Volume 2

Chapter 10: Super Repairman Anselm

“Aluo,”

Anselm, sitting on the workbench, propped his chin with one hand.

“What do you like?”

“Study, research.”

Mingfuluo, focused on carving an ether circuit, answered without looking up.

“I mean, besides those two.”

The blond boy sighed: “Aluo, how can life be so dull?”

“Don’t define my interests with your boredom.”

Mingfuluo glanced at Anselm, her gorgeous purple eyes tinged with displeasure: “For me, study and research are interesting enough.”

“But you’ve never experienced those interesting things, have you?”

The young Hydra tilted his head, a harmless, innocent smile on his face, his finger flicking lightly in the air.

Click—

The alchemical carving knife in Mingfuluo’s hand, perfectly steady, suddenly veered, ruining the flawless ether circuit and turning the entire magical metal into scrap.

“You!”

The woman whipped her head toward Anselm, her eyes brimming with murderous intent, her cold, menacing expression making it seem like she might slit his throat with the knife in the next second.

“Still not skilled enough, Aluo.”

The culprit, Anselm, adopted a mentor-like tone, criticizing sternly: “Just this slight interference made you lose control of the knife. What would you do if an unforeseen accident happened during alchemy?”

“Carving circuits is one of the most basic, harmless processes. What about ether conduction, elemental fusion, or even higher-level essence manipulation?”

“If you’re not careful…”

Anselm mimed an explosion with his hands, dramatically warning: “A slight misstep, and it might be worse than death.”

“…”

Mingfuluo pondered for a moment, then answered expressionlessly: “You’re right, so I have no reason to waste time with you.”

With that, she turned to the corner where materials were stored, calmly selecting what she needed, carrying a pile of parts back to the workbench, and resuming her work.

Now it was the young Anselm’s turn to fall silent.

He watched Mingfuluo, her expression unwavering, for a long time before sighing wearily: “Fine, since you’re completely uninterested, Aluo, I’ll go have fun on my own.”

He hopped off the table, picked up his cane from the side, and prepared to leave the alchemical workshop.

“—Wait.”

Mingfuluo suddenly grabbed Anselm’s collar: “You haven’t finished today’s task.”

This odd pair had a clear division of labor: Anselm provided countless fantastical yet feasible ideas that stunned even Mingfuluo, while she worked to turn those ideas into reality.

Why a mere second-tier transcendent could achieve this was likely because their creations, in the eyes of most transcendents, were too “ordinary.”

Too closely tied to low-tier transcendents, even mortals.

Aside from certain specific creations, most didn’t have particularly high technical barriers but required extraordinary design talent and vision.

Mingfuluo was willing to admit she was far inferior to Anselm in this regard.

But this guy… was unbelievably lazy!

If Mingfuluo didn’t pressure Anselm, he’d likely waste an entire day in the workshop doing nothing.

“Task? Ugh… dear Aluo, inspiration doesn’t strike every moment.”

Anselm spread his hands helplessly: “Forcing something out is worthless.”

“But you’re not someone who relies on inspiration for output.”

Mingfuluo released his collar, leaning forward slightly, her face close to his in what she thought was an intimidating posture but was actually quite ambiguous: “You’re a true genius. Even the faintest thoughts spilling from your mind would drive countless people to treasure them like gold.”

“…Of course, that doesn’t include me.”

She said expressionlessly: “Though your ideas are indeed astonishing, I’m not quite at that level.”

The young Hydra tilted his head, chuckling: “You don’t need to emphasize that, Aluo. I know you’re not… someone who’d worship me like a treasure.”

“So,” Mingfuluo stared at him, “where’s today’s idea?”

“You’re truly insatiable, Aluo.”

Anselm tilted his head back slightly, surprised: “Haven’t we piled up enough unrealized ideas already?”

Since these two unlikely partners began collaborating, this small alchemical workshop had birthed countless era-defining concepts.

But with limited manpower and Anselm only handling design, not implementation, Mingfuluo, even working tirelessly and occasionally passing less extravagant designs to Babel Tower, faced an ever-growing backlog of concepts.

Yet she seemed unsatisfied, despite the stacks of drafts and blueprints, still pushing Anselm for new ideas while working day and night.

Such an unreasonable, utterly irrational act was hard to imagine coming from Mingfuluo.

The woman was silent for a moment, then extended her hand toward Anselm.

