Lin Zixi’s excitement was clearly sky-high, and she spoke about it effusively: “We could throw a charity gala, invite your favorite bands, and some of your biggest fans too—what do you think?”
Ye Can tilted her head to look at her, a bit puzzled. “Inviting that many people… is our house big enough?”
Lin Zixi took her hand and smiled. “It’s not big enough right now. Your villa could barely manage. But…”
Ye Can picked up on her words. “But what?”
Lin Zixi looked up at her, eyes brimming with amusement. “Your villa is your villa. I don’t want to live there right now. But after we get back, we can buy a new one and live there together.”
Ye Can’s eyes widened. “Buy a new house? Do you have that kind of money?”
Lin Zixi leaned against her shoulder, eyes crinkling with laughter. “I didn’t before, but investing in you for three years has paid off big time.” She reached out, pinching Ye Can’s cheek with a grin. “Sweetheart, don’t you know how good you are at making money?”
Ye Can was arguably the most commercially valuable actress in recent years. Whatever role she took, that project exploded in popularity. Whatever product she endorsed sold out in a flash.
On top of that, Ye Can had specially assigned a financial advisor just for Lin Zixi, so her income had been skyrocketing.
Hearing this, Ye Can felt happy too. “Then if we have the money, go ahead and buy it.” Having more assets was another layer of security for Lin Zixi—a huge win.
The two quickly settled on the plan. Lin Zixi then asked, “The reality show’s wrapped—what do you want to do next? Head home tomorrow, or stay and play some more?”
Ye Can had no idea what she wanted to do, but flying back with the group? No thanks. She thought for a moment and turned to Lin Zixi. “I don’t know what to do. What about you? Decided yet?”
Lin Zixi nuzzled her shoulder. “No rush to go back. How about we hit the ski resort for some fun?”
Ye Can considered it. “The off-road track? For a couple days, sure, we could do that.”
Lin Zixi glanced up at her. “So it’s settled?”
Ye Can nodded. “Yeah, settled.”
Lin Zixi pulled Ye Can onto the bed. “Then let’s get some sleep early.”
But Ye Can had other ideas. She pushed forward, nipping at Lin Zixi’s lip as she mumbled, “You think it’s bedtime right now?” The cameras were gone, filming was over—she deserved a little taste of sweetness!
Lin Zixi hooked her arms around Ye Can’s neck, drawing her under the covers, and whispered back, “So what did you think I meant by sleep?”
Perfect—minds and bodies aligned, they reached a happy consensus and “slept” together blissfully.
The next morning, as Jiang Yue and the others left the ski resort by car, Lin Zixi dragged herself out of bed at the alarm’s insistence to see them off. Ye Can, who had clearly heard it too, yanked the covers over her head, pretending not to, burrowing deep into the nest.
Lin Zixi called her a few times, but seeing her refuse flat-out to get up, she sighed softly, changed, and headed out.
Lying under the covers, Ye Can clearly heard the soft rustle of Lin Zixi changing. She held her breath. Moments later, footsteps approached the door—it creaked open, and Lin Zixi slipped out gently.
With a soft click, the door shut. Ye Can poked her head out from the covers, staring blankly at the door, a sudden emptiness settling in her chest.
Her friends were all leaving. This parting might be forever. Even so, Ye Can didn’t want to go say goodbye. Because last night—no, even earlier, throughout the whole reality show trip—she’d already said her farewells.
Even if they didn’t know it, she’d done what she needed to.
Some time later, Lin Zixi returned to the room, chilled to the bone. Passing through the entryway, she froze when she saw Ye Can sprawled at the bed’s edge, staring fixedly at her. “You’re awake? Why aren’t you dressed? We’ll grab breakfast and head out to play soon.”
Ye Can mumbled an “oh” and sat up, still tangled in the sheets. Lin Zixi shrugged off her parka, came to the bedside, gathered Ye Can’s clothes for the day, and handed them over. “Hurry up and change. No dawdling.”
Ye Can pouted, reluctantly extending her slender, pale arms from the covers to snatch the clothes and pull them on haphazardly.
Lin Zixi sat on the bed’s edge, watching Ye Can dress as she asked, “You were awake this morning—why didn’t you want to get up and say goodbye to them?”
Ye Can poked her head through the collar and grumbled softly, “Didn’t we already say goodbye last night? Why do it twice?”
Lin Zixi sighed. “Oh? I thought you were scared you’d cry at the parting.”
Ye Can shot her a glare. “I wouldn’t cry!”
