Canary Is Actually The Future World-Destroying Boss Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Ji Gui never ended up asking about the marriage.

When it was over, Yuan Hui told him, “Go back first.”

Ji Gui hesitated, and though Yuan Hui saw his expression, he chose to ignore it.

“Can you come see me tonight?” Ji Gui sat up on the desk and looked at the distance to the floor. After a moment of hesitation, he jumped down on his own.

The clothes scattered on the floor made the room look messy. Ji Gui knelt down to pick them up.

Yuan Hui sat nearby, scanning Ji Gui’s body from top to bottom, but he did not answer the question. Ji Gui did not want to face him and turned around to put on his clothes.

“We’ll see,” Yuan Hui finally replied.

In the hallway, Ji Gui realized it was snowing heavily outside. A layer of white frost covered the glass; touching it sent a chill through his entire body. Ji Gui could only vaguely see the white world outside.

The hazy world swayed in a dim white; one look was enough to lose one’s way. Branches shook, shedding their accumulated snow.

He pressed his hand firmly against the glass until his palm lost all sensation and turned crimson before he was willing to stop.

“Won’t survive this winter…” The words surfaced in Ji Gui’s mind at that moment, like a lingering nightmare.

Don’t think about it. He shook his head hard and left the spot.

That night, Yuan Hui went to Yao’s room.

Ji Gui could only share a room with another silent ghost. Shang’s face remained blurred; Ji Gui could not read his thoughts, sometimes feeling he was as hazy as the heavy snow.

Ji Gui felt the new maid looked familiar but could not remember who she was, though it did not matter much.

Half a month passed in the blink of an eye, and Ji Gui still had not heard any news about Yuan Hui’s marriage.

Yuan Hui also had to leave for a few days for some business.

So, for these few days, Ji Gui had nothing to do. To be precise, it was tedious; every day he watched the white snow, seeing only the boredom of white.

“I miss Master so much…” Yao and Ji Gui sat on a bench in the garden. Against the backdrop of the snow, Yao’s rounded cheeks showed a hint of rosy color.

At this moment, those heterochromatic eyes held a trace of sorrow as he chatted idly with Ji Gui.

Ji Gui wore a pure white coat over a gray sweater with a fluffy scarf around his neck, sipping a hot drink. Even so, the cold wind felt biting to him.

Compared to Yao, who dared to come out in just a sweater, he was like an old man entering the twilight of his life.

Ji Gui did not particularly like Yao; he only sought him out because he was forced by loneliness to find a distraction.

He echoed, “Me too.”

“I don’t know where Master went. I asked Butler Rick, but he wouldn’t tell me,” Yao complained quietly.

Ji Gui said flatly, “Is that so? Master didn’t tell you anything else?”

“No. Forget it, do you want to go to the lake?” Yao asked. “I heard a thick layer of ice has formed there. Want to go see?”

Sometimes Yao cared more about entertainment than Master. Ji Gui’s reaction was lukewarm; he did not like that lake.

To be precise, he hated water.

“You go. I’m a bit cold, I’m going back first.”

“Alright then…”

Ji Gui followed the path back to his room, looking out the window from time to time. The harsh winter seemed to have arrived; the silver-wrapped world claimed insignificant lives every year.

Don’t think about it.

Ji Gui withdrew his gaze and opened the door.

In the room, the new maid—Luo Ling—was face-to-face with him. Luo Ling calmly folded the rumpled bedding, saying, “You’re back so soon.”

Luo Ling had cleaned the room yesterday; by right, she should not have been in Ji Gui’s room. Ji Gui walked over and threw his coat onto the bed, hitting Luo Ling’s hand.

Luo Ling paused for a moment but continued tidying.

“What are you looking for?” Ji Gui asked expressionlessly, his gaze moving from Luo Ling to the window.

Shang sat on the windowsill like a statue; if there were snow on his shoulders, he would look even more realistic. They had not spoken a word for the past few days; Shang lingered in the room like a ghost.

Ji Gui quickly looked away.

Luo Ling replied, “I left something here, so I came to find it. Sorry, I should have told you beforehand.”

