TSFLIP Chapter 919

Extra 5

Song Wuxia changed his appearance. He turned himself into an elderly man named Yi Su, rather than a young man named Yi Su who still bore Song Wuxia’s face.

Baili Mo, too, was different from the Baili Mo of before. In this world, Baili Mo had lost his arrogance and recklessness; instead, he was gentle, courteous, and far more calculating. He knew that Song Wuxia’s existence threatened his own position, so he began pretending to be mute as a form of protection. He also understood more clearly the importance of the Prime Minister’s support, which was why he treated Fengguang with such tenderness. When Fengguang later saw him together with Yiren, he chose to give that flower to Fengguang instead.

And Fengguang accepted it.

Song Wuxia had not failed to consider killing the version of himself from ten years ago and replacing him at Fengguang’s side. But the irresistible force of the butterfly effect quickly compelled him to abandon that idea. He could not tolerate even the slightest mistake. There was only one thing he needed to ensure—Fengguang had to live.

And first, he had to make sure Fengguang would not fall in love with Baili Mo.

So he imprisoned Baili Mo, locking him in a water dungeon beneath the Cold Palace. Donning a mask, Song Wuxia became the refined and elegant Crown Prince.

Yiren soon discovered that he was not the real Baili Mo. A person’s face could be altered, but their pulse could not. But what did her discovery matter?

Song Wuxia took Yiren to the water dungeon, where she saw Baili Mo barely clinging to life. Yiren surrendered easily. For Baili Mo to survive, she could only obey Song Wuxia’s orders—everything must continue as normal, and no one in the Eastern Palace was to grow suspicious.

Especially Fengguang.

Song Wuxia watched as Fengguang and the version of himself ten years younger went from sharp antagonism to inseparable intimacy. At the same time, he suppressed the urge to kill that younger self and continued playing the role of Baili Mo.

Still, now and then, stealing Fengguang away to his own side and making his younger self suffer a loss was rather amusing.

And so, that night, the younger Song Wuxia made his move, claiming Fengguang as his own.

At the time, he thought that the first time he had truly been intimate with Fengguang should have been in his Cuizhu Pavilion—on the second occasion when Huyao brought her there. He hadn’t been able to restrain himself and had taken her then.

A full month earlier than this impatient young man.

The day of the hunting grounds was fast approaching, and he had no choice but to seek out his other self. When he tore off the mask and faced a mirror image of himself, the slightly younger Song Wuxia froze for a moment, then quickly accepted the existence of his future self. He understood himself well enough to know this man truly came from ten years ahead. But after hearing what the future held, he could no longer remain calm.

The two Song Wuxias went together to find Xuangu. No explanations were needed—upon seeing two Song Wuxias, Xuangu immediately understood what had happened. For the sake of the common people, he could not refuse their request and revealed all of Baili Min’s plans.

Fengguang survived. She survived together with Song Wuxia.

And he was the other Song Wuxia, the one who possessed a Fengguang who had already died.

There was only one Fengguang left, but there were two Song Wuxias.

He thought that now, he could finally kill that man.

But it was as if his other self knew exactly what he was thinking. After leaving the hunting grounds, he took Fengguang and vanished far away.

What he forgot was Huyao.

In truth, no amount of avoidance would help. Their minds worked the same way; neither could escape the other’s grasp. Following Huyao all the way to Jiangnan, Song Wuxia arrived at a courtyard.

He heard laughter and cheerful voices from inside, and he knocked on the door.

From the other side came a pleasant female voice. “Who is it?”

His lips parted, but before he could utter a single sound, darkness swallowed his vision.

When he opened his eyes again, all he could see was the canopy of the bed.

He felt movement beside him. The woman who had her arms tightly wrapped around his waist poked her head out from beneath the covers, her eyes opening to a drowsy slit as she lazily asked, “What time is it?”

He didn’t answer.

She blinked in confusion, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Are you not awake yet either?”

“Yes…” he finally replied, turning onto his side and pulling her tightly into his arms, as if he wanted to merge her into his very bones and never be separated again.

She squirmed uncomfortably in his embrace. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“I dreamed… I dreamed that you died.”

She laughed softly. “Aren’t I right here with you?”

“Yes. You’re right here with me…” He rolled over, pinning her beneath him as gentle kisses fell across her brow, her lips, her neck, and then her pale, smooth chest.

So passionate this early in the morning—he really must have had a nightmare.

She lay still, letting him kiss and touch her, privately thinking that a wife as considerate as herself was truly hard to come by.

She would never know what kind of desperate, lonely years he had crossed to be able to return to her side.