IRDLZ Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Ming Qingqing had no idea why such a strange thought suddenly crossed her mind. Had she been reading too many fantasy scripts lately?

Life wasn’t a fairy tale, after all. There couldn’t possibly be so many bizarre things happening at once.

She set down the plate and shook her head, trying to dispel the odd thoughts flickering through her mind.

At that very moment, Xiao Fu was busy as a hardworking little bee. After laboring tirelessly through the night, he was still bustling about outside without a moment’s rest.

He was searching for a new mountain forest where he could settle down.

Human technology had advanced at an astonishing pace. Satellite networks now blanketed the entire planet, leaving almost no truly wild mountains beyond the reach of surveillance.

And for him, not just any mountain would do. The higher the oxygen content, the less suitable it was for his recovery.

If his abilities didn’t fully recover, getting in touch with his father’s fleet would be a matter of who knows how many years.

The accident that had struck the fleet had wiped out an elite unit of Kelafulin warriors. Xiao Fu had been nothing more than an egg back then, not yet hatched, and had been hurled out of the vast cosmos, landing on Earth by a twist of fate.

Fortunately, the egg stage of a Kelafulin’s life was extraordinarily long, and even inside the shell, they already possessed intelligence.

By the time he hatched, he was nearly of age.

In his best physical and mental state, Xiao Fu could vaguely sense a faint connection to his home planet. But with such a weak signal, there was no way for him to return.

He had no choice but to stay on Earth for the time being, recuperating and waiting for his abilities to recover.

Thus, the mountain he was searching for needed to meet three conditions: Element No. 335 couldn’t be too scarce, there could be no human activity, and there had to be an abundance of wild fruits and birds to help restore his body.

—But after searching far and wide, he was forced to admit that such a place simply didn’t exist.

Earth was far too barren. There was nowhere that met all his requirements.

Xiao Fu searched through the entire night, his hoodie damp with winter dew. Yet he found nothing. Feeling dejected, he crouched atop a towering tree, droplets clinging to his eyelashes while his worn jacket fluttered softly in the wind. A hint of confusion surfaced in his baby-blue eyes.

It was a deeply lonely feeling.

Unable to belong among humans, and even more unable to return home. It was like walking through an empty night, surrounded by boundless echoes—no one to talk to, no one to connect with, no one who cared who he was, where he was going, or whether he was cold.

What made it even more frightening was that it all seemed endless, with no end in sight.

Xiao Fu moped for a long time. Only as the sun was about to rise did he manage to pull himself together.

At last, he found a mountain forest with a relatively plentiful supply of wild fruit. Using his clumsy hand, he punched straight through a boulder, carving out a hollow where he could stash the treasures he had gathered.

Then he caught two birds to eat.

His method of catching birds was just as simple and direct.

Before the two birds could frantically flap away for their lives, he froze them in place. In that brief instant, his eyes turned a deep, eerie blue-black, like storm clouds gathering before a raging tempest. Then he blinked across the distance, appearing beside them in an instant, and casually plucked them from the sky by their wings.

Aside from his clumsy limbs which made it ridiculously easy for him to lose his balance, with every movement accompanied by an audible crackle there was virtually no creature on Earth capable of stopping Xiao Fu, a being from a higher plane of existence.

Of course, Xiao Fu could have used this ability to stroll into malls and supermarkets as though no one were there, or to freeze a group of thugs in midair before they could throw bricks at him.

Even if he moved slowly and stumbled every few steps, all he had to do was hold them in place.

Although using this ability consumed some of his mental energy and he had only recently hatched, leaving him with insufficient reserves—freezing just a few people was still within his limits.

Yet, he never did.

He would never use his abilities for such purposes.

Not only because the Kelafulin military code included, apart from the rule “stay away from women,” another rule: “no theft.”

But also because Xiao Fu was an exceptionally thin-skinned little “zombie.”

He was still ashamed of having stolen two carrots from Ming Qingqing.

When Xiao Fu returned from his outing, looking as dejected as a frostbitten eggplant, Ming Qingqing wasn’t home.

He tilted his head and listened, then wrinkled his nose to sniff the air, confirming that she had indeed gone out.

The hood of his sweatshirt drooped along with his head, concealing his pale complexion, making him look inexplicably even more despondent.

It felt a little like being a dog left behind when its owner went out, aimless and somewhat lost. Even though he knew that, even if she were home, she wouldn’t have time to play with him, and he couldn’t let her see him anyway, or he’d scare her. Still, as long as she was there, him sprawled on the roof basking in the sun while she read on the third floor and could sense her presence, that alone brought him a great deal of comfort.

But then, Xiao Fu spotted the breakfast Ming Qingqing had left for “Dandan” before she left.

Today’s breakfast was even more lavish than yesterday’s.

