Volume 2

Chapter 59 : Miss Doll Attempts to Gain Forgiveness

Time was running out for fate.

In the original worldline, Mingfuluo’s chance and ascension to heroism were entirely erased by Anselm.

From three years ago, when she used firearms to forcibly extend Babel Tower’s life, to now, when Babel Tower faced another precarious crisis and she intervened, deftly wresting it from Ivora’s dangerous grasp and elevating it to new heights, now stable and promising… Mingfuluo had lost any chance of leaving Babel Tower.

She would be forever shackled to this tower, her cold rationality—willing to sacrifice everything for her ideals—naturally unable to be corrected, perfectly exploitable by Anselm.

Thus, no matter how fate adjusted, the overall trajectory remained under Anselm’s control.

Moreover, he held a trump card from three years ago that could decisively settle any storm fate might stir.

All fate could do was accelerate Mingfuluo’s fall toward Anselm, using the possibility of Anselm developing feelings for her to create threats beyond his calculations… Though to Anselm, this seemed impossible.

But he knew fate’s power better than anyone—unexpected events shattering Mingfuluo’s sense of self wouldn’t be surprising.

At this moment, Anselm’s task was clear: learn from the “lesson” of Hitana.

…He had to admit, due to various reasons, he did have certain emotional deficiencies, a hidden yearning.

Absolute rational thinking, as proven with Hitana, was a dead end that would only lead to self-destruction.

Thus, emotions were Anselm’s only weakness, the target of fate’s blade.

By accelerating Mingfuluo’s conditioning, fate aimed to recreate the events with Hitana through some opportunity, perhaps more ruthlessly, leaving Anselm no time to react.

Naturally, then, controlling his feelings for Mingfuluo would ensure everything went smoothly.

To Anselm, despite many uncertainties, this wasn’t difficult—because the gap between Mingfuluo and Hitana was vast.

Though Hitana was initially incredibly infuriating, with her utter foolishness and self-centeredness, surpassing even Mingfuluo in raising one’s blood pressure, in the later stages of conditioning, as she grew closer to Anselm, her pure docility, charm, and loyalty were things Mingfuluo could never achieve.

Anselm hadn’t been swayed only at the final moment; during his time with Hitana, he already showed signs of wavering.

But Mingfuluo clearly couldn’t do this. Anselm knew her inside out; the hopes and emotions of the past were destroyed in their split three years ago, and now he was prepared.

If so, he could simply use fate’s push as his own advantage.

Anselm looked down at the kneeling Miss Doll, his gaze tracing her slender neck, smooth back, and down to her hips wrapped in semi-sheer black tights.

Though Mingfuluo was petite, her proportions weren’t childish.

Compared to her narrow waist, her hips, accentuated by her current posture, formed a striking, full peach shape.

In matters of desire, Anselm was an omnivore with no specific preferences and Miss Mingfuluo, though lacking in the chest, had an overall silhouette—especially from the waist down—that was quite alluring.

Anselm extended his cane, gently lifting Mingfuluo’s chin, gazing into her purple eyes.

Hitana’s dark red eyes evoked dangerous beasts or ferocious monsters, requiring great courage to meet for most.

Mingfuluo’s eyes, however, were noble and mysterious, like purple gems frozen in pure crystal, both captivatingly beautiful yet wrapped in a rejecting, icy chill.

But now, Anselm saw no piercing cold in those eyes, only a hint of evasion and hesitation.

He sighed inwardly—her softened attitude was inseparable from fate’s push.

She knew too much she shouldn’t, and by normal progression, she’d still be in a cold war and struggle with him, forced to accept it all, not willingly as she was now.

“So, you plan to create a weapon to kill the Empress to help me?”

“…Yes, Sir Anselm.”

Mingfuluo’s long lashes trembled slightly. Her delicate, slender neck would suit a collar… no, a silk choker would be more fitting.

Anselm propped his cheek with his other hand, chuckling playfully: “Mingfuluo, what gives you such confidence and courage?”

“If everything required confidence and courage to do,”

Miss Doll’s voice remained calm, incongruous with her current situation: “then one day, it’ll be too late.”

“…” Anselm’s brow rose slightly. “Even if doing so is more likely to lead to premature failure?”

“If it’s necessary.”

“Even against an opponent with no chance of winning?”

