Seventeen, seventeen.

How could someone possibly have broken into her home? There was nothing of value to steal.

Su Xiaoyuan quickly realized this.

If she hadn’t seen the puppet figure standing in the shadow of the corner, she might have suspected she was drunk and had entered the wrong room.

Right, the puppet!

When she left, she had asked the puppet to do some simple chores within its ability, like taking out the trash…

Her heart suddenly skipped a beat. She rushed to the cabinet, pulling open drawer after drawer, then boxes, chests, and even under the bed.

Too many things were missing. Some she could recall, others she couldn’t—and perhaps only in days to come would she realize what else had vanished.

Su Xiaoyuan turned to the puppet, her voice trembling, “Fu Tingyun… do you know where my things have gone?”

“I know. I disposed of them,” the puppet replied in the same flat, emotionless tone, which made the words all the more cruel.

Tears welled up in Su Xiaoyuan’s eyes. Her lips quivered, but she forced herself not to cry, even trying hard to maintain a calm demeanor. “Did you throw them away? Where did you throw them, Fu Tingyun?”

The puppet pursed its lips. “I burned them.”

“So many things, but there’s no ash?” Su Xiaoyuan held onto a shred of hope. “Are you joking with me, Fu Tingyun?”

“No,” the puppet said. “Spirit fire burns without ash.”

The girl pouted, her expression a strange mix of a smile and tears. “Did you see… my little cat jade? It’s teal, about this big…”

She spoke as she gestured, her slender fingers trembling uncontrollably.

Fu Tingyun remembered the item she mentioned: a thumb-sized natural stone with inherent patterns resembling a crouching little beast. It had no trace of spiritual energy, seeming like it had been picked up casually from some riverbank.

To him, it was nothing but trash among trash.

“I burned it,” he answered.

“Did you think those things were all garbage, so you burned them?”

“Yes.”

Su Xiaoyuan nodded stiffly. “It’s not your fault. I… I didn’t explain well enough…”

She sobbed softly, two strings of round tears rolling down like droplets on lotus leaves, dripping onto the bluestone floor with soft plops, soaking the surface.

Fu Tingyun felt as if a bitter drizzle had fallen deep within his chest.

He lacked ordinary human emotions and held a detached sense of right and wrong, yet he was not completely ignorant of worldly affairs.

He understood he had done a despicable thing, and done it with great, baseless malice—consciously and deliberately.

He had half-expected her to return, discover what he had done, and be saddened, to make her cry.

Yet seeing her truly heartbroken and crying, he was overcome by a flood of strange, unidentifiable emotions—none of which were joy or satisfaction.

If he could, he wished he could retrieve the bag from the drawer and return it to her.

But it was already burned—there was no going back.

For the first time in his life, Fu Tingyun tasted regret.

Su Xiaoyuan did not cry for long. She picked up the dropped bag and placed it on the empty small table, then handed the wax paper wrapping containing snacks to the puppet. “I brought you some snacks. Take them outside and eat.”

The puppet did not reach out to accept.

Su Xiaoyuan did not ask a second time. She left the snack package on the table and went to the bed, took off her shoes, and lay down.

“I’m sorry, Fu Tingyun. Could you please leave for a moment?”

The puppet received the command but did not move, still standing by the bedside.

After waiting a moment with no sign of movement, she raised her voice slightly. “Please go out, Fu Tingyun. I want to be alone for a while!”

She lay facing inward, not looking at Fu Tingyun’s face, fearing that if she saw it, she might impulsively want to scratch it.

She understood this was not his fault. He was merely following her instruction to “throw away the trash,” but he could not distinguish what was trash.

If the one wrecking her home were a cat or dog, she could scold it or give it a few swats on the behind.

But how could she scold a human-like artificial idiot?

It was like buying a secondhand, uncertified electrical appliance from a flea market that caught fire and burned down the house—who else could she blame but herself?

Though she knew she shouldn’t take it out on him, perhaps because the puppet looked so much like a real person, it was hard for her not to vent her anger.

After a while, she finally heard the puppet’s footsteps retreating, followed by the sound of the door sliding shut gently.

Su Xiaoyuan curled into a ball, covered her face, and uncontrollably sobbed.

Those things really were worthless, not even worth a thief’s interest. To others, they might truly be rubbish, but each one had been brought back by her, carefully chosen and slowly accumulated.

When she first arrived, the system quickly went dormant. She was alone in this strange, unfamiliar world, knowing no one.

She couldn’t adapt, crying herself to sleep every night from exhaustion.

She wondered if being thrown into such an absurd world with an impossible goal was a mercy compared to dying outright in that car accident.

Until one day, walking by a small creek on Washing Flower Island, she saw a stone shaped like a little cat. She cleaned it and brought it back, placing it on the windowsill.

She was like a small mountain sparrow suddenly cast from spring into the harsh winter, struggling to survive and clutching a tiny dry twig in its beak.

She began to live seriously, using small branches, pebbles, and shards to slowly build herself a little nest.

Then she found friendly fellow disciples, kind teachers, and made her best friends.

Although she often encouraged herself, telling herself there was always a chance—what if she succeeded? What if she could go home?

But deep down, she always knew it was self-deception.

She could never return to her true home. Her life had less than a year left—this was the end of her journey.

So she did her best to live well every day, slowly building a home in this strange world.

And now, that home was gone.

Most of the lost things she could buy again, but she no longer had the strength to start over.

…

Fu Tingyun stepped outside, sat cross-legged, preparing as usual to clear his mind and enter meditation.

But the girl’s suppressed sobs lingered endlessly in his ears.

She cried for a long, long time before finally falling asleep from exhaustion, only to wake again shortly after and resume crying.

Fu Tingyun had expected her to be angry and upset, even somewhat looked forward to her venting at him, but he did not anticipate feeling such profound sorrow and despair himself.

He did not understand what was so special about those objects that made her so attached.

Since he could remember, he had lived in the Infinite Palace. If someone set it aflame, he would kill them or demand multiple compensations—but he would not be saddened.

To him, anything could be discarded without hesitation when necessary, including himself.

If one day he failed to suppress the insatiable craving in his dantian, causing the chaotic realm’s seal to collapse, he would not hesitate to sacrifice himself to maintain the formation.

It was no different from breaking a sword.

Most of the items he burned were ordinary, easily replaceable trinkets. He had kept all objects bearing her handiwork.

Yet she was still so heartbroken.

Fu Tingyun felt a strange irritation rise within him.

Ever since the soul transfer went awry, everything seemed to slip beyond his control.

The sobbing gradually diminished.

When her breathing deepened, Fu Tingyun gently pushed open the door and returned inside.

The girl lay on the bed, curled inward, facing away.

The quilt remained neatly folded at her feet.

It seemed she was unwilling even to cover herself with the quilt he had folded.

Fu Tingyun shook out the blanket, draped it over her, tucking the edges snugly.

The girl sobbed once more in her sleep.

If only she could buy everything back again…

At that thought, a sudden spark illuminated Fu Tingyun’s mind.

Could it be because she was poor?

Recalling how she had gleefully rolled around clutching a piece of sea spirit stone worth five hundred, Fu Tingyun grew more certain of his suspicion.

He could give her money.

Though currently trapped in his puppet body and unable to fetch money from the treasury, he could transfer funds to her through the soul seal.

He wasn’t sure exactly how much wealth he owned—it was usually managed by his second senior brother—but he was never short of money.

Fu Tingyun took a handkerchief from the shelf, dampened it, warmed it, and gently wiped the tear-streaked lines from the girl’s face by the bed.

He could give her plenty of money—the kind of money she could never spend up.

That would certainly bring her happiness again.