Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…
The passing of time paused for a moment before slowly starting to move forward again.
Everything happened just like it did in the last two times—until the crucial moment.
Just as Qiu Fa was about to use his own body as a shield to protect the three rift machines, a beam of brilliant emerald light plunged down from above.
BANG!
SCREECH—!
Two sounds happened at the same time: the heavy crash of the reverse scale hitting the ground, and the painful screech of sharp claws scraping its tough surface, sending a shower of bright sparks flying everywhere.
Before Qiu Fa could even clear his vision, a slender figure leaped down from above, throwing herself straight into his arms and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
Qiu Fa caught her without thinking, his body tensing with worry. “What’s wrong?”
Jing Pei said nothing.
Back in the coffee shop, when Min Yue had revealed that this was now the third cycle, Jing Pei had asked her, “When you heard my voice over the phone, did you notice anything different?”
On the surface, it sounded as though Jing Pei was asking about her tone during that specific call. Yet because they had been discussing the events of the second cycle, Min Yue instantly grasped the true meaning behind her question.
Min Yue had thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. You sounded furious. Terribly sad and pained… like your entire world had shattered.”
That answer had caught Jing Pei off guard. She had asked Min Yue only to see if her second-cycle self had left behind any hidden messages that Min Yue hadn’t consciously recognized. She hadn’t expected such an emotional revelation.
That night, maybe because of what Min Yue said or because her soul still carried the old wounds even after time was reset, Jing Pei was stuck in nonstop nightmares. She kept seeing Qiu Fa dying in so many ways—many times giving his life to protect her—and every time she woke up covered in cold sweat, overwhelmed with grief, anger, and heartbreak.
So this was what it felt like to lose the person you loved.
Underneath her calm demeanor, that blazing fury had been burning in her chest ever since.
Ice glinted in Jing Pei’s eyes as she leaned into Qiu Fa’s ear, whispering softly, “A loaded gun is far too dangerous. It’ll hurt everyone around it. Watch for my signal in a moment.”
Qiu Fa blinked in surprise, but before he could ask, Jing Pei released him. “Now go handle the monsters. I’ll seal the rift.”
She keyed in the passcode. The system accepted the input, and the dimensional rift began its slow collapse.
Moments later, the desperate Serpent-Lizards vanished into stealth, attempting to sacrifice their pack mates to trigger their hidden racial ability. Jing Pei cut them off before they could complete the ritual, then flashed Qiu Fa the prearranged sign. “Now!”
Qiu Fa understood the subtext of her earlier warning. The “loaded gun” referred to the military’s Atavist missiles, whose firing sequences were fully armed and waiting only for the final command to rain down destruction.
Canceling a full-scale military strike went completely against their original operational plan. Under normal circumstances, Qiu Fa would never alter strategy without a detailed explanation. But this was Jing Pei. Without hesitation, he raised his hand toward the sky, signalling the universal military command for an immediate cease-fire.
High above, the rebellious Plot finally realized that time had been rewound, and that its every move was being countered. Enraged, it moved to forcibly control an officer to hit the launch button.
Yet the nation’s supreme leader shared an unspoken trust with Qiu Fa. The moment Madam President spotted Qiu Fa’s signal on the satellite feed, she issued an immediate order to abort the missile launch.
Just a split second before the Plot-controlled hands slammed down on the detonator, the firing sequence was stopped. The button clicked, but nothing happened.
A terrifying crack of thunder split the sky, roaring with divine wrath.
Jing Pei looked up toward the storm clouds, as if staring straight into that invisible, furious face.
Don’t get cocky. This isn’t over! a silent, bitter voice seemed to snarl through the thunder.
Across the state, inside the secret organization’s headquarters, the Host was seething over the failed operation when a sudden flash of divine inspiration struck his mind.
[Kill Min Yue!]
If Min Yue died, time would reset by forty-eight hours. Even if only Min Yue retained her memories after the loop, the Plot might still trace the shifts in Jing Pei and Min Yue’s actions. Killing Min Yue was the only remaining path to successfully taking Qiu Fa’s life. If Min Yue lived, this entire scheme was a total loss!
The Host, already stressed about the leaked passcode and worried about how the mysterious Young Master would punish him, suddenly froze when a new idea hit him.
Instantly, a cold wave of existential dread washed over him, compelling him to grab his phone and contact Mirror God.
