The pretty little follower gets targeted by the crazy guys at the elite academy

Rose Manor.

The setting sun streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the entire living room in a dark red hue.

Fu Chenzhou sat on the sofa with a cup of black tea in front of him that had gone cold, with a fine layer of water droplets condensing on the rim of the cup.

He didn't drink; he just sat there, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest, one tap at a time like some kind of ancient timer.

Something is changing in the air.

He sensed it.

It is the obsession of the six realms.

An obsession driven into this world like six nails.

It's loosening one strand at a time.

Zhou Si no longer tried to imprison her, Lu Xingzhou no longer tried to control her, Lu Ran no longer tried to possess her, Pei Qingrang no longer tried to confine her with data, Guo Yiling no longer tried to protect her with rules, and Jiang Wu no longer tried to hide in the darkness and wait for her.

They still love her, but that love has turned from ropes into wings.

It didn't disappear, but transformed.

The initial determination to possess her has shifted to simply wanting her to be happy.

The steel nails became wooden stakes, and the wooden stakes became tree branches stuck in the ground. They sway in the wind, but they won't fall over. They won't hurt anyone.

Fu Chenzhou's lips curled up slightly.

The curve is very shallow, so shallow that it is almost invisible.

"Li Ruo..."

Fu Chenzhou tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest of the sofa. His knuckles were pale and his bones were distinct, like a delicate skeleton covered with a thin layer of skin.

"You did it."

He had lived in this manor for so long that he had forgotten what time was, and he had forgotten what a heartbeat felt like.

But at that moment, he heard his own heartbeat.

Boom, boom, boom...

Each beat was slower and lighter than the last, like a clock tower finally stopping after its last spring has been wound up.

He looked down at his hands.

Those hands were fading, starting from the fingertips, like a drop of ink falling into water, slowly and irreversibly disappearing.

He knew what this meant.

The world is about to restart.

It's not destruction, it's correction.

He spent far too long maintaining this crumbling spacetime.

Now, Li Ruo has helped him resolve the obsession of those six lunatics.

He can finally let go.

It's not death, it's return.

He returned the time he had borrowed from this world.

Fu Chenzhou stood up and walked to the window.

The rose garden outside the window was a dark red in the twilight, and the black flowers he had planted himself swayed gently in the wind.

These flowers, nurtured by his loneliness and his long wait, are now withering.

The black petals fell one by one, covering the entire garden like a silent snowfall.

He reached out and caught a falling petal; the thin, black petal curled into a ball of ash in his palm.

This reminded him of the day Li Ruo pushed open the manor gate and left, when the sun was just sinking below the horizon, and the last rays of light dyed the entire rose garden dark red.

She glanced back at him once, just once, and then walked away without looking back.

He thought he would hate her, hate her for breaking the balance he had maintained for so long, hate her for forcing him to confront his own incompetence and vulnerability.

But he didn't.

He stood before the French windows, watching her figure disappear through the door, with only one thought in his mind:

Will she come back?

She said she would come back, and he could come to her anytime he missed her.

He won't go to her.

But he will miss her.

Fu Chenzhou closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The fragrance of roses filled my lungs, intense and decadent, with a touch of sweetness, like a dream I'd had for a hundred years.

He waited in this manor for a hundred years, waiting for someone who could resolve his obsession, waiting for someone who could wake him from this long dream.

Now he's finally got what he's been waiting for.

But the price of waking up is disappearance.

He slowly turned around, walked back to the sofa, and sat down.

The fire in the fireplace was almost out, with only a few clusters of blue flames leaping on the ash, like a swarm of dying fireflies.

He took out a pocket watch from his pocket, opened it, and looked at Li Ruo's photo inside.

Fu Chenzhou.

A voice came from the air, as if from a very, very far place, or perhaps from his own heart.

He didn't look up, but stared intently at the photograph in the pocket watch.

"I know."

He knew it was time.

This world was built up by his unwavering determination; it's a book that can never be finished, a dream from which he can never wake up.

The obsession of those six people is like six pillars; as long as the pillars stand, the world exists.

Now that the pillars are loose, the world will collapse.

It didn't collapse suddenly, but rather dissipated slowly and silently, like a thick fog.

And he will disappear along with this fog.

Fu Chenzhou leaned back on the sofa, looking up at the ceiling.

There was a crystal chandelier on the ceiling. Sunlight refracted through the crystal, creating tiny specks of light that fell on his face, hands, and shirt, like a silent firework display.

"Is it worth it?" the voice asked again.

Fu Chenzhou did not answer immediately.

He watched the spots of light dance on his fingertips, like the fireflies he saw by the river when he was a child.

