Min Yue picked up the phone the moment she returned to forty-eight hours in the past. This time, the call connected without a hitch.

“Ah-Jin! Ah-Jin! Something terrible happened!”

Jing Pei paused for a second before realizing this was Loop Two. The closest crisis was Director Qiu’s fatal date two days away on January 18th. Even with her knowledge, achieving success on the first try was a gamble, so a second loop made complete sense.

“Stay calm. Remember what I told you? Never panic. As long as I’m here, there’s nothing we can’t solve.”

Jing Pei cut her off before she could blurt out specific details over the line. If that rebellious Plot was watching, speaking openly would ruin everything.

Min Yue caught on instantly. She remembered Jing Pei’s warning: never state the time-rewind capability directly, whether over the phone or face-to-face. Walls had ears, and her ability had to stay hidden.

Min Yue assumed this precaution was meant for hostile Atavists. She had no idea it was meant to outsmart the invisible hand of Plot itself—just as Plot had no idea it was being outmaneuvered.

After time rewound, Min Yue remained the sole person who remembered what lay ahead in the future.

Min Yue took a deep breath, nodding to herself. “Right, I’m calm now. But something really did happen, Ah-Jin! I woke up today and completely forgot every single math concept you taught me yesterday!”

She delivered the line in a goofy, exaggerated tone. Jing Pei nearly burst out laughing.

Jing Pei let out a soft sigh. “Then I’ll just teach you again. Rain is forecast for the next few days, so let’s enjoy today’s weather and study at the café.”

“Sounds great!”

Soon after, Jing Pei sat in the café and watched Min Yue race toward her. Wearing a hoodie and a canvas bag slung across her body, Min Yue moved with the agility of a wildcat. Her messy short hair, tan skin, and clear, vibrant eyes radiated pure life. When a chair blocked her path, she didn’t bother walking around—she hurdled over it in one smooth, impressive leap.

“I’m here!”

“I ordered these for you. Dig in.” Jing Pei slid a plate of cake and a drink across the table.

“Thanks!” Min Yue, accustomed to Jing Pei’s treats, dug in while tactfully weaving her secret into the conversation. “I must be studying too hard lately. I had a horrible nightmare last night. In the dream, my mom and I came home from work, and I suddenly had to solve math problems. Someone told me if I couldn’t get the answers right, I’d die. There was one problem I couldn’t solve no matter what I tried. I tried calling you, but the call wouldn’t go through. I tried calling Chu Xusheng, but his phone didn’t connect either. Then I got killed! It scared the life out of me. That must be why I forgot everything you taught me yesterday!”

Jing Pei understood completely. In Loop One, Min Yue couldn’t reach her or Chu Xusheng at night. The subtle psychological prompts Jing Pei had planted had worked flawlessly. Min Yue had sensed something was terribly wrong and, despite lacking full details, chose suicide to rewind time.

Her proactive defense proved far more effective than assigning bodyguards. Having Min Yue judge when to reset time on her own bypassed Plot’s attempts to counter external security measures.

Jing Pei noticed Min Yue unconsciously rubbing her neck. “Your neck?”

Min Yue winced slightly. “Yeah. In the dream, when the person saw I couldn’t solve the problem, they stabbed me right in the neck. It hurt like crazy.”

Min Yue rubbed her neck, still feeling a lingering chill, yet a warm sense of relief washed over her. Having someone who believed in her time-rewind ability—someone who trusted every word she said—kept her from feeling isolated. She didn’t have to carry the crushing weight of knowing a terrible future alone.

Compared to that lonely despair, the fear of dying in the reset felt easier to handle.

Jing Pei looked at her, feeling like patting her head. Many readers thought Qiu Fa’s death meant the story was doomed to a tragic end, but others disagreed—and that’s because of Min Yue, the main character.

Min Yue was smart, brave, resilient, and deeply kind, willing to sacrifice immensely to save others. Though an ordinary human without powerful Atavist traits, she possessed a mental fortitude that surpassed many Atavists. When suicide was required to reset time, she never hesitated for a fraction of a second, ensuring the window was never missed.

Min Yue was the beacon of hope Jing Pei had left for this world. A gift of forty-eight hours to turn the tide.

In a way, Min Yue reflected the hidden warmth within Jing Pei’s guarded heart.

Jing Pei smiled faintly. “All that talk… you just want a day off, don’t you?”

Min Yue nodded vigorously. “I’m studying so much I feel sick! I need a break!”

Jing Pei replied, “Fair enough. But we shouldn’t alter our planned schedule carelessly. Let me finish what we set out to do today, and I’ll give you time off later. How does that sound?”

