Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

This elegant blue-haired lady remained unchanged even after her identity was altered; her demeanor was still graceful, and her speech was still proper. The only difference was that her words now carried the polished brilliance of a politician.

She warmly praised Soufby's loyalty, affirmed Melina's contributions on the eastern front, acknowledged the positive role of the rebels in the war, and highly recognized the peace concept proposed by the former.

However, behind every promise lies the entanglement of "needs to go through procedures", "awaiting parliamentary resolutions", and "taking into account the demands of all parties".

Her smile was like a jewel set in a mask, dazzling yet chilling to the touch. In her dark golden eyes, there was no pity for the scorched earth and scars, only the precise shifting of weights on the scales of power.

As they stepped out of the magnificent yet distant reception room, both of them felt an emptiness in their hearts, as if they had been pushed off the tower of ideals and plunged into the icy abyss of reality.

"The vision we pursue by burning our lives..." Melina clutched the pristine white medical gown she was wearing, the dried bloodstains on the fabric digging into her fingertips, "Will it ultimately only congeal into a pending matter on official documents?"

Sufby remained silent, the old wound on her shoulder throbbing faintly. Her pursuit of revenge, her yearning for glory, had lost its direction with the collapse of the empire. Yet this so-called new order was no more enlightened than the old, and it made her deeply feel that the sacrifices of her healers and comrades were merely a footnote to absurdity. What lingered most in their hearts was the fact that they had never met the "mentor" spoke of by the lowly soldiers—that incredibly faint yet desperately longed-for hope.

They walked along the empty corridor, their footsteps echoing in the silence, which only amplified their desolation. Then, as they reached a corner, a scene at the end of a fork in the road suddenly captured their soon-to-disperse attention.

It is Ansuna.

The black-haired girl, once known for her sharpness in Hastings' camp, now stood before a plain, unmarked wooden door. She raised her hand and gently knocked on the door with a specific rhythm.

Then, a soft laugh came from inside.

Clear and languid, with a slight upward rise at the end, carrying a familiar, heart-stirring rhythm.

"The door isn't locked, come in, Ansu."

Like moonlight piercing through the clouds, awakening memories of the journey, Sufby's knuckles dug into her palm, Melina's breath caught in her throat. They would never mistake that voice; it was Tingen's long talk late at night, the farewell before the gunshots at the art exhibition, the spiritual compass that sustained them through the flames of war.

Is she still alive?

Like iron filings drawn to a magnet, the fledglings crashed uncontrollably against the wooden door. Ansuna showed no surprise at their sudden appearance, merely turning slightly to the side, her crimson eyes sweeping over them indifferently, as if she had expected it.

Beyond the door lay another world. An oil lamp cast a warm yellow halo around the desk, dust motes slowly floating in the beams, and the air was filled with the scent of old parchment and a faint white musk.

A high-backed chair faced away from the door. A few strands of silver-gray hair fell from the upper edge of the chair back, partially obscuring a slender, fair neck. The slightly tilted neck and shoulders, along with the slight turn of the head in response to the noise outside the door, revealed half of the corner of the lips—that cunning and familiar curve.

Time stands still here.

Tears slowly slid down her cheeks, like a gentle rain nourishing the earth. She couldn't tell if it was joy or grievance, resentment or relief; a jumble of emotions tugged at her, impossible to unravel or sever.

The overwhelming joy of finding what was lost, the bitterness and grievance of the long wait, the anger and resentment of being kept in the dark, and a kind of almost desperate relief... all these emotions intertwined and tore at them like a tangled mess, making their throats choke and their hearts feel as if they were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand, making it impossible for them to breathe smoothly or to form any meaningful words.

Their longing was finally fulfilled, but it was accompanied by the dull ache of being deceived. They had a thousand questions in their hearts, wanting to question her about why she faked her death, why she concealed it, and why she made them suffer such torment... But when they truly faced the face they had longed for day and night, all the words stuck in their throats, turning into a silent tremor and a bewildered gaze.

However, the gray-haired figure remained completely undisturbed by the sudden intrusion and the rude stare.

She remained seated, only gently setting down a brass component she was playing with, letting the rustling of the metal against the fabric linger.

Then, that voice that haunted their dreams rang out again. She seemed to know that her old friends were coming, but she focused on the formalities of etiquette, just like her old tone, which was cunning and evasive.

"To come uninvited is not proper etiquette for a lady, my dear little peacock, little parrot."

These casual words acted like a fuse, instantly igniting the suppressed grievances in Melina's heart and the surging indignation in Sofby's eyes.