"It's worth it," he said.

He lived too long.

Living too long is just too tiring.

When he brought Li Ruo into the manor, he only wanted to find someone who could resolve those six obsessions.

A tool, a chess piece, something that can be discarded after use.

But what was his final outcome? He was trapped in it.

"You've fallen in love with her," the voice said.

Fu Chenzhou's fingers paused for a moment: "I don't know."

The voice was very confident: "You know."

He remained silent for a long time: "...Maybe."

"But I don't have time."

He leaned back in his chair and looked out over the reception room.

Dark red wallpaper, dark brown wooden furniture, crystal chandelier, fireplace, and a cup of cold black tea on the coffee table.

He sat there for a long time, so long that the room became his shell, his cage, his coffin.

Now, it's time to go out.

He walked to the fireplace and took a silver lighter out of his pocket.

He struck it a few times, and the flame leaped up, flickering in the twilight like a butterfly that might go out at any moment.

He looked down at the cluster of flames for a long time, then whispered:

"Li Ruo, in your next life, I wish you happiness."

He threw the lighter into the fireplace.

The flames landed on the dry firewood and leaped up a few seconds later, burning brightly. The orange-red light reflected on his face, turning his white shirt a warm color.

He didn't back down; he just stood there in front of the fireplace, watching the flames slowly lick the firewood, the edge of the fireplace, the carpet, and the walls.

The fire grew bigger and hotter, until beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

He remained calm and composed, letting the firelight illuminate his face and the smile that finally broke free from restraint at the corner of his mouth.

"It's worth it," he said again.

This time, the voice was resolute.

Flames leaped from the fireplace and licked the hem of his clothes.

The edges of the white shirt curled, turned black, and burned, with fire climbing up the fabric like a blooming flower.

He didn't move, he didn't even look down, he just looked up at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling.

The light flickered in the flames, like a final dance.

His body was burning, but he couldn't feel any pain.

He felt only a lightness he had never experienced before.

Like a leaf that had been drifting in the wind for a long time, it finally fell to the ground.

"So... this is what it feels like to love someone," he whispered.

It's not about possession, control, or confining the other person to your own world.

Instead, let go.

Let her go.

It's about letting her live a better life without him.

His eyes reddened, but no tears came.

He can't cry; he's forgotten how to cry.

The fire engulfed him.

It swallowed up his white shirt, his silver hair, his eyebrows and eyes, and the relieved smile on his lips.

The Rose Garden trembled in flames, walls cracked, ceilings collapsed, and crystal chandeliers fell from their heights, crashing onto the marble floor and shattering into countless sparkling pieces.

The roses outside the window are still falling, petal by petal, black, covering the entire garden, the entire manor, the whole world.

Lu Xingzhou's body also became increasingly pale, from his fingertips to his arms, from his arms to his shoulders, and from his shoulders to his chest.

He was like a sketch being erased; the outline was still there, but the lines were blurred.

He showed no struggle, fear, or regret.

He just sat there quietly, waiting for the last stroke to be erased.

Fu Chenzhou's body became transparent in the flames.

The flames devoured him inch by inch.

The restart of the new world is gradually turning him into nothingness.

At the last moment, his lips moved slightly.

"Li Ruo..."

The sound was very soft, like a gentle breeze.

Then, he disappeared with a smile.

After a hundred years, he finally learned to laugh, and he finally learned to love.

But it was too late, and too fast—so fast that he hadn't even had a chance to tell her:

He loves her.

Love like a lover.

Like a gardener loving the roses he has planted for a hundred years, like a lighthouse keeper loving the lighthouse he has guarded for a lifetime, like the Creator loving the world he created.

He loved her, and his love was pure.

Fu Chenzhou's body completely dissipated.

The pocket watch fell to the floor with a soft thud.

The metal casing popped open, revealing the photos inside.

In the photo, the woman in the white dress is still laughing, laughing carefree, as bright as the sunshine.

The last wisp of smoke dissipated from the fireplace.

The roses outside the window have all fallen, leaving a carpet of black on the ground, like a silent funeral.

The manor began to collapse; cracks spread across the walls like a spider web, the crystal chandelier on the ceiling teetered on the brink of collapse, and the marble floor cracked piece by piece, revealing the dark void beneath.

There was no sound, no vibration; everything was like a silent movie, slowly and quietly coming to an end.

In the end, only an empty space remained.

It's as if it never existed.

There were no ruins, no traces, only an empty field and a distant coastline that was faintly visible.

A breeze was blowing across the field, sunlight was shining down, and a few butterflies flew in from afar, circled once in the air, and then flew away.

It's as if nothing ever existed.

It was as if nothing had happened.