Nothing is eternal.
The night would fade, the person before her could leave at any time, and even the beautiful fireworks right in front of her would dissipate after just a few seconds.
Even if an animation could be replayed over and over, it couldn’t change the fact that it was just an animation—fleeting and ephemeral.
Han Xuan had long understood this truth, so she had never expected anything.
She looked calmly at Chu Susu before her, then said only one word in a low voice:
“Yes.”
…As expected.
The moment she said that word, Chu Susu noticed everything around her fading like colors draining away.
The brand-new cabin suddenly turned rundown again. With a light sniff, she could even smell the rusty iron not far off.
Creaking sounds faintly emerged, and the supposedly indestructible equipment was clearly on the verge of falling apart.
Han Xuan’s eyes bloomed with a faint purple glow. As if saying these words for the first time, she slowly continued:
“I am the Witch.”
She didn’t ask how Chu Susu had figured it out, nor did she show any extra emotion. The word “Witch” was like a heavy burden on her shoulders—unloaded the instant she nodded.
No one knew what this identity truly meant, not even her closest companions.
Only she understood.
Chu Susu gripped the VR glasses tightly in her hand, the lipstick color barely concealing her bloodless lips.
Luo Yiyi’s words echoed in her ears.
“This way, it makes sense that they possessed me. Because the ‘Hunter’ isn’t human and has no physical form, they need to manipulate humans to achieve their goals.”
“But which Witch are they hunting? Miss Chu, you don’t seem like someone who can use magic…” Luo Yiyi said doubtfully. In his eyes, Chu Susu was clearly just an ordinary person. “Otherwise, they could’ve just killed me right then—why bother calling the police?”
Moreover, Chu Susu didn’t even know the details about the Hunters and Witches.
Luo Yiyi continued speculating: “Could it be a friend of Miss Chu’s? In any case, it seems we share the same goal now.”
“According to the records, Hunters are the righteous side. They eliminate Witches for the world and suppress evil.”
“But I don’t think… that’s the case at all. When they possessed me, they didn’t care about my fate at all. I’m a law-abiding citizen who ended up with a criminal detention record because of them.”
The books and records matched what the Hunter had said to Chu Susu—”You don’t know how much blood and lives are on Han Xuan’s hands.”
Chu Susu felt her head starting to ache again, a throbbing pain at the back of her skull. She swallowed and turned her gaze back to Han Xuan.
“So your ability… it’s actually magic?”
According to the Malleus Maleficarum, Witches were the devil’s claws on earth, wielding the darkest magic. They hated all positive emotions and would stop at nothing to plunge humanity into panic.
But Chu Susu didn’t believe a word of it.
She had seen Han Xuan holding Pipi. All things had spirits, and small animals had their own unique ways of discerning. Pipi would never get close to someone with blood on their hands, let alone act spoiled in their arms.
The moment the words left her mouth, strands of light condensed in Han Xuan’s palm.
This was the first time she had displayed it unrestrained in front of Chu Susu.
The light formed flickering purple flames, illuminating Han Xuan’s expressionless face and eyes, as if pulling Chu Susu into a mysterious and wondrous magical world in an instant.
“Yes.” Han Xuan’s lashes fluttered. “Now that you know, aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid of what?”
“I could kill you anytime.”
These were clearly extremely dangerous words, but Chu Susu stared at the flame for a long moment before slowly placing her hand over it.
The searing heat didn’t burn her skin; instead, it wrapped around her warmly, as cozy as sitting by a fireplace.
“You won’t.” Chu Susu said.
This wasn’t just from her past trust in Han Xuan. It was also because, in the materials Luo Yiyi had given her, she had seen a concept called the “Triple Rule.”
The power a Witch used would return to them threefold, just as Han Xuan had told her. That night of the waxing moon, when she lay powerless in the bathtub, was the best proof.
This was why she firmly believed Han Xuan wasn’t some evil being. No matter what a Witch did, they had to bear triple the retribution—so killing one person meant dying three times over.