Mingfuluo gave the same answer: “If it’s necessary.”

Anselm, watching her, suddenly chuckled, patting his thigh lightly without saying a word.

But the petite scholar understood completely.

Lowering her head slightly, she stood silently, turned, and sat on Anselm’s lap.

After a moment’s hesitation, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and scooted back, her spine pressing against Anselm’s chest.

Anselm rested his chin on her shoulder, his hand encircling her tender, narrow waist, one half touching soft skin, the other savoring the silkiness of her tights.

“So,” the young Hydra whispered in her ear, “I’m that necessity to you?”

As he spoke, the warmth of his palm made the doll in his arms tremble slightly, her pale skin, rarely touched by light, flushing red from the rush of blood.

Anselm knew well that Mingfuluo was highly sensitive to touch.

The usually decisive, frost-like scholar now struggled to steady her uneven breathing, striving to keep her voice calm: “Yes, Sir… Anselm.”

“Your resolve came too suddenly,” Anselm said gently. “You despise my betrayal, don’t you?”

“But everything I’ve heard and seen points to… Sir Anselm, having your reasons.”

“Heard and seen? What have you seen? Besides Marina’s and Mother’s words, have you witnessed me do anything that aligns with them?”

“Mingfuluo… Mingfuluo…”

He sighed softly: “When did you become so careless, changing your will based solely on others’ words?”

“If you’re willing to believe even them—”

The Hydra’s gaze turned icy, his hand gripping her face, forcing her to meet his eyes, the cruelty in his sea-blue eyes unmasked.

“Then why, three years ago, didn’t you believe me, stand by my side, and now… make a show of clearing my obstacles?”

Mingfuluo’s displayed submission and deference were shredded by Anselm’s words, which cut to the core: if she truly cared for Anselm, why had they parted ways three years ago?

Either, as Anselm said, her current actions were pure hypocrisy, or…

There was something that, no matter how much she cared for Anselm, prevented her from standing with him.

Another possibility was that Anselm had said nothing, abruptly cutting ties with her, but that was impossible—because Mingfuluo knew, without a clear reason, she would never truly see Anselm as a betrayer.

Yes, if she could now entertain the audacious idea of killing the Empress due to the threat Anselm faced, why couldn’t she have had such resolve back then?

So, what was the root cause of their split—

The moment she tried to recall, unbearable pain surged through her mind, a soul-rending agony that made it impossible to access those nearly blank memories.

Why… Why did she lose the memories of that day, the most critical ones?

Lady Myron said rest would gradually restore them, so why, after so long, was there no improvement? The soul-tearing pain and memory flashes only grew worse—what was happening?

Anselm looked at the silent Mingfuluo, tugging at his lips, then released her, setting her on the ground.

The petite Miss Doll instinctively covered key parts of her body, but after a few seconds of hesitation, she lowered her hands, her feet in black tights shifting uneasily on the floor.

“See, Mingfuluo, your so-called resolve is so fragile.”

Anselm said carelessly: “Is it fun to deceive yourself?”

“It’s because I… I lost the memories of that day, Anselm… Sir Anselm.” Mingfuluo instinctively tried to explain, but she knew such an explanation was feeble.

Because the truth was—

“Does that matter?”

The devil gazed down coldly at the frail, helpless sorceress: “Three years ago, you, who were so close to me, didn’t trust me then. So what reason do you have now to change your mind just because of my mother’s words?”

“Hah, that’s a solid reason—when you recall why, you’ll make the same choice as three years ago, won’t you?”

“You’ve never changed, Mingfuluo.” He stood, walking to her, gently grasping the sorceress’s slender neck.

“But I’ve changed a lot.”

The Hydra, no longer a child, whispered softly.

He tightened his grip, lifting Mingfuluo without mercy.

The force was no issue for a third-tier transcendent, but the suffocating sensation was clearly overwhelming for the highly sensitive Mingfuluo.

Yet Anselm quickly supported her waist, loosening his hold on her neck.

To maintain balance and not fall, Mingfuluo instinctively wrapped her strikingly long legs around his waist, her arms encircling his neck.

“Cough… cough, cough, cough!”

Hanging onto Anselm, Mingfuluo coughed a few times but was otherwise unharmed.

Yet, in this intimate position, pressed so closely together, she saw… the coldness in Anselm’s eyes.

