Thousands Of People Thought Of Him - Chapter 25

Avalanche

Their gazes briefly met in the air for two seconds. Before Ying Fusang could observe the bird’s features, it had already shaken its feathers and quickly flown out of his line of sight.

Ying Fusang withdrew his gaze, as if seeing nothing, and continued walking forward with the two others.

After only a few steps, a chill brushed against Ying Fusang’s cheek. He looked up slightly and saw snowflakes drifting down from the sky.

“Huh, it’s snowing again.” Fang Baiyu stopped walking, stretching out his hand to catch the flakes. The snow quickly melted into water in his palm.

A barely noticeable victorious smile flashed across his eyes.

The next moment, from the mountain peak ahead came a muffled rumbling sound. It was like the sound was coming from deep underground far away, yet somehow also very close to them.

That sound was…

Ying Fusang raised his eyes to look and saw the snow beginning to loosen. Countless huge chunks of snow rapidly tumbled down from the summit, accompanied by rising snow mist, rolling into an ever-growing giant snowball heading straight toward them!

Ying Shouchuan’s pupils suddenly contracted as he shouted, “Avalanche! Run to the sides, quickly!!”

As soon as he finished speaking, he turned back quickly—but found the space behind him empty. Ying Fusang had vanished.

The snowball drew nearer and nearer. Snow fell in flurries from the trees, shaken loose by the tremors. The feeling of imminent death made one shudder instinctively. Sensing the hesitation in Ying Shouchuan, Fang Baiyu grabbed his arm and anxiously shouted, “Let’s run now!”

In the face of life-or-death danger, Ying Shouchuan no longer cared. Gritting his teeth, he pulled Fang Baiyu and sprinted leftward as fast as he could.

After dashing quite a distance, Ying Shouchuan risked a glance back. At that moment, the massive snowball happened to crash down, burying the place where they had just stood beneath a blanket of white.

Is Ying Fusang still alive?

The question surged in his mind. Just as he considered whether to go check, Fang Baiyu said again, “It’s not safe here yet, we have to keep running!”

“But…”

Fang Baiyu replied firmly, “Little Sang probably moved slower and couldn’t keep up. He definitely won’t be in trouble. Once it’s safe, we’ll go find him.”

Ying Shouchuan always unconditionally trusted whatever Fang Baiyu said. He nodded and stopped hesitating.

…

In fact, even before Ying Shouchuan shouted that warning, a blue-and-white object once again appeared in Ying Fusang’s sight.

That gray-blue mountain chick flapped its wings and circled around Ying Fusang, seemingly signaling him to hurry and catch up.

Ying Fusang could have avoided running, but using his magic would violate his current human identity. After some thought, he decided to follow the mountain chick’s lead to the right.

The mountain path was rugged and uneven. Ying Fusang dodged branches broken off by the wild wind while carefully watching his step in the snow pits, all the while calmly dividing his attention to observe the guiding mountain chick.

When it spread its wings to fly, it looked like three feather fans.

The howling wind ceased. After an unknown amount of time, Ying Fusang finally ran out of the avalanche’s path. He found a huge rock to shelter behind and leaned against it, waiting for the situation to stabilize before moving again.

The guiding mountain chick did not leave immediately; it hovered nearby. Ying Fusang understood and stretched out a hand. The little bird flew into his palm with remarkable tact, pecking at its feathers and scanning the surroundings, seeming very busy.

Ying Fusang observed quietly for a moment, then suddenly said, “Qi Xingwen.”

The mountain chick’s feathers ruffled in response.

“Stop pretending.”

At this point, pretending not to understand human speech was no longer an option. The bird turned its head back and looked at Ying Fusang with bright, round eyes. Then—lay down in his palm.

Ying Fusang: “…?”

Forgot how thick-skinned this guy was.

The snow continued falling. The palm was soft and warm, but the wind and snow cut like ice blades against the heart. Since his tribulation began, Qi Xingwen had done too many things that were hard to simply summarize.

During the time Ying Fusang lost the perception of “evil” under the “rules,” Qi Xingwen intentionally guided him to break this restriction. Accompaniment, protection, and that half soul… Even the nonsensical proposal for cooperation seemed like a poorly made excuse.