“What’s this?” Anselm, somewhat puzzled, offered his hand.

Mingfuluo examined Anselm’s hand in her palm, then looked at his face and said: “Only at times like this can I confirm you’re a thirteen-year-old boy.”

Her words made Anselm burst into laughter: “But Mingfuluo, you clearly—hm, fine, I won’t say more.”

The threatening look in her eyes made Anselm merely shrug with a bright smile, saying nothing further.

“You’re only thirteen, Anselm.”

After retracting her glare, Mingfuluo held Anselm’s hand—of course, she had no strange intentions.

Her attitude, as if handling a tool, stripped the scene of any hint of intimacy.

She was merely feeling the soft, youthful texture in her hand, saying softly: “At thirteen, I was far inferior to you, and even now, that’s still true.”

“Hm?”

The young Hydra didn’t respond with humble words but raised his brow: “There’s no need to compare yourself to me, Mingfuluo. I’m exceptional.”

“I’m exceptional compared to others too,” Mingfuluo said calmly.

“If I can be compared to others, why can’t I compare myself to you?”

“When there exists someone who can see a far broader and grander vista than I can.”

She released his hand, speaking not with resentment but with self-reflection: “If I don’t chase your shadow, should I remain content as a so-called genius, never moving forward?”

The blond boy, hands resting on his cane, met her purple eyes and said with amusement: “So you want me to keep proposing more possibilities, more designs, to pressure you into progressing?”

“That’s only part of it.”

Mingfuluo turned back, no longer looking at Anselm, resuming her work at the workbench while saying: “Because only this way can I constantly be reminded of the gap between us. Only this way…”

“Can I always remember that failing to realize your blueprints, wasting your talent, is an unforgivable sin and blasphemy.”

The ether circuit carved into the magical metal was as exquisite as art, the knife’s edge tracing the lines of truth.

The creator transformed her thoughts into reality, elevating the mundane, making the ordinary transcendent… Mingfuluo quickly re-entered her zone, diving into the work she never tired of, an endless task, and then—

Crack!

The woman stared at the alchemical carving knife that had veered off again, veins faintly bulging on the back of her hand.

“An—”

“Aluo!”

Anselm’s cheerful voice interrupted Mingfuluo’s words. He grabbed her hand, laughing loudly: “I think I know what you like! Come with me!”

“Anselm, you—”

“I’ve got an incredible idea. Come with me first, and I’ll tell you about it.”

“…” Mingfuluo held back her irritation, refraining from lashing out.

This alchemical workshop, which had birthed countless miracles yet to be known to the world, was neither in Hydra Mansion nor Babel Tower’s headquarters but in the basement of an ordinary house near the Alchemical Association.

Mingfuluo didn’t know the significance of Anselm’s choice, just as she didn’t understand why he insisted that all newly invented alchemical devices must not bear his name as a creator, requiring her to claim sole credit.

Anselm led Mingfuluo to the rooftop, gesturing for her to sit beside him.

But Mingfuluo merely stood on the bricks, looking at Anselm expressionlessly: “What are you up to?”

“Don’t you want to hear what I’ve come up with?” Anselm, already seated, raised an eyebrow and patted the brick beside him.

Mingfuluo was silent for a moment, then frowned and walked to Anselm’s side.

After an invisible gust cleared the dust from the bricks, she adjusted her white coat and sat beside him.

“You’d better ensure your idea is really—”

“Aluo.” The boy, whose youthful appearance already bore the charm that could captivate women, turned to Mingfuluo with a smile: “Do you like the sky?”

Mingfuluo froze.

“Though you might think it’s a waste of time, when I’m idle, I always wonder… besides study and research, what do you actually like?”

Anselm looked up at the azure sky, saying softly: “I thought for a long time but couldn’t figure out anything you’d genuinely like. But just now, when you said those rather impressive words, I suddenly thought of the sky.”

“Vast and boundless, like a sky with infinite possibilities.”

Mingfuluo didn’t speak, only raising her head as well, engaging in one of her rare “relaxation” activities.

“Or rather, do you like going to such heights to see grander vistas?”

“…” Mingfuluo turned to Anselm. “Did you use a mind-reading spell on me?”

Her expressionless face masked the ripple in her heart from moments ago.

Anselm laughed heartily: “I’m not that bored, Aluo. Peeking into someone’s heart with spells instead of figuring it out myself would be too dull.”

