SES Chapter 227 Part 2

When Mu Dai opened her eyes again, Little Seven was dragging her back into the ripples.

She stared at it, then suddenly sprang up and slapped it hard across the face.

She didn’t know what it felt like—only that Little Seven’s head spun several times on its neck before snapping back into place.

Clutching its face, it screamed, “You hit me! You hit me!”

Mu Dai shouted, “Why didn’t you say that earlier?!”

“I did say it. I told you not to interfere. Blame your friend—she knew the two of you together couldn’t beat them. Why did she come back? Did she think grabbing a shovel meant she could win?”

Little Seven snorted, muttering, “That’s just stupidity. If she’d run away, wouldn’t everyone have been happy?”

Run away—of course, that would’ve made everyone happy.

But was Wenwen wrong for coming back, knowing how dangerous it was?

Little Seven kept rambling. “See? All that effort for nothing. If you’d known this would happen, you shouldn’t have interfered. In the end, you barely changed anything anyway…”

Mu Dai walked slowly, almost dazed, watching the scenes ripple past beside her.

She saw Huo Zihong and Shen Wen’s family arrive at the site. Saw Shen Wen’s mother nearly collapse. Saw the hospital. The cemetery. Her home is being smashed apart. Herself kneeling.

She said softly, “How was it all for nothing?”

She was grateful she hadn’t stood by and done nothing—even though, once again, she had lost such a good friend by the narrowest margin.

Little Seven kept urging her not to interfere. Keep your head down. Run forward.

So—should she interfere, or not?

Was the first half of her life meant to mirror her original path exactly, or should she follow her heart?

She’d had regrets. She’d made mistakes. People say you shouldn’t make the same mistake twice—if you do it again, it’s no longer a mistake. It’s a choice.

In the Hall of the Four Mirage Towers, Little Seven’s words were half-truths laced with malice. She needed to make her own decision.

The right decision.

The ripples wavered. Mu Dai stopped.

It was night. The room was dark. She could make out the outline of a bed—and someone lying on it.

The bedside lamp flicked on. Teenage Mu Dai sat up, barefoot, got off the bed as if to go to the bathroom—then suddenly sat down cross-legged on the floor.

Mu Dai let out a long breath.

She’d seen this scene before, in Dr. He Ruihua’s office, on a videotape Aunt Hong had recorded.

She smiled faintly and said to Little Seven, “Dissociative identity disorder—that’s the term, right? I guess this is when I’m about to split.”

With that, she stepped into the ripples and sat down cross-legged across from her younger self on the cold floor.

She stared at the girl.

So young. Thin. A child’s face, but eyes filled with confusion. Her lips kept moving.

“What should I do… what should I do…”

Then she reached under her pillow and pulled out a knife.

Mu Dai held her breath, her gaze never wavering. Maybe things would unfold a little differently from the real world. Would little Mu Dai kill herself? Was the reason the knife never pierced her heart that she had interfered again?

Clang.

The fruit knife fell to the floor.

Mu Dai heard giggling.

Little Mu Dai was laughing—giggling—her fingers twisting strands of hair that hung over her shoulder. Then she tilted her head and said, “It’s not my fault, Wenwen. Don’t blame me.”

In the next instant, terror flooded her face. She screamed, “Don’t blame me! I didn’t mean it! I’ll never ask you to go to the movies again—really!”

She curled up, scrambling on all fours toward the side, fumbled open the wardrobe door, and crawled inside, trembling.

A chilling cold crawled up Mu Dai’s spine. She stood and slowly moved to the wardrobe.

She saw little Mu Dai huddled in the corner, speaking timidly into the darkness.

—Mom, do you want a peach?

—I didn’t steal anyone else’s meat bun.

—If Aunt Hong doesn’t like what I say, she’ll send me back. I don’t want to go back.

Little Seven’s shrill voice piped up beside her. “Ah—she’s had a mental breakdown. She’s crazy.”

Mu Dai snapped, “Nonsense. She’s not crazy. I just couldn’t handle it back then, so I… I split. Dr. He showed me the video—there were three personalities. The core personality hid away. Later, there was Little Pocket—”

Little Seven’s long arm crept up the wardrobe door. “That’s what crazy is…”

Mu Dai said nothing.

The room was deathly quiet. The ticking of the alarm clock echoed steadily. Turning her head, she saw a faint glimmer of light from a concealed angle—the camera Aunt Hong had installed on Dr. He’s advice, because she was worried.

Mu Dai suddenly strode forward and merged into little Mu Dai’s body.

Then she walked straight to the corner, moved aside the clutter hiding it, took out the camera, pressed the button, and rewound the tape.

Little Seven asked, “What are you doing?”

“Erasing this part.”

When she finished, she put the camera back, picked up the alarm clock, placed it directly in front of her, and sat down cross-legged again.

The second hand glowed faint green, ticking neatly around the dial.

Mu Dai watched it steadily.

Little Seven bent its long body into an unnatural curve, its rugby-ball-shaped head bobbing in front of her. “What are you doing now?”

“I’m tired,” Mu Dai said. “I need to rest.”

“Don’t rest too long.”

“I know.”

She stared at the clock face. A faint smile slowly appeared on her lips.

Back then, Dr. He had said, “Mu Dai, you need to learn self-hypnosis. Turn your gaze inward. Go and talk to your other personalities.”

Mu Dai slowly closed her eyes.

Her gaze turned inward.

She entered that collapsed, chaotic mental world.

This fragile little Mu Dai needed to be stripped of the guilt she couldn’t yet bear.

And she needed a protector—one without principles, strong enough to shield her.

In this shattered, disordered inner world, there would be no Little Pocket, no Mu Dai Number Two.

But that was fine.

She could create them herself.