Fortunately, Ying Fusang always remembered what Qi Xingwen said back then; otherwise, he might have truly mistaken the other’s intentions as lingering affection.

In this moment, Ying Fusang couldn’t help but recall the day he first saw “snow,” long ago, seven hundred years ago—the day he met Qi Xingwen.

…

Compared to ordinary humans who, upon meeting certain conditions, are chosen for the divine class and then strive to pass the divine exam to gain a godly position, Ying Fusang’s case was hereditary.

He was born in the Ghost Realm, also known as the Underworld.

His father was a ghost god, and his mother’s identity was unknown. If identity was a kind of shackles for others, Ying Fusang seemed like the key.

The two secretly escaped from the Underworld without anyone knowing, going to an unknown place, allowing the newborn Ying Fusang to become the next successor of the ghost god.

The Heavenly Realm required the position of “god” to have a minimum age of 300 years. Countless people whispered in his ear that he was lucky, having everything at birth without the need to compete or fight.

Ying Fusang found this ridiculous. If someone wanted that position, let them compete and find the most suitable person. Why must it be locked onto him?

As if sensing his rebelliousness and fearing he might escape, the Underworld set restrictions on Ying Fusang, forcing him to stay quietly in the Netherworld until he turned 300. Even so, he escaped at 200 years old.

But he failed.

At the crucial moment, he was betrayed and reported by a childhood friend. Not only was he captured again, but the range of his restrictions was reduced, imprisoning him entirely within that palace.

The ancient and heavy palace doors were about to close. Inside the main hall, Ying Fusang was forced to kneel, half-kneeling before the ancestral ghost gods’ tablets, reflecting and repenting.

“Do you know what you did wrong?!”

He stubbornly turned his head, staring fixedly at the last sliver of light leaking through the door crack, seeing the friend who had reported him outside—full of hypocritical guilt.

Since then, Ying Fusang hated deceit the most.

Afterward, he struggled a few more times, but every escape attempt ended in failure. Then he reined in his sharp edges, obediently learning how to be a good King of Hell according to others’ wishes.

Finally, when he turned 300, he completed the succession ceremony. The restrictions on him were lifted, replaced by invisible shackles. Once free, the first place he went to was the human world often mentioned in books.

“So this is snow?”

Sitting in a teahouse, the eaves shielded part of the wind and snow, but some still freely blew over the eaves and landed on the table. Ying Fusang leaned slightly, watching the snowflakes fall.

Below, a storyteller stood in the center, gesturing wildly, expressions exaggerated, spitting as he spoke. The crowd applauded endlessly.

Ying Fusang gently rubbed the teacup’s surface, half-leaning on the railing, feeling drowsy.

“I don’t want to marry that Meng guy! I’ve said it many times, I already have someone I love!”

People came and went along the corridor. The woman’s voice was loud enough to attract attention, and Ying Fusang glanced over.

“Miss, we should go back. The master will be angry.” The maid hurried after her, anxious.

“I will never go back!”

As they argued, footsteps suddenly sounded on the stairs. A middle-aged man led the way, slapped the woman without warning, angry and frowning, shouting to his guards, “Take her away!”

Ying Fusang found this far more interesting than the storyteller’s tale.

Seeing the woman still resisting, Ying Fusang thoughtfully pulled out the fate ledger, found her name, and casually erased the Meng surname from her marriage fate.

Eventually, the woman was taken away, and the corridor returned to quiet.

Ying Fusang dusted off his sleeves and stood up, ready to go find more excitement elsewhere.

“Is it you? Arbitrarily cutting off others’ fates?”

A warm male voice sounded behind him.

Ying Fusang turned without a hint of guilt, casually replied, “Yes.”

The newcomer wore red and had countless intricate red threads wrapped around his wrists, standing there like a landscape of his own. Setting aside identity, Ying Fusang had never seen anyone so handsome in all his years.

The man froze upon seeing Ying Fusang, his expression flickering wildly, emotions surging like stormy waves, hard to calm.

Feeling uneasy under that gaze, Ying Fusang asked rudely, “What? Do you know me?” That seemed unlikely.