Almost instinctively, she recalled Elnilisa’s words—Anselm was deeply hurt, utterly disillusioned.

Why hadn’t she trusted Anselm back then, stood by his side… Why?

It could only mean their conflict was utterly irreconcilable, beyond trust, with no other option.

But if that was true, did she now truly have the standing or reason to help Anselm?

If not, then back then, she could never have distrusted Anselm, never, absolutely never…

Absolutely… never.

Both possibilities, either way, left Mingfuluo’s resolve without footing, pushing her further into a dark abyss.

Was there no reason to help Anselm, or… had she not even chosen to trust him three years ago?

Why couldn’t she recall those memories?

Why hadn’t she considered… she should have anticipated this, should have foreseen this situation, why…

“There shouldn’t be a sign on my face saying ‘please help me.’ And Mingfuluo… your goal, your starting point, was never just about ‘helping me,’ was it?”

Anselm’s hand supported the softest part of her body: “You told me it was to have a better ally, hm?”

“…Yes.”

“I can help you anytime,” Anselm laughed cheerfully, “as long as you pay the price. Why bother with such absurd ideas, trying to solve nonexistent problems?”

Mingfuluo’s legs tightened around him instinctively.

She lowered her head for a long moment before saying softly: “But what I want isn’t concepts or ideas, it’s—”

“Me from three years ago?”

Anselm tugged at his lips: “You’re not suited for such words, Mingfuluo.”

Mingfuluo fell silent, his near-threatening words leaving her at a loss, while she gradually realized the shift in her mindset under Anselm’s guidance.

Her attitude had gone from anger, alienation, indifference, confusion, and bewilderment to… accepting that she “needed Anselm.”

“Anselm bears an irresistible burden” had rekindled hope in her heart, while the guilt from her past attitude toward him grew deeper.

Mingfuluo saw it all clearly—she had noticed the subtle shift in her thoughts and feelings but… couldn’t stop it.

How could she?

Could she keep telling herself it was Anselm’s trap and pretend the facts of what happened didn’t exist?

It was precisely because she had made those mistakes that Anselm had the chance to exploit her.

“How long are you going to cling to me like this?” Anselm said lazily, “Don’t act like a child, Mingfuluo.”

“…What should I do?” Mingfuluo asked suddenly.

“Hm?”

“What should I do,” Miss Doll gazed at Anselm, “for you to forgive me?”

“Forgive? Even after I’ve made it so clear, you’re still chasing meaningless self-consolation?”

Anselm didn’t hide his disdain or indifference: “Instead of wasting energy on this, I suggest you think about recovering your memories, Mingfuluo.”

“If things are really… that bad,” Mingfuluo replied softly, “it’s not too late to back out then. Because what I can do for you is already so limited.”

Anselm paused, then burst into laughter: “You really don’t hold back, do you? Not even trying to deceive me, saying I’m temporarily more important than your ideals?”

“Would you believe that?” Mingfuluo countered.

“…Hah, no, I wouldn’t.”

Anselm leaned forward, his forehead touching hers, his tone cold: “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be Mingfuluo.”

In such an intimate posture, they spoke words of such clear division.

“But… since you’ve said that.”

Anselm’s tone shifted, light and cheerful, a stark contrast to moments before: “I won’t waste such an interesting opportunity. To earn my forgiveness, hm…”

He snapped his fingers, smiling brightly: “How about accompanying me for a stroll?”

“…Alright.”

Mingfuluo let go of Anselm, hopping to the ground, reaching for her discarded clothes.

Though she didn’t know what Anselm planned, as long as it wasn’t too much, she’d comply.

“Oh, wait, those aren’t the clothes you should wear, dear Miss Mingfuluo.”

Anselm stopped her from putting on her clothes, squinting with a smile: “For this outing, we’re playing roles. Don’t give us away.”

Mingfuluo paused, glancing at Anselm, her tone slightly unnatural: “Is it… a couple?”

“A couple?”

Anselm laughed heartily: “Mingfuluo, you’re overthinking. How could it be a couple?”

The young noble adjusted his collar, tapping his cane on the ground.

In an instant, he subdued his youthful energy, his aura becoming steady and refined, exuding a mature composure that made him seem in his twenties despite his youth.

The young Hydra smiled:

“Of course… father and daughter.”