Welcome to Rewind World Game-Chapter 1663 - 6: Ice Flower

Once upon a time, there was a witch.

She was born with a long mane of hair like frost, strands woven like moonlight.

She was born with eyes like glaciers, pupils carved like gemstones.

In ancient times before the Rin Clan existed, she was born as the World Tree’s only daughter, granted eternal life as a reward, with the mission to power the World Tree.

She resided permanently within the tree, nurturing the World Tree day and night. The tree grew taller and its shade wider, while distant villages enjoyed peace and prosperity year after year.

One day, curiosity sparked within her, and she stepped out of the World Tree, venturing into a nearby village.

The wheat fields were green, the river sparkled, children chased dragonflies, morning glories wound around fences, and golden tassels adorned red eaves.

The witch, new to the mortal world, fell in love with the golden sun on the waves of wheat, the crackling sound of the stove fire, and the simple smiles of the villagers.

She even fell in love with a hardworking farmer, whose smile was warm.

Not long after, they married. She used a little magic to make the fields more fertile and the livestock stronger.

Life gradually improved, and they built a more spacious house. Yet every night, she had to return beneath the World Tree to offer nutrients. She still felt content because her sacrifice tangibly protected people’s happiness.

Until one day, people in the village began to die.

The roots of the tree crept into the village, growing with a rustling sound under the moonlight.

They wrapped around sleeping elders and ensnared the maidens who rose at dawn.

The villagers discovered fine fur in the houses of the dead, and terrifying rumors spread of a vicious werewolf entering the village. Only the witch knew what it was—the roots of the World Tree.

Because she had indulged in mortal life and spent more time with her husband, the time she spent returning to the tree to power it diminished. The World Tree was "hungry," and its roots, following her scent, reached the village, spreading to seek food on their own.

She knelt beneath the tree and pleaded:

"I beg you, mighty tree, let me live this life in peace!"

"I have a husband and daughter, I have baskets full of wheat seeds."

"I am willing to give up eternal life and endless devotion and years, only ask that you let me have this brief happiness!"

The tree did not understand her words and drove its roots deeper—

"Return, return. Give me light, give me heat, or they all become dust."

She saw her husband’s haggard, terrified face and the neighbors’ eyes filled with endless dread. She had to return, to the eternal cage.

She had no choice but to leave her newborn daughter, kissed her sleeping cheek, and returned to the tree.

Many years later, she sneaked back to the village to take a look. The scene that met her eyes froze her blood. In the center of the village stood a high execution by fire scaffold, and her daughter was shackled upon it.

The Prophet pointed at the girl: She carries the witch’s bloodline!

The husband raised an iron fork and shouted: She brought disaster!

The Hunter broke her wrist, and the Witch cursed her to eternal restlessness.

She rushed forward madly, screaming: "No! She is my daughter! She knows nothing!"

Her husband’s blade edge turned, stabbing into her trembling heart.

She was reborn in the tree; her long hair turned into ice crystals.

The witch’s heart was utterly broken, pain like tree roots pierced through her soul, and the agony and emptiness would never end. Eternal life became her shackles, and such days lasted for a century until one day, a twisted thought replaced her despair.

She once again stepped out of the World Tree and, in the wilderness, found an abandoned, dying child.

She picked him up, wiped the dirt from his face, and said in an unusually calm voice: "From today, you are my adopted child. You have a home."

She transferred her "witch" bloodline and power, along with the eternal contract with the World Tree, to this child. When the final connection was complete, she felt an unprecedented lightness. The pain that had tormented her for countless years vanished; along with it went eternal life. She could finally die. She revealed an almost serene smile, and her body began to freeze slowly.

The child reached out small hands to her, only to be dragged back into the abyss by the tree branches—

"Mother, you are a liar—"

The new witch cried out amidst the roots:

"You exchanged your death for my eternal life, imprisoning me here!"

The new cycle began.

The child grew up, and resentment grew like a poisonous vine.

Later, the child also picked up a child from beneath the World Tree, repeated the same words, and did the same thing back.

Thus, reincarnation became a wheel; each generation of witches repeated.

Each generation fed to the tree, each generation hating to the ocean.