Qi Xingwen slightly bowed his head, then raised it again, his eyes now calm. He smiled and said slowly, “Indeed, I don’t.”

What else could he say besides “don’t know”?

Even now, Ying Fusang found that moment inexplicable.

“Suit yourself.”

That ended the old tale. Ying Fusang poked the mountain chick’s belly, signaling it to stop playing dead. The chick flapped its wings and flew back to a nearby treetop.

The avalanche seemed to have completely subsided. Ying Fusang stepped out from behind the rock. His phone had no signal. He prepared to find his own way down, ultimately choosing a path that led farther from the exit.

Seeing this, the mountain chick flew to a treetop not far ahead, and Ying Fusang followed its guidance. Every few steps, it moved to a new treetop, still showing him the way.

“…Thanks.” Direction was definitely a weakness of Ying Fusang’s, but one thing at a time—he wasn’t clueless.

The sky darkened, and visibility worsened. After wandering in circles and working hard for a long time, he finally returned to the patch of white birch forest.

“Anyone? Help—”

Aside from the rustling sound of footsteps in the snow, a faint call for help suddenly broke the silence. Ying Fusang recognized it as Ying Shouchuan’s voice.

Ying Shouchuan was trapped in a snow cave, looking upward with difficulty and discomfort.

An hour earlier, he and Fang Baiyu escaped left. During the escape, Fang Baiyu suddenly stepped into a pit covered by snow, falling in. Ying Shouchuan was pulled in by inertia.

The pit was about three meters deep. To avoid being buried by snow, Fang Baiyu hastily suggested he be lifted out first, then find tools to help Ying Shouchuan out. Fang Baiyu was light, so lifting him was a good plan. Ying Shouchuan agreed.

Fang Baiyu stood on Ying Shouchuan’s shoulder and tried several times before finally escaping the pit.

“Shouchuan, wait for me, I’ll be back soon.”

Watching Fang Baiyu’s back turn, Ying Shouchuan suddenly recalled the fire disaster years ago. In his fading consciousness, he saw a figure rushing through raging flames without fear, half-dragging him out.

Later he confirmed that neighbor moving away, Fang Baiyu, was the rescuer. Compared to that, Ying Fusang, the illegitimate child, was a bad omen who caused the fire and sent Fang Baiyu away.

Facing this situation now, though Ying Shouchuan felt panic, as long as Fang Baiyu was with him, he felt reassured.

But after Fang Baiyu left, no tools were brought back, and no response came despite Ying Shouchuan’s shouts.

He tried to escape on his own, but only fell more times.

As time passed, his strength faded and his throat became hoarse. Snow accumulated in the pit, already reaching his knees.

Looking at the darkening sky, overwhelming fear finally engulfed him. He wondered what had happened to Fang Baiyu—had he met danger? Or abandoned him?

Impossible. Baiyu would never leave him.

“Anyone? Help—” His survival instinct made him shout with all his might again.

At that moment, a figure suddenly appeared above the pit!

Ying Shouchuan was overjoyed but his smile quickly froze because it wasn’t Fang Baiyu—it was the uncertain Ying Fusang.

Ying Fusang stood at the pit’s entrance, calmly thinking. Honestly, he didn’t care whether this human lived or died and had no need to do a good deed.

But if the man died here, it might affect Ying Fusang’s tribulation path, which would be troublesome.

Ying Shouchuan saw him hesitate a moment, then step back as if truly about to leave.

Seeing this, he panicked and, disregarding dignity, hoarsely pleaded, “Don’t go, don’t go—!”

At that moment, countless memories flooded Ying Shouchuan’s mind. He recalled his past behavior toward Ying Fusang and suddenly felt regret.

What was this? Karma?

Just as he accepted that Ying Fusang wouldn’t help and felt utterly hopeless, the light at the pit’s entrance was suddenly half-blocked.

Ying Shouchuan looked up in shock.

Ying Fusang half-crouched at the entrance, throwing down a hemp rope to him.

The setting sun was sinking in the west, bathing Ying Fusang in the last rays of bl00d-red dusk. He stood against the light, his face blurred.

Ying Shouchuan was stunned, realizing this scene slowly overlapped with the figure from the fire disaster in his memory.