Raising a Wife in a Supernatural World [Infinite] – CH33

Chapter 33: Xie Yunhuai Side Story (2)

When dinner drew to an end, Xie Yunhuai was forced to confront the most grueling stretch of each day.

Evening self-study—an examination period capable of reaping countless lives with effortless cruelty.

As those familiar footsteps drew near, Xie Yunhuai could distinctly hear his own pulse hammering with mounting force, threatening to rupture right out of his chest at any second.

The proctor was arriving.

Xie Yunhuai had never laid eyes on this proctor. To be precise, across every recurring cycle, his memories of his classmates and instructors grew ever more faded, like pencil marks repeatedly worked over with an eraser until only the faintest smudges remained.

As he waited, his peripheral vision caught one of the newcomers—that exceptionally frail-looking girl—curling in agony, seemingly unable to bear the searing ache in her chest.

A flicker of doubt crossed his gaze: Is it truly that painful?

Yet watching her contort like that, Xie Yunhuai couldn’t shake the uncanny impression that she was merely using the posture to conceal something else.

Unfortunately, the impending exam left him no time to ponder; the physical examination was about to begin.

Xie Yunhuai braced himself to meet death in whatever chaotic form it took.

He had actually considered putting up a token struggle this time, but bizarrely enough, Qin Fu’an made no move to flee or scramble for a hiding spot. Instead, he remained seated quietly right beside him.

Which happened to block Xie Yunhuai’s only path into the aisle.

The next second, Xie Yunhuai caught sight of the [Proctor] badge that had suddenly materialized on Qin Fu’an’s uniform.

Xie Yunhuai had never served as a proctor and had no inkling of the authorities it conferred, but one thing was beyond doubt: much like holding the title of temporary teacher, Qin Fu’an was fundamentally distinct from an ordinary student.

Xie Yunhuai harbored no grand thoughts about this, only a tiny sliver of lingering regret: Qin Fu’an probably won’t die too quickly, right?

What brought him sorrow was that he likely wouldn’t live to see the man break free of this world.

What brought him deeper sorrow was that when the next cycle reset, he would never encounter another Qin Fu’an again.

Perhaps when he perished right before his eyes, Qin Fu’an might let out a quiet sigh over his passing? How long would he remember him?

Xie Yunhuai couldn’t be certain. But for the very first time, Xie Yunhuai genuinely hoped that Qin Fu’an would walk out of this endless, looping mire alive.

When the monster lunged toward him, Xie Yunhuai tuned out Qin Fu’an’s warning, shutting his eyes to await the agony.

Yet the anticipated torment never came. A familiar force yanked him backward, while a familiar, coppery stench blossomed around his nose.

Xie Yunhuai stared blankly at Qin Fu’an’s bleeding forearm. A massive chunk of flesh had been torn away by the beast’s jaws, staining the shredded uniform fabric a garish, shocking crimson in an instant.

Xie Yunhuai had never realized quite so clearly how deeply he despised the color and smell of blood.

He wanted to retch. Yet beneath that visceral nausea lay a flustered, helpless panic.

“You didn’t need to save me.”

“I won’t survive tonight anyway.”

Why waste your breath?

When I die, I’ll simply wake up in the next loop. But if you die, you’re dead for good, gone from this world forever.

Qin Fu’an surely didn’t know this; otherwise, why would he throw his arm out to catch that bite without the slightest hesitation?

As Qin Fu’an dragged him up the stairwell, Xie Yunhuai studied the tall, lean back ahead of him, his eyes swimming with dark, tangled emotions.

Qin Fu’an tracked down a new hiding spot. Looking up in the gloomy dark as Qin Fu’an calmly worked the lock, Xie Yunhuai was struck by a sudden realization: perhaps if he pushed a little harder, he might actually keep breathing after all.

He knew it was Qin Fu’an who had given him the courage to survive.

Because Qin Fu’an was here, and because Qin Fu’an had refused to abandon him up to this very moment… Xie Yunhuai had been handed a fighting chance to live.

He didn’t want to let this rare sliver of life slip through his fingers.

And so, when the monster charged up the stairs, he attempted to strike back for the very first time.

For the first time, he tried to match Qin Fu’an’s rhythm, squeezing awkwardly alongside him on the narrow rungs to force the lock open together.

Having reached the sanctuary of the rooftop, Xie Yunhuai assumed the rest of the night would slip by in quiet peace.

Yet Qin Fu’an went back down.

Qin Fu’an returned with an armful of supplies—uniforms, improvised weapons, gauze, and a body mottled with dried blood.

Along with the silver [Proctor] badge that had previously belonged only to Qin Fu’an.

He had tossed it over without a second thought. Xie Yunhuai caught it on instinct, his fingers quietly closing tight around the trinket as the man’s casual words echoed in his ears.

I don’t look down on it. I won’t throw it away.

He answered in the quiet of his heart.

“Why are you dragging me along?” Xie Yunhuai had held that question in his chest all day, only managing to whisper it aloud in this quiet lull.

He had habitually run through countless prepared answers in his head before asking.

Yet ever since this loop began, every one of his assumptions had been derailed, steered down bizarre avenues by Qin Fu’an’s unpredictable replies.

Just like right now—instead of answering straight, Qin Fu’an started spouting utter nonsense.

Souls and whatnot… This man was teasing him again.

Xie Yunhuai glared at him sullenly, suspecting he was secretly mocking him for being a fool.

Yet before the irritation could flare, Qin Fu’an closed the distance without warning.

It was the first time anyone had ever covered his eyes with a palm, and the first time anyone had ever leaned in so close.