Relying on "adoption" and "inheritance." Each generation of witches took up the shackles in resentment and passed them to the next innocent one in despair.

Until the World Tree bore a child truly blessed by it—the Rin Clan. They were born shining and splendid, loved by the world, tasked with a true Savior’s mission.

The witch trapped deep within the roots saw it all. Jealousy and resentment, accumulated for countless generations, completely drowned her.

Why?

Why were they born noble, and we born as nourishment?

A mad plan took shape in her mind. Using her knowledge of the World Tree’s law accumulated over endless years, she interfered with the Rin Clan’s birth. The unified supreme bloodline split into three, turning into triplets destined to devour each other.

She stole one away to raise, teaching him the poison of "love" and "possession,"

She pitted siblings against each other, making them believe they were the protagonists.

Each Rin Clan fought until the last, and then she personally defeated the final victor, donning the winner’s skin. So, to the outside world, the last Rin Clan bore the glory and walked onto the Savior’s stage. But except for a few who slipped through the net, each generation’s final "Rin Clan" was her.

After a fitting death, she returned to the depths of the World Tree, patiently waiting for the next cycle of the Rin Clan to begin, and then started the long "fostering" and "harvesting" again.

The witch’s state was distinctly different between male and female bodies; the male consciousness bore this sin, while the female consciousness remained oblivious. Even if the female switched back to male, the consciousness did not connect. Thus, the "monster" story, woven by the initial victim’s own hands, filled with jealousy, lies, and reincarnation, perpetually played out in an endless loop. The witch, in the guise of a Savior, indulged in the stolen freedom and life beneath a hero’s hymn, coveting the next cycle.

The hero rotted amid applause; she spun new threads in the shadows.

The brightest star was herself, the deepest night also herself.

If you pass by the World Tree, and hear a gentle lullaby,

don’t ask who is singing—

She’s a mother, a daughter, nourishment, a thief of light.

She’s ceaseless, wearing human skin.

...

["Which generation of the Rin Clan?" Su Ming’an asked.]

["Which generation?" Chen Qingguang glanced at Su Ming’an, "The Rin Clan has always had only one generation."]

...

"Whoosh!"

Ice shards pierced through Su Ming’an.

Charred blood fell, and the burning flesh had yet to heal before being penetrated by sharp ice spikes.

His violet eyes remained calm, as if this development was within his expectations.

"Tian Yu" walked up to him, whispering:

"I’m really curious... why do you seem like you’re never afraid? Never worried about failing? It’s like you’ve already figured out who I am and anticipated my appearance."

"It’s not a difficult deduction. I envisaged several answers, and you were one of them." Su Ming’an said.

"You guessed I am Tian Yu?"

"You don’t count as Tian Yu."

"How do I not?" The person of frost laughed, "I possess all her memories. If you wish to see her, I can blink once more to let ’her’ meet you... She is essentially me, but she remains lofty and unstained, while all the filthy thoughts and actions belong to me. If she inherited these memories, she wouldn’t be the person you know. Her noble race and formidable power were all crimes I personally committed. How will you distinguish my sins from her innocence?"

"I don’t care." Su Ming’an said, "Look into my eyes."

At this moment, Su Ming’an blinked, and the violet in his eyes flickered.

"Tian Yu" appeared momentarily dazed, standing still for a moment.

Su Ming’an quickly extended his hand, wearing golden silk gloves, and touched "Tian Yu’s" cheek, like a gentle caress.

The chest throbbed with the dual agony of charring and ice shards, feeling no pain, as if the body was not his own.

Without using divine power, Su Ming’an couldn’t resist the witch before him, but he had a weapon given by Su Rin. By utilizing it properly, seizing the fragile part of the human heart, the witch before him was vulnerable.

He invoked the ability of "Dream Weaving" and wove a dream...

"Come on." Su Ming’an murmured, "As long as ’Tian Yu’ can replace you as the main persona, you’re not really my enemy."

In the Dream Realm, vanish...

Su Ming’an finished weaving the dream and immediately closed his eyes.

...

Bei Wang had a dream.

He dreamt he was a little hunter living in the forest.