Mirror God, Liu Qingqing, was bored inspecting her long, crimson-lacquered nails when the assassination order arrived. A chilling, ghoulish grin spread across her lips.
Meanwhile, Min Yue had slipped out of her apartment after making sure her mother was fast asleep. She picked a random residential building nearby that stood more than seven stories tall and climbed to the roof. Even though Min Jing wouldn’t remember any of this after a rewind, Min Yue still preferred to avoid dying right in front of her.
Technically, Min Yue didn’t need to die to rewind time. If she fell asleep with an overwhelming desire to turn back the clock, the rewind would trigger naturally. During the Spacetime Worm crisis, she had once cried herself to sleep and woken up forty-eight hours in the past.
The problem was that no one could simply fall asleep on command during a high-stakes crisis. Trying to force sleep usually resulted in tossing and turning for hours. Being a girl of action, suicide was simply the fastest, most reliable switch.
Reaching the rooftop, she leaned over the edge to verify the height—ensuring a fatal drop rather than a gruesome, paralyzing survival—then checked her phone for the time.
She didn’t notice the figure in red materializing behind her. Like a vengeful spirit floating through the damp night, a pale hand reached out to shove her over the ledge.
On the battlefield, Jing Pei stood amidst the castle ruins, gazing up at the thunderous sky with a cold, breathtaking sneer. “You ought to know by now: three strikes and you’re out.”
Before Liu Qingqing could reach Min Yue, an invisible force hit her like a battering ram. She was thrown back hard, crashing into the concrete wall of a nearby building.
Min Yue jumped and spun around in shock. There stood a young man with dreamy, captivating eyes, his face cold as ice, and a deadly scorpion tail ready to strike over his shoulder.
“Holy crap! Chu Xusheng, you scared the life out of me!” Min Yue gasped, instantly relaxing.
Chu Xusheng held a massive mirror larger than his own body. Proping it upright, he looked at her. “Jump in.”
“Huh?”
“Hurry!”
“Oh, okay!” Min Yue didn’t get the logic, but she trusted him completely. She ran full speed toward the mirror.
Jing Pei had already anticipated that the Plot might try to force a rewind by killing Min Yue to reset its own failure. Thus, after parting ways at the coffee shop, she had left Chu Xusheng a subtle riddle.
“Did you know there’s such a thing as an ‘Anywhere Door’ in this world? A door that lets you travel anywhere you want.”
“Really? Whoever owns an Atavist item like that must be incredible.”
“Very incredible.”
“Should I go steal it for you?” Chu Xusheng had offered eagerly.
Jing Pei had looked at him with mild amusement. “No need to steal it. They’re everywhere. Through it, you can go anywhere you wish.”
As she spoke, her hand had gently wiped the condensation from a full-length mirror, her eyes fixing on Chu Xusheng’s puzzled reflection with deep meaning.
Chu Xusheng was sharp and hyper-vigilant. Whenever his family head dropped a hint, he felt a rush of pride and devotion, mulling over the puzzle day and night.
When he arrived in Nevergone District and couldn’t find Min Yue anywhere, Jing Pei’s cryptic words had flashed in his mind, revealing the answer.
He wanted to find Min Yue, and mirrors were the “Anywhere Doors” present in every room. By stepping through a mirror, he could reach wherever Min Yue was trapped!
He had found a large mirror in Nevergone District. When he struck it, the glass hadn’t shattered; it rippled like water. He had stepped through the surface and entered the Mirror World.
When Mirror God replicated the real world, every mirror within her domain became an entry point to the Mirror World. Anyone driven by a strong desire to enter could step through a mirror’s surface.
It was a dangerous gambit. If the domain’s master sealed the exits after an intruder entered, they would be trapped inside forever.
Fortunately, Chu Xusheng’s ambush was so sudden that Liu Qingqing hadn’t had time to lock the portals.
Min Yue slammed into the mirror with her eyes squeezed shut. Expecting a brutal impact, she felt only a cool ripple. Opening her eyes, she found herself back on the same rooftop—except Chu Xusheng was gone, and her mother was standing there, surrounded by a nervous squad of Long family Atavist bodyguards.
“Yue’er!”
“Mom!”
Only then did Min Yue realize that she and her mother had been dragged into a parallel mirror realm, and that time had already been rewound twice without her noticing! Thankfully, Chu Xusheng had rescued them just in time.
