Chapter 16: Let her go

If it were Chen Xinya or Feng Xiyao, Meng Zhi would suspect a staged encounter when meeting them on the street.

But not Lin Yuhan.

Seeing the timid, rabbit-like girl, nervous and fragile, Meng Zhi only sighed at his bad luck for running into her by chance.

X City was too small.

Unlike the other two, who he’d merely failed to save, Lin Yuhan’s life was ruined because of him.

She was born into a prominent family, an excellent student with good grades, refined, gentle, and cultured.

Without interference, her life would’ve been smooth—graduate school, a civil service job, maybe a career in politics or law with her parents’ support, a perfect husband, a life others envied.

But at nineteen, she met Meng Zhi, carrying his system’s mission.

The system told him that if he didn’t save Lin Yuhan, she’d be forced onto her parents’ path, living unhappily. To save her, he had to help her follow her heart and become a free-spirited web novel writer.

Looking back, Meng Zhi didn’t see that as salvation.

His influence opened Pandora’s box, destroying her destined life.

Her obsession with writing led her parents to cut her off financially. They hadn’t spoken in years.

Maybe she lacked talent, or maybe luck wasn’t on her side. Her novels never gained traction, always lukewarm at best.

Yet she was stubborn, refusing to follow market trends or learn from others, writing only the stories she wanted, lost in her own world.

She burned herself out, her spirit fading until she grew to hate her own work, clinging to a defiant stubbornness to keep going.

Until she couldn’t.

Sobbing, she clutched Meng Zhi’s hand, her wet eyes like a lost animal’s. “I can’t write… I really can’t… What do I do…”

That was his heaviest guilt.

Watching her cry and tremble, Meng Zhi realized he’d chosen the wrong path from the start.

He couldn’t save her. No matter how many rebirths, he couldn’t change someone’s talent.

Unlike Feng Xiyao, whose music carried an innate spark, Lin Yuhan’s novels were incomprehensible to others.

They weren’t bad, but only Meng Zhi thought so. Her comment sections were filled with harsh criticism—illogical plots, forced writing, constant flaws.

No one but him comforted or encouraged her.

She sank into endless conflict, writing tirelessly, day and night, even when no one read, driven by sheer determination.

Sometimes, Meng Zhi found her intensity terrifying.

It was the first time he wanted to quit.

Maybe she was better off living the unhappy life her parents planned—at least she wouldn’t suffer the agony of chasing an unattainable dream.

For the first time, he defied the system, urging her to quit writing and reconcile with her parents.

But by then, Lin Yuhan was too far gone, unable to hear him.

She’d leaned on his encouragement to stumble forward; he was her only lifeline.

As long as he was there, her dream wasn’t dead. There was still a chance.

In the end, Meng Zhi chose a different ending from Chen Xinya or Feng Xiyao.

He took his own life, starting the next loop.

To let Lin Yuhan live the life she was meant for.

So, meeting her on the street now left him dazed.

Eighteen-year-old Lin Yuhan was poised, a princess-like beauty. Fluffy curls, a black dress, calves hidden by short socks, her eyes behind glasses bright and innocent, evoking pity.

But in his memory, her final image was disheveled hair, a pale, sickly face from sleepless nights, a frail body, a room littered with instant noodle cups and trash, lifeless eyes behind her glasses.

He’d been right.

Without him, she wouldn’t have fallen to such ruin.

She could forever be the princess in her classmates’ eyes, the envied success story.

Thankfully, he hadn’t let anything slip.

Her nervous, timid demeanor suggested she might recognize him, meaning there was a chance she, like Chen Xinya and Feng Xiyao, carried memories of her last life.

But even in the worst case, if she was reborn, it didn’t matter.

Lin Yuhan wasn’t the obsessive type. Even in their last life, their bond was more about mutual understanding than romance.

Only he understood her writing, her loneliness, so she persisted for him.

This time, without him pushing her down that path, she had no reason to cling to it.

Her dejected departure confirmed his guess.

For Lin Yuhan, forgetting him was the best choice.

Maybe, after his suicide in the last life, she hated him.

Hated him for leading her down that road, then abandoning her.

…If only. Meng Zhi sighed.

He’d rather she hated him forever than see him again.

That would ease his guilt.

But back home, after closing the door, he hesitated, then called Wang Rui, the private detective.

“Track a QQ number for me.”

“If it’s registered on a novel site, let me know.”

At the very least, he wanted to confirm if she was reborn.