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The man crumpled to the ground under the heavy blow, and the people around were momentarily stunned. By the time they reacted, Song Weishi had already taken down several more.

"Little punks, barely grown and already playing thugs. Your parents wasted their effort raising animals. I thought you were real gangsters, but you're just selling cold noodles. Who are you trying to impress? Picking on me and my mom!"

Song Weishi was seething with rage, her hands merciless as she struck. Vague childhood memories surfaced—the two of them scraping by from poverty, constantly bullied by the world, as if everything was spiraling downward.

Now even their stall was being driven off. She couldn't take it anymore. Or rather, she was never someone who could tolerate bullying.

The barefoot don't fear the shoed. This was a society of laws, and they'd already paid protection money. Why should they let these people push them around?

They were all stall vendors—who was better than whom?

Why could he do it and she couldn't?

There was no logic to it. If he wanted to bring more people, let him. Song Weishi wouldn't back down.

If she kept yielding, everyone would know they were the easiest targets in the market. Taking a step back didn't lead to boundless skies; it led to endless abuse.

Sure enough, after getting knocked down, the men initially tried to charge again, but Song Weishi's strength was overwhelming, and she dealt with them with ease.

She'd taken a few hits herself, but no one dared come forward to drive them off anymore.

Xia Juan watched her, tears streaming, and her heart ached as she touched her daughter's wounds. When the men had rushed in earlier, she'd thrown herself in front of her daughter without hesitation, only to be pulled back behind her.

Her daughter's movements were swift and precise—she hadn't even needed her help before driving them all off.

Song Weishi turned back to the cold noodles. A few people had filmed the incident, but she didn't mind. It wasn't her fault.

Her movements were practiced, but a voice in her heart kept whispering that this wasn't how things should be.

Song Weishi paused. What shouldn't be this way?

If someone hit you, did you just stand there and take it?

She rolled her eyes at her own absurd thought.

She handed a wrapped container of cold noodles to a young woman who'd been standing nearby watching the whole commotion. Song Weishi nodded at her, not paying much attention.

With the troublemakers gone, business went smoothly that day. They sold out most of the stock and packed up early to head home.

Cramped in their tiny rented room, Song Weishi felt a peace she'd never known before. She lay down and fell asleep.

The next morning, she woke up early and watched her mother bustle around before heading out to the milk tea shop where she worked. It was busy from the moment she arrived, and she was churning out orders nonstop.

Midway through, her coworker stepped out to eat. The girl from the night market earlier also came in, ordered a cup, and sat down to sip it slowly.

Song Weishi was run off her feet until the manager burst in, checking the orders and demanding to know why the tickets on the counter hadn't been filled.

Song Weishi glanced at them—forty cups total. There was no way to catch up now, but it wasn't her fault at all. She'd never printed those tickets.

The coworker returned, took one look, and shrank back without a word, clearly guilty.

Song Weishi set down her work and stated the facts: "I didn't print that order. And he just stepped out without telling me anything. Why are you putting the blame on me?"

The manager's stern expression flickered with impatience. "If you made a mistake, just admit it. The order's out and you're here. If you didn't do it, that's on you. Stop shifting the blame onto others. You can leave right now—don't bother coming in tomorrow."

Song Weishi peeled off her work uniform and gave a thin smile. "Fine. You people squeeze every drop of labor and pay peanuts. Who'd want to work here anyway? Pay me what you owe now, or you won't be doing business today."

The order tickets kept spitting out. If the flow stopped now, the mess downstream would be a nightmare.

The manager had assumed a young girl would be easy to handle—most naive students scare off with a little intimidation—but this one was proving stubborn.

Song Weishi stood her ground, refusing to budge an inch. She hadn't done anything wrong, so why apologize?

They were the ones running the business. What did she have to fear?

They faced off for a while, and the backlog of orders kept growing. Unable to afford any more delay, the manager's face turned ashen as he pulled out his phone to transfer the money.

Song Weishi: "120 a day, seven days, that's 840. Don't miscount."

Manager: ...

Song Weishi: "If you won't, I'll post this online and expose you. Not one bit of this was my fault."

As more onlookers gathered outside, the manager caved under the pressure and paid her to leave.

He asked her to wash the uniform and return it. Song Weishi tossed it right at him. No way was she washing it for him—he'd never asked anyone else to, so why her? If anyone said losing out was a blessing, they could have a double dose.

She had nothing to pack, so she grabbed her water bottle and headed home, losing no time. She ran into her mother just as she was coming back from outside.