After saying that, she bowed deeply, preparing to leave.

Ji Gui remained expressionless. He stared at Luo Ling and said word by word, “I don’t recall you leaving anything here.”

“Oh,” Luo Ling smiled back and said, “My apologies, I must have remembered wrong. Sorry to disturb you. You don’t mind, do you?”

This emboldened attitude was like a stone cast into Ji Gui’s heart. He took a deep breath and asked, “What do you mean?”

Luo Ling looked confused and said with surprise, “Exactly what I said. Don’t you understand?”

After saying that, her slight smile made Ji Gui feel she was being provocative.

“…” Ji Gui glanced at Shang by the window.

Shang seemed to be looking over as well, his blurred face hiding inscrutable emotions. Ji Gui’s mood grew increasingly frustrated. He turned to Luo Ling: “Come here for a moment, I have something to tell you.”

Luo Ling did not understand but walked back and crouched slightly: “What?”

Seeing this, Ji Gui raised his hand and gave her a loud slap. His palm stung with a burning pain, and a red mark soon appeared.

Thump, thump, thump—for a moment, Ji Gui’s heart raced, and he felt his blood surging.

An indescribable feeling spread like wildfire, and in an instant, the world was ablaze.

Ji Gui looked up and saw Luo Ling’s disbelief, surprise, and angry humiliation. In that instant, he understood—this was a light, pleasurable feeling that would surely become addictive.

“You—!”

“What about me? Go ahead, hit me back.” Ji Gui touched his red palm and smiled at Luo Ling, his provocation blatant.

Luo Ling pointed at him, her finger trembling, but she could not say a word.

“Get out now.” Ji Gui’s long-standing tension finally relaxed at this moment.

Luo Ling covered her face, clenched her fists, and ran out.

Shang had already looked away.

Ji Gui lay directly on the bed, his mood eased. Even Shang could not dampen his good spirits.

The long-term frustration was swept away. He could not even find words to describe this emotion.

To put it simply, this might be happiness.

Reaching this conclusion, his movement as he turned over suddenly paused. It was like a person suddenly gaining unprecedented inspiration, a thought that could illuminate the future.

Ji Gui sat on the edge of the bed, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing his still-warm palm.

The strange excitement still shouting in his veins was both foreign and fascinating.

Why was he happy?

Could he also find pleasure in bullying others?

No, no, he shook his head and thought: She provoked me first, I just…

I just felt very happy…

He looked at his palm, and as he opened and closed his hand, his originally happy mood plummeted. Why should he be happy about such a thing? What then?

After the pleasure, he perceived a terrifying essence, like digging up a beautiful flower only to find rotting bones beneath.

He felt an inexplicable panic.

For the next few days, Ji Gui was distracted, looking out the window from time to time. Small things kept him awake at night.

In his solitary moments, memories of the past surfaced, reminding him that he once had family and a home.

Ivy was also a frequent guest in his memories; Ji Gui could always recall trivial things like their bickering and arguments.

Lately, what Ji Gui remembered most was not Ivy’s corpse, but the time he met her in the hallway during her heat.

Recalling it now, Ji Gui thought she was simply unreasonable, waiting for Yuan Hui’s empty promise instead of taking medicine.

Ji Gui did not believe Ivy had been with Yuan Hui for so long without knowing what kind of man he was; even he knew.

And no matter how you looked at it, Yao was her real problem. Why did she have to come for him?

Trapped by trivialities.

Troubled by messy thoughts.

With a ghost watching him at all times.

Occasionally, Ji Gui could still see her in his dreams.

In the dream, she sat in a ruined, desolate world. Snow fell all around as she reached out her right hand to catch a snowflake.

In the gray, dead world, she suddenly turned to look at Ji Gui. She stood up, showed him the wasteland, and asked, “Is this the silence you crave?”

Ji Gui’s breath hitched for a moment, and then breathing became increasingly difficult.

He fled before Ivy could walk over.

He woke up in a cold sweat.

Days repeated themselves. When Ji Gui chatted with Yao again, he noticed Yao had become more depressed, far more sorrowful than last time.