"Why?!" Melina's voice trembled with sobs, almost a scream. She staggered forward, her fingers clutching her medical gown tightly to her chest, as if it were her last refuge. "Watson...you never left, why, why did you deceive us like that? Why did you make us think you were dead? You know we..."

Her words were interrupted by a sob, and the words "how painful" were drowned out by even more surging tears, and she ultimately could not utter them.

Sophie stared intently at the retreating figure, the turmoil in her red eyes gradually subsiding, replaced by the flames of betrayal. Her voice was hoarse from the effort to control herself: "Playing with people's hearts... is that fun, Watson? Have you never told us a single truth from beginning to end? Is it fun to watch us grieve for you, suffer for you, and even embark on this endless road for you?"

Faced with this soul-crushing question, the high-backed chair finally slowly turned around.

That face was still the same as I remembered, exquisitely beautiful like a doll, its short, silver-gray hair making its skin appear even more translucent. However, those eyes, which once occasionally held warmth, now held only amusement and provocation.

Perhaps, this smile, as bright and beautiful as wildflowers, also evokes a chilling coldness.

“Interesting?” She savored the word, then leaned back, no longer concealing the curve of her lips. “Of course it’s interesting, it’s delightful.”

The girl's words were soft, yet they were like poisoned ice picks, piercing the hearts of the two of them.

"The way you struggle, the way you suffer, the way you stubbornly pursue so-called ideals and truth after your hearts are broken... how delicious, how delightful."

She leaned forward slightly, as if sharing a secret, making no attempt to conceal her wicked nature.

"You! You actually dare to admit it! Watson, what do you take us for? Toys for amusement?"

When the deep-seated joy is shattered by the cruel truth, the happiness of reunion and recovery loses its weight.

Su Fu felt deeply indebted to him, loved him the most intensely and fiercely, and was therefore heartbroken. She almost stepped forward, grabbed his collar, and let her anger consume her, strangling his fragile neck, but—

"I heard it, I heard it."

The silver-haired girl yawned listlessly, seemingly unconcerned about the two's attitude; her posture was almost a form of seduction and provocation.

“I did deceive you. Tingen’s death was a planned exit. Watching you grieve, watching your lives change because of my ‘death’ and get to where you are today... this process was incredibly enjoyable.”

“I admit, I am certainly happy to affirm it.”

With an air of nonchalance and no sign of shame, Watson spread his arms wide, his posture lazy and arrogant, as if mocking the two of them.

"But, so what?"

"Ask yourselves, little peacocks, without me, could you have reversed the decline of your family and found your lost sister on your own? Could you have embarked on the extraordinary path and possess the power and decisiveness you have today?"

"And you, little parrot. If it weren't for that 'deception' in Tingen, would you have stepped out of the sheltered greenhouse and truly understood the cruelty of reality and the weight of ideals? Would you have put on this blood-stained medical coat, stood on the front lines of the battlefield, and tried to use your meager strength to call for peace?"

Her gaze was like an invisible whip, striking their most vulnerable spots.

"Everything you possess today—this resilience, this awareness, this... the qualification to stand here and question me—is it not directly or indirectly derived from the seeds I sowed, which have grown under careful nurturing?"

"Deny it?" She tilted her head slightly, her fingertips touching her lips, pressing out a bit of soft flesh, so pure. "Deny the growth you experienced because of me, deny that you are standing here now, and deep down you still can't completely sever your attachment to me?"

Her words were like the sharpest blade, precisely dissecting the bloody reality. The two little birds stood frozen in place, their faces deathly pale. They knew the person before them was a manipulative devil, knew all the warmth and guidance might be a deception, yet they sadly discovered that they could not completely deny her words.

Their current trajectories have indeed been completely altered because of her. That unforgettable pain and that twisted growth have long been inextricably intertwined with the phantom named Watson.

Reason screamed to flee, but emotion sank like quicksand; the more it struggled in the gravitational field, the deeper it sank. They were still futilely trying to convince themselves: Perhaps... perhaps she had some hidden difficulties? Perhaps this cruelty was just another layer of disguise? Perhaps... that care they had once felt wasn't entirely false?

The pain of finally waking up from a beautiful dream and admitting that you were nothing more than an "artwork" to be admired, a "toy" to be used and discarded, is far more unbearable than living in a dream woven from lies and still retaining a trace of warmth.

“See?” She retreated into the shadows, her voice regaining its previous languidness, “The connection between us can no longer be severed by simple right or wrong. After all…”

"You can't bear to part with me, you can't live without me, right?"

Silence spread under the warm yellow light, heavy as a tombstone. This silence itself was a silent answer—the two little birds could not sever this emotion woven from deception and truth.

