Astrology Hall with Flesh and Blood

Chapter 59

The astrologer's magnetic voice resonated in the air for a while before gradually fading from Yan Wuyue's ears. What a strange letter! She thought, it sounded like a will, yet it had an odd, unsettling quality. From the letter, it seemed perfectly reasonable for Mr. Luo to bequeath all his property to his granddaughter, Xiaoxue. But the fact that he hadn't had it notarized by a lawyer, and instead only wrote a rather insecure letter to the astrologer, was strange. Furthermore, when it came to property, descendants would generally accept it happily, and even debts would be avoided like the plague. Why would she be asked to "carefully" consider whether to "abandon" or "keep" it? Judging from Mr. Luo's tone, it seemed this matter was extremely important; a miscalculation could lead to a lifetime of regret? What on earth was going on?

“I have come here today to solemnly deliver to you the item entrusted to me by Mr. Luo,” the astrologer said. “As for whether you will accept it or not, please consider it first before giving your reply.”

Yan Wuyue looked around, but couldn't see any heavy luggage. The astrologer had clearly said he brought Mr. Luo's inheritance... Could it be that, as usual, the astrologer had hidden it on his person? It must be the bankbook! A sudden thought flashed through Yan Wuyue's mind—a huge sum of money, no doubt about it! Perhaps it was hidden in the trench coat she was wearing!

She began to fidget and fidget, desperately trying to find any trace of a bankbook or bank card hidden in the trench coat. Whether the astrologer sensed this or not, he deliberately brought his mouth close to Yan Wuyue's ear and whispered:

"What are you looking for, girl?"

"It's nothing, hehe." Yan Wuyue kept nuzzling against him while shamelessly replying, "I... I'm itchy, I'm scratching... I haven't showered for days..."

The other person's icy breath penetrated deeper into her ear canal, making her shiver several times: "Use your brain and think about why I specifically brought someone who gets in the way on this business trip..."

Ah! Yan Wuyue's blood froze instantly. Could it be that the "remains" the astrologer was talking about were actually referring to herself?

Volume Four: The Soul Singer, Second Movement: The Old Man and the Snow Boy (Part 8)

"Grandpa's things?" Xiaoxue's crimson eyes suddenly flashed, a fleeting light appearing within them. "Why didn't he tell me himself, but instead entrusted it to an outsider like you?"

"No! No!" Yan Wuyue was almost bursting with anxiety. "I don't know any Mr. Luo, nor am I any of his belongings. Astrologer, why are you giving me away?" A series of thoughts raced through her mind, but she was suspended in mid-air by the astrologer's nameless power, unable to escape. In desperation, she searched frantically for the astrologer's arm, wishing she could imitate a scene from a TV drama and bite it hard—just as her thoughts were in utter chaos, the astrologer simply parted his lips and uttered two words from his devilishly smiling lips:

"Maya."

Emerging in response was a doll that had been hiding in the travel bag, claiming to be the "world's strongest psychic." When she obediently shut up, she was a petite, beautiful girl with snow-white skin, black hair, and golden cat eyes; in reality, she was a sharp-tongued, petty doll. Maya seemed impatient for her appearance; she popped out, spread her sleeves, and jumped onto the table, her face beaming with smug delight.

"This is what Mr. Luo entrusted to me," the astrologer and Maya exchanged a glance, and the latter proudly raised her head, forcing her originally flat and small chest to protrude. "Whether you accept it or not is entirely up to you."

"What is this? A toy?" Xiaoxue's indifferent face showed no surprise at the moving doll in front of her. She merely glanced at it coldly before coldly refusing, "I don't need it."

“It’s not a toy,” the astrologer grabbed Maya’s body and lifted her high in front of Yuki, his voice so seductive that the latter couldn’t look away, “Your present life, your past life, don’t you want to know?”

When she woke up, the person in front of her called her Xiaoxue.

He was a middle-aged man with a full beard; his rough skin and fine wrinkles spoke of a turbulent and extraordinary life, and beneath his kind smile lay a hidden, unspoken weight. When he smiled, the wrinkles spread outwards from the corners of his nose like rays of sunlight, instantly warming Xiaoxue's heart like a gentle breeze, melting her soul as if she were bathed in the warmth of spring. He introduced himself as her father.