The hunter was a little mute, always bullied by passing animals. Toads squatted on stones glaring at him, sparrows dropped fruit cores on his head. They chirped and teased him:

"Mute! Mute!"

"Wooden man who can’t speak!"

The hunter held a wooden basin, washing silk by the stream.

Legend has it that if a child who cannot speak can weave a perfect silk before the full moon, they can bring happiness to someone.

The hunter wanted to bring happiness to his mother.

The silk was thread unraveled from his mother’s old dress. Imitating his mother’s image from memory, he submerged the silk in water, gently rubbing it. The water was cold, turning his fingertips bright red.

Suddenly, the bushes across the stream moved.

A gigantic, furry blue figure emerged.

It was a bear—with sky-blue fur like the clear sky, deep gentle blue eyes, and paws as thick as clouds.

The bear tilted its head to look at him, and he looked up at the bear.

Under the bear’s imposing presence, the toads and sparrows scattered, no longer daring to tease him.

The bear waded through the stream slowly, causing high splashes. Reaching him, it brought out a flower from behind—a pale golden flower with petals like sunshine’s woven fluff.

It extended the flower to him.

"Can I be friends with you?" the bear asked.

The hunter nodded, taking the flower and smelling the scent of honey and grass.

The bear sat down, mimicking his actions, stretching its massive paw into the stream, clumsily imitating his silk washing movements but messing the silk into a ball.

He couldn’t help but laugh. The bear also grinned, revealing two cute front teeth.

That evening, the bear sent him home.

At the small wooden house on the forest’s edge, the bear rummaged through its fluffy fur and pulled out a small, golden jacket.

It draped the jacket over his shoulders.

Strangely, even though it looked thin, it instantly dispelled all the cold.

The mother opened the door, seeing him with the bear, paused for a moment, then smiled: "It seems you’ve made a remarkable friend."

...

Later, with the bear around, the forest was no longer frightening.

The bear would help him find the sweetest wild berries, carry him across rivers on its broad back, and curl into a warm nest on stormy nights for him to hide inside.

One day, they encountered a swamp deep in the forest.

On the muddy path, a pitch-black cat was lowering its head, taking steps forward.

It moved very slowly, each step sinking into the mud, splashing murky water as it was pulled out.

Strangely, whenever it reached the center of the swamp, its figure would blur—then, it reappeared at the starting point, beginning its journey again.

Once again and again.

The black cat noticed the newcomer, lifted its pitch-black eyes, but did not stop its steps.

The little hunter squatted down and drew a question mark in the mud.

The cat understood and continued walking, saying, "There’s a curse in this marsh—whoever walks first will forever be caught in a cycle. But with each cycle, the path becomes a bit more solid."

Its voice was calm: "I’m waiting, waiting for the path to be solid enough so that the deer, rabbits, hedgehogs coming afterwards won’t get stuck."

The little hunter scratched his head, waved a stick, and drew a simple house in the mud, meaning to ask: Cat, aren’t you going home?

The cat shook its head and licked its paws: "When they’ve all successfully crossed the river and gone home, then I can go home."

He stared at the cat.

The cat’s paws were already worn and mixed with muddy water and blood.

As the cycle restarted, the cat stopped at the marsh’s edge, looking down at the water’s reflection.

The water reflected its muddied face and a cluster of blooming white wildflowers beside the bank. The cat reached out with its paw, attempting to touch the flower—but its body leaned forward, almost falling into the deep water.

He rushed over and tightly embraced the cat, silently shouted within:

Do not drown, you still need to go home, I can accompany you, I want to be your good friend.

The cat stiffened momentarily in his arms and then slowly relaxed.

That day, the cat followed them home to the cabin.

At night, the cat curled up near the fireplace, cleaned its fur, and took out a small cloth bag from its collar, revealing a golden shawl.

The shawl was as light as a butterfly wing, and when draped over, the little hunter no longer felt cold.

The cat said, "This is my thank-you gift."

...

The hunter lived in the forest, helped weak animals, and chased away cruel villains.

The bear and cat did the same.

Disaster struck without warning.

On a dry autumn day, a fire broke out in the forest, threatening the animals’ homes.