If things were as the Hunter said, Han Xuan would’ve died countless times by now. How could she still be standing right here, perfectly fine?
“You believe me?”
Chu Susu pressed her hand lower, gently stroking the flame: “I believe you didn’t lie to me.”
“Why?”
“Instinct.”
Chu Susu knew this was an unfounded reason; in fact, she didn’t fully understand it herself.
From the initial shock and rage upon learning she’d lost her memories, to the helpless grief of witnessing Qiao Qian’s suicide—everything had happened too fast, emotions shifting abruptly.
She had resented and blamed Han Xuan, but the constantly swirling memory fragments in her mind repeated only one sentence—
“Han Xuan is someone you can trust.”
It was Chu Susu’s own voice echoing, not some magic effect. She knew it was her subconscious guiding her.
“Han Xuan.” She said softly. “I still want to recover my memories, no matter how.”
“Even if, as you said, I chose to forget them myself, I still have the right to choose to get them back now.”
“If you won’t help me, or can’t for some reason, then I’ll find a way myself.”
The Ferris wheel slowly descended to the bottom. In the long-decayed Winter Dream Amusement Park, the briefly blooming flowers also withered away.
The music from the carousel in the distance had become the creaking of winter winds, and the night sky once streaked with brilliant fireworks was left with only stars and moon.
That brief loop in the cabin was just like the amusement park’s name—a winter night’s dream.
Unfortunately, dreams always wake.
When Chu Susu jumped out of the cabin, she saw Han Xuan’s back. She was looking up at the night sky.
But the moon had quietly hidden behind dark clouds at some point, and it was unclear what she was actually looking at.
Stars? Looking closely, tiny stars hid among the clouds, like shimmering diamond fragments.
Han Xuan suddenly turned her head, her fair and refined face seemingly tinged with faint, imperceptible shadows.
“Don’t go back to the hospital tonight.” As if having made some decision, she raised her brows and smiled. “Come home with me.”
Chu Susu was stunned for a moment, then nodded instinctively.
The current Han Xuan showed no changes—in the thin starlight, she even looked more beautiful.
But she just felt that, in that moment…
Han Xuan had become different.
When Han Xuan led her toward the residential complex they’d visited a few times before, it was like entering a place with no one around.
The security guard stood right at the entrance, yet as if his vision was blocked, he didn’t notice the two figures passing right in front of him.
Doubts swirled in Chu Susu’s mind. Last time she’d come looking for someone, she’d confirmed with the guard that no resident or tenant named Han Xuan lived here.
So, the door numbers in this complex were probably just a fake address, and Han Xuan’s real home was somewhere else.
Then why had Han Xuan brought her here?
“Han Xuan.” She asked in a low voice. “You…”
“Shh.”
The security door downstairs was like it didn’t exist. At Han Xuan’s fingertip touch, the two passed right through it, climbing the stairs layer by layer.
“We’re here.”
The guard hadn’t lied—this door had accumulated a lot of dust, clearly long unoccupied and uncleaned, which was why it was so dirty.
The originally white walls had peeled in many places, crumbling miserably into the corners.
“We…”
Chu Susu was just about to ask when she saw Han Xuan’s eyes unblinking as she pulled her forward.
The security door was still like mere decoration. But as her left foot stepped in as expected, it didn’t land on the floor—instead, there was only emptiness.
Then came endless falling, surrounded by pure darkness, yet no sense of lurking danger.
A few seconds later, light returned before her eyes.
Chu Susu felt herself sitting on a soft carpet, then heard Han Xuan say in her ear: “We’re here.”
Really here?
Was Han Xuan’s home… existing in some inconceivable way beneath this unit? Or rather, her home wasn’t even in the same space as the real world?
Even after seeing so many bizarre things, Chu Susu hadn’t expected this.
So Han Xuan really hadn’t lied.
