The night of New Year's Eve.

Far livelier than usual.

Colorful lanterns flickered like shooting stars, casting a kaleidoscope of light through the windows, harmonizing with the bursts of fireworks outside.

Faintly, the delighted laughter of children could still be heard.

Yet.

At this very moment.

Xu Xi felt somewhat uneasy.

All because an uninvited "intruder" had joined him on his bed this New Year's Eve.

"Krisha, aren’t you going back?"

"No," the witch shook her small head. "I was afraid you’d feel lonely."

That’s what she said.

But as Xu Xi glanced at the witch beside him, $2e couldn’t shake off a peculiar sense of amusement.

The girl clutched the blanket tightly, bundling herself up until only her two small eyes peeked out, fixed unwaveringly on Xu Xi.

By all appearances, the lonely one seemed to be the girl herself.

Xu Xi chuckled.

"Then thank you for keeping me company, Krisha," he said, reaching out to smooth her disheveled hair, smiling as he indulged his witch.

The scene reminded him of their first New Year together during the second simulation, back when the girl was still a child.

Time had flown.

The little girl had since ascended to godhood.

Yet that same dependence remained, as thick as it had been in his memories.

"Mentor."

In the quiet of the night, Krisha’s voice came out soft and dazed: "You’re not sending me away?"

Before her nighttime visit, $2he witch had braced herself for a scolding.

But Xu Xi didn’t do that.

Instead, with gentle fingers, he combed through her silver-gray hair: "Krisha is usually so well-behaved. I thought… it’s alright if she acts a little spoiled just this once."

Krisha seemed happy.

Though her expression remained calm, her eyelashes fluttered faintly.

"Mentor."

She called to him softly, tugging at the blanket until it covered both of them: "Thank you."

Her gratitude came in clumsy words, $2elivered in a tone as plain as still water.

Such was the peculiar charm of the witch.

"There’s no need for thanks," Xu Xi murmured, his fingers trailing down her hair before stopping at the tip of her nose, giving it a playful flick.

The night deepened.

It was time to sleep.

But with the witch’s sudden intrusion, Xu Xi found himself wide awake.

So there they lay, side by side, staring at the ceiling, sharing stories from their lives.

As they talked, $2oonlight spilled through the window, $2lanting across the room in a divide of light and shadow.

Xu Xi lay on the illuminated side, his face youthful, his body vibrant—no trace of the aging the witch had feared.

"Mentor."

"Could you tell me… about your past?"

Krisha lay beside him, $2tterly still.

Her hands still gripped the edge of the blanket, her mesmerizing eyes fixed on Xu Xi.

"Krisha, what part would you like to know about?"

Xu Xi had assumed she wanted to hear about the years in the magical world, the time before they’d met.

But the witch’s answer surprised him.

"I want…"

"to know about your life on Earth."

There were many things the witch wished to say, yet in Xu Xi’s presence, her courage faltered.

And so, $2he settled on this topic.

"You might be disappointed, Krisha. My life on Earth was dull, even mediocre."

Drifting memories floated like the wind.

Fragments of the past chased the light.

On the bed, in the quiet of the room, the man’s expression turned wistful.

"The most recent years, you and Mo Li already know—I was confined to a wheelchair after my legs were injured."

"And further back…"

"I was an orphan, raised in a welfare home. Bland, uneventful, nothing worth mentioning."

"Even among ordinary people, I was decidedly unremarkable."

Some memories weren’t beautiful.

But they were still part of life.

Gently, Xu Xi recounted his past to the witch—a life as plain and patchy as he’d described.

Drab and flavorless.

Bland and uninspiring.

"Pretty ordinary, right, Krisha?" he asked, turning to the girl after summarizing it all.

She shook her head.

Her expression was puzzled, as if the question confused her.

How could it be ordinary?

How could it possibly be ordinary?

A witch who had wandered alone since childhood knew better than anyone how hard it was to survive on one’s own.