THIP Chapter 85

[Main quest completed. The host will exit the mission world in three minutes. Please prepare accordingly.]

The system’s voice echoed coldly in her mind. Mu Liuyin opened her eyes after finishing the chant of passage. Before her, there was no one left.

She stood in silence, staring at the now-empty space. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears until finally, they began to fall.

Mu Liuyin covered her mouth with her hand. The tears streamed down, and before long, streaks of fresh blood seeped through her fingers.

This was the backlash from the Soul Trap Formation—Li Xi had managed to crack it open.

[Countdown: 3, 2, 1…]

[0]

The frigid countdown in her mind finally ended. Mu Liuyin’s hand dropped from her lips, her dark eyes fluttered shut, and a final tear slipped from her lashes.

By the time she returned to the system space, Mu Liuyin hadn’t fully recovered. She stood by the lakeshore, her dark eyes unreadable, the emotions within them unknown even to herself.

A fuzzy little kitten padded over and curled up by her feet. At the same time, a transparent, bluish mission screen slowly appeared before her.

But this time, what showed on it was different from all the previous mission completions. This time, it listed every mission, starting from the first, all the way to the last.

Aside from the failed mission involving Ming Li, every other mission had been completed perfectly. On the pale blue screen, the progress bar had reached 100%.

Mu Liuyin stared quietly at the first and last missions. Her gaze lowered, and she whispered, “All the mission targets were Li Xi. I guess… it did come full circle, didn’t it?”

Xiao Jiu didn’t dare respond—because in truth, every one of those targets had been the same person.

But that wasn’t something it was allowed to tell her.

Mu Liuyin let out a soft laugh. She looked down at the kitten and asked, “So… I can go back now?”

The kitten let out a small “meow.” Its heterochromatic eyes blinked at her, and it rubbed itself against her ankle, reluctant to part. In a small voice, it replied, “Yes.”

Mu Liuyin bent down and scooped the kitten into her arms, gently rubbing its fur. “I get to make any wish I want?”

The kitten nodded seriously.

“Alright, then my wish is—” Mu Liuyin paused, then said softly, “If all the mission targets across these worlds are the same person, then… I want her to be my girlfriend.”

Xiao Jiu: ！！！！！！

The kitten’s eyes went wide in shock.

Mu Liuyin stroked its fur gently. Xiao Jiu stammered, “W-What if… they’re not all the same person?”

“There is no what if,” she replied.

Xiao Jiu blinked at her in confusion.

“Xiao Jiu,” Mu Liuyin murmured as her eyes slowly closed, “I’m going home.”

The kitten’s watery eyes shimmered. It let out a few more soft meows and rubbed against her again. The next moment, Mu Liuyin vanished from the system space.

Her pitch-black eyes slowly opened. Mu Liuyin was still standing by the window. She looked up at the night sky, stars scattered across a cloudless expanse.

Everything was just as it had been the moment Xiao Jiu first bound her to the system.

If not for how deeply the memories of those worlds had etched themselves into her heart, Mu Liuyin might have thought she’d hallucinated it all.

But how could a hallucination leave marks that deep?

Her gaze lowered slightly. She thought of Li Xi’s voice—so heavy with despair, her never-ending tears, and the love that had burned unwavering for nearly nine centuries, refusing to pass into reincarnation.

She stood there for a long moment, then calmly reached out to close the window. After that, she washed up and went to sleep.

In the main god space, the long-dormant Qing Zhi—her soul shattered and broken—finally opened her eyes after who knows how long.

…

And as it turned out, Xiao Jiu hadn’t lied about granting a wish. On Mu Liuyin’s second day back, she saw that shameless person again.

She stared at the familiar figure standing outside her door, that delicate, elegant face, and those pale, familiar eyes—and for the first time, her heart truly relaxed.

“Yin Yin…” Qing Zhi stepped forward and hugged her tightly.

Mu Liuyin whispered, “It is you.”

Qing Zhi kissed the edge of her ear, sounding a little aggrieved. “I thought… Yin Yin would wish for me to be resurrected.”