Ji Gui was not interested in his sorrow, but he could not stand Yao’s constant sighing. For instance, Yao was now sitting opposite him, one hand on his cheek and the other poking at the bread on his plate with a fork, sighing heavily from time to time.

“Yao, do you miss Master again?” Ji Gui was eating his noodles.

Yuan Hui had been gone for a week.

Yao shook his head and continued to destroy the bread: “I just want to go home.”

“Where?” Ji Gui could guess the answer, but he was not sure.

Yao continued, “My sister was very good to me. Last year she said she’d spend my birthday with me. I suddenly want to see her.”

At this moment, Yao’s expression lost its usual innocence. Sorrow filled his face, like a desolate street in late autumn, showing an unmaskable loneliness.

Ji Gui remained silent.

Yao dropped his fork, pushed the plate away, and added, “…Last year at this time, my sister seemed to have taken time off specially, saying she would take me to the new amusement park in the suburbs.”

Yao’s voice lowered, his eyes looking a bit vacant: “She saved her allowance for half a year to buy the tickets in advance and hid them under my pillow to surprise me.”

Ji Gui listened silently, unable to ask “What is an amusement park?” But even so, his thoughts drifted back to his own cramped home.

He suddenly wanted to go home.

This occasional thought grew wildly. Ji Gui finally realized that, unknowingly, past memories had permeated everything—whether sad or happy.

the past was always there, quietly invading during moments of emptiness.

“Hey, why are you crying? Was my story that moving?”

Ji Gui looked up to see a worried Yao. He touched his face and found it wet.

“No,” he wiped the tears and said, “I just thought of something else.”

Yao immediately asked, “What is it?”

Ji Gui could not explain it either; a faint sorrow lingered. If others’ skies were a cloudless blue, his was an overcast gray.

“I don’t know, it just hurts to remember the past. When it snows, when I smell flowers, when I see tall buildings or clear lakes, I feel sad.” Ji Gui used the words Shang had taught him to describe his feelings.

That emotion could not actually be summarized as “sadness”; it was a complex, rainy thought that grew with his flesh and could not be dispelled.

“Huh? I don’t really understand. What are you saying?” Yao said. “Those things are clearly good. Why would you think that? You should walk in the garden more. Staying in your room all day is boring. Sometimes I wonder what you do in there. Don’t you find it boring?”

“I don’t know… whatever. I might just be sick.” The more they talked, the more frustrated he felt. Ji Gui pushed his unfinished noodles aside. “I’m full. I’m leaving.”

On the way back, he looked at the unchanging scenery. What was buried under the soil beneath the flowers? If he were buried there, would he also be fragrant?

He was constantly thinking, thinking about death. If he died, would all suffering vanish like smoke?

Thinking about meaningless things, sad things.

Unknowingly, he arrived at the lake again. In winter, a thin layer of ice had formed on the surface.

Ji Gui walked forward like a walking corpse and stepped onto the ice near the shore. With a “crack,” the ice broke, and his foot sank into the water. The cold water was bone-chilling.

But he quickly withdrew his foot and retreated several steps. Then, with a “thud,” he knelt on the ground, covered his face, and sobbed quietly.

Always longing, yet always fearing.

He curled into a ball, hugging his knees. His breathing became heavier, and his sobs were drowned out by the wind.

When he looked up again, Ji Gui found that snow was falling again. He quickly wiped his cheeks and got up to leave.

Nothing happened after that, and Ji Gui’s life continued.

As time passed, he suddenly felt that something scarier than death was day-after-day loneliness. Waking up in the same bed and seeing the same scenery every day, emptiness was constantly corroding him.

Strange thoughts kept popping into his head.

Repeating the same actions, unable to establish any emotional connection with those around him. He was like a bystander.

Whenever this happened, he would look at Shang. Shang looked even lonelier than he did. He always sat alone by the windowsill, gazing at the silhouette of the city’s edge.

Ji Gui would also remember Shang teaching him to read and his patience in the basement.

In this misunderstood loneliness, only Shang was by his side.