“I’ll go take a shower first.” The person before her left only a back view, slipping off her boots and padding barefoot inside. “Wait for me.”
Her tone was somewhat cold, like an order, before she vanished at the bathroom door.
Chu Susu propped herself against the wall and stood, taking in the layout here.
A not-too-big, not-too-small two-bedroom, one-living-room setup—plenty for one person. The living room looked warm and tidy, with a dog bed and food bowl off to the side, clearly for when Pipi occasionally stayed here.
Chu Susu was just about to change shoes when a pair of slippers magically appeared at her feet, as if reading her mind.
The sound of running water came whooshing from the bathroom. Not knowing how long Han Xuan would take, she presumptuously headed further inside.
One room was the bedroom, while the other emitted a faint scent of paint—clearly the studio.
But aside from the paint, the air seemed to carry another aroma, too thick and cloying. Even though it was incredibly familiar, Chu Susu still paused for a reaction before realizing what it was.
Sage.
On the table in the studio sat a small black ornament—for lack of a better word, since Chu Susu had no idea what it actually was. It resembled an aromatherapy candle in shape, yet there was no flame to be seen, and the scent poured endlessly from it all the same.
It was as if a demon lurked inside, beckoning to her. She froze for a moment, then, as if ensnared by some bewitchment, her mind grew hazy and she wandered into the studio as if possessed.
The room was filled—hung and placed everywhere—with oil paintings, sketches, and sheets of white paper covered in various techniques unfamiliar to Chu Susu.
No lights were on, yet she could see everything clearly.
Chu Susu’s gaze swept mechanically from left to right, ultimately locking onto the highest one in the upper left—
A girl in a school uniform grinned wildly and unrestrained, lollipop in hand, looking utterly carefree.
The date was nine years ago.
The one beside it—
The girl on the school rooftop tilted her head toward the sunset, turning back but leaving only a profile, faintly melancholic for some reason.
Still nine years ago.
The girl biting a hair tie to style her hair, the girl standing at the starting line on the track field ready to run, the girl pouting with hands on hips, the girl shyly turning her face away…
Nine years ago, eight years ago, seven years ago.
On the right wall, the girl in the paintings seemed to have changed—her features more defined, no longer childish and cute, but now with a faint blush on her face.
The girl’s mouth covered, eyes brimming with tears, angry yet delighted; the girl with mouth agape, mind in a daze, as if about to cry out the next second; the girl pressed against a cold wall, in a bathtub, beside soft pillows…
Though only the girl’s face was shown, no other parts of the body, anyone who saw it would understand exactly what had happened.
It was the expression of one sunk deep in lust.
Every single girl was unmistakably the same face.
The face Chu Susu knew better than anything, the one she saw countless times every day in the mirror.
Her own.
She didn’t know when the sound of water had stopped. Footsteps entered the studio silently. The only sound was water dripping from wet hair.
The person who had painted these was now just one step away from Chu Susu.
“Susu.”
Han Xuan stood behind her, softly calling her name.
Her eyes flickered with an indecipherable emotion—brighter than the stars in the sky. Intense, dangerous, awe-inspiring.
“You shouldn’t wander around like this.”
Chu Susu turned around, but her thoughts seemed trapped by those paintings, still immersed in the intangible colors she couldn’t touch.
She didn’t understand what Han Xuan meant by “shouldn’t wander around,” but her intuition told her it wasn’t about entering this studio.
Han Xuan raised her hand and gently placed it on Chu Susu’s shoulder. It took no great force, yet it felt as heavy as a thousand catties.
“Why did you go see Chu Yuanxi?” she said. “If you’d just stayed nicely at home, none of the rest would have happened.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to just forget what happened before?”
“Memories you chose to discard are trash. And trash has no need to be retrieved.”
“Quiet, obedient, innocent… I can pretend to be whatever version of you like.”
A boom of thunder crashed outside, accompanied by the patter of rain falling.
At the same time, it lit up Han Xuan’s face in a flash of white light.