Looking at their pale and pained faces, Charlotte seemed even more pleased. She tapped lightly on the armrest of her chair and said in an almost condescending tone:

"Alright, enough of the boring questioning. What you want—to end the war, to guide peace, to persuade those stubborn minds... I can help you. In my way, to make it more appropriate."

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the two of them, her mockery deepening:

"As for the so-called 'deception'... let's leave it in the past, shall we? If you still crave lies wrapped in sugar and enjoy listening to me weave those sweet and cloying stories, I'd be happy to continue this word game. After all, watching you comfort yourselves has a certain charm."

Her words were filled with a condescending arrogance, as if granting peace was merely an admission ticket to her next round of entertainment.

The moment she finished speaking, the warm, enclosed air in the study seemed to be chilled by a block of ice.

The door was silently pushed open once again.

Madame Mossant stood there silently, still dressed in a deep, dark black. Beside her stood Winnie, petite yet with eyes as sharp as a hawk's. Their arrival was without a sound, yet it instantly chilled the atmosphere in the room to the bone.

The birds that had left the nest flocked together again, and the former mentors, having abandoned their last hope, stood together under the pull of fate in this room filled with lies and truth. They seemed to embody the most important cause and effect sown by "Watson" in this world.

The beautiful woman's black veil fluttered without wind. She calmly looked at the figure sitting in the high-backed chair, her voice devoid of any emotion, yet colder than a thousand years of ice:

"Whether it was deception or not, there's no need to say more. I only ask, was Tingen's death, Bella's sacrifice, and all of this before us—the countless innocent lives lost—all a drama in your hands?"

“Yes, so what?” Charlotte readily admitted, her tone light as if discussing the weather. “Could it be that Ms. Mossant has also begun to linger in the light and shadow before the curtain, forgetting that she was originally a detached spectator?”

"Of course, Mosang, if you wish, I can also be that cheerful and bright girl who relies on you wholeheartedly, like a wildflower waving in the sun, showing you the sweetest smile."

The cold light in her eyes intensified, the black-haired beauty pursed her lower lips, and an aura of death rose. Seeing this, the silver-haired girl quickly spoke up, trying her best to comfort her.

"Don't be angry, and don't misunderstand. I actually care about you all more than anyone else, but ultimately, the only person I love is myself."

Words clashed, and the air crackled with tension. Winnie stepped forward. She had once been the least noticeable and humblest of the three little birds, but now she had grown the fastest and most astute. She didn't wallow in personal anger or sorrow, but went straight to the heart of the conflict.

“Watson…Now that things have come to this point, you have almost actively led us to gather here. So, what do you plan to do with us afterward? Will you continue to be a superior observer, enjoying our pain and turmoil? Or will you discard us like useless props?”

She paused slightly, then became even more insistent and forceful, posing the most crucial question and revealing part of the truth:

“I know that this body is not the complete ‘you’. Perhaps it is just a phantom you cast into the world, a fragment of your soul, a puppet for experience and entertainment.”

Charlotte's eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly, her eyes gleaming with amusement, signaling her to continue.

Without shifting her gaze, Winnie stared intently at Charlotte, then said, "We don't care about your grand ambitions or your final act, nor do we care who you really are. We only ask for one thing—"

She took a deep breath, her words firm and clear:

“Take ‘Watson,’ this fragment of the soul that intersected with us, that gave us pain and growth, and completely strip it from your core, removing all the marks and control you left behind. Let her exist as a truly autonomous and independent individual, a complete ‘person’ who acts solely based on past memories and her own will.”

This demand is audacious and insane, tantamount to asking the gods to divide themselves and use themselves as bait to satisfy the pawn's naive desires.

Charlotte finally let out a low, pleasant laugh: "Oh? A very interesting idea. But, my dear little sparrow... what makes you think I would agree to such a blasphemous request? What are you relying on?"

Winnie didn't answer. Instead, she deftly drew a short blade from her waist and held it against her slender neck without hesitation. The sharp edge pressed against her skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

"My life." Her voice was terrifyingly calm, but her eyes burned with a resolute flame. "My existence itself is what I rely on."

She looked directly at Charlotte, her gaze intense: "You shaped us, guided us, and watched our pain and struggles, wasn't it all for this unique 'pleasure'? If we died, if these souls, which you made 'interesting,' were to vanish completely, wouldn't you lose the most precious source of pleasure?"

She saw through Charlotte's true nature—an observer who pursued the ultimate emotional experience and was loyal to her own desires.

"You orchestrated this whole deception out of pure interest, tacitly condoning the sacrifices and watching coldly from the sidelines. If all the actors on stage take their final bows, where will you, the sole audience member, find new entertainment that will truly satisfy you?"