After a long silence, Ji Gui finally could not help but speak to Shang: “What are you looking at every day?”

He walked to Shang’s side and looked at the same scenery.

Shang, who was like a statue, moved. He turned his head to look at Ji Gui and said flatly, “Why ask? Don’t you look at it every day? It’s all the same.”

Seeing that Shang was willing to talk to him, Ji Gui felt relieved. He followed up, “Don’t you get tired of looking at this every day? I’ve seen that you haven’t moved much lately.”

“You’re one to talk. You don’t go out either. Don’t be a shut-in at such a young age.” Shang finally stepped down from the windowsill and, rare for him, patted Ji Gui’s head.

Then he brushed past Ji Gui.

Ji Gui touched the spot that had just been patted. From a distance, his expression looked a bit dazed, as if he had not reacted yet.

“You’re so strange.” He turned around. Shang was already sitting on the bed in a relaxed posture, having returned to his usual self.

Ji Gui’s mood instantly lightened, like a fluffy cloud.

He did not dwell on it too much; Shang being willing to talk to him was the best outcome. It was he who had first been unwilling to speak to Shang.

Ji Gui felt some guilt and gratitude. Shang was the one who had always been with him. Although Shang’s motives were not pure and his behavior was chaotic, only he truly stayed with him, talked to him, and in the end, did not hold a grudge.

“Shang…” Ji Gui walked to the bed and sat down, whispering his name.

Shang looked at him.

Ji Gui said, “I’m sorry, these past few days…”

Halfway through, he lowered his eyes, his eyelashes trembling. His red lips hesitated.

Shang already knew what he was going to say. He lay down directly, his arms spread wide, occupying almost the entire bed: “No, there’s no need to apologize. You weren’t wrong.”

Ji Gui looked up in surprise, finding Shang increasingly hard to understand.

“The facts are there. No matter how you process and beautify them in your mind, they can’t be changed,” Shang said. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

Ji Gui could not understand. He apologized because he felt guilty, regardless of whether that guilt was reasonable. At the same time, it was because he was used to apologizing—apologizing after being hit, apologizing after someone got angry.

Having grown accustomed to this behavioral pattern, he could not change it for a moment.

Seeing Ji Gui looking at him without answering, Shang laughed to himself and said, “Never mind, just take it as me talking to myself. But…”

Halfway through, Shang suddenly went silent.

“What?” Ji Gui asked curiously.

“Nothing.” Shang turned his head toward the window. Ji Gui knew he was looking at the scenery again.

Ji Gui did not push further.

“By the way, what was that maid looking for in my room last time?” Ji Gui asked.

Every time that new maid cleaned the room, she always observed him with an inquisitive gaze. She thought she was being subtle, but Ji Gui had noticed long ago.

“Hey, you didn’t talk to me just to ask this, did you?” Shang suddenly sat up, his tone sounding mischievous.

If he could see his expression, Ji Gui thought he would definitely be smirking.

There was no doubt it was just a joke, but Ji Gui still cooperated and said, “No. It’s been so many days. If I really wanted to know, I would have asked then.”

After saying that, he looked at Shang with a melancholic and sad gaze.

Shang’s face was turned toward him. Although his features were unclear, Ji Gui felt his current expression must be one of helplessness and exasperation.

“Stop pretending…” As expected, Shang saw through his act. “She swapped your medicine. She changed it to vitamins.”

“Vitamins?”

“Good stuff. Eat more.”

Ji Gui said, “So what does she mean by that?”

“…Alright.” Shang sighed and said, “What else could it mean? She’s up to no good. Swapping a psychiatric patient’s medicine for vitamins is very wicked.”

Ji Gui found the medicine in the cabinet, opened it, and smelled it, but could not find any difference. He picked up a pill and bit it. After a moment, he said, “It’s actually sweet. The previous medicine was always bitter.”

Hearing the word “sweet,” Shang’s hand froze. Then he sneered and said, “It’s the first time I’ve seen someone so purely and freshly stupid.”

She knew to swap the medicine but did not know to find one with the same taste. Could she guarantee Ji Gui would just swallow it?

Shang was speechless.