Return

The pungent smell of antiseptic flooded his nostrils.

Fang Zhiyi slowly opened his eyes, only to find his hands restrained, immobile.

"Little Hei! Where have you sent me this time?"

He shouted, and in the next moment, countless fragmented voices surged in his mind, converging into a cacophony that made his head throb with pain.

Gradually, his hospital bed was surrounded by people, but Fang Zhiyi couldn’t make out their faces.

They were all whispering something, and no matter how hard he strained to listen, their words remained indistinct.

"Enough! Shut up!"

The crowd paused, and then laughter broke out among them.

The door to the ward creaked open as a nurse wheeled in a cart. She glanced at Fang Zhiyi lying on the bed, sighed softly, and began changing his dressings.

"Stop tearing off the bandages," she instructed, though she doubted the patient would listen. Ever since a few days ago, Fang Zhiyi had started harming himself, forcing them to restrain him.

"Let me go," Fang Zhiyi demanded, but the nurse acted as though she hadn’t heard, focusing solely on her task.

"Such a young man, already gone mad. What a shame," the nurse muttered to herself as she finished tending to his arm.

"I’m not crazy! Hey! It’s me!" Fang Zhiyi desperately tried to prove his sanity, but the figures surrounding him only continued their murmurs. The nurse pushed the cart away and left.

"I... I’m not insane..." Fang Zhiyi whispered in disbelief.

That afternoon, his parents arrived. Both looked weary. His father entered silently and began tidying the room, while his mother peeled an apple she had brought, murmuring something under her breath.

"Mom! I’m here! I’m not crazy!" Fang Zhiyi insisted.

Yet, strangely, his mother didn’t seem to hear him either.

"I told you not to lock yourself away writing those novels all day. Look at you now, you..." Her voice cracked as she suddenly burst into tears.

Her words struck Fang Zhiyi like a physical blow.

That’s right... he was a writer, wasn’t he?

A flood of images flashed through his mind—the worlds he had traversed with Little Hei, the people who shared his name. The pain in his head returned, sharp and unrelenting.

The whispers around him grew louder, fragmented syllables merging into a deafening echo, tormenting him further.

His parents left, and once again, he was plunged into chaos. The figures encircled him, their voices relentless. The ceiling above twisted grotesquely, morphing into something monstrous.

As everything in Fang Zhiyi’s vision spiraled into a vortex, the ward began to transform. The ceiling crumbled, walls covered in scribbled words peeled away, and the debris reassembled into a different room—a study littered with scattered papers, a computer humming faintly as its fan whirred.

Gradually, the figures around him faded into transparency.

Time rewound in a blur of scenes.

He saw himself hunched over the computer, fingers flying across the keyboard, his expression tense, muttering to himself.

Fang Zhiyi glanced at the papers strewn across the floor. Leaning closer, he tried to read the blurred text, but an inexplicable familiarity tugged at him. Suddenly, realization struck—hadn’t these worlds he’d visited been...?

The words on the pages sharpened into clarity.

"Lin Nuan began stockpiling—boxes of instant noodles, canned goods..."

"In the third year of Emperor Shunying’s surrender, the protagonist arrived in the capital for the first time..."

At that moment, the version of himself at the computer burst into laughter, trembling with manic energy. Wisps of black mist seeped from the discarded papers, coiling toward him.

"No! Stop!" Fang Zhiyi lunged forward, but his hands passed through his own apparition.

The next instant, he was back in the hospital ward, the voices still echoing in his skull.

Fang Zhiyi clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. Was this... madness? The word echoed in his mind as fragmented memories resurfaced—his mother’s panicked cries, the shrill wail of an ambulance, blinding white lights...

As the truth dawned on him, the figures closed in, their hands outstretched as if demanding something.

Yet, he noticed some among them merely stood and watched, silent spectators.

So this was it. Was this why Little Hei had repeatedly asked why he wanted to return?

No—Little Hei didn’t exist. If he was truly insane, then the so-called "journeys" were nothing more than delusions, worlds conjured by his fractured mind.

The ward’s scribbled walls twisted, the words writhing like worms. The figures pressed closer, their hands now inches from his face.

A wave of despair washed over Fang Zhiyi—yet, intertwined with it was an odd sense of relief. Was this his reality?

The door swung open again. A stern-faced female doctor entered, bending down to meet his gaze.

"Did I misjudge you?" she murmured, her fingers brushing his cheek.

High above the city, Fang Zhiyi hovered cross-legged in the air. "You’re still here?"

Little Hei’s bloated form writhed. "I meant to leave, but... you seemed pitiful."

"Speak plainly."

"You’re a good partner. At least you don’t make me work too hard." Little Hei paused. "Now, you have two choices. Go back and face those things... or come with me to the next world."