Indeed, Anselm wasn’t the type to do such things, Mingfuluo thought.

Or rather, he always seemed to know exactly what she needed, always able to offer help.

Now… knowing what she liked most wasn’t surprising.

Mingfuluo had never met someone as in sync with her as Anselm.

So despite his personality and behavior having so many flaws she couldn’t tolerate, she still allowed, even indulged, him.

“The scenery of the sky, the earth, and the even farther, infinite vistas—you want to take them all into your eyes.”

Anselm gazed at Mingfuluo’s profile, speaking not in jest but in admiration: “That ambition and greed are truly astonishing, Aluo.”

“I have no counter to that.”

Mingfuluo’s voice was calm: “But I don’t see it as ambition or greed, but a rational pursuit and choice.”

“Rational, huh…”

Anselm rubbed his chin: “Speaking of which, your peculiar rational thinking has given me some inspiration.”

“…I’ve never seen you think that way.”

“Hahaha, just kidding.” The young Hydra laughed lightly. “Someone as free and carefree as me—how could I need your way of thinking?”

Mingfuluo nodded: “Indeed.”

She had never seen a more whimsical, mood-driven person than Anselm.

It was a privilege only those at the pinnacle, standing before the gate of the Endpoint, could have.

Mingfuluo didn’t envy it, nor had she ever considered what things would be like if she had such power.

Because the world was stagnant precisely due to that great power and what Mingfuluo pursued was never that.

“So,” she looked at Anselm, “what’s this idea you mentioned?”

“You really don’t let up for a moment…”

Anselm sighed, then raised his eyebrows, explaining a fantasy so wild it bordered on madness.

At that moment, as Anselm described the frenzied vision in his mind, his tone carried an excitement he hadn’t anticipated or even noticed.

“This…”

Mingfuluo, rarely showing clear astonishment, said: “Anselm, this is completely—”

Halfway through, she suddenly negated her own words.

“…No,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Following your logic, perhaps…”

“I’ve even thought of a name. Let’s call it… mechanized armor!”

The young Hydra’s tone was light and joyful: “What do you think, Aluo?”

His expression, as if envisioning some grand vista, truly resembled that of a thirteen-year-old boy.

“That thing,” Anselm placed his hand on Mingfuluo’s shoulder, smiling brightly, “will surely take you to heights where you can encompass the world in your gaze.”

“…”

Mingfuluo’s interlaced fingers trembled slightly.

Lost in thought, she was briefly pulled back by his words.

She looked at his hand on her shoulder, silent for a moment, then said: “But why… is it a weapon again?”

“Hm… it doesn’t have to be a weapon. It could be an exploration tool, no?”

“But at its core, it’s still a weapon. However…”

She paused, speaking in a tone softer than ever before, tinged with a faint ripple: “I want to see.”

Anselm tilted his head: “What?”

“I said, I want to see.”

Mingfuluo turned to Anselm, her gorgeous purple eyes shimmering in that moment with a light he had never seen.

Without hesitation, she said to Anselm: “I want to see the vista you described, Anselm.”

Seemingly caught off guard by Mingfuluo’s unusual reaction, Anselm paused, then chuckled softly: “Isn’t that great…”

“And—”

She suddenly extended her fist toward Anselm: “I’ll make sure you see the future I describe.”

Her usually cold, detached voice became fervent and weighty, as powerful as her beating heart: “To see that new era.”

Anselm looked at Mingfuluo’s outstretched fist, bursting into laughter: “That sounds moving, but why the fist, Aluo?”

“Isn’t this fine?”

Mingfuluo looked at her fist, puzzled: “I thought, as a boy, you’d like this way of expressing friendship. Or do you prefer a handshake?”

“…”

The young Hydra’s smile froze slightly.

He looked again at Mingfuluo’s delicate fist, instinctively repeating softly: “Friend… ship?”

“…What are you confused about?” Mingfuluo frowned, somewhat perplexed. “Aren’t we friends?”

Her voice reverted to its usual indifference, making the statement seem utterly natural.

After a brief, very brief silence, Anselm smiled again, clenching his fist and bumping it against Mingfuluo’s.

“You’re right, Aluo, my friend.”

In the moment their knuckles touched lightly, no one knew what either of them was thinking.

“Anselm.”

“Hm?”

“You’re probably my first friend.”