The hunter saw the smoke. He rushed to the creek, desperately trying to splash water, but the wooden basin’s water did not even stir a trace of vapor.

The fire spread rapidly like a wild crimson beast out of control.

He spun around anxiously, broken sobs echoing from his throat.

At that moment, the bear patted him on the shoulder with a thick paw, comforting him not to fear.

—Then, a clever fox dashed to the edge of the fire, using its tail to hook a small animal that had fallen into a deep pit, pulling it up with all its might.

A mischievous raccoon jumped onto a burning branch, using sharp claws to tear apart the iron net in the sky.

A lively panda, with its black eye circles, shuttled through the smoke transmitting messages.

A courageous fire elf defying instinct dove into the fire, guiding the flames to change direction, tearing open an escape route for animals.

A mighty golden eagle swept low over the treetops, carving out a barrier with its powerful talons.

The bear leaped into the river, destroying the terrifying abyss.

The raccoon cat glared at the poachers, leading them into traps.

A snake silently slid up to the poacher, biting his throat.

The white wolfhound guarded the cabin, preventing any flames from approaching.

The cat charged deep into the sea of fire, using sharp claws to kill the arsonist.

The hunter and his animal friends calmed the vast disaster together; they rebuilt their home on the forest ruins.

They played Goose Game together, ate dumplings in the cave; even if it was always winter around, it was warm.

...

One ordinary morning, mother left.

A letter was left at the bedside saying, "I’m going to find medicine that will let you speak, wait for me to return."

The cabin suddenly felt empty.

But the bear could light fires, and the cat brought wild fruits. They huddled by the fireplace, making winter less harsh. The little hunter gradually adjusted to days without his mother, learning to live by himself.

Until one snowy night, there was a knock at the door.

Outside stood a woman in a dark green dress, with a delicate lace hat pinned with budding lily of the valley, her face gently carved by time, smiling like sunlight melting snow.

"I am your mother’s old friend," she said, "You may call me ’foster mother.’"

Outside, it was too cold, so the little hunter let the foster mother stay in the attic.

She knitted sweaters on a rocking chair, told stories of the starry sky, baked apple pies smelling of cinnamon.

She taught the hunter to read, writing in the sandy ground.

One day, the foster mother led him to the deepest clearing in the forest, softly placing a golden magic wand in his palm.

"Child, this is my blessing," the foster mother’s voice was soft, "With this wand, you will be stronger, have nothing to fear. You will also gain eternal life, like me."

The hunter felt warmth spreading from his palm to his body upon holding the wand, as if the heartbeat of the entire forest synchronized with his own.

Yet he saw a trace of fatigue and guilt in the foster mother’s eyes.

She seemed to have walked an endlessly long path, finally finding a roof to rest under, finally letting go of continuous pain.

"Sorry, child, forgive me," the foster mother said for reasons unknown.

...

The foster mother fell asleep in the rocking chair.

Sunlight cast mottled shadows on her dark green dress through the window’s lattice. The lily of the valley on her hat seemed truly blooming, exuding a faint fragrance. Her expression was peaceful, as if merely entering a beautiful dream.

After she handed the golden magic wand to the Hunter, she died.

The Hunter did not cry.

Holding his foster mother’s hand, which was growing increasingly cold, he wrote on the sandy ground: "Thank you for taking care of me."

Faint footsteps sounded from the loft.

The Hunter looked up and saw a white-haired girl standing at the end of the stairs—her long hair flowing like the first snowfall and eyes resembling preserved ice crystals. The girl wore a witch’s hat, and strikingly resembled his foster mother by seventy percent.

In the forest, there was a legend that witches were ugly, with hearts like those of scorpions. But the girl in front of him was beautiful, unlike a mortal, yet her gaze concealed deep sorrow.

"I am that lady’s other half, my name is Tian Yu," the girl descended the stairs. "A long, long time ago, she became a ’Witch,’ compelled by the previous ’Witch.’ She passed her power to you because she was too tired... tired enough to want to pass the eternal curse to another innocent person. Just as she inherited from her ’foster mother’ once. Generation after generation, in the forest’s curse, reincarnation continued, leaving behind eternal solitude."