“You are my only family in this world,” the man gazed at her from afar with deep affection, yet hesitated to pull her stiff, newly awakened limbs into his warm embrace. “My daughter, Xiaoxue.”

This was all she could remember about her father at this moment. Amnesia—albinism—and her deadly infectious disease that would infect anyone she touched—it all seemed so familiar. Yes, even her father's face was so familiar, as if she had seen it somewhere before.

Yes, before she lost this memory, she should have had a loving father.

Her father took her hand and wrote the first Chinese character in her palm. The first word he taught her was "I," and the second was "you." He helped her eat and dress, and sat by her bedside, telling her the story of the Little Mermaid. She asked to hear it again and again, and he told it tirelessly until he could no longer stay awake and stumbled back to his room to sleep. Her father was indeed very caring towards her, except for one thing, which she deeply resented.

Her father always wore rubber gloves, a thin, colorless yet undeniably present layer of rubber that seemed like a natural barrier between them, sealing away the warmth of their hearts. Therefore, whether her father held her hand while she wrote calligraphy or helped her wash her hair and clothes, except during her early, lucid "childhood" period, she never truly felt gratitude towards her father. And it wasn't just gratitude.

It's absolutely disgusting.

In her daily loneliness, her personality grew increasingly reclusive and bitter. The reason she contracted this shameful, strange illness was entirely her father's fault. Not only was he incapable of curing it, but he also refused to even touch his own daughter, simply because he was afraid of death!

He's a complete coward!

Unbeknownst to me, my father's once full head of black hair gradually thinned, and the scattered silver strands increased day by day; he may have once been considered quite handsome, but his back became increasingly hunched, and his wrinkles multiplied, making him look like a shriveled eggplant wilted by frost and snow. In contrast, she in the mirror remained unchanged, still beautiful and refined. "I'm getting old," my father said cheerfully, "but you're still young."

Xiaoxue twirled lightly, her snow-white skirt fluttering like a cloud, looking absolutely beautiful. "You'll look ugly when you're old," she replied casually. "If I were to look like you, I'd rather die!" she solemnly declared.

The father paused for a moment, a shadow flashing across his deep black eyes, and then he lowered his head deeply.

"You won't die..." he murmured, looking at his hands and the rubber gloves he was wearing, "with these hands of mine..."

In her memory, her father's words only pierced her heart for a fleeting moment, causing her to tremble uncontrollably. However, after a brief rise in temperature, her body temperature quickly plummeted back to its freezing point. Her father had only ever spoken; he was utterly incapable of protecting his only daughter. The evidence was that one summer, unusually hot, with several air conditioners running simultaneously, she still suffered heatstroke and became exhausted. In that critical moment, her father didn't dare rush to her side; he simply stood far away outside the window, watching her anxiously through the glass. Even when he frantically paced around, biting his ten fingers until they bled, it didn't help—in the end, she survived thanks to her own endurance. From that incident onward, she never trusted her father again.

She increasingly felt like a canary imprisoned by her father, and only by breaking free of his shackles could she possibly soar into the vast sky. However, just as she was secretly planning a certain operation, her mind suddenly went blank…

Volume Four: The Soul Singer, Second Movement: The Old Man and the Snow Boy (Part Nine)

When she woke up, the person in front of her called her Xiaoxue.

He was a handsome young man, no more than twenty years old. Time hadn't yet etched a single mark on his smooth, even skin, making him appear like a god from Greek mythology—vibrant and full of energy. Beneath his high, straight nose were deep, dark eyes—familiar, long eyes that seemed to radiate youthful vitality from their deep, focused gaze. His skin was very white, not just white, but possessed a translucent quality so thin it seemed to reflect blood. His features were so handsome they were almost effeminate, yet, for some reason, beneath his seemingly carefree smile lay a hidden, unspoken heaviness. When he smiled, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, like a gentle breeze caressing Xiaoxue's heart, warming and melting her soul as if bathed in spring sunshine. He introduced himself as her brother.