Tender, slow-cooked beef sat next to broccoli, exuding a tantalizing aroma. On another plate were a chicken leg and a large piece of chicken breast. And there was even a third plate—though this one contained dog food.

Xiao Fu crouched in front of the food, staring blankly.

The meaty scent wafted relentlessly into his nose.

Suddenly, his mood lifted.

His gray-blue eyes shimmered with a brilliant blue.

The little alien’s happiness came that easily.

Even though he had already eaten his fill of birds outside, the aroma of this food now filled him with a different kind of “fullness.”

Whether he was impersonating Dandan or acting as his stand-in, someone was thinking of him, someone had woken up early just to cook for him. For Xiao Fu, who had spent his days since hatching in lonely hiding, this was the warmest thing he had ever experienced.

He finished the food, dumped the dog food…, and then climbed back onto the roof to soak up the sun.

But this time, as he read the new fairy tales in his Complete Guide to Recognizing Characters, the stray tuft of hair on his head swaying in the wind, the thought that couldn’t help but creep into his mind was—

Where has Ming Qingqing gone today?

Ming Qingqing was at a film studio, auditioning for a role.

The male lead had indeed already been decided internally—it was Ouyang Hao.

Her last drama with Ouyang Hao had been a huge hit, and their on-screen couple fans were popping up everywhere. Even though their respective solo fans kept cursing at the idea, there was no denying that playing up the couple dynamic brought strategic advantages to both of them.

The casting for this new drama hadn’t even been announced yet—they had only been “teased” online as a potential pairing and the buzz had already skyrocketed.

It could be said that a second collaboration between her and Ouyang Hao was something the investors, the directing team, and Ouyang Hao’s side were all eager to see.

The only one who wasn’t entirely happy about it was Ming Qingqing herself.

Because the moment she arrived at the studio, Ouyang Hao was there—elegantly opening her car door, fussing over her, and bringing her hot milk tea to warm her hands.

The only thing left was for him to take off his coat and drape it over her shoulders.

Under the watchful eyes of the entire crew, Ming Qingqing felt nothing but awkwardness.

She wondered if Ouyang Hao had some kind of performative personality disorder—chasing her just to move himself to tears.

Sister Jin, however, thought Ming Qingqing had never been in a relationship and lacked experience. She told her, “Everyone’s busy these days, working themselves to the bone just to make money. Even in relationships, people keep score of who gives what, always putting their own interests first. How many men do you see putting real effort into chasing a girl anymore? Most will try for a week or two, and if they don’t succeed, they move on to the next target—barely investing any time, energy, or money.”

“The fact that Ouyang Hao has pursued you for so long, refusing to give up even after multiple rejections, at the very least shows that he genuinely likes you. I think you could consider giving him a chance.”

Ming Qingqing admitted that Sister Jin had a point.

Everyone was very realistic, especially in this industry. In a way, Ouyang Hao was already a pretty decent person.

But Ming Qingqing had her own stubbornness.

If she didn’t feel it, she didn’t feel it.

She wouldn’t even give it a try.

Besides, what if they did get together and the relationship turned into nothing more than familial affection? The day they parted would surely be painful.

Deep down, Ming Qingqing believed there was no such thing as an unbreakable bond.

Just like her parents—no matter how beautiful the beginning, it always ended in suspicion, arguments, and hatred. If things were going to end so ugly, it was better not to start at all.

And besides, she didn’t believe Ouyang Hao could truly like her that much. Human nature was inherently self-interested—how could there exist a love so fervent that one would give everything for another?

Even if such love did exist, someone like her would never encounter it.

Human relationships were too fragile. They weren’t as solid as the bond between a person and their pet.

Ming Qingqing had already rejected Ouyang Hao countless times, yet he persisted relentlessly. She couldn’t exactly call the police to stop him. Everyone in this industry operated under unwritten rules—don’t make things too awkward for each other.

So Ming Qingqing could only brush him off with polite formalities, just to get through it.

Finally, after finishing her makeup, she made it to the start of the audition.

The scene she was auditioning for today was an intense, emotionally explosive one.

As a child, the female lead, Jing Qing, had been abandoned by her father, who left her and her mother struggling to survive in the slums, facing poverty and hardship.

Thus, the female lead hated her father.

When Jing Qing grew up, her father reappeared in her world—not as a high-ranking official, but as a lowly nobody, reduced to serving as a stepping stool and mounting block for a prefect.

Thus, the female lead also felt contempt for him.

He had abandoned his wife and daughter, yet still amounted to nothing—a complete failure.

But one day, when enemies were pursuing them on a frozen lake, this man threw himself into the line of fire to save her, pierced by a rain of arrows, falling into the bottomless icy depths.

Only then did Jing Qing realize that her father had left all those years ago to protect her.

Years of pent-up emotions—hatred, disgust, and buried love—coalesced in that moment into unbearable pain and devastation, nearly destroying her. Yet her gaze gradually hardened as she turned to face her enemies.

