17. We Can't Go Back, We Can't Go Back

On a winter afternoon, the sunlight lazily poured into the mountain hollow. Sparse patches of thin snow covered the withered branches and fallen leaves, and the occasional beams of light danced gently. A cold breeze swept through, stirring the dry, chilly air and carrying the fresh scent of pine needles.

Han Lei drove the ambulance along the mountain road, occasionally glancing through the rearview mirror at Zhao Zun sitting silently beside her. His face remained impassive, words unspoken, leaving her unsure of his thoughts.

The vehicle stopped in a large clearing. Han Lei jumped out, her mind replaying the events of the day she had crossed over. She looked around carefully.

Zhao Zun did not disturb her but stepped quietly to a nearby pine tree, watching the bright, delicate figure attentively.

“The ambulance seemed to have landed here that day,” Han Lei said, moving to one spot and then shaking her head. “No, it must have been over there.”

She moved to another spot and immediately brightened upon seeing clear tire marks on the ground.

“Yes, right here.”

Muttering to herself, she bent down to examine the tracks closely, occasionally scooping up a pinch of earth and rubbing it between her fingers.

It was just ordinary soil—no magnetic properties, nothing special.

Han Lei looked up at the sky, where a few white clouds drifted across the blue expanse. There was no sign of a black hole or a time tunnel.

She then pulled out her phone, searching for a signal, but to no avail.

“What exactly caused the crossing?” Han Lei pondered, pinching her chin.

Watching Han Lei’s earnest expression, Zhao Zun's face fell into gloom. He slipped his large hand into his pocket, tightly grasping the lock pendant hanging around his neck, silently thinking, “Girl, do you really want to go back that badly? Is there truly nothing here worth staying for?”

Han Lei, deep in thought, suddenly slapped her forehead and briskly walked to the ambulance, climbed into the driver's seat, and started the engine.

She remembered that day: she had slammed the steering wheel hard while driving, lost control, and the ambulance plunged off the cliff, ending up here.

She drove the vehicle in circles around the clearing, repeatedly jerking the steering wheel with determination. Muttering, “Go back! Go back! Hurry and go back!”

Han Lei was busy with her frantic efforts, unaware that Zhao Zun was lounging lazily against the pine tree, arms crossed, quietly praying, “You won’t go back! You won’t go back! You simply can’t go back!”

The ambulance slid sharply to one side, then suddenly fishtailed the other way, kicking up thick clouds of dust wherever it passed.

Han Lei kept trying and failing. Finally, the vehicle shot like a released arrow at the cliff nearby.

Zhao Zun’s heart leapt. He sprang up and hurried after the ambulance, but it stopped abruptly just at the edge of the precipice.

His heart nearly stopped. He paused, then ran to the vehicle and stood by its side, glaring fiercely as he measured the mere width of a chopstick between the front of the vehicle and the cliff’s edge.

“What are you doing? Don’t you know that could kill you?” Zhao Zun scolded angrily.

In that moment, he felt as if he was about to lose that delicate and kind-hearted girl, a piece of his heart being cut away, the pain almost suffocating.

—

The car door opened, and Han Lei stepped out, looking utterly defeated. She had wanted one last attempt, hoping that like before, the ambulance’s fall off the cliff would somehow send her back to China.

But at the last moment, she hesitated.

After all, last time she had slammed the steering wheel instinctively. This time, intentionally crashing off the cliff—she lacked the courage.

“I can’t go back,” Han Lei murmured, her mood sinking to the depths. “Ha! Everything was fine when I came, but now I can’t go back.”

She didn’t notice Zhao Zun’s almost ferocious expression as she squatted by the rear of the vehicle, burying her head in her knees.

Yet when Zhao Zun heard her words, his eyes lit up, the gloom quickly lifting to be replaced by joy and excitement. His large hand instinctively reached for the lock pendant in his pocket.

Seeing Han Lei so downcast, Zhao Zun crouched beside her gently.

“If you can’t go back, then so be it. Maybe it’s better that way,” he said, trying to contain his excitement.

With a sudden sharp look, Han Lei glared at him.

“What did you say? What do you mean it’s better not to go back?” Her pout was almost tearful, utterly aggrieved.

“Uh…”

Zhao Zun wished he could slap himself for speaking his mind so openly.

“You’re happy I can’t go back, aren’t you?” Han Lei bared her teeth with a playful yet fierce expression that made her look both adorable and fierce.

“No!” Zhao Zun blurted, too afraid to show any happiness. “I just meant, of course it’s good if you can go back, but if you can’t, that’s not so bad. After all, I'm here with you.”

Zhao Zun’s words made sense. Han Lei glared at him in frustration but felt her mood ease somewhat. Still, the feeling of injustice lingered.

“Hmph! I’m not talking to you anymore!”

Han Lei teased, lightly kicking Zhao Zun before rising and heading straight to the driver’s seat. Her slender waist swayed as she moved, revealing the delicate charm of a young girl.

The soft, melodious accent of the Jiangnan water town that flowed from her lips had a disarming effect on men. Zhao Zun’s eyes brightened, and inside, it felt as if a feather was lightly tickling him, making him tingle all over.

It was like a Northeastern man hearing a southern girl softly call him “big brother”—the sensation sent shivers through every bone.

It was intoxicating.

Could the lock pendant really be that effective?

Holding the pendant in his hand, Zhao Zun chuckled foolishly and quickly followed her into the vehicle.

…

When Zhao Zun and Han Lei returned to the military camp from the mountain hollow, it was nearly midnight. After sharing dinner in the main tent, Zhao Zun escorted Han Lei back to the adjoining tent before going to rest. But Han Lei lay awake, unable to sleep.

“System, come out,” Han Lei called toward the tent ceiling, sounding annoyed.

“Ding! Good evening, host!” the system replied.

“Hmph!” Han Lei snorted. “I’m not fine at all. I want to go home.”

“I’m only responsible for rewards and selling items, not for sending you back.”

Han Lei rolled her eyes. “If you’re not responsible, then who is? Who can send me home?”

“Your mission is here. You cannot return,” the system responded coldly, without emotion.

“Mission?” Han Lei was taken aback. “I mysteriously crossed over here—what mission could I possibly have?”

“Unknown.”

“What must I do to complete the mission?”

“Unknown.”

“When will the mission be complete?”

“Unknown.”

“Are you kidding me? You don’t know anything and just brought me here?”

Han Lei wanted to bang her head against the wall.

Having crossed over here, the only connection she had was this system, but this damn system knew nothing. It was as if she cried out to heaven and earth, and no one answered.

“Since I can’t go back, at least I want to drink and eat a feast, right?”

“Sorry, host. The fifty taels of silver you earned yesterday have all been spent on a guitar, karaoke speakers, food, and clothes. The system currently has no silver left.”

“Ah—”

Han Lei was on the verge of losing her mind.