Meaning: let events in Loop One unfold as planned.

Min Yue blinked, seeking confirmation. “Huh? We really shouldn’t change anything?”

“We’ll adjust later.”

If they altered the timeline too early, events would become unpredictable, rendering Min Yue’s reset useless. Allowing Loop One’s events to occur made intervention far easier.

From Min Yue’s perspective, she didn’t know the full details—only that Jing Pei had faced grave danger. How to alter the outcome remained a puzzle for Jing Pei to solve.

---

Fast forward to the battlefield at the ruined castle:

Just as Director Qiu was forced to use his own body as a shield to protect the three machines from incoming claws, an emerald-green shadow plummeted from the sky!

BANG!

SCREECH!

Metal scraped against scales, sending brilliant sparks flying.

Director Qiu turned his head and saw a striking young woman sitting atop a glowing emerald shield. She looked down at him with a warm, playful smile. “Nice to see you again, big cat.”

He froze. In a daze, he watched her leap down gracefully, reaching out her hands toward him. Without thinking, he caught her and pulled her into his arms.

Wrapped in his warm, solid embrace and hearing his strong, steady heartbeat, Jing Pei felt a sharp pang in her heart. Though she retained no physical memory of Loop One, imagining his loss cut deep. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. “You’re alive!”

“…Not so easy to kill me,” he murmured.

A sudden heat flushed through Director Qiu’s ears as he realized how close they were. Before he could say more, Jing Pei stepped back, dropping to her feet. “Go handle those monsters. I’ll take care of the rift.”

“Put your Reverse Scale away!” Director Qiu yanked the scale up and tossed it back to her.

Jing Pei recalled the scale into her body, knelt before the console, and typed in the password. The system reversed, and the rift slowly closed.

She watched Director Qiu, Mei Yanlan, and the Special Forces fighters strike back with precision after identifying the monsters’ fatal weak point seven inches below their chests. Momentum shifted in their favor.

Then, seeing their pack members fall one by one, the remaining Serpent-Lizards suddenly vanished into thin air. A moment later, one reappeared on the ground, its dark mist dissolved—dead.

Jing Pei’s eyes narrowed. This was it!

“Stop them! Don’t let them gather!”

Before her voice faded, Director Qiu was already moving.

A massive tiger claw slashed through the air in a swift arc. Space tore open, black blood sprayed into the rain, exposing the concealed Serpent-Lizards attempting to merge.

The monsters vanished again, trying to relocate and trigger their fusion skill. But Director Qiu gave them no quarter. The instant they vanished, he struck their new positions.

Mei Yanlan and the other squad members surged forward in tight coordination, refusing to grant the beasts an opening.

Jing Pei let out a quiet breath. Her deduction had been spot on. After speaking with Min Yue earlier, she had simulated every scenario in her mind and pulled up the Serpent-Lizards’ data card from her memory palace, spotting the flaw in their hidden fusion skill.

By interrupting their ritual, they prevented the monsters from merging into the Poison Serpent-Lizard King.

Desperate and enraged, the dying Serpent-Lizards let out ear-splitting shrieks, summoning their elephant-sized parasitic beasts to join the fray. But it was merely a final, futile struggle.

Inside the Organization’s conference room, stockholders expressed bitter disappointment before their projections faded one by one. The Moderator stood frozen, facing suspicious glares from remaining executives. Everything pointed to a massive failure.

Over at the Central Command Center, cheers erupted as the tide turned decisively.

“We did it!”

“Director Qiu and the Special Forces are incredible!”

President Hualan nodded, a relieved smile gracing her face. “Prepare medical teams to receive our fighters.”

Standing amidst the ruins, Jing Pei wiped out nearby parasitic beasts using her Reverse Scale. Yet, looking at the dying battle, she couldn’t bring herself to relax.

The crisis from Loop One had been averted, but was it truly over?

A troubling thought crossed her mind: The original story slated Qiu Fa’s death for the night of January 18th. If we change events before that exact time, does it truly count?

It was early morning on January 18th. Hours remained before the original deadline. In past events involving Wen Yuxian and Mei Yanlan, danger only truly passed once they survived past their destined time of death. Would Plot really give up so easily?

High above, streaks of light cut through the dark storm clouds.

“Report! The assembled Atavist missile barrage was launched one minute ago!” an officer shouted, face pale with horror.

“What? No order was given!” President Hualan stood up, shocked.

The automated systems had been pre-programmed for rapid response. Without authorization, an unknown signal triggered the launch sequence!