So close… that he could distinctly feel the warmth of the man’s breath, and faintly hear their heartbeats overlapping in the stillness.

Qin Fu’an was before him and behind him; in that shrouded world of black, the only presence he could perceive was Qin Fu’an.

Then he heard Qin Fu’an say: “I wasn’t insulting you. I was just… trying to compliment you.”

In that split second, Xie Yunhuai felt like a cat with zero backbone. The moment Qin Fu’an smoothed down the silly creature’s fur, he turned thoroughly tame and docile. Not only was the anger wiped clean, but beneath those ambiguous praises, his limbs turned to water, robbing him of every ounce of fight.

Qin Fu’an said Xie Yunhuai’s soul fragments were lively, and that he liked them.

Qin Fu’an said… Xie Yunhuai was far more endearing than they were.

Had there been a mirror, Xie Yunhuai would likely have seen his own unfocused, harmless, wide eyes—he would have seen his cheeks and ears flushed bright red despite the freezing wind, and that helpless, secret joy he thought he had buried so well.

Qin Fu’an was an apex sophist, a predator masterfully skilled at coaxing his quarry.

And Xie Yunhuai was merely a pitiful prize, ripe for him to swallow whole whenever he pleased.

Xie Yunhuai’s docile state didn’t last long.

Because Qin Fu’an began snitching.

Listening to the man repeat those humiliating inner thoughts word for word with an amused lilt, Xie Yunhuai felt a scalding heat rush across his entire frame once more. Driven to tears by Qin Fu’an’s mock grievances, even his gaze turned into a silent plea.

—Stop talking. If you say another word… I’m going to die.

Die of sheer mortification, putting an end to those babbling soul fragments and the traitorous inner voice he couldn’t control!

Never had Xie Yunhuai felt so profoundly grateful for a monster’s arrival.

Watching Qin Fu’an crush the creature with vicious efficiency, Xie Yunhuai inexplicably sensed a thread of petulant venting—as if the man were furious that their moment had been interrupted.

…It probably has nothing to do with me.

Xie Yunhuai feigned composure, running from reality.

Yet he forgot once more: Qin Fu’an could hear his thoughts—

Nothing had truly happened, yet Xie Yunhuai felt as though he had died several times over in Qin Fu’an’s presence.

And from that, a far more staggering realization dawned on him: the predator coaxing its naive prey had never intended to devour it. Those soft, lingering praises had never been hollow flatteries.

The foolish cat had been coaxed into smooth submission. There was no abandonment, no lingering malice—only an embrace that felt warmer than anything he had known.

Xie Yunhuai’s memories were perpetually fraying across the loops.

Yet for the very first time, he felt an urgent, desperate hunger to remember every single detail—every syllable Qin Fu’an spoke, every fleeting expression on his face.

And so, when the chaotic night finally concluded, Xie Yunhuai did not return to the dormitory right away.

Waiting until Qin Fu’an had walked far into the distance, he sat alone in the empty classroom, pen in hand, filling a blank page with line after line of text.

From the second they met up to this very moment, Xie Yunhuai kept his head down, meticulously recording every detail, large and small, tied to Qin Fu’an.

Qin Fu’an bought me candy.

Qin Fu’an fed me chocolate.

Qin Fu’an gave me his lunch.

Qin Fu’an shielded me from a monster.

Qin Fu’an praised me…

Qin Fu’an…

At last, staring at the densely packed sheet of paper, he tore it from his notebook, folded it over and over, and tucked it carefully into his pocket.

Even if it wouldn’t carry over into the next loop, at least before this cycle shattered, he wouldn’t forget a single stroke.

Having tucked it close against his chest, Xie Yunhuai looked up to see Zhao Jiayue quietly slipping back into the classroom. She seemed to have caught sight of him writing earlier, but he had been too lost in his thoughts to pay her any mind.

Now, Zhao Jiayue was hunched over her desk, furiously scribbling something of her own, tears apparently dripping from her lashes. Lacking any curiosity, Xie Yunhuai rose and left the room to her alone.

Xie Yunhuai hadn’t anticipated any “Silent Night,” nor had he foreseen that he would never live to see the dawn of the third day.

Perhaps he had sensed something coming, but what caught him completely off guard was Qin Fu’an leaving him behind in this small campus store.

Xie Yunhuai stared after Qin Fu’an’s retreating figure for a very long time.

Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the store, he couldn’t miss the subtle shifts overtaking his own frame.

It made sense. As a denizen of this campus, why would the other students turn into wandering phantoms while he remained untouched?

Qin Fu’an had told him to wait here until he returned… but it seemed he wouldn’t make it that long.

As the voice echoed over the night sky, Xie Yunhuai’s muddled thoughts cleared up with startling sharpness.

He realized that he and the other student horrors wouldn’t simply dissolve into nothingness. The Eldritch Domain… If he went there, would he ever cross paths with Qin Fu’an again?

Xie Yunhuai didn’t know. But he resolved that wherever Qin Fu’an ended up, as long as he kept breathing, he would track him down.

You promised you wouldn’t throw me away.

And you promised that once dawn broke, you’d come take me back.

Xie Yunhuai retrieved the folded note from his pocket. Under the petrified, covert stares of the two clerks, he read through every line on the page with quiet devotion before asking them for a fresh pen and paper.

He could have written so much, but the realization that this note was meant for Qin Fu’an made his hand freeze above the blank sheet.

After a long stretch of hesitation, he set the nib down and earnestly penned four simple words:

“Qin Fu’an is a liar.”

Liar. Dawn hasn’t even broken, and I won’t be here to wait for you.

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