My wife is a witch princess

As soon as Xia Li entered, she went straight to the bench and sat down, breathing softly. After walking for almost forty minutes, her calves felt noticeably sore and her feet were slightly burning.

"Why aren't you taking the car?" she asked, her voice slightly breathless.

"I forgot... okay, actually I just wanted to hold hands a little longer," Song Che confessed resignedly. He blamed himself for not being able to control the turmoil in his mind; now even lying had become a luxury. Not only would it be ineffective with Xia Li, but if he tried to lie to someone else, the stubborn prince next to him would likely expose him on the spot.

"Oh." Xia Li didn't react much to the answer. She just closed her eyes, leaned back in her chair, and still held the pink hand warmer in her hand.

Song Che didn't say anything more and turned to look for Bruce and Tao Xiang. He wondered where those two had gone again.

"Bruce!"

"Woof!" came the response from the bedroom, mixed with a soft whimper.

"Brother, help me! It bites! Has it been vaccinated?!" Tao Xiang's panicked voice rang out immediately afterward.

Song Che strode towards the bedroom, pushed open the door, and found it a complete mess. Tao Xiang was curled up in the corner of the bed, clutching a pillow and trembling. Bruce, contrary to his usual lazy demeanor, stood at the foot of the bed, his fur slightly bristling, his cat eyes glaring angrily at the intruder.

"Tao Xiang, what did you do to offend Bruce?" Song Che asked, exasperated.

"I... I only ate some of its cat food... and then it scratched me." Momoka held up the back of her hand, which had a faint red mark on it, and her face fell. "Will I get rabies?"

"Aren't you a cat yourself? Besides, Bruce has all his vaccinations."

"My sister is a cat, and I am a human..." Momoka emphasized weakly, then hugged her pillow tighter.

"Alright, I'll go talk to Bruce." Although Song Che felt that Tao Xiang was wrong for stealing food, he thought it was just a little bit of cat food, so he would just add more. He went over and picked up Bruce, who was still fuming, and patted his head soothingly before going to add more food for him.

As Song Che walked over to the bag of cat food the pet shopkeeper had given him, a slight smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. The sun outside was becoming increasingly useless; even in broad daylight, seeing Tao Xiangqian's good fortune made him feel dizzy.

Where the hell is my food?

"I...I accidentally...ate a little too much." Tao Xiang had somehow gotten to the door.

"I'm on Bruce's side this time. You went too far. Why didn't you leave any? Did the rest just go into your mouth? Besides, people get sick from eating cat food." He lowered his head and gently rubbed Bruce's droopy ears with his fingertips. "Don't cry, Bruce. I'll bring you food when I come back tonight. She's a bad cat, we won't be like her."

After saying that, he turned to Tao Xiang, pondering how to deal with this greedy and unruly fellow.

Looking at Song Che's expressionless face, Tao Xiang panicked and suddenly knelt down with a thud, her head bowed low: "I'm sorry! Tao Xiang was shameless! You...you can spank Tao Xiang! Tao Xiang knows she was wrong!"

"Alright, get up." Song Che was a little helpless, and even began to doubt how old she really was mentally. She dared to steal and eat a whole bag of cat food as soon as she came in, what will she be like in the future? She's not even half as sensible as Bruce.

After Song Che scratched his chin a few times, Bruce let out a comfortable purr, and his previous unhappiness quickly vanished. He jumped onto the small sofa, curled himself into a ball, and prepared to take a nap.

Song Che glanced at Xia Li in the living room and found that she was still sitting there in the same position, motionless, as if frozen. She wasn't reading magazines or doing any calculations, but occasionally touched the scarf, her blue eyes staring blankly into the distance.

Song Che was all too familiar with that expression—it was exactly the same as when he first transmigrated to the Hit Empire: In this strange world, what should I do? Who am I? I'm all alone... I don't belong to anything around me.

Song Che turned around and went back to the bedroom. He took out a book with a worn spine from the bedside table, then walked back to the living room and came to Xia Li.

"Give."

"Hmm?" Xia Li snapped out of her daze and looked up at him.

"Let me show you a book," Song Che explained, handing the book over. "When I was a senior in high school... I was under a lot of pressure, and I always felt like I was all alone. I got through it by reading this book. Later, when I was in Hite, when I couldn't sleep at night or felt particularly lonely, I would think about the stories and characters in this book. After reading it a lot and thinking about their fates... my mindset gradually calmed down."

Xia Li took the book.

On the dark cover, four large, calmly written characters are printed:

One Hundred Years of Solitude

"Let's watch for a while. After it gets dark, we'll go out for a walk and take you to the night market. It's very lively."

This book didn't originally belong to him; it was a gift from his childhood friend. Song Che remembered that it contained many annotations and comments left by his friend, making it feel like someone was discussing things with him, which made the difficult text easier to understand.

Later, he added some neat notes himself. However, as time passed, he couldn't remember the specifics clearly. But he hoped that this book might provide Xia Li with a temporary refuge when she felt adrift and lost.

Song Che didn't bother her anymore.

For Xia Li, being able to show this kind of bewilderment is actually a rare good thing—it shows that her emotional experience is deepening, and she is becoming more and more like a living, breathing person. If she leaves more traces of her life here in the future, and then finds a way to resolve her identity issue at the orphanage, she might be able to exist more at ease and