Reversing the seasons in a region wasn’t something an ordinary person could accomplish.

Xing Shuangzhan pulled Chi Qingzhou into his arms and murmured an apology, “I should have been more attentive to the details.”

Chi Qingzhou stared at the forsythia a while longer before suddenly curving his lips into a smile.

“No, it’s not your fault.”

His shadow extended, forming thin, probing tendrils that plucked a withered rose from its stem.

No matter how gently he moved, the rose was already at its limit. The moment it was touched, its shriveled petals detached from the calyx, caught in the wind, and spiraled away.

Chi Qingzhou’s gaze deepened.

He murmured, “Su-Ge, it’s not that you failed to notice the details. It’s that this time, the seasonal reversal didn’t have any warning signs at all.”

Finally, he understood what he had failed to grasp yesterday.

Although he still didn’t know the other party’s true intentions, one thing was clear—

They didn’t need to stop him for long.

Because by this morning, their spell had already taken effect.

And he had forgotten—

His opponent was a ghost deity.

No matter how weakened this ghost deity was, it was still a deity.

It possessed power beyond human reach, and reversing the seasons was just one of its methods.

Perhaps this method was large-scale and seemingly impossible, but at its core, it was merely a manifestation of the ghost deity’s accumulated strength.

Chi Qingzhou’s smile widened.

From his feet, his shadow slowly rose, placing its hands on his shoulders, its cheek pressing intimately against his. A pair of blood-red eyes flickered open, mirroring his curved lips.

Two identical voices overlapped—

“It’s stronger than I expected. That means… it must taste even better, right?”