“You are my only family in this world,” the young man gazed at her from afar with deep affection, yet hesitated to pull her stiff, newly awakened limbs into his warm embrace. “My sister, Xiaoxue.”

He told her everything: amnesia—albinism—infectious diseases, and about their parents… But why? Her head throbbed with a splitting, agonizing pain, wave after wave. She felt as if she were reaching for something ethereal and elusive, but a thin mist always seemed to obstruct her view… Her brother sat before her, his thin lips pouring out her lost memories, his urgency so palpable, as if he wanted her to memorize them all instantly. But she could only slump helplessly, desperately wanting to rush forward and cover his rapidly moving mouth—no, it wasn't like that! Although I don't know the truth, please don't repeat such blatant lies!

This is the third time already...

Everyone—grandfather, father, and brother—claimed to be her only family. Yet, she was always plagued by a strange illness, forcing her to be imprisoned in this identical house, never allowed to step outside. Strangely, these people seemed to be strangers, never mentioning each other's existence, and she knew nothing about anything before meeting them—this was the consequence of amnesia. Alone and helpless, she had no choice but to submit to their arrangements, endlessly recuperating in this secluded mansion with no hope of escape.

She loved her brother more than her grandfather and father. She had once stolen a glance at his profile in the golden glow of the setting sun; his long eyelashes brushed against the halo of the sunset, casting a deep, dark shadow like a fence on his handsome face. At that moment, from above, his entire body seemed shrouded in a thick, ominous shadow.

But more often than not, however, the older brother's role was not only appropriate and fitting, but also incredibly gentle. With patience exceeding the limits of a young man's tolerance, he lulled her to sleep, told her many beautiful yet melancholic fairy tales, taught her manners, and guided her to read and write, striving to raise her into a normal girl. "Even if she never leaves the house, as long as she steps out of this door, I believe Xiaoxue will be able to integrate into the outside world immediately," the older brother once excitedly remarked, proud of his student.

"Really?" Xiaoxue's crimson eyes widened instantly. Ah, outside! What an alluring word! "Can I really go? Outside?"

The elder brother's face immediately darkened. Perhaps he regretted his rash words? He turned his head away, afraid of meeting Xiaoxue's eyes, which were sparkling with longing. He hesitated to answer for a long time. Finally, unable to resist Xiaoxue's repeated pleas, he could only let out a sigh from the deepest part of his lungs.

"Hmm..." he answered hesitantly, "There will be such a day someday, I hope so..."

It sounded more like a statement of self-abandonment. This plunged Xiaoxue's heart, which had been warmed, back into the freezing water. Since she was destined to be trapped in a cage for life, why force herself to adapt to the outside world? The next day, her brother was shocked to find that his beloved child was gone, like fireworks burned out, leaving only charred remains on his only sister. Xiaoxue was originally a pure and innocent young girl, raised by her brother. Apart from him, she had never been in contact with anyone else in her life, and therefore should not have been corrupted by the outside world.

Logically speaking, she should retain her innate pure white wings and accompany her brother as an ice and snow angel.

Yet she changed. The transformation from white to pure black, requiring seven colors, seemed to happen to her in a single night. She seemed to have entered a so-called "rebellious phase," no longer showing the same respect for her brother. Instead, she constantly opposed him, doing everything in her power to resist him. Whenever she saw a shadow of melancholy cross her brother's forehead, she would exhale a long sigh, excited by this insignificant pleasure, unable to sleep. Her brother, after all, was young. The more eccentric and eccentric she became, the more submissive he became, blaming himself for his lack of patience. "Xiaoxue, be good, be good," he would clumsily follow behind her, picking up the dolls she carelessly tossed about, completely outmaneuvered by her light steps. Day after day, his confidence waned. "Xiaoxue, stop it, stop it," he would plead helplessly, his words utterly powerless. And she, at that time, smiled cruelly, a smile devoid of warmth.