Fang Zhiyi didn’t answer immediately. "Little Hei... what are you, really?"

For once, Little Hei didn’t evade the question. "Me? I was born from the worlds you wrote. What I am... even I don’t fully understand. But I’ve learned a few things over time."

Fang Zhiyi studied it, struggling to reconcile that this entity had sprung from his own words.

"Impossible. You’re not real."

"I am," Little Hei replied firmly.

"If you were born from my writing, how did you enter this world?"

Little Hei’s answer was cryptic. "Fang Zhiyi, have you ever considered that your world might also be just a story in someone else’s book? That it could vanish the moment they close its pages?"

Fang Zhiyi fell silent.

Abruptly, Little Hei shuddered. "Hurry. They’re coming."

Before Fang Zhiyi could react, Little Hei engulfed him, dragging them both into a swirling vortex.

Back in the hospital ward, another figure entered the room—a man who scanned his surroundings before settling his gaze on Fang Zhiyi’s vacant expression.

"Nothing here," the man muttered.

A mechanical voice responded, "Host, I detected anomalous soul fluctuations earlier."

"Report it to headquarters," the man ordered.

As they moved along, Little Hei continued speaking: "Let me put it this way—every second, new worlds are born. For example, the opening of a novel you casually write marks the beginning of a world. Even if you abandon it later, that world will continue to operate according to its own logic. It might not make sense at first, but over time, the world will gradually align with reality, correcting itself. That’s when the Heavenly Dao is born."

"Who’s chasing you?" Fang Zhiyi asked.

Little Hei replied, "Well, we did devour a few systems, didn’t we? And a space too. The victims have come looking for payback."

"You’re the one who ate them! What does that have to do with me?"

"Ah, but we’re accomplices now," Little Hei said, clearly trying to weasel out of responsibility.

It had been a while since the two of them had talked like this. With everything laid out in the open, Fang Zhiyi’s suspicions toward Little Hei had mostly faded. After a few seconds, he asked again, "Have you... been consuming Heavenly Dao all this time?"

Little Hei denied it. "Not exactly." It paused, as if considering how to explain. "Sometimes I feed on fortune too. Heavenly Dao is too hard to deal with."

"Can I not go back?"

"It’s not impossible. Do you see them?" Little Hei asked.

Fang Zhiyi was taken aback.

"Those things—the people born from your writing."

Fang Zhiyi suddenly thought of the figures only he could see. "Them?"

"Exactly. In those worlds, countless beings like them exist. They bear your name, though they might not be major characters. They live in your mind, in the worlds you’ve built. And the ones you see standing still? Those are the ones you’ve already given a perfect ending."

"This is also your problem. You created the beginning but never finished writing, so these worlds had to complete themselves."

Fang Zhiyi’s eyes lit up with realization. "So, if I satisfy every single one of them, they’ll... leave my body?"

"Put another way, you have to satisfy yourself. After all, they’re all versions of you." Little Hei pondered for a moment. "Though you probably don’t realize that."

"But..." Fang Zhiyi frowned, recalling the worlds he had visited. "There are so many I don’t even remember writing."

"That’s normal. These are incomplete worlds. Maybe you only created a setting or an opening. Many characters and stories were filled in by the worlds themselves, so naturally, they differ from what you originally intended."

"You’re not just making this up, are you?"

"How could—I’m not lying."

Fang Zhiyi’s expression turned serious. "Then, Little Hei, what exactly is your goal?"

Little Hei enveloped Fang Zhiyi’s body. "Me? I just want to eat well and sleep well."

It wasn’t human, so Fang Zhiyi couldn’t guess its true intentions. His gaze gradually hardened. If that was the case, he could keep moving forward.

"Stay away from him." In the hospital room, a female doctor emerged from behind the door, her face expressionless, a scalpel pressed against a man’s throat.

The man raised his hands. "Miss Yue, this isn’t in line with our cooperation agreement."

Miss Yue glanced at Fang Zhiyi, her eyes filled with killing intent. "What exactly has he done?"

The man was pragmatic. With his hands still raised, he smiled amiably, his eyes narrowing. "According to our records, that thing first took him into several stable worlds, altering the fates of characters to siphon fortune. Then it repeatedly entered worlds where the Heavenly Dao hadn’t yet formed, devouring fortune and consuming the will of those worlds. Now it’s grown powerful enough to start targeting our employees."

"So we’re not here to deal with him, but to find that monster. Though it seems we’re a step too late."

"You’re saying he’s been back?"

The man nodded, then shook his head. He glanced at his system. "I’m not entirely sure... But it’s clear things have escalated beyond my capabilities. It might already have the power to consume newly born Heavenly Dao."

Miss Yue slowly withdrew her scalpel, her gaze shifting to Fang Zhiyi, who stood wide-eyed beside them.