Her skin was blazing hot, her throat parched, and she looked drained. Song Weishi knew immediately—she'd gotten heatstroke.

She hurried her inside, turned on the old air conditioner that rattled and hummed. Xia Juan tried to turn it off, but Song Weishi firmly stopped her.

"Heatstroke can't be taken lightly. Don't move."

She got ice from the fridge, filled a basin with water, and added the ice. Then she wrung out a towel and handed it to Xia Juan to wipe herself down.

The little room cooled quickly. Song Weishi turned on the fan and aimed it at her mother before running out to buy a few bottles of sports drink.

The two of them rarely splurged on such things, and buying several at once felt like blowing money on two good meals. It pained Xia Juan just to look at it.

"Yueyue, it's your mother holding you back."

Her collection of scrap cardboard still sat in the room. Song Weishi smiled. "It's fine. As long as you're okay. If you're still feeling sick, we'll go to the hospital. Your health comes first. No amount of money is worth more than your well-being, got it?"

Xia Juan nodded. Her daughter had grown up, and she felt a swell of pride.

The two rested at home for half a day, but Xia Juan still felt nauseous and queasy. This time, she didn't tough it out and went with Song Weishi to the hospital.

The place was packed. They leaned against the wall in the corridor, waiting for their number to be called in the emergency queue.

Outside, night had fully fallen, but the crowd only grew.

Song Weishi sat on the floor against the wall. In the lull, she spotted that familiar girl again. It was only the third time they'd crossed paths in a single day.

She recognized her not by her face, but by the red string bracelet on her wrist with a tiny walnut charm—a style popular over a decade ago. Almost no one wore them now.

She couldn't help feeling it was odd. How did she keep running into this girl everywhere?

But there was no point dwelling on it. Maybe she just lived nearby.

Still, something deep down felt wrong, like none of this was supposed to unfold this way, as if she was living through something she'd never experienced before.

Every turn defied the usual pattern. But Song Weishi felt she was following her own truest instincts, and because she was steady, she pushed the strange feeling aside.

She glanced at her mother's weary face and craned her neck to see how long the queue was, hoping their number would come up soon.

That's when she overheard the manager and the coworker talking nearby. She heard the full story of what had happened earlier—and learned the manager had originally planned to deposit her wages into the coworker's account. He'd only abandoned the idea because this college student turned out to be such a tough nut to crack.

His tone sounded like he'd lost money, full of bitter regret.

Just then, the coworker spotted Song Weishi.

He started to stand and hurl insults, but for some reason, his body froze in place as if pinned down.

All he could do was watch the two of them grow smugger. Finally, the coworker spat, "And that's why you had to fight for those few hundred bucks. You broke-ass piece of trash. Here's 20. Go get your old lady registered. Pathetic."

Song Weishi couldn't hold back her fury any longer. Something snapped, and she shot to her feet, carefully laid her sleeping mother down, and walked over to the coworker.

"That's what I earned. Who are you to run your mouth?"

She didn't give him a second to react. One slap sent his head snapping to the side, and she pocketed the 20 he'd held out.

"You've got a screw loose. You work at your relative's shop, the two of you in cahoots, and instead of keeping your heads down, you brag about it. You're so eager to hand me money? Fork it all over!"

With that, she hauled him up from the floor, ignoring the crowd around her, and drove another punch into his face.

When she'd been insulted moments ago, none of these people lifted a finger to help. Now that someone was getting hit, they all scrambled to play mediator, piling on to break it up. She couldn't wrap her head around it.

The instigator was clearly the worst offender, but they seemed blind to that, only wanting to stop the fight.

Song Weishi kicked each and every one of them. That was her code: she didn't hold grudges, but she didn't let wrongs go unanswered either.

After putting a couple of kicks into the coworker, she fished all the cash out of his pockets and stuffed it into hers. Then she pointed at the manager, who'd come up to intervene. "Think you can push me around like this? I'll raise such a stink you'll close your doors. No more business for you. Let's see who's in the right!"

The moment those words left her mouth, the world around her seemed to freeze. Everyone became a still frame, time itself halted.

Song Weishi looked around in bewilderment. She spotted the girl among the crowd, red-eyed, gazing down at her sleeping mother.

Her eyes brimmed with endless longing and confusion.

"Mom."

She called out, and in an instant, all her memories came flooding back. Song Weishi remembered—she'd been searching for medical equipment in the hospital. How had she ended up here?