How long did these boring days repeat themselves? She didn't know, nor did she need to know. The only thing she was certain of was that no matter how domineering she was at home, no matter how much she belittled her brother, once they were outside, it was his world! That's right, even if her brother grew uglier and uglier at home, he could still freely enter and leave the outside world, bringing back things she longed for but could never touch—flowers, moonlight, snow. Every time her brother returned from outside, he would carefully pluck the snowflakes clinging to his shoulders, as if holding a beautiful and fragile crystal rose, and gently place them in her hands. At that moment, his eyes seemed to reflect the pure white light of the snow, as sorrowful and moving as tears.

Her brother was gradually losing the handsomeness he had when they first met. Wrinkles appeared on his smooth skin, each one like a parallel line etched by Father Time, cruelly distorting the lines of his face. His once thick, black, perfectly separated hair had become a sparse wasteland—and the youthful, radiant skin that had once captivated her, the vibrant spring of youth that had once freely nourished his face, had now completely dried up, turning into a barren desert. How astonishing, how swift, her brother's transformation was! But why had she remained unchanged, her body unchanged?

“Because I’m getting old,” her brother said calmly, looking at her still petite figure in the mirror, “while you are still young.”

She suddenly turned around and looked at the man in front of her.

His face was exactly like his father's.

Volume Four: The Soul Singer, Second Movement: The Old Man and the Snow Boy (Part Ten)

She screamed, her limbs convulsing. She had expected to break out in a cold sweat, but she was disappointed. Her body remained as clean and tidy as ever.

She will never be able to sweat in her entire life.

She wanted to shout, but those two crucial words were stuck in her throat, and she couldn't utter them.

elder brother?

Or is it the father?

Her head throbbed, and her narrowed vision gradually blurred. She seemed to see her handsome young brother, his eyes smiling, suddenly transforming into her father's appearance with his hair turning completely white. She covered her mouth, unable to suppress the discomfort rising from her stomach, but her father's face continued to change.

Until it evolved into the appearance of my grandfather.

"Who am I?" she screamed. "And who are they?"

The illusion vanished, and standing before her was the astrologer, one arm holding Yan Wuyue, the other lifting Maya. His black trench coat was still draped over Yan Wuyue, protecting her from the cold, while the astrologer, using her as cover, barely concealed himself. Three pairs of eyes, including Maya's, were staring intently at her, as they had been since just moments before.

Everything feels like a distant memory.

“This is what Mr. Luo entrusted to me,” the astrologer gently placed Maya on the table, who was looking back at him excitedly, like a primary school student eager for a reward from her teacher. “It has been kept by Maya.”

Xiaoxue's pale lips unconsciously parted.

“Your memory, twenty years, forty years,” the astrologer squinted, trying to grasp the tail end of the years that had passed in his mind, “No… if you count carefully, it should be sixty years.”

Sixty years? Yan Wuyue's mouth dropped open in surprise. The astrologer actually said that Xiaoxue had lost sixty years of memories? But no matter how you look at her, she's just a fourteen or fifteen-year-old girl.

“No wonder,” the astrologer sighed deeply. “Whenever your mind grows to the point where you’re about to discover the secret, Mr. Luo always asks me to have Maya swallow your memories so that you can start a new life as an amnesiac.”

A secret? Yan Wuyue held her breath, sensing the storm that was about to break.

"A secret?" Xiaoxue sneered. "He's been tormenting me for so long, making me not even know what to call him, all for some stupid secret?"

What they couldn't hide in their words was disgust and hatred.

The astrologer raised his eyebrows. “I thought,” he said slowly and deliberately, “that you had already seen through it.”

Xiaoxue's frail body swayed.

“You are not an ordinary person, unlike Mr. Luo and her,” the astrologer pointed in the direction of Yan Wuyue, “you are different. You will not grow old, nor will you get sick. In fact, you were born into this world only to die one last day.”

Yan Wuyue finally managed to speak, "Who exactly is Xiaoxue...?"

The astrologer's icy green eyes shone with an inorganic light. "Snow Woman, if I may put it that way."

“And the one who created her is me.” Before Yan Wuyue could react, he continued.