“I thought that too, at first,” Mu Liuyin said after a pause. “When Xiao Jiu forcefully bound me, I did think that.”

“But… the person who made my heart waver was Li Xi.”

Though she suspected the mission targets across the different worlds were all the same person—Qing Zhi—Mu Liuyin was not one to gamble. Without absolute certainty, she had chosen the one who held greater weight in her heart.

Qing Zhi pouted. “Li Xi is me. So no matter what, the one Yin Yin loves… is only me.”

Mu Liuyin didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned in and said, “Then tell me, ‘Lord God,’ how exactly did you manage to make every version of yourself in every world so pitiful?”

Qing Zhi: “…”

Ouch. That was harsh.

In truth, Qing Zhi had once been just another mission executor—one of many. Her system was named 009, which meant Qing Zhi was the ninth person ever to be bound to a system.

Back then, there weren’t many taskers, and everyone followed the main system’s missions dutifully. But as more and more derivative worlds were created, the number of taskers grew rapidly.

Until one day, because of this surge in numbers, Qing Zhi accidentally discovered something: the main system was planning to purge certain hosts, specifically, those who had been bound from the beginning.

Qing Zhi wasn’t the only one who found out. Others did too. So they banded together to find a way to overthrow the main system.

“But later I learned,” Qing Zhi said softly, “they had already planned to overthrow it long ago. The main system only decided to eliminate us because it sensed their intentions.”

“But by then, I had no way out,” she continued. “Taking the main system’s place was the only way to survive.”

Mu Liuyin’s heart clenched at those words.

Qing Zhi noticed the pain in her eyes and smiled gently. “I should’ve died back then—because they all did. But I kept thinking… if I die, I’ll never be able to reach my Yin Yin.”

“So I lived. 009 took over the main system’s operations,” she said quietly. “But my soul was too weak, and scattered into the small worlds.”

“009 can’t interfere directly with events in those worlds. It could only find a mission executor to wake me up. And before I fell into slumber, I left behind a string of code in a backup copy of 009. So no matter what, whoever Xiao Jiu bonded with, it would always be you.”

Mu Liuyin blinked, caught off guard. “So… Xiao Jiu is a copy of 009?”

Qing Zhi nodded and smiled. “Yep. 009’s a quiet one, but who knew its copy would be so… adorable?”

Mu Liuyin: “…”

More like timid and a crybaby.

Sensing her disdain, Qing Zhi leaned in and kissed her.

“What if I hadn’t been able to wake you up?” Mu Liuyin asked quietly.

“There is no what if,” Qing Zhi replied gently. “If you couldn’t… then who else could?”

Mu Liuyin’s heart fluttered. Qing Zhi leaned in and kissed her lips.

As clothes were undone, Qing Zhi looked down at the woman beneath her, whose dark eyes glistened with tears. “Yin Yin…” she whispered.

Mu Liuyin’s lashes trembled. She closed her eyes and returned the kiss.

In Qing Zhi’s pale eyes, she saw the shy, nervous look on Mu Liuyin’s face. The joy of finally being reciprocated bloomed in her heart like sunlight.

Her gaze was filled with love, and her touch was gentle, but Mu Liuyin still whimpered in pain. She bit Qing Zhi’s lip, soft moans escaping uncontrollably.

As Qing Zhi moved slowly and carefully, the furrow in Mu Liuyin’s brows gradually eased.

When it finally ended, Mu Liuyin opened her eyes. Her dark pupils sparkled like stars soaked in water.

“Yin Yin,” Qing Zhi whispered, “I love you.”

In that instant, Mu Liuyin’s mind went blank. The feelings that had been wiped clean by the system came rushing back, flooding her heart.

For the first time, she truly felt it all—Qing Zhi’s despair in every world as she watched her beloved die. Her unwavering love over lifetimes. And her feelings—so long buried, denied, and hidden.

A tear slipped silently down her cheek. But Mu Liuyin smiled.

“I love you, too,” she said.

THE END OF THE NOVEL