Inside the Mirror World, Chu Xusheng flicked his scorpion tail, staring coldly at the wall.
Liu Qingqing was still embedded in the cracked concrete, her dark hair falling wild over her face. Crimson-tinged eyes glared at him through her messy bangs. All around them, the sharp sound of shattering glass echoed as she severed every exit to her mirror realm.
“Little boy,” she sneered, dark veins throbbing across her face, “since you’ve stepped into my world, you can stay here forever.”
Chu Xusheng flashed a dark, predatory smile, his eyes gleaming like a bloodthirsty wolf’s. “Sounds great. Just don’t end up begging me to leave.”
Spectral blue markings erupted across Liu Qingqing’s skin. She burst from the wall and charged at Chu Xusheng, their figures clashing in a violent blur.
Outside, thunder crashed so loudly it sounded as if the heavens themselves were tearing open in fury.
[You think it’s that easy?!]
The Long family bodyguards escorted Min Jing and Min Yue back toward their home when every guard suddenly went rigid.
Multiple shadowy figures materialized on the rooftops and surrounding ledges, surrounding them from every angle.
Mirror God’s elite squad.
Chu Xusheng was a King Insect Atavist with ninety-percent purity—a warrior born for destruction who could match almost anyone in battle. But with Chu Xusheng trapped in the Mirror World, could a handful of standard bodyguards withstand an entire squad of ruthless killers?
Clearly, the odds were stacked against them.
“They look weak as hell. Did we really need the whole team for this?”
“The mother and daughter aren’t half bad-looking, though, hehe.”
“This district used to be a trash slum filled with scum. Now these peasants own real estate? Disgusting. Once the job’s done, I’m going to burn this place to the ground.”
“Haha, burn it all!”
They flashed vile, arrogant grins.
As the administrator of Nevergone District, Min Jing cared deeply about the community and its people. Hearing their cruel, inhuman remarks made her pale with rage and fear. Looking at the guard captain’s grim expression, she knew they were hopelessly outmatched.
Right then, the guard captain pulled out a white feather pendant. “Please, lend us your strength!”
Channeling his Atavist power into the Judgment Feather, the white feather erupted into a brilliant gold. In the pitch-black night, a holy miracle manifested before their eyes.
A magnificent Six-Winged Angel bathed in divine radiance opened its golden eyes, gazing down upon the scene with cold, transcendent judgment.
The arrogant sneers on the killers’ faces froze. “Holy shit—it’s Lou Ting!”
The smarter ones turned and scrambled in terror, clawing at the rooftops to flee.
“Sinners, be purified,” an ethereal, heavenly voice echoed, sounding like the whisper of the reaper itself.
The golden Scales of Judgment appeared in the sky. The condemned killers were dragged onto one side of the scale, screaming in horror as they channeled their power in vain. Karmic fire erupted, burning them into ashes in a matter of seconds.
[NOOOOOOOOO!]
As the last Serpent-Lizard fell on the main battlefield, Jing Pei could almost hear the Plot’s hysterical, agonizing shriek. Having every single trump card dismantled the moment it was played was infuriating beyond measure.
[I won’t let this go! The night of the eighteenth is his true time of death! Let’s see how long you can keep them safe!]
The original plot dictated that Qiu Fa’s death occurred on the night of January 18th. It was currently barely 3:00 AM on the 18th. Until the day ended, the Plot still had time. If it couldn’t kill Min Yue, it could kill someone else—Min Jing, or any of Min Yue’s friends. If even one of them died, Min Yue would commit suicide to reset the timeline.
Could Jing Pei protect everyone? Lou Ting’s Judgment Feather was a one-minute trump card, and the only feather had been used. There were no more divine reserves. Sooner or later, a gap would appear.
The Plot worked in the shadows while humans were just flesh and blood. It had all the time it needed to drag things out forever!
Scheming rapidly, the Plot targeted Min Yue’s close friends and acquaintances—minor characters who had all died during the Spacetime Worm incident in the original novel.
Then it froze again.
Every single one of Min Yue’s friends and relatives had already been invited to the Long Family Estate as esteemed guests, placed under the highest level of absolute protection.
[AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!] It shrieked in absolute madness.
Jing Pei stared into the storm with a cold, expressionless face. “Like I said: three strikes and you’re out.”