Her reaction only confirmed Lin Zixi’s guess. Lin Zixi reached out, ruffling her hair. “Right, right, you wouldn’t. Now hurry up, or the morning’ll be gone, and what fun will that be?”
Ye Can mumbled and grumbled, “I’m already fast!”
It was an utterly ordinary morning, the sky overcast, the sun hiding behind thick gray clouds with no intention of peeking out.
After breakfast, Ye Can and Lin Zixi joined the staff and headed to the northern off-road track. Standing at the starting point, gazing at the frost-snow-capped spruce forest standing tall and proud, they couldn’t help but question if it was still winter or already vibrant spring.
Ye Can’s mood was strangely wonderful. I won’t die on a day like this, she thought.
But in truth, life rarely goes as planned—fate loves its little tricks.
The moment the massive wall of snow barreled down the track toward her and Lin Zixi, Ye Can shoved her down, and they tumbled off the path into the empty forest. That’s when she suddenly understood what kind of day it really was.
But before she could curse the Immoral God a few more times in her mind, the snow wave from behind slammed them toward the abyss. Clutching Lin Zixi, they tumbled head over heels, and under the massive impact, Ye Can blacked out.
Cold. So cold. Ye Can woke to an excruciating chill.
When she came to, it was already night.
Cold moonlight splashed across her face, offering no warmth—it dazed her for a moment. Then she realized she was buried in snow. Panicking, she whipped her head around, searching for Lin Zixi, but the snowfield was empty, utterly silent.
Ye Can realized quickly: She might be gone from this world already.
She clawed her way out of the snow and, under the pale light, surveyed her surroundings. White snow everywhere. The towering spruces loomed like ghostly sentinels in the moonlight, staring at her with eyes of death.
Everything was deathly still, as if even the wind froze here. Ye Can looked around—it felt eerily familiar. Thoughtfully, she glanced east. Sure enough, a vibrant, multicolored butterfly fluttered its wings through the moonlight toward her.
Standing on the snow, Ye Can cocked her head. “God?”
The butterfly circled in the moonlight, drawing close. “We meet again, Ye Can.”
Ye Can huffed. “But I don’t really want to see you right now.”
The butterfly flapped its wings. “You know time’s up, though.”
Ye Can asked, “So?”
The butterfly said, “So you have to go.”
Ye Can kicked at her shoe, murmuring “oh.” This time, the butterfly’s voice was unusually gentle. “Remember the question I asked you at the beginning? Do you have an answer now?”
Ye Can hung her head, silent. The god murmured to herself, “No need to ask—I know you do.”
The god continued, “Death is never life’s opposite. Life and death are intertwined. Don’t rush toward death, and don’t waste your life.”
“I promised you a resolution, and it will come. So congratulations—you’ve received what you wanted.”
Ye Can pursed her lips. What I want right now isn’t this eternal sleep. But she sighed anyway. “So I’m finally free, right?”
The god replied kindly, “Yes, you’ve freed yourself. From the past, the present, or maybe the future—you’re free.”
Even if Ye Can were to become Yan Kingdom’s king again, it would be different now.
Ye Can gazed at the full moon and let out a long sigh. “Then let me sleep eternally.”
The god responded, “As you wish.”
With those words, Ye Can felt her body grow extraordinarily light, like a feather lifted by the wind, swaying upward into the sky.
Contrasting her lightness was the growing heaviness in her heart. True death wasn’t as pleasant as she’d imagined. She looked down.
Somehow, the empty snowfield had changed. She seemed to see Lin Zixi staggering up from the snow, then kneeling to dig frantically with her hands, unearthing Ye Can’s body.
Hovering in the air, Ye Can watched blankly as Lin Zixi clutched her body, wailing hoarsely in grief. Tears slid from Ye Can’s eyes.
Some time later, she saw Lin Zixi look up, staring blankly at everything around her—a look of total unfamiliarity, the opposite of her earlier frenzy.
Ye Can understood. She’s forgotten, hasn’t she?
The god was still there. “Yes, I’ve erased her memories completely. The world’s been rewritten—everything has changed.”
Ye Can murmured “oh.” Soon, even her thoughts faded.
After that, Ye Shen mobilized dozens of helicopters, scouring the mountains for traces of Ye Can and Lin Zixi.
One hour later, news exploded: Lin Zixi and top actress perish at ski resort—Weibo servers crashed instantly.
Six hours after that, search teams found Lin Zixi and the top actress.
The next morning at 9 a.m., officials announced the top actress’s death.
Three days later, Lin Zixi woke in the hospital, her memories of the past three-plus years gone.
From then on, not a single trace of “Ye Can” remained in the entertainment world.
No more Ye Can.
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