She'd lived through a real day in this girl's life. It had been Xia Tianyue's last day before she became a monster.

She was trapped in a prison of regret, a loop where everyone who entered relived that same day over and over.

She regretted not standing bravely in front of her mother that night to chase off the stall bully.

There was no missing it—the man was all bluster and no bite. The thought filled her with remorse.

She was a grown adult. She should have used the law to defend her rights and dignity.

Then there was the milk tea shop. She resented that she'd only cried, lacking even the courage to argue for herself, wasting hours on a pathetic explanation and ending up working for the manager for free without getting a single cent back.

When she got home and found her mother collapsed from heatstroke in their rented room—if only she'd come back earlier, if only she'd worked harder.

All of it, every last bit, was her own doing.

She hated the world for all its unfairness. She hated herself for not catching her mother's illness in time.

If she could just do it all over again, wouldn't everything be different? Every time she fell into this loop, she killed the bystanders who'd done nothing, until there was no one left alive in the place.

She hated everything—or rather, the one she hated most was her own cowardly self.

She replayed those agonizing memories again and again.

Until Song Weishi appeared and broke the cycle, and she suddenly saw a different ending in it.

The girl walked through the crowd toward her, step by step. "If I'd had half your courage back then, maybe my mom would still be okay."

She sat down slowly on the floor, took Xia Juan's hand, leaned against her, and gently wrapped her mother's arm around herself.

In a flash, the colors around them began to drain away. When Song Weishi blinked, she was back on the hospital corridor.

Before her was a hideous face.

The girl's body had kept its original form, but her face had fully twisted into something monstrous.

The human thoughts and memories were entirely gone. Behind her, the skeletal arm still draped over her body. She rose slowly, and the arm fell away, the skeleton collapsing to the ground with a thud.

The being before her was now a complete monster. Song Weishi stumbled back two steps and shouted, "Someone, help!"

The monster ignored her, its fanged mouth yawning impossibly wide.

Song Weishi grabbed the walkie-talkie at her waist. "Where is everyone?! I'm on the second floor. There's a monster here. I can't hold it off!"

She talked and backed away, her other hand frantically fumbling for the sidearm at her waist. She'd loaded it from her space before leaving the vehicle, just in case.

This monster was powerful—the illusion it had shown her was unlike anything she'd ever seen, meaning it was far stronger than her.

But something felt off. By all rights, it should have defeated her inside the illusion, not waited until she came out to attack.

The others were nowhere to be found. She called out, but no one came. Static hissed from the walkie-talkie—maybe their replies had collided and garbled together, so she'd missed them.

She didn't dare overestimate herself. A monster this strong, she couldn't take alone. She'd come to haul equipment, not gamble with her life.

Gun in one hand, blade in the other, she faced the monster as it charged. She slashed twice. The creature didn't flinch. Its body was like the slimes she'd encountered before; the cuts left no mark.

But it was far more troublesome than those slimes. Hitting it felt like striking rubber—the blade couldn't sink in at all.

With cold steel alone, she'd never put it down. Song Weishi switched to the silver pistol from her space.

She kept shouting into the radio: "I can't hold on! Captain, where are you?!"

She'd been backed into a corner. The fire exit door behind her had somehow shut. She fired once. The bullet tore through the monster's mouth and out the back of its smooth skull.

At the same moment, the system's voice chimed in her mind: "Congratulations, Host, on completing the mission: Heal patient Xia Tianyue. Reward delivered to your mailbox. Please check."

The monster collapsed to the ground. Oddly, a pool of bright red blood spilled from the back of its head—like a human's.

Song Weishi looked at the silver pistol in her hand. It really worked wonders. Thank goodness she'd bought it on sale.

It lay on the ground without struggling. Those beautiful eyes, still round and open, stared at Song Weishi.

It was only then that the walkie-talkie crackled to life: "What's going on?! Xiao Song, where are you?!"

"Sister Song! Sister Song, you disappeared! Where are you?!"

"..."

She'd been on the upper floor with the others, taking inventory, when she seemed to vanish. One second she was there, the next she wasn't.

She knew—the monster had pulled her down. That's why she was on the second floor.

She looked at the skeleton, then at Xia Tianyue lying on the floor.

Her hands were soft, but covered in calluses—the marks of years of hard labor.

She lifted her hand slightly, and her hideous face twisted into a smile. Song Weishi walked over. The monster was down; it posed no threat now.

