RIIDMDR chapter 174

The items purchased at the mall were stored directly in the warehouse. However, the purchased recipes and item-making formulas had to be memorized. Fortunately, there were pens and paper in the shop. For the past two days, Nan Xu had done nothing but lie over the table and write furiously. He couldn’t spare time to think about matters regarding the system.

One night, Tingchuan walked into the bedroom and saw a pile of papers spread across the table. As he walked closer, he saw dense handwriting on them. He picked one up and frowned.

He couldn’t understand them.

“What is this? The script of the human race?” Tingchuan was as clever as ever. Seeing how smoothly Nan Xu wrote, he guessed it at once.

Nan Xu didn’t have time to deal with him. He only responded lightly and shifted his attention to the countdown in the top right corner of the system. There were less than fifteen hours left. If he slept for one night, he would lose seven to eight hours. Time truly waits for no one.

Seeing this, Tingchuan stopped bothering him. Instead, he took a book from the shelf and sat on the sofa beside Nan Xu to read.

Late at night, Nan Xu yawned again. His wrist was terribly sore, and drowsiness slowly seeped into his mind. Tingchuan closed his book and said, “Whatever it is, you can finish writing it tomorrow. Sleep when you’re tired.”

Nan Xu shook his head. “You don’t understand. If I wait until tomorrow, it’ll be too late.”

Tingchuan looked at him for two seconds. Seeing Nan Xu so resolute, Tingchuan knew he had no choice but to wait. This time, however, he didn’t accompany him by reading. Instead, he propped his hand against his forehead and quietly watched him.

Their romantic relationship wasn’t short. Moments when Nan Xu blushed with shyness were few and far between. He didn’t mind being stared at and kept writing with his head down. Yawn after yawn came, and he frequently had to stop and shake his wrist. After another half hour, Nan Xu’s head nodded repeatedly, like a chick pecking at rice.

Suddenly, Tingchuan moved. He stood up, took the pen from Nan Xu’s hand, lifted him from the stool, and walked toward the bed.

“It’s late. You should sleep,” Tingchuan said as he walked.

Having sat for half a day, Nan Xu was completely drained. He was weak and limp as Tingchuan carried him away from the desk. Yet he still spoke words of resistance: “No sleeping. I’m going to write until dawn.”

Tingchuan couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. However, perhaps afraid of provoking Nan Xu’s rebellious side, he didn’t say anything mocking.

He gently placed Nan Xu on the bed. After listening to Nan Xu complain about him acting on his own, Tingchuan braced his arm beside Nan Xu’s ear, looked down into his eyes, and searched for his conscience.

Stared at for a long time, Nan Xu remembered the incoherent things he had said earlier when he was exhausted, since Tingchuan didn’t speak. Feeling a little guilty, he turned his gaze aside. Tingchuan kissed his forehead and couldn’t resist kissing his lips as well. He said, “Go to sleep.”

But Nan Xu misunderstood because of the goodnight kiss. Seeing that Tingchuan didn’t immediately move away—and remembering that these words often preceded certain actions—Nan Xu murmured under his breath, “Everyone says the nine-tailed fox Tingchuan is the most aloof and least lustful, but I see something different.”

Tingchuan froze for a moment, then felt amused. During the disaster, his old injuries flared up, so he hadn’t contributed as much as Nan Xu, who had practically poured out all his spiritual power.

After the disaster was resolved, Nan Xu’s coma, which lasted several days, made Tingchuan extremely anxious. Once Nan Xu recovered, Tingchuan stayed by his side constantly, afraid that if he looked away for even a moment, Nan Xu would disappear again, leaving him waiting for a long time. Tingchuan did not fear waiting three thousand years—he feared not knowing when Nan Xu would return.

He knew that Nan Xu did not belong to this world or even to the human world that he had once yearned for. Because of that, Tingchuan often felt uneasy.

During those days after Nan Xu woke up, Tingchuan was relieved and unconsciously clung to him, kissing, hugging, and being intimate with him at night. It was as if doing this could fill the insecurity in his heart.

Just as he was about to speak, he heard Nan Xu say, “Are you being so diligent lately because you want to have a child?!”

The corners of Tingchuan’s mouth, which had lifted, instantly fell.

He felt like he had forgotten something, but he couldn’t remember what. It turned out to be the explanation about childbearing in the demon realm that he had been putting off.

However, he hadn’t thought of how to broach the subject. He couldn’t just state it bluntly and disappoint Nan Xu. It would be better to think of a proper way to explain it thoroughly and gently tomorrow.

With this thought, Tingchuan stopped teasing Nan Xu and lay beside him.

Nan Xu glanced at him, puzzled. Why wasn’t he diligent today? Were those jokes really that effective?

Nan Xu was extremely sleepy. Before he could think twice, he fell into a deep sleep.

His steady, carefree breathing left Tingchuan tossing and turning until dawn, worrying him so much that he lost two hairs.

The next morning, Nan Xu woke up early and finally finished recording everything before the countdown ended. As he watched the numbers on the screen grow smaller and smaller, Nan Xu belatedly felt a mix of emotions.

The system had always been a constant presence in his mind. He had hoped it would leave, but Nan Xu was a sentimental person. He had few friends, and the few he had were now difficult to gather again.

His heart was conflicted, feeling sad yet telling himself that its departure was right and he shouldn’t be upset.

“Ten, nine… three, two, one…”

“The gift from the human world has been delivered.”

“Mountains and rivers are a long journey. From here on out, we won’t meet again. May your future path be smooth and open.”

Nan Xu stared at the flickering words on the screen. After lingering on the final line for a moment, the text slowly faded and eventually disappeared into darkness. He could feel the system peeling away from his mind. Leaning back in the rattan chair, he opened his eyes again and found that there was no trace of the system left in his head.

He felt as if something in his heart had been hollowed out. This emptiness wasn’t just from the system’s departure; it was the sensation of severing a connection to the past twenty-some years in the human world.

He would never go back.

Nan Xu was dazed for only a moment before he sensed his surroundings shifting. Just as in all previous upgrades, the inn began to change—space expanded, more rooms appeared, the exterior walls were reinforced, and the kitchen was separated from the main building and constructed of blue bricks. It was brighter and more imposing than before.

Having experienced these changes many times before, and knowing they would be completed in the blink of an eye, Nan Xu quickly adapted to this gift. After walking through the house, he was thoroughly satisfied.

He still remembered the inn’s original dilapidated state—the leaky wooden shack that the system had provided as a shelter when he first returned to the demon realm. It was a timely gift in the snow. Now that the house had been strengthened and beautified, it was the perfect ending.

Nan Xu returned to the courtyard, sat on the swing, and gently swayed. He felt as if he had figured some things out in the short time after the system disappeared.

After his accident in the human world, he was sent back safe and sound to his original body. However, since he was unable to survive in the demon realm at the time, the human world’s will remained in the demon realm in the form of a system. This system gave him tasks, granted him rewards, and guided him when necessary until he regained his memories and powers, at which point the system could retire.

It’s no wonder the rewards and functions always carried traces of the human world. Aside from helping him control Zhuyu Mountain, the human world could only give him things from its own world.

Just then, from the goat shed behind the house, Little Guy must have sensed the changes and bleated twice in fright. Hearing this, Nan Xu couldn’t help but laugh. Back then, when the system sent him a reward, it plucked a lactating goat from somewhere. The poor thing couldn’t adapt to the environment for days and couldn’t eat a thing—it was truly a sin.

Having figured this out, the system he used to complain about for being slow and outdated now seemed strangely cute. Too bad it had been too sly, revealing its identity only at the very end.

While Nan Xu was lost in thought in the courtyard, Zhixing walked out of the bedroom and was startled. The changes to the house made him think he was hallucinating. Only when he saw Nan Xu leisurely eating grapes in the courtyard did he calm down.

Just as he was about to ask what had happened, Nan Xu spoke first.
“You haven’t come out of your room for days. What were you doing?”

At this, Zhixing’s attention shifted immediately. He scratched his head and sat on a rattan chair.
“I’ve been trying to refine some herbs that required spiritual power I couldn’t fully control before, so I had to put it aside. Now that the spiritual energy has returned to the demon realm, the problem has been solved. I’m working on a new medicine to treat injuries caused by the sudden changes in spiritual energy.”

During the calamity, the spiritual energy of the demon realm thickened and drained too quickly. Though not as long or violent as three thousand years ago, it still harmed many demons. Old ailments from three thousand years ago caused Tingchuan and Jingyuan much suffering. If such a medicine could be developed, it would ease one of Nan Xu’s long-standing concerns.

“How’s the progress?” Nan Xu asked eagerly.

Zhixing smiled. “There’s already some progress, but it needs more refinement.”

Pleasantly surprised, Nan Xu praised him:
“You really are the most talented young healer in the demon realm—gifted and compassionate.”

Zhixing blushed and shook his head repeatedly.
“No, no, those compliments are meant for Senior Tingshu.”

Nan Xu looked at him with a smile.
“If he heard that, he’d give you the credit. The prosperity of the past is gone. Today, the demon realm needs a new beginning.”

Zhixing paused, then smiled as if remembering something.

“The Bai clan of West Mountain will be at ease with you inheriting it.”

He suddenly remembered hearing this sentence days ago. He didn’t know who said it, but hearing that voice was enough to make him tear up.

If it truly came from the person he suspected, dedicating more effort to the demon realm’s medical arts would be his greatest wish.

Tingchuan’s spiritual weapon loved returning to the place it used to live. Since he couldn’t leave it there forever, Tingchuan had to bring it down to the main peak periodically, walking it around so that it would behave. By dusk, Tingchuan returned to the courtyard with the sulking weapon. The moment he stepped in, he paused for a moment.

However, being a demon who had seen great storms, Tingchuan recovered his composure within a few breaths and continued inside as if the changes weren’t surprising.

Nan Xu was picking vegetables in the courtyard and didn’t see his reaction, which made him feel a little disappointed. He called out to Tingchuan, asking him to fetch another bucket of water from the well.

Tingchuan complied. He squatted in front of Nan Xu and waited for him to pour out the muddy water before scooping clean well water into the basin.

“You were writing like crazy last night. Does it have something to do with all this?” Tingchuan asked.

Nan Xu raised an eyebrow. “So you noticed that. No wonder you’re not surprised at all.”

Tingchuan smiled. “I was surprised. I was even afraid. The demon realm shouldn’t manifest a mountain overnight. And this courtyard shouldn’t change its appearance in the blink of an eye.”

He worded it gently, but Nan Xu understood—Tingchuan was uneasy about the sudden changes.

Nan Xu explained, “This was a gift from someone. They’ve already left. If we want to rebuild the house in the future, we’ll have to do it with our own hands.”