This scene required tremendous explosive power.

Ming Qingqing had arrived early in the morning and spent three hours freezing by the lake, her face turning pale and the tip of her nose bright red—an effect that couldn’t be achieved with makeup. It wasn’t until the afternoon that the shoot officially began.

After the director called “action,” everything proceeded smoothly.

The early part of the scene went very well. Ming Qingqing was exceptionally talented at dramatic acting; the emotions flickering between her brows left every crew member behind the camera holding their breath.

—Including Xiao Fu.

He hadn’t seen Ming Qingqing all day and couldn’t resist following her scent.

On the opposite side of the lake was a mountain, densely forested. Xiao Fu sat in a tree, his hoodie obscuring his face, blending into the woods, watching the crew make their film with great interest.

He had heard some operas on the radio he had found, so seeing a group of people bustling about in the distance, he had a rough idea that they were acting out the stories from his Complete Guide to Recognizing Characters. On Earth, this was called “acting.”

Of course, this kind of profession also existed on the planet Kelafulin—it was just expressed differently in the Kelafulin language.

The scene continued until the moment when Ming Qingqing, drenched in fake blood, pulled on a rope, trying to drag her “father” out of the frozen lake.

Of course, the production team wasn’t going to make the middle-aged actor playing “Jing Qing’s father” actually jump into the freezing lake just for an audition scene, so instead, the rope was tied to a sandbag.

That was when the accident happened.

Ming Qingqing was standing on the lakeshore, bracing herself. A few days earlier, a violent storm had loosened the soil, washing a significant amount of sand into the lake. As she strained with a pained expression, trying to pull her father out of the water, the earth beneath her feet began to crumble and slide into the lake, like a small-scale landslide.

But she and the entire crew were so immersed in the scene that no one noticed the subtle collapse of the sandy ground beneath them.

“Scrape—”

Ming Qingqing’s boot made a faint sound against the crumbling soil.

Then, without warning, the ground beneath her suddenly gave way. In that split second of distraction, she plunged into the lake before she could react.

Everyone’s eyes widened in horror.

Someone gasped.

“Plunk.”

The fresh blood from the blood packs on Ming Qingqing’s costume instantly dispersed into the frigid water.

A piercing chill engulfed her in an instant. A frozen lake in the middle of winter was no joke—the temperature was well below freezing, and the sharp, biting cold burrowed into her bones like countless icy snakes, causing Ming Qingqing to panic. Beneath the water, she desperately struggled toward the surface, but a sandbag was still tied around her waist. It was a complete nightmare. Her lungs burned, and she was on the verge of suffocating.

People on shore scrambled in a flurry, someone rushing to find a lifeguard.

But just before Ming Qingqing could no longer breathe, everything in her wide, open eyes seemed to come to a halt.

A pause.

Yes, a pause.

In the literal sense.

The swaying underwater plants froze in place.

The scattered traces of blood also stopped. ???

Ming Qingqing’s face twisted in terror.

She thought she must be hallucinating.

Beyond the lake’s surface, the droplets of splashed water hung suspended in mid-air.

The wind, too, seemed forcibly frozen—gone.

The rustling trees stood perfectly still, their colors frozen and faded. The panicked voices of the crew had all vanished.

The entire world fell into a sudden, silent stillness. Under the glaring sunlight, everything by the lake was mute, save for the clicking of cameras, as if they had broken down.

It was as if Ming Qingqing had suddenly stepped into a frozen painting, becoming part of the stillness itself.

She held her breath, her blood running cold, her beautiful eyes not daring to move.

Then a figure appeared behind her, seemingly out of nowhere.

She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t see them. All she felt was being hoisted up by her underarms. The warmth of the person behind her brushed against her for a fleeting moment, and she sensed that their body temperature was even colder than hers—not like that of a normal human.

It was utterly eerie.

Fear was the first thing that surged through Ming Qingqing’s mind.

A kind of inexplicable fear, with no clear source.

But beyond that, there was also an unexpected sense of calm—as if, sensing strength, she felt reassured.

Had someone jumped in to save her?

Didn’t they know that the freezing lake could kill a person?

A strange, indescribable feeling welled up in Ming Qingqing’s heart.

Then she was placed on the shore, a blanket wrapped around her.

The next moment, without any warning, it was as if a paused recording had resumed playing. Sunlight streamed down.

The crowd’s frantic wails and cries returned.

Noise flooded back into Ming Qingqing’s ears all at once, overwhelming her.

Her knees buckled.

When she woke up again, she was lying in the production team’s mobile medical unit. Sister Jin had changed her clothes, dried her off, and set up a heater beside her.

Ming Qingqing coughed, swallowed a sip of hot water, and took a long moment to recover before asking, “Who saved me?”