“Same here, Aluo.”

***

Friend.

A distant, yet not so distant term.

Mingfuluo’s consciousness emerged from the chaos.

The successive injuries seemed to have strained her soul, or perhaps this indeed overly fragile puppet wasn’t suited to house her soul, leaving Mingfuluo with an indescribable, profound exhaustion.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

The voice that irritated Mingfuluo immensely rang in her ears.

She instinctively tried to move her limbs, but this puppet’s functions seemed to have completely shut down.

Now, Mingfuluo was like a pitiful prisoner sealed in stone.

“Don’t try to move. Let your soul rest for a bit.”

Anselm’s voice was as gentle as ever, but Mingfuluo had no intention of accepting his goodwill.

After all, in her eyes, Anselm never had any goodwill to begin with.

Having recognized Hydra’s true nature, Mingfuluo had already abandoned all the illusions she once held about him.

Rather than hoping for him to cling to a nonexistent, false past affection, it would be better to think carefully… about how to save herself now.

This incident was far too coincidental.

Mingfuluo didn’t believe she could just happen to run into Ivora, with Anselm so conveniently present as well.

Because Mingfuluo knew Ivora’s tyrannical nature all too well, she had rushed to the Alchemical Association immediately—to provide Babel Tower with the violence to counter the mechanized armor and to protect herself.

But at this precise moment… Ivora appeared and so did Anselm.

There was definitely something amiss.

If this was Anselm’s design, he would first need to ensure she’d come to the Alchemical Association right away.

Either there was a traitor in Babel Tower, or… her thoughts had already been entirely calculated by him.

If so, tracing back further, the Alchemical Association’s resumption of the floating cannon’s production would be Anselm’s doing, meant to mislead her… but why would Anselm go to such lengths?

In the entire Empire, only he had the ability and audacity to halt the floating cannon’s production. He had no need to orchestrate such an elaborate scheme just to torment her.

Then the one who engineered this coincidence could only be that mysterious figure—rethinking it, perhaps Anselm wasn’t deliberately there but… happened to be there, perfectly positioned to save her from Ivora’s hands.

But what could she gain from this?

The mysterious figure, tentatively on her side, wouldn’t design this just to torment her for no reason… Was it to let her face Ivora’s wrath early, sparing her from the Grand Princess’s cruel punishment at some critical moment, or was there something else—

“Mingfuluo, your luck is truly remarkable,” a voice said, not in her ears but directly in her soul.

“Ivora, that reckless and capricious woman, inadvertently burned away part of the restrictions Solen placed on you.”

“Your day of freedom has arrived earlier than expected. A blessing in disguise, perhaps?”

So… that’s it!

This was the mysterious figure’s plan to break the greatest restriction on her!

Mingfuluo’s mood, rarely stirred, grew somewhat excited.

This puppet body was the greatest constraint Anselm had imposed on her.

If she could break free from it, she’d see so much more clearly!

Though she didn’t know how the other party had maneuvered the Grand Princess, since they could play against a monster like Hydra, they must have an equal existence.

So the Empire still hid such a dangerous figure…

Mingfuluo quickly cast aside useless thoughts and information.

Now that the situation is clear… she could determine what to do next.

Hydra claimed he wouldn’t actively threaten or restrict her, meaning he wouldn’t tamper with this puppet body directly.

Instead, he’d likely repair it and send it back, just like last time.

But this process… was probably what he was looking forward to.

Mingfuluo calmed herself.

There was nothing to fear in this.

After all, before seeking Anselm’s help, she had already made her decision.

As long as she endured this manipulation—or rather, went along with it, avoiding provoking his twisted amusement—she could safely navigate this ordeal and then escape this cursed puppet body.

Yes… it should be so.

Though it had been three years, in Mingfuluo’s eyes, Anselm was still that chaotic, evil-natured man.

Any hint of resistance would only provoke him further.

As long as she lay still and let him manipulate the puppet body, it was just a puppet, after all.

Especially now, with the puppet nearly destroyed, she could barely feel anything—it didn’t matter.

“!!!”

If Mingfuluo’s soul were likened to a human body, she now felt a sharp, tingling shudder racing from her tailbone to the back of her skull.

If her body could move, she’d likely be curled up from the overwhelming sensation.

“How does it feel, Mingfuluo?” Anselm’s voice echoed in her soul again.