Song Weishi crouched slowly and heard the fanged mouth form two words: "Thank you."

Thank you for fulfilling the wish she'd always had in the dream—for doing what she'd wanted to do.

Those beautiful eyes shed tears, and no more words would come.

"This... is for you..."

With that, she closed her eyes forever, all life fading from her.

Her finger pointed at her mouth, where a tiny walnut sat—the one from the bracelet she'd worn.

Song Weishi picked it up and put it in her pocket, saying thank you.

She dragged the girl's body over beside the pile of bones. It fell with a crash, like an empty shell.

Two heads nestled together, hands intertwined, never to be parted again.

The fire door was smashed open with brute force, and the squad members poured in.

"Xiao Song! Are you okay?!"

Xie Yi rushed to her side, scanning Song Weishi from head to toe. Seeing she wasn't injured, she let out a breath.

Her hands were trembling. In her panic, she'd completely forgotten about the tools and had broken the door with her bare hands, her fists covered in blood. She clenched them tight, not even feeling the pain.

She'd gone into the illusion almost the moment Song Weishi came out of it.

But before long, she'd woken up too.

Song Weishi: "I'm fine. It's okay, it's all handled. The monster's dead. Did you find the equipment? If so, let's head up and haul it out quickly."

The others exhaled in relief. Jiang Qingrou shot a glance at Xie Yi's bloody hands, her guilt surging even stronger.

She'd thrown herself in to break down the door without a second thought—and Jiang Qingrou had even mistaken Xie Yi for Song Weishi's enemy before.

She must have been frantic. This was Jiang Qingrou's fault for not thinking things through. At least it had ended well, with no major mishaps.

Chu Miaoxuan sighed with relief. "Glad you're safe. We found it. Let's head down first. The upper floors are mostly cleared—just have the moving crew come up and transport the equipment out."

Song Weishi nodded. The others walked ahead, and she turned to see the gash on Xie Yi's hand and asked, "What happened?"

Ke Shaoyi rummaged through her bag for gauze. "When she broke through the door just now, she was so worried about you that she got hurt."

Xie Yi said nothing. She took the hydrogen peroxide Ke Shaoyi offered, poured it over the wound, and it immediately frothed—the sight alone was enough to make anyone wince.

Song Weishi hissed in sympathy and looked up at Xie Yi's face. She seemed to feel nothing, waiting for the reaction to subside before examining the wound again.

Song Weishi silently admired her. As expected of the female lead—even her pain tolerance was top-tier.

Honestly, she was getting used to this feeling now.

It was dangerous, sure, but bearable. At least with teammates like Xie Yi at her back, she felt solid.

Song Weishi took a cotton swab, grabbed Xie Yi's wrist, and carefully cleaned the wound. She knew hydrogen peroxide stung the worst, and out of the corner of her eye, she watched Xie Yi—she wasn't wearing that blank expression anymore. Her jaw was tight, as if she were enduring with all her might.

Seems even iron can't escape it.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

Jiang Qingrou asked from beside her, curious. She hadn't let out a single sound.

Xie Yi: "It's fine."

Her voice was as airy as ever. Song Weishi deliberately pressed down hard twice and felt Xie Yi's arm tense up.

Still, she bore it silently.

Song Weishi's mood lifted. The unpleasantness from before finally began to fade.

Xie Yi bandaged her palm, and the team returned to the vehicle. The others inside were still trying to step out, but the heat outside was too much for them—even in base training, it hadn't felt this hot.

The security officers from Huihai City were mostly unable to leave the vehicle; it was down to the real field operatives like them.

Xia Yining clenched her fists and tried again and again, refusing to give in. But even by the time the movers went up, she couldn't last outside for long. Her first attempt outside had ended in failure.

She slumped in her seat, saying nothing.

After a while, she spoke up to Song Weishi: "Sorry, I was too loud earlier. I shouldn't have underestimated you all."

Song Weishi didn't think much of it. People needed time to adapt—she herself had shivered in the snow to build up her constitution.

If she were a native of Huihai City, she might not manage any better. The girl had drive, at least, and the self-awareness to correct her mistakes quickly. She was good-natured.

"It's fine. Just keep training. Besides, when we're outside, we don't go out during the day either. Don't be too hard on yourself."

Xia Yining's eyes lit up as she looked at Song Weishi. "Really? Are you interested in joining our District Three? You're pretty capable."

Chu Miaoxuan, who'd been listening to their pleasant exchange from her seat: ?