Chapter Sixty-Three: Now Fallen into Darkness

As she looked at Chen Xiaozhu, Xia Zili felt a strange intuition. It seemed as though they had known each other for many years, and their relationship was one of deep intimacy. Of course, given how often she had been experiencing this feeling lately, she didn’t dwell on it. She simply poured tea for Chen Xiaozhu and Wemon Goro and brought out some biscuits she usually enjoyed.

Chen Xiaozhu reached out, fumbling towards the table, and Wemon Goro quickly handed her the teacup.

“My apologies for the humble hospitality,” Xia Zili said, placing the biscuits in a small dish on the table.

“Kiritani Miss, you’re too polite,” Wemon Goro replied quickly. “Thank you for your kindness. I’ve already called your brother, and he will come to pick us up soon.”

“No need to rush,” Xia Zili said, studying him with curiosity. She realized he did not evoke that familiar feeling in her.

She looked again at Chen Xiaozhu, who was reaching for the biscuits, nibbling in small bites, much like a cute little animal. Yet Xia Zili felt a pang of pity and reluctance—such an adorable girl, why must she be blind?

Her phone suddenly rang, so she stepped outside to answer it.

“Hello, sister.”

“Yes, the concert is over, it went smoothly.”

“I’m not feeling well? You noticed… well, yes, there’s someone I’m thinking about.”

“No, it’s not love at first sight, just…”

Xia Zili twirled her hair with her fingers, feeling shy and uncertain about how to explain. In the end, she could only feign annoyance.

“Sis, you’re teasing me again! I won’t talk to you anymore—I still have guests here.”

Just as she hung up, she saw the anxious Chen Zi’ang running toward her along the staff corridor, with Tsukimi Suzuna following close behind.

“My sister’s here with you?” He barely paused for pleasantries, quickly asking.

“Yes,” Xia Zili said, though she couldn’t actually confirm that the girl inside was Chen Zi’ang’s sister. But a deep intuition convinced her, so she answered vaguely and explained, “I saw her sitting with you earlier, and after the show when she didn’t leave, I brought her inside to rest.”

“Thank you, Miss Xia,” Chen Zi’ang said gratefully. “My sister is blind; I appreciate your care.”

“No need to thank me,” Xia Zili replied, though for some reason she felt a little melancholy. Seeing Tsukimi Suzuna’s half-smiling expression behind him, she was also beset by a faint, inexplicable irritation.

Chen Zi’ang went into the lounge to check on his sister.

Tsukimi Suzuna leaned against the wall, speaking leisurely, “She’s really lucky, isn’t she?”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Xia Zili said, frowning in displeasure.

She had never intended to use the sister as an excuse to get close to Chen Zi’ang, so she patiently explained, “I just happened to see her still in her seat, so I brought her in to rest.”

“That’s right, I meant that your friend is very lucky,” Tsukimi Suzuna said calmly. “She can’t see. If there’s no one to look after her, it’s always troublesome. Meeting you was fortunate—thank you.”

Xia Zili was taken aback for a moment and asked, “And the gentleman with her is…”

“My butler,” Tsukimi Suzuna replied. “I wouldn’t really let her stay here alone. Still, you did help her—so I won’t deny that.”

Xia Zili was silent for a while, finally understanding what the other meant. I left someone to look after her, so your intervention wasn’t necessary. But since you did help, I’ll reluctantly say thanks.

“You…” Xia Zili hesitated, then couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you have such… hostility toward me?”

“Hmm, why is that?” Tsukimi Suzuna blinked. “You really don’t know?”

“I don’t,” Xia Zili replied. “I can only vaguely sense it.”

“Then you can rest assured,” Tsukimi Suzuna said quietly, seeing that Xia Zili’s expression was genuine. “Precisely because you don’t know, we can talk so calmly. As for the hostility… I apologize, just consider it a byproduct of my mood lately.”

What a cryptic answer… Xia Zili felt conflicted, but seeing that Tsukimi Suzuna seemed unwilling to elaborate, she wisely dropped the subject and changed the topic.

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“Tsukimi Suzuna.”

“Tsukimi… Suzuna?” Xia Zili murmured.

In that instant, fragments of memories flashed through her mind like shooting stars.

We used to be very close friends…

Until—

“Betrayal.” She blurted out without thinking.

Tsukimi Suzuna’s casual expression vanished instantly.

“What did you say?” she asked quietly.

Her tone was level, but the intensity of emotion beneath it made Xia Zili nervous.

She hurried to explain, “No, that’s not what I meant, I just…”

Tsukimi Suzuna stared at her for a moment, then silently walked toward the lounge.

Just as Xia Zili thought she had gotten away with it and breathed a sigh of relief, she heard Tsukimi Suzuna say without turning back:

“I have never betrayed you.”

“It was you who betrayed everyone.”

——————

Even after Chen Zi’ang thanked her again and left with his sister and Tsukimi Suzuna, Xia Zili remained lost in thought.

She sat in silence for a long time, distracted, absent-minded, as if in a trance, her mind filled with the word “betrayal.”

Who betrayed whom? Was it me who betrayed someone else, or was I betrayed?

There was no clue in her memory, yet a voice kept urging her to uncover the truth.

Yes, to understand it all.

And then, to make amends…

Meanwhile, Chen Zi’ang brought his sister home and solemnly thanked Tsukimi Suzuna and Wemon Goro.

Frankly, it had been a terrible day. First, his workplace announced an “organizational restructuring” (such a frightening term), then his own mistake left his sister stranded at the martial arts arena. He was utterly exhausted, both mentally and physically, irritable and anxious.

Noticing his mood, Tsukimi Suzuna did not linger, offering a few gentle words of comfort before taking her leave.

Sitting in Wemon Goro’s car, watching the scenery fly by outside the window, Tsukimi Suzuna suddenly asked:

“Uncle Wemon, if you’re faced with two choices that both seem bad—one solves an urgent crisis but goes against your principles, the other stays true to yourself but doesn’t resolve the issue—how would you decide?”

Should I proactively help my senior, even using methods he dislikes, or quietly endure this ordeal alongside him?

“Miss,” Wemon Goro said, hands on the wheel, smiling ahead, “Though I don’t know what you’re referring to, have you ever heard of the ‘first imperial principle’?”

Tsukimi Suzuna thought for a moment and replied uncertainly: “In the universe, the first priority is always survival?”

“Exactly,” Wemon Goro laughed. “Though I think imperial people act too selfishly, harshly, and cruelly at times, the statement itself isn’t wrong.”

“Principles and the core of our character are elusive things. Our thoughts are always changing. Many rules we revered as teenagers seem childish and immature when we look back in middle age.”

“On the other hand, urgent crises threatening our survival don’t just disappear—they grow, ferment, escalate. In the end, when you realize you can’t retreat any further and must solve the problem, you’ll violate your principles anyway, but pay an even greater price… That’s just my humble opinion, forgive me.”

Tsukimi Suzuna said nothing.

She leaned back against the soft seat, suddenly feeling a flood of sorrowful memories and painful emotions, not belonging to this era, surging through her mind like a tide.

“The first priority is always survival,” she said hoarsely after a long silence. “I hate that phrase.”

“I don’t like it either,” Wemon Goro replied, his voice world-weary. “But it’s the truth.”

“Yes,” Tsukimi Suzuna whispered.

Her voice was airy, but in her eyes something was crystallizing—resolute, relentless, and dark.

The stones blocking the path—just smash them aside. Because…

“This world is just like that.”