“Never experienced this kind of pleasure, have you? Hm… I don’t actually know what you’re feeling, but in theory, it should be quite enjoyable.”

The reason Mingfuluo’s soul could inhabit and function in the puppet was its ether circuits, designed to mimic a transcendent’s aptitude, capable of sustaining a transcendent soul.

If her soul were stuffed into an ordinary wooden puppet, even with her considerable knowledge of soul magic, she wouldn’t last long before dissipating.

Now, most of the puppet’s ether circuits had been incinerated by Ivora.

Anselm’s repair work focused on reconnecting those circuits.

Her weakened soul, rejecting the puppet body, was drawn back and… pierced through again and again as the circuits were reconnected.

Each circuit’s reconnection, each flow of ether, surged into Mingfuluo’s soul, filling and restoring it.

The sensation… was indescribable.

As time passed, Mingfuluo could even feel the ether circuits Anselm was carving taking shape within her soul.

Her overly weakened, ether-craving soul was hypersensitive at this moment.

“Mingfuluo, I still remember the first time I repaired your puppet three years ago.”

Anselm spoke softly: “You resisted fiercely back then, but you still let me do it. Remember why?”

As the ether circuits were gradually restored, the puppet regained some physiological functions, but Mingfuluo kept her eyes tightly shut, pretending nothing was happening.

Because she sensed her current state—this puppet wasn’t laid flat on a workbench but… in Anselm’s arms.

Anselm whispered in her ear: “Because you’re a pragmatist. Because I could indeed repair your puppet properly. That’s all, isn’t it?”

“…”

“So what are you afraid of now? Aren’t you a purely rational pragmatist? Am I not repairing your puppet? Or is my skill not satisfying you?”

“Mmph!”

A faint moan slipped from her tightly closed lips.

Anselm altered the speed and method of reconnecting the ether circuits, varying the intensity and pace, penetrating and filling her soul with different sensations…

Sometimes roughly piercing the circuits, striking the gaps her soul needed to fill; sometimes gently, like a soft rain, gliding over vast swaths of her soul, soaking and mending it.

Ether was the blood of transcendents, and their pursuit of power often translated into a pursuit of ether.

Most transcendents felt unparalleled pleasure when absorbing ether, but when that pleasure acted directly on the soul…

As Anselm said, no one knew what Mingfuluo was experiencing now.

“Mingfuluo, if you keep acting like this unfamiliar version of yourself, I might have to resort to even more interesting methods, like…”

The ether circuit on the puppet’s torso, needing only one final stroke to be fully connected, suddenly paused.

Anselm’s fingers, guiding the ether flow, lingered there, circling and grinding in place without advancing.

Mingfuluo’s hypersensitive soul felt a warm, soothing mass of ether stuck there, neither rising nor falling, poised at a point where her soul instinctively craved it, sensing the joy and sweetness, yet maddeningly just out of reach.

“Mingfuluo, Mingfuluo,” Anselm whispered with a chuckle in her ear. “Are you afraid of me? Afraid of this person you despise so much?”

Hearing this, Mingfuluo slowly opened her eyes, saying coldly: “I was just—”

Her words caught in her throat.

Because as she opened her eyes, Mingfuluo saw herself.

—The puppet body was held in Anselm’s arms, his fingers acting as an alchemical carving knife, etching ether circuits.

That wasn’t the issue.

The issue was… Anselm had placed a full-length mirror in front of them.

Mingfuluo was looking at this puppet, at herself.

“Just what?” Anselm asked.

“Just… haah…”

The ether, about to touch and mend her soul, was suddenly yanked away by Anselm, the immense drop eliciting an uncontrollable gasp from Mingfuluo.

“Just waking up, really?” Anselm asked.

“…Hydra,” Mingfuluo gritted her teeth, swallowing back another sound. “You think you can make me submit like this? Is there something wrong with your head?”

“I know you’re only limited by your ‘perception’ right now. Your true will has never wavered.”

Anselm smiled, his fingertips slowly sliding down to the area he’d built last time, dense with the most ether circuits.

“But who said I’m trying to make you submit?”

“!!!”

A massive surge of ether, with multiple circuits instantly connected, rushed into Mingfuluo’s soul.

The sensation of her soul being pierced from all directions nearly shattered her will entirely.

The woman, eyes frozen in their sockets, stared at herself in the mirror.