At that moment, Sofby and Melina also understood completely. They exchanged a glance and saw the same resolute determination in each other's eyes. Almost simultaneously, Sofby drew her sword, and Melina picked up a sharp metal shard from the ground, pressing it against her own vitals without hesitation.

Without words, their actions spoke volumes—they stood with Winnie through thick and thin, sharing her fate. They used their very existence as their final bargaining chip in this desperate yet heroic negotiation.

Even Madam Mossang slightly raised her hand, and a cold aura, representing absolute "end," began to linger around her. Although she didn't say it aloud, that gesture undoubtedly declared: if they chose to fight with destruction, she wouldn't mind personally drawing the final, eternal curtain on this absurd drama.

Four gazes, four resolute expressions, each risking their lives, all pointed at the cage Charlotte had meticulously crafted, a cage called "Fate."

Faced with this scene that could be described as betrayal and coercion, Charlotte was not enraged at all. Instead, she seemed to be witnessing the most exciting climax of a drama, and her eyes burst forth with an unprecedented, almost ecstatic light.

"Hahahaha—!" She couldn't help but burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the small room, filled with immense joy and satisfaction. "Good! Very good! Absurd surprises detached from reality always make me laugh."

She clapped her hands, as if giving a warm cheer to the work she had nurtured herself.

"Using themselves as a stake, they used my interests to coerce me... My dear birds, you have not disappointed me. The fruits of this growth are indeed sweeter than I imagined."

She stood up, walked to the four women, and her gaze swept over their resolute and pale faces before finally settling on Winnie.

She reached out her fingertips, intending to stroke the girl's cheek as she always did, but the girl resolutely and coldly raised her hand to push it away.

Charlotte's fingers missed their mark, but she showed no anger; only her gaze softened. Such was her nature—waiting for the right price, willing to offer her tenderness if she could satisfy her desires.

"I agree to your request."

The lighthearted tone lingered, as if it were merely an agreement to an insignificant game.

Her fingertips gently touched her brow. A sliver of brilliant and pure light, like a drawn thread, slowly escaped, gradually coalescing in her palm into a miniature, sleeping, silver-haired girl—that was Watson's independent personality.

“Then, as you wish.” Her voice carried a barely perceptible, almost ethereal quality, as if bidding farewell. “And don’t disappoint me.”

"From this moment on, Watson... is free."

As her words faded, her figure, like stardust in the wind, gradually became transparent and vanished. Only her joyful laughter seemed to linger in every corner of the room, refusing to dissipate.

As that solitary light and shadow merged into the void, and a pair of eyes, refreshed and clear as a newborn's, slowly opened, the gears of time seemed to click softly yet decisively. The invisible, cold spider's long legs plucked the strings of fate; past grievances and grudges would gradually fade with the passing seconds...

The goddess of origin no longer restrains her mythological stance; she recalls her more ancient name—Atrak Nakya—and reverses the timeline, fulfilling her promise to her old friend.

Extraordinary elements are beginning to crumble quietly on this land; the age of ignorance and stagnation is drawing to a close. A new story will unfold in a corner of the future, but—

The main characters have changed, but the audience remains.

P.S.: I'm sorry, everyone. I ultimately failed to keep my promise and finish writing the story. In the end, I lied, just like Charlotte did.

I apologize, but this is the only way I can cover up the flaws and end the story with this open ending, leaving me feeling abrupt and frustrated. In fact, I had wanted to write about the characteristics and personality of each individual character, but perhaps my writing skills are too shallow and my overall narrative too thin. I couldn't skillfully outline the ending and achieve the effect I wanted, so I had to leave it unfinished and compromise with a passable conclusion.

Perhaps, part of the reason is that the further I wrote, the less motivated I became. I hesitated over this and that, and my pen was too hesitant to put pen to paper, so I could not write more than a few words all day.

These are all my shortcomings and deficiencies, and this is also the summary of my first time writing an original work and finishing this novel.

The main story will end here for now, but there will be a few more sweet and delightful side stories set in reality.

I hope everyone won't forget me, otherwise, I'll cry.

(Actually, I secretly released a new book; those interested can check it out.)

Author's Closing Remarks and New Book Recommendations

I remember writing the beginning of this book in the same season.

Nearly a year has passed, with many ups and downs, and it's finally coming to an end. There are many regrets, many things to lament, and many apologies to say to you all, and also to myself.

As mentioned in the previous chapter, I ultimately failed to keep my promise to finish writing the story completely; I ultimately lied, just like Charlotte.