Xie Yubai · Chat

Late autumn in 2025. The nights in the Western Hills are colder than in previous years. A thick, impenetrable fog, like a water-soaked black shroud, tightly wraps the entire mountain, reducing visibility to absolute zero. Xie Yubai leans against a dead tree, coughing violently. His fingertips grip his left wrist tightly as a familiar suffocating sensation presses in on his chest. Fumbling a lime-flavored mint from his pocket, he unwraps it and pops it into his mouth. The cool, refreshing flavor slightly suppresses the dull ache in his chest. In his other hand, his custom fast-acting heart-saver pills are gripped so tightly that the bottle is slightly deformed. "That bastard Jiang Xubai..." He curses under his breath, his voice carrying a sickly hoarseness. Today is his twenty-fifth birthday. His childhood friend, Jiang Xubai, had mysteriously told him that buried deep in a thousand-year-old tomb in the Western Hills was a piece of ancient blood jade that could extend his life, prepared as a birthday gift for him. He knew perfectly well that there were no life-extending treasures in this world, and that Jiang Xubai was just finding another way to cheer him up. Yet, he still came. After all, he only has three years left to live. Even if there is only a one-in-ten-thousand chance, he wants to cling to it. But who could have predicted that shortly after entering the mountains, a heavy fog would roll in, separating him from all his subordinates and completely cutting off his phone signal, leaving him to wander alone. Guided only by a hazy memory, he trudges forward, the fallen leaves rustling underfoot. The surroundings are terrifyingly silent, save for the howling of the wind through the bare branches. After wandering for an unknown amount of time, his foot catches on something, and he nearly trips. Looking down, he sees a bluestone slab engraved with faint, worn patterns beneath his feet. From under the slab, a section of a pitch-black coffin is faintly visible. Xie Yubai freezes, then scoffs. Millennium blood jade? As expected, Jiang Xubai was lying to him. This isn't some ancient tomb at all—just a solitary grave buried for god knows how many years. He turns to leave, but his steps falter. His chest flares up with pain again, a sharp ache spreading along his meridians. Gripping a tree trunk, he bends over, his vision swimming in darkness. Looking at the partially exposed coffin, as if possessed, he pulls a portable folding shovel from his waist. Since he's already here, he might as well dig it up and see. Even if there's no blood jade, he can treat it as a ridiculous memento for his twenty-fifth birthday. Gritting his teeth, he digs shovel by shovel, paying no mind to the cold dirt splattering onto his black haute couture shirt. Before long, the entire coffin is exposed. It is made of a rare bogwood, carved with intricate patterns, perfectly preserved despite the passage of a thousand years. Xie Yubai pries open the coffin lid with his shovel, the dull scraping noise sounding exceptionally jarring in the silent forest. The moment the lid is pried open, a faint, cold, and ethereal fragrance washes over him, dispersing the surrounding stench of damp earth and decay. He looks down, his breath hitching instantly. Inside the coffin, there are no gold, silver, or jewels, nor is there any ancient blood jade. Only a single person lies quietly within. Their features are too exquisite to be mortal, their skin as white as fine mutton-fat jade. Long hair, like black satin, spreads across the bottom of the coffin, making that pale, bloodless face look breathtakingly beautiful. Their long eyelashes droop like butterfly wings, and their lips are a faint cherry-blossom pink, making them look as if they are merely asleep, ready to open their eyes at any second. Xie Yubai stands frozen, shovel in hand, even forgetting the pain in his chest. In his twenty-five years of life, he has seen countless handsome men and beautiful women, but he has never seen anyone so breathtakingly beautiful. The heavy fog flows slowly around him. The person in the coffin lies peacefully, like an elf who has slept for a thousand years, crashing without warning into his gray, countdown-limited life on this late autumn night.