An expressionless face, icy demeanor, but… the puppet’s lower limbs trembled uncontrollably, spasming beyond her control.

“Mingfuluo, I know this can’t bend your will, only increasing your hatred for me, but I did it anyway. Why do you think that is? Hm?”

“Because you’re just such an… evil devil!”

Barely able to control her limbs, Mingfuluo forced out a low growl from her throat, devoid of shame or anger, only pure fury.

As Anselm said, in this ambiguous repair process, Mingfuluo showed no sign of submission, nor was she like some foolish dog, gradually having her mindset warped. Her conviction remained unshaken.

But this unshakable resolve, reflected in her cold, icy expression, contrasted so starkly with the puppet’s twitching, spasming limbs… it was so… delightful.

“No, wrong answer, Mingfuluo.”

Anselm’s fingertips quickened, dancing across the densest area of ether circuits, shallowly connecting and stopping short.

One, two, three… dozens of short-range circuits were teased by Anselm, maddeningly tormenting her weakened, ether-craving soul.

“I’m just reminding you of one thing.”

“That you’re not such a pure rationalist.”

The young Hydra laughed: “I only realized this after recognizing my own mistake.”

“Because I’m certain if it were anyone else but me, you’d choose to end yourself rather than endure this humiliation.”

“You’re… a bit too narcissistic, Hydra.”

Mingfuluo forced the words through gritted teeth.

“I won’t give up my life until I see everything I want to achieve.”

“Then why were you deceiving yourself earlier?”

Anselm chuckled gleefully: “Why lie to yourself, saying you hadn’t woken up, when you could’ve just opened your eyes boldly, stared indifferently at me in the mirror, and let me do whatever, feeling nothing, because once I got bored, it’d all be over?”

“But why… didn’t you act that way?”

“…”

In an instant, the ether gathered at Anselm’s fingertips exploded, connecting all the partially linked circuits at once!

As this unparalleled surge washed over Mingfuluo’s soul, Anselm’s words echoed in her ear: “Because I’m your special, one and only… friend.”

“Aluo.”

Now, it wasn’t just her lower limbs.

The entire puppet body, except her head, began trembling violently.

In the mirror, her face still clung desperately to its final line, its icy coldness, but it only looked… more pathetic.

No matter how coldly indifferent Mingfuluo tried to appear, her body betrayed her weakness with brutal honesty.

It wasn’t her fault.

Her soul’s weakness, the puppet’s damage, and this bizarre, indescribable experience—she couldn’t withstand it no matter what.

And then… there was Anselm’s word.

“…Friend.”

The puppet’s mimicry functions had kicked in.

Amid violent spasms, a glistening thread of saliva dripped from Mingfuluo’s lips.

Her lips parted slightly, her voice, unwavering in its cold hatred, starkly contrasted her body’s pitiful defeat.

“I have no friends, Hydra,” she said, each word deliberate and labored.

“Maybe, Mingfuluo,” Anselm smiled. “But if so, I have no friends either.”

He withdrew his hand. The ether circuit repairs were nearly complete, and the puppet lay limp in his arms, its head lolling to one side, soft as if boneless.

“I just wanted to tell you this, Mingfuluo.”

Anselm gently wiped the unsightly liquid from the puppet in his arms: “Though you hate me, though I no longer need you, we can still be friends.”

“No… that’s just your delusion of taming me, Hydra.”

Mingfuluo clung to her conviction—that everything Anselm did was to break her will.

“Be friends with you? Hah… though both try to manipulate my fate, why would I choose you?”

Struggling immensely, Mingfuluo tried to crawl from Anselm’s arms, only to stumble and fall pitifully to the ground.

Even so, she shakily propped herself up, saying with bone-chilling rational coldness: “If I must choose a friend, I’d pick that mysterious figure who’s at least on my side, working for me.”

Anselm merely smiled and spread his hands: “As your friend, I respect your choice. Oh, by the way, remember this place? Our secret base. To keep Ivora from hearing about your punishment, I brought you here specially.”

“There’s no ‘us,’ Hydra.”

Step by step, Mingfuluo dragged her slowly recovering body toward the door: “Just a person who needs no friends and a filthy conspirator.”

She never looked back, not even glancing at Anselm.

But even so, despite the fury and resentment from three years ago reaching their peak…

Mingfuluo Zege didn’t deny one thing—

She didn’t deny that, to her, Anselm was the most special person.

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