Hundreds of Atavist missiles plummeted from the heavy clouds.

“Shit!” Squad members cursed as they spotted the incoming barrage.

The missiles were specially engineered Atavist weapons carrying experimental viral payloads capable of destroying Atavist cells—weapons for which the squad had not yet received vaccines!

On the ruined field, Jing Pei looked up at the descending lights and let out a cold, angry laugh. “How relentless.”

Escape was impossible given the blast radius.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

Blinding explosions detonated high above the ground!

In the Central Command Center, people stared in disbelief as satellite feeds adjusted their angles.

A breathtaking expanse of emerald light filled the screen.

At the critical moment, Jing Pei had expanded her Dragon Reverse Scale into a massive shield across the sky, catching every single missile in mid-air!

Explosions rippled across the emerald barrier like a fiery sea.

Jing Pei stood with arms outstretched, pouring every drop of Atavist energy into the shield. Blood welled up along her skin as the extreme energy consumption caused severe internal strain.

She endured the agonizing feedback for minutes until the final explosion subsided and government technicians forcibly overrode the launch system.

Mei Yanlan and the others successfully evacuated the danger zone, leaving Director Qiu standing beneath the shield, staring intently at the young woman above.

As the threat cleared, Jing Pei’s energy ran dry. Her body gave out, and she tumbled downward—straight into a solid, warm embrace.

“Ugh, it hurts so much…” Jing Pei trembled, her entire body aching from the severe energy backfire.

“You did amazing,” Director Qiu whispered softly, his voice laced with deep concern. “It’s over. I’ll get you to safety.”

He retrieved her Reverse Scale, noting the fine cracks along its surface from absorbing thousands of Atavist warheads. Luckily, returning it to her body would allow it to heal over time.

He lifted her into his arms.

Jing Pei leaned into his chest, burying her face against his coat. “It hurts so bad… Give me your tail to play with. I need a comfort item.”

Director Qiu’s jaw tightened. “Don’t cause a scene… People are watching.”

Jing Pei squeezed her eyes shut, letting tears stain his shirt.

A moment later, a warm, soft white-and-black striped tiger tail crept quietly between them. Its fluffy tip twitched gently, wrapping around her hand in a soothing touch.

Jing Pei opened her eyes and looked up. Director Qiu maintained a stern, stoic expression, looking straight ahead—though his ears were bright red.

She gripped the soft tail, feeling a wave of sweetness wash over her. “It still hurts… I wish I could touch those soft, round tiger ears too.”

Director Qiu’s voice turned slightly flustered. “Don’t push your luck…”

“Waaah, it hurts…” she whimpered playfully.

The tail stiffened.

“…Later,” he muttered softly.

Jing Pei smiled, bringing his tail tip to her cheek for a gentle kiss. The fur fluffed up instantly like a dandelion, and Director Qiu struggled to keep a stoic face.

Suddenly, a panicked voice echoed in the command center: “Report! Seven stealth tracking Atavist missiles failed to disarm! They were launched in the final salvo and are descending now!”

Director Qiu sensed something incoming.

Invisible to the naked eye, seven stealth missiles broke through the low clouds at extreme speed!

Before Jing Pei could react, Director Qiu flipped her beneath him, covering her body completely while deploying the Reverse Scale as an inner shield.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

Five stealth warheads detonated directly on Director Qiu’s back!

Fire consumed his figure. Though the Reverse Scale absorbed the worst of the blast, Director Qiu collapsed onto the scale, soaked in blood and motionless.

Jing Pei stared in utter shock.

Plot had manipulated the final stealth missiles to strike him down!

Deep within her chest, intense love and burning hatred ignited simultaneously. “I will kill you!”

Plot believed it had trapped Min Yue inside the mirror world controlled by Mirror God (Liu Qingqing), preventing any phone calls from connecting.

Jing Pei pulled out her phone. To reach someone trapped inside a reversed mirror realm, all one had to do was dial the phone number backwards!

She typed in Min Yue’s number in reverse order.

Over in the mirror world, Min Yue stood beside her mother Min Jing when her phone rang.

Min Yue answered instantly. “Ah-Jin?”

Jing Pei’s voice came through: “It failed in the explosion this time… I need you!”

Min Yue replied without a second of hesitation: “Got it!”

Min Yue looked at her mother, whispering an apology in her heart (Don’t worry, Mom. I’m saving people, and I’m saving myself).

She dashed to the window, shattered the glass, and leaped from the seventeenth floor!

Time rewound once more.