In Ziqian's previous life, something similar had happened during his high school.
There was a group of five teenagers who had invited him into their circle—three boys and two girls. They played and laughed loudly, shared snacks between classes, and always dragged him after school to the milk tea shop.
When they asked him to join their group, he was so startled he nearly choked on his water and almost blurted out "no" out of habit—but in the end, he agreed.
For the first time he felt that he belonged somewhere.
Ziqian still remembered walking home with them, eating lunch with them, and listening to jokes that sometimes didn't make sense.
He was so happy.
He remembered thinking stupidly, "So this is what it feels like to have friends."
But that happiness was short-lived.
Because after three months, everything changed.
The reason was absurd in its simplicity—his face.
Two of the three boys in the group developed feelings for him. He never flirted with or encouraged any of them.
And when Hei Lan suddenly confessed to him, trembling and red-faced. Ziqian panicked but rejected him gently.
When Zhao Lin confessed later, he did the same.
When each of them confessed, he rejected them clearly and kindly. He told them he only saw them as friends. He was very careful with his words, afraid that it would ruin their friendship.
But wounded pride rarely listens to reason.
The tension between the two boys grew thick and ugly. Their once happy moments become full of side comments and accusations disguised as jokes. Until one afternoon it exploded, and the two ended up in a fight.
Back then, the auditorium doors had been shut, but the uproar inside could still be heard as if the noise itself were searching for escape.
And just like tonight, Ziqian stood there shouting for them to stop.
He tried to pull them apart.
He begged.
He even ran to call for help.
While outside, the students gathered in clusters, waiting—hungry for the drama about to unfold.
"Senior Hei and Senior Zhao are fighting in the auditorium!" one of his classmates shouted, announcing it like glorious news that made the gossip-hungry crowd into a frenzy.
Even the students in the next classroom, disturbed by the commotion, grew curious and began asking what was happening.
"Really? What happened?"
"I heard it's because of Ziqian."
"I bet he seduced them both."
"What a slut."
"I thought he was kind and sweet. Guess it was all an act."
"Looks can be deceiving."
Their whispers had spread through each corridor and seeped into every crack of each classroom's walls.
No one asked him what really happened.
No one cared.
At the end of that day, the narrative was completely twisted—it was easier to place everything on him.
The two girls become furious and put the blame on him.
"You ruined everything."
"If you hadn't acted like that—"
"Our group was fine before you came."
Then the two boys turned on him.
They said he had sent mixed signals that led them to misunderstand—claimed he was clingy, that he flooded them with sweet messages.
Ziqian tried to explain, but no one listened.
Because it was more convenient to believe he had schemed than to admit that two boys could not handle rejection. It was safer to call him manipulative than to confront bruised egos.
And so the outcome was decided just like that.
He became their common enemy—someone they could blame to save face, a convenient target for the frustration born of jealousy and envy.
Then one day the remaining boy, Wu Feng—the one who had stayed silent while the other two fought, the one Ziqian believed still treated him normally—approached him.
"I can fix this," he said.
For a moment, Ziqian felt hopeful.
Then the condition came.
"Just agree to go out with me," the boy continued. "Then it'll look like they were just jealous. I'll say they misunderstood everything. I can clear your name."
Ziqian understood immediately.
If he agreed, what would it prove? It would not clear his name, but it will only prove that the rumor was true.
He firmly refused.
And the boy's expression changed in an instant. Whatever faint kindness had been there vanished.
After that, everything grew worse.
The rumors intensified. He was bullied, his locker was vandalized, and his classmates isolated him until he became a cautionary tale whispered throughout the school.
That was the beginning of his high school becoming hell.
The scene in front of him blurred. The shattered tent overlapped with the high school auditorium. The murmuring tribesmen merge with whispering classmates. Blood and Accusation felt frighteningly the same.
Standing there, those old painful memories resurface.
Back then, he lost friends.
Now, he might lose someone he loves, or worse, both.
Is history repeating itself?
~
"Ah-Zi!" Gae's voice trembled as he called out again and again.
The moment Ziqian's emotion started to stir, the four guardians felt it instantly. Ziqian was on the verge of another emotional turbulence.
"Whatever you're remembering, it won't be the same this time," Gae said gently, forcing steadiness into his trembling tone. "Let's rewrite those bad memories. Okay?"
Phi hurriedly conjured a puff of white smoke and gently drifted it to Ziqian. "Ah-Zi, we're here," he added quietly.
The white smoke offers only a mild calming effect, helping to steady a person's emotions for a time, but it cannot prevent or halt emotional turbulence.
Ziqian's lashes trembled. Tears clung to them, refusing to fall.
"Back then, you were alone," Gae continued. "But now you have us, and you have choices."
Ziqian refused to use the memory stone. He had chosen not to seal away the pain and bury it under artificial calm—as his guardian, they will respect that.
The four guardians don't have any idea what painful memory Ziqian recalled this time. They could not reach into his past and untangle it.
All they could do was stay beside Ziqian and remind him that this life will be different. The past could haunt him, but it would not dictate him.
Gae hovered in front of him, as if his small frame could shield Ziqian from claws, blood, and fate itself.
Phi floated closer, soft white fur brushing against Ziqian's damp cheeks, wiping away tears with gentleness.
Ero simply stayed silently on Ziqian's shoulder. For once, there were no teasing remarks or restless commentary.
And Nia's presence shifted. It became firm and protective, like a pillar behind Ziqian's back.
The four fluffballs showed four kinds of care: shield, comfort, silence, and strength.
"… Right," Ziqian's voice came out soft, barely a whisper. Then he inhaled slowly, trying to calm his breathing.
Everything was different now. In the past, no matter what explanation he gave, people would turn a deaf ear, choosing instead to believe whatever suited them.
This time, he had no need to explain himself—because he truly was at fault.
He had seduced Xue, only to find himself drawn to him deeply. At the same time, he would not deny that he also had feelings for Huo.
He liked them both, and he did not want to lose either of them.
It was selfish.
But this time, he wanted to be selfish.
Unlike in his previous life, where he had done nothing wrong to those two boys, this time he was truly the one to blame.
Now, the two men he cared for were hurt because of him, and these were the consequences of his own choices.
What a terrible consequence!
"Ziqian, are you okay? Are you hurt somewhere?" Tei asked anxiously when she saw the beautiful sub-beast crying without pause. Her hands hovered on Ziqian's shoulder, but she was afraid to touch him.
Ziqian gave no response. His gaze remained fixed on the two figures not far away.
He has not noticed that Tei was beside him.
Xue still carried himself with quiet dignity as he issued orders to the warriors who had arrived, despite the wounds on his body. Most were on his arms from blocking Huo's attacks, but the most conspicuous was the broad, horizontal claw mark across his chest that was still bleeding.
Meanwhile, Huo, who was still in his hybrid form, was pinned to the ground. His body was marked with bruises and cuts, and thin streams of blood seeped from his four orifices.
It was mostly not the result of Xue's counterattacks but of the berserk state. Huo's body was already pushed to its limit, and now he continues burning his life force.
Four beastmen struggled to restrain him, their combined strength barely enough to keep him from lunging forward again. But Huo was terrifyingly strong. As he thrashed and fought their hold, they were forced to tighten their grip, unintentionally adding fresh wounds to the ones already on his body.
They dared not render him unconscious, fearing he might awaken with his mind shattered beyond recovery and end up completely becoming a fool. So they held him there, waiting for the high priest and the patriarch to arrive.
Ziqian bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.
He was angry with himself. He had always told himself he would speak to them soon, but in truth he had only been stalling because he was afraid—afraid that, in the end, he might lose them both.
And now… what had he done?