That happened many years ago, for humans, yet in the astrologer's mind, it barely stirred. One winter night, he was on a plane when he noticed a pair of exquisitely beautiful twin siblings, their faces as charming and adorable as little angels. The astrologer struck up a conversation with their parents and learned that their surname was Luo, the brother's name was Bing, and the sister's name was Xue.

Perhaps the very existence of astrologers was a disaster. A lightning strike from high above caused the plane to crash, killing almost all the passengers instantly. Only the immortal astrologer and the fourteen-year-old boy named Luo Bing miraculously survived.

Overnight, Luo Bing lost all his loved ones and was devastated. He contemplated suicide several times. An astrologer told him that he could "resurrect" his loved ones. However, due to the astrologer's greatly diminished power, he could only choose one to perform the resurrection ritual.

Luo Bing chose her younger sister without hesitation.

On the snow-covered mountaintop, the astrologer solemnly devoured the charred and deformed corpse of Luo Xue, extracting her young soul. Using materials readily available—ice and snow soaked with the blood of the victims—he sculpted a girl who looked exactly like Luo Xue. "Xiao Xue! You're Xiao Xue, right?" Upon seeing the snow maiden's pale eyelashes flutter, Luo Bing was overjoyed and wanted nothing more than to pounce on her.

The astrologer coldly stopped him.

"There is one taboo that you, my guest, must strictly abide by." After giving this instruction, the astrologer vanished into the swirling snow.

During the days awaiting rescue, Luo Bing stayed by his sister's side. Moreover, for the next sixty long years, he never wavered in his adherence to this taboo. He remained by Xiao Xue's side, watching her grow from a naive boy into a dashing young man, while the river of time flowed slowly within her sight, gently carrying his small boat into middle age, prematurely graying his hair, and then, without a moment's pause, leading him into old age; yet, while the river of time could carry all the people in the world, it alone left her stranded on the shore.

She is destined never to grow up.

As her mind matured, and as she one day discovered that her brother was old enough to be her father, her innocent heart inevitably harbored many doubts. Luo Bing saw her confusion, but was unable to explain them to her. As these doubts grew ever larger, he was unable to cope—

Only by starting all over again can we succeed.

Her memories—those ordinary, happy days when they were like brother and sister, when they stood side by side by the window, silently gazing at the sunset, those occasional disagreements that always ended in reconciliation, her tearful eyes and his softened forgiveness—all vanished into nothingness with a gentle nod from him. He closed his eyes, desperately holding back the tears that threatened to spill. When he opened his eyes again, she was no longer his sister, and he was no longer her brother.

He called her Xiaoxue.

“I am your father,” he said. At that moment, his heart ached as if it were being torn apart.

As a father, he loved her again for twenty years, until time turned his hair and beard as white as frost and snow, until the doubt in Xiaoxue's eyes grew deeper and deeper. With trembling lips and shaking hands, he picked up his pen and wrote a letter to the astrologer.

It was another wipe. He cruelly took away all of Xiaoxue's memories of her father, and for the rest of his life, he would continue to live as her grandfather.

This time, it will be the end.

Volume 4, The Soul Singer, Second Movement: The Old Man and the Snow Boy (Part 11) - End

Day after day, year after year, his eyesight worsened, and his hearing became increasingly poor; yet, despite all this, the footsteps of death drew ever closer, as if they were just inches away. He thought to himself, "Finally, I will die too."

He and Xiaoxue still lived together in that old and cold house. Apart from him, Xiaoxue had never seen anyone from the outside world. Old and frail, he couldn't help but worry about how Xiaoxue would live after he was gone. However, he still held onto a sliver of hope, feeling that his body was still quite healthy and that seeing the sun rise tomorrow shouldn't be a problem.

The same applies the day after tomorrow.

With a mix of trepidation and hope, he spent some time peacefully until the fatal day suddenly arrived, plunging him into the abyss of despair without hesitation. His lower body lost sensation, became numb, and he was unable to move. The last thing he could do was ask Xiaoxue to bring him paper and a pen.

I wrote a final letter to the astrologer.