The Hunter listened quietly.

He wrote on the sandy ground: "And what about you?"

The girl smiled: "I am her ’good.’ She left all sinful matters to herself, and stripped away all that was beautiful, happy, and innocent, becoming me. Thus, she is eternally the guilty God Slayer, a thief who steals skins, and I cannot stop her sins, nor can I escape them."

The bear growled uneasily, and the cat raised its tail.

The Hunter walked to the girl, reached out, and gently wiped away her tears.

Then he wrote on the sandy ground:

"Daughter of ice and snow, travel with me."

The girl was stunned.

The Hunter continued to write:

"If eternity is a cage of solitude, let’s discard eternity."

"If the forest’s curse causes you pain, let’s leave the forest."

"I no longer need the mighty golden magic wand, I have my own small shotgun."

...

He truly discarded the golden magic wand.

He planted it into the forest soil; the wand instantly took root and sprouted into a glowing tree. Golden fruit blossomed atop its crown, and the creatures who ate them no longer feared the cold winter.

He took off his golden coat and wrapped it around a scrawny fox that was always bullied. The fox’s fur became lush, and its eyes brightened.

He removed the golden cloak and gifted it to a small goat, enabling the goat to fearlessly and swiftly move, even in the coldest winter.

Then, he took the white-haired girl’s hand.

The bear’s form began to change, its blue fur dispersing into stardust, becoming a Fairy Godmother with long, dark blue dress and gentle blue hair and eyes. The cat leapt gently onto the Hunter’s shoulder.

"We are with you," the Fairy Godmother said, "to leave this long and dark forest."

They exited the forest.

The forest’s boundary resembled a layer of a water membrane, and turning back, the forest was already concealed behind a thin mist.

Ahead was a boundless wilderness, and overhead was a vast starry sky.

The starry sky cascaded downward. Stars transformed into light steps, and the galaxy became a dance floor as the midnight clock struck twelve from deep within the universe.

The Fairy Godmother twirled in a gown woven of starlight, while the black cat left glowing pawprints. The Hunter, holding the white-haired girl, stepped into the brilliant dance floor.

They danced.

The child who couldn’t speak treaded silent dance steps, while the daughter of ice and snow laughed for the first time like a real girl.

Starlight entwined around their toes, and the galaxy accompanied them.

No curse, no reincarnation, no inherited sins or punishments.

Only the vast and boundless starry sky.

Dancing, the girl’s perpetually cold cheeks finally blossomed into a smile.

Dancing, a slight itch grew in the Hunter’s throat.

He opened his mouth, trying for some time—

Finally, a spring-like voice gently sounded:

"You, are, liked."

In love and warmth, the Hunter finally learned to speak.

The Hunter threw away the golden scepter that symbolized eternal life, removed the golden cloak and coat. He flew out of the forest with the girl, freeing them from the witch curse passed down through generations in the forest, dancing at midnight in the cosmic dance floor.

From then on, there was no more sorrow.

From then on, there was no more sorrow...

...

Later, the animals traversed all the starry sky.

No witches, no curses in the legends, only travelers holding hands, and a dance that never ends.

They danced in every world, leaving new legends in every story.

Within their dance steps, there was a mute child washing fabric by the creek, a blue bear offering flowers, a black cat repeating along muddy paths, a foster mother sleeping in a rocking chair, a white-haired girl in the loft...

...

...

Within the World Tree.

Bei Wang slowly opened his eyes.

He found his cheeks held in a pair of hands encased in golden silk gloves, and before him were closed eyes, so near.

"...Su Ming’an?" Bei Wang murmured.

This dream realm pulled Bei Wang’s consciousness from its normal timeline to here, temporarily taking over Tian Yu’s body.

Before him, Su Ming’an lowered his head, cheeks covered in fragmented ice frost, his chest pierced by an ice crystal, his body pinned hard to the wall. Countless ice flowers sprouted from the ground, with ice vines and leaves climbing from leg to chest, finally blooming beside his pale face. The charred skin and flesh of his chest and abdomen rolled over and froze like a statue of frozen divinity.