Chapter 39: Jin Xueli · The Illusion of the Original Plan

As expected... it really was me. There should never have been any doubt—the true Jin Xueli was always me.

The moment this thought surfaced, it felt as if something that had tightly bound Jin Xueli suddenly loosened.

She collapsed to the floor involuntarily, burying her face in her hands and crying out loud.

Her tears were not born of sorrow or fear; this crying was more like a release—a venting of the unease and suspicion, the desperate struggle and near-death memories, the pain and terror of having her throat torn and shoulders slashed... It was as if all of that was being expelled from her body through these sobs, leaving behind only a weary and empty Jin Xueli.

When she finally stopped, the echo in the exhibition hall gradually faded, restoring a cold silence.

There was no trace left of what had happened. No blood on the floor, no fire axe or its gnawed dents. The artwork made of long wooden strips still sat intact in its place, unbroken. Naturally, there were no splinters embedded in her face or limbs.

Her rugged backpack lay tossed in a corner of the hall. Jin Xueli walked over and dug out a long towel from it—dry and soft, untouched by the saliva of her other self.

No one in this world, except Jin Xueli herself, knew that she had died once tonight.

If, after killing her, the residents had not melted the candle or altered the history of meeting Anthony, she would have remained forever on the icy floor of the underground exhibition hall, gradually becoming part of the nest.

Shaking slightly as if gripped by a bone-rattling dread, Jin Xueli stepped toward the candle. Her sneakers made faint sounds on the floor.

Since the residents’ replicated history had never actually happened, the candle before her had naturally never been touched—its creamy white surface was cool and hard to the touch; its shadow cast silently without a flicker.

On the candle, a line of small letters emerged: 2026.5.19.

Jin Xueli jerked her hand away as if shocked.

After a pause, she gave a bitter laugh. She had been haunted by two separate streams of memory.

Though the candle had been the reason she survived today, the residents’ wanton melting and altering of history still unsettled her greatly—after all, the residents hadn’t melted the candle to save her. If Jin Xueli recklessly plunged her hand into history, who could tell what unforeseen consequences might arise?

So the candle was neither something she could take back nor use with peace of mind...

She sighed and, after some thought, decided to leave it alone for now.

To be honest, looking at the candle inevitably reminded her of the resident who had copied her form; it was better to calm her emotions first and think later about what to do with it.

No one was likely to steal such a massive candle anyway—if anyone could haul this giant, dozens of meters long, out of an underground exhibition hall with no windows and narrow stairs, then Jin Xueli would have to admit defeat.

She picked up the backpack from the floor and checked her phone in her pocket. Everything was there except the hunting knife.

In the current timeline, the hunting knife had remained in Anthony’s hands; after witnessing it plunged into her own neck, Jin Xueli had no desire to reclaim it.

Anthony...

Her hatred for him had only sharpened and solidified, wishing it could transform into a weapon to pierce his belly—since the residents had vanished, all her fury was directed at this harasser.

Before stepping into the elevator, she glanced back at the huge candle in the distance.

“The interlude is over,” she muttered to herself.

Next, she would follow the original plan: go to 99th Street, retrieve the illusion there, and decisively eliminate Anthony. This time, Jin Xueli would not be distracted or veer off course.

After leaving the Museum of Modern Art, she realized that being copied by the residents once wasn’t entirely bad.

She had prepared herself to walk almost two days to reach 99th Street.

The journey, in truth, was only about fifteen kilometers, but the nest’s paths were difficult and fraught with unexpected dangers—the “hopscotch” incident was a prime example.

But now, thanks to a taxi ride, the distance was greatly shortened, and the risks avoided. Coupled with a bit of serendipity, Jin Xueli arrived at 99th Street within just half an hour.

Standing beneath the street sign, she glanced around before pulling out her phone to check.

November 17th, 2:12 AM.

She had entered the nest on the night of the 16th, before ten o’clock.

After listening to the entire broadcast, she had been delayed for a while on Colorado Avenue by the hopscotch trap—estimating roughly, she must have been copied by the “Vulture” resident after midnight.

Normally, the “Vulture” resident would only transform after someone died, but tonight, the hopscotch seemed to be offering it an opportunity, forcing it to copy her...

No, no—that was part of the previous memory stream. In the current timeline, she escaped the fate of being copied.

The “Vulture” resident, having lost its target, might still be wandering around Colorado Avenue.

Forget it, it’s all in the past—the unpleasant images in her mind suppressed, Jin Xueli focused back on the present.

Under the dark night sky, a staircase silently stretched downward, disappearing into a pool of darkness.

Above the stairway stood a sign marked with the letter “D,” indicating the entrance to a subway station on Line D. From the sidewalk, the darkness below looked like congealed ink, as if her gaze would break on its surface.

Jin Xueli remembered the first time she saw this stairway leading to the subway station—she hesitated for a long time, afraid to descend.

She took out her phone, turned on the flashlight, and shone it on the side wall of the stairs.

Where the station name should have been, only a line of crooked black letters appeared: “Going down holds a surprise.”

Yes, it was exactly that phrase.

Good—it always was that phrase.

November was an odd-numbered month; during odd months, the subway entrance displayed “Going down holds a surprise,” while in even months, it changed to “Going down holds an embrace.”

When there was a “surprise,” it meant it was safe to enter the subway station and retrieve illusions—the nest sometimes honest in unexpected ways—but when there was an “embrace,” no one was allowed to descend.

Jin Xueli still didn’t know what would happen if one went down during an “embrace,” but she hoped never to find out.

Holding her flashlight, she carefully descended the stairs, passed through the broken ticket gate, and arrived at a platform dimly lit by a few scattered white lights.

Most of the platform lay in shadow, with walls on both sides.

Jin Xueli had only ever entered this one subway station within the nest; she didn’t know if all the stations were like this—no tracks, no trains, the platform sealed off by walls on either side.

In the center of the platform, several people turned their heads toward her.

“Hunter,” said one man wearing a baseball cap, disinterested, then looked away.

“Yes,” Jin Xueli replied, lowering her phone’s flashlight slightly to avoid shining it in their faces. “Why so many people today?”

There were four hunters in total, seemingly paired off in two groups by their positions.

Jin Xueli had been here several times before and knew this place was well-known among hunters. Many came here occasionally to obtain illusions.

Because of the number of visitors, an order had formed—hunters usually took turns, grabbing what they needed and leaving, respecting each other’s space. But this was the first time she’d encountered four gathered together.

“Look,” a woman with a gentle face lifted her chin. “You arrived just in time—the vending machine’s restocked.”