Of course! You're always welcome at Leah's place. I'm bored by myself and was thinking of having a barbecue on my balcony. Can you come over? I remember Detective Zhang's barbecue was delicious—can you make it too?
Suddenly, I noticed a bottle in the liquid cabinet to the right of the triple-door freezer. Leah King couldn't see it, but I could sense the vitality in the wine as it emitted a soft, bright white glow.
"Lately, I feel a bit forgetful. I distinctly remember having Detective Zhang's barbecue before, but I can't recall where exactly. It's really strange."
I nodded right away.
I'll head over now. I should be there soon—I'm just around the corner.
As I spoke, Leah King looked genuinely happy.
When asked, Leah King shook her head. She couldn't remember the fan's name at all.
After I hung up, I looked around in confusion. Yvonne May spoke up.
"Let me take you there."
It seemed Leah King's memories—and her own—had been altered because of Basil Bertram. Only time itself could do something like that.
In Leah King's timeline, she and Basil Bertram were never supposed to intersect. They were just ordinary people and ghosts with no connection. If such a link suddenly breaks, time itself will step in to correct it.
I let out an 'oh' and followed Jing Le to the kitchen, where I found beef, chicken, fish, and pork already cut up. The cuts looked pretty good—probably from years of cooking for herself.
But when I glanced at the takeout containers on the table and looked closer, I realized the cuts were only neat on the surface. The knife was new and sharp, but the flavor after grilling wouldn't be right. I’d seen Ethan Zhang prep meat before, and he’d taught me a lot—every thickness affects the texture after grilling.
"You rest, I'll handle this."
Thinking of this made me smile. Once everything was ready, Leah King and I carried the grill out to the balcony—a spacious area with flowerbeds along the walls. We set up by the flowerbeds, lit the charcoal, and started grilling.
After a bit, the meat I’d cut had already been sliced once by Leah King, so I could only make a few adjustments to help it cook more evenly. Getting the grill temperature right was key.
Leah King looked happy. She still remembered the flavors and her habits—those can’t be corrected. The Morning Dew Wine glowed faintly under the moonlight, beautiful but invisible to Leah King. I took a sip—familiar taste, but strong, over forty percent alcohol. It went down light but was intoxicating.
After a few drinks, I felt great—my fatigue vanished. I waited for Leah King to get drunk, talking with her for a long time, but I was starting to fade too. Eventually, Leah King passed out, and I was barely holding on. Mona Ouyang and Yvonne May came over, Matron Nora helped tidy up, Yvonne May took Leah King to the bedroom, and I slumped on the couch, pressing my forehead. I can't handle alcohol—I'm easily drunk.
After a while, Yvonne May and Mona Ouyang came out.
I asked, and Leah King shook her head.
"Maybe it's just natural. I don't know why, but once I pick up a knife, I just know how to cut."
Suddenly, I noticed a bottle in the liquid cabinet to the right of the triple-door freezer. It emitted a soft, bright white glow. Jing Le couldn't see it, but I could sense the vitality in the wine.
"What is this..."
"Of course, it's tonight's good wine. There's only half a bottle left, and it's delicious. One of my fans mailed it to me ages ago—said it was homemade."
I immediately asked.
"Do you remember the fan's name?"
When asked, Jing Le shook her head. She couldn't remember the fan's name at all.
A whole jar of Morning Dew Wine—after pouring myself a small glass and taking a sip, I found it really was fresh and tasted new.
Not only were the spices and condiments fully stocked in the kitchen, but every kind of cooking utensil was available. I checked the pile of upscale takeout containers on the table. The dates were printed on them—the newest was from thirteen days ago.
It seemed Jing Le's memories—and her own—had been altered because of Basil Bertram. Only time itself could do something like that.
In Jing Le's timeline, she and Basil Bertram were never supposed to intersect. They were just ordinary people and ghosts with no connection. If such a link suddenly breaks, time itself will step in to correct it.
It isn't just because Basil Bertram is a Ghost Sovereign—there are other reasons. The only thing I can recall is what Ethan Zhang once told me: in the Juchen Realm, he saw seven Ghost Sovereigns gathered in that space.
When asked, Juchen told Ethan Zhang that the Ghost Sovereigns had frozen their own timelines to escape the Infinite Cycle. All the injuries they suffered were manifested in the Juchen Realm. If those injuries returned to their bodies, it would be disastrous for the Ghost Sovereigns. Juchen definitely didn’t tell the whole story back then.
I remember joking with Ethan Zhang at the time: if we both became immortal, would he eventually get bored and look for someone else? He answered instantly.
Thinking of this made me smile. Once everything was ready, Jing Le and I carried the grill out to the balcony—a spacious area with flowerbeds along the walls. We set up by the flowerbeds, lit the charcoal, and started grilling.
"This tastes really good, Rachel Lan."
Jing Le looked happy. She still remembered the flavors and her habits—those can’t be corrected. The Morning Dew Wine glowed faintly under the moonlight, beautiful but invisible to Jing Le. I took a sip—familiar taste, but strong, over forty percent alcohol. It went down light but was intoxicating.
After a few drinks, I felt great—my fatigue vanished. I waited for Jing Le to get drunk, talking with her for a long time, but I was starting to fade too. Eventually, Jing Le passed out, and I was barely holding on. Mona Ouyang and Yuan Mei came over, Matron Noon helped tidy up, Yuan Mei took Jing Le to the bedroom, and I slumped on the couch, pressing my forehead. I can't handle alcohol—I'm easily drunk.
After a while, Yuan Mei and Mona Ouyang came out.
"Her memory has almost been completely corrected."
Yuan Mei said this, and I grunted in response, yawning as I tried to sleep—but Mona Ouyang called out to me.
"If there's anything, say it in the dream."
I said this and went straight to the next room. Once inside, I lay on the bed, quickly took off my clothes, pulled up the blanket, and fell asleep.
I slept deeply, but in a daze, I found myself under a huge tree. I blinked at Mona Ouyang, who walked slowly toward me.
"You're really impatient. I haven't even explained things, and you already fell asleep."
"Can't you just tell me in the dream?"
I asked, but Mona Ouyang shook his head.
"You're drunk, so you can't even dream. How can I talk to you? Dawn is coming, so I'll keep it brief."
I grunted in response. Mona Ouyang looked serious—it made me a little uncomfortable.
How should I put this? It all started when a few of us were in the Infinite Cycle.
"Didn't you say you'd keep it brief?"
I muttered, noticing my body was becoming translucent. I realized I was about to wake up.
Back then, to escape the Infinite Cycle, we made a pact with Time itself. We used all the injuries we'd received, plus our power, to help Time seal away the immense forces above the Juchen Realm.
I blinked.
The problem is, the seal is made from the power of the seven Ghost Sovereigns. If Basil Bertram really disappears, the seal will collapse. Once it does, the power of the Corpse Ancestor inside will flood out, and both the living and ghost realms will suffer.
I stared in shock, eyes wide.
"Wouldn't that be really bad?"
I exclaimed, and Mona Ouyang nodded.
Not just bad—absolutely catastrophic. We had no idea at first. Juchen only told us the power above was the accumulation of worldly forces. Later, we learned it was the Corpse Ancestor's power.
I swallowed.
"So what should we do now?"
Just stay put for a few days. Yuan Mei and I will keep looking for a solution. It's too dangerous for you to enter a Prophetic Dream now—we have to prioritize your safety.
I mumbled in response and, after a while, opened my eyes. I woke up feeling refreshed—it was already ten in the morning. As soon as I stepped out, my cheeks flushed. Jing Le was already up and practicing dance in a corner of the living room.
"You were so drunk last night. I didn't expect you'd be up so early, Miss Jing Le."
I spoke, and Jing Le stopped, her forehead covered in fine sweat. She must have been practicing for a while.
No, I just got up too. Let's have some fruit first, then lunch. There are leftovers from last night—could you help with them later, Miss Rachel? I only know how to make porridge and salads.
I nodded and went into the kitchen. Everything had been cleaned up, probably by Matron Noon. I felt a bit guilty, but I was too tired after drinking last night.
"By the way, Jing Le, the fan who mailed me the wine sent me a letter a few days ago."
"Can I take a look? Actually, I'm here this time because I want to find that fan of yours."
Jing Le looked at me in disbelief, but after a moment she nodded and led me to her bedroom. She took out a plain letter. When I opened it, I was surprised—the handwriting was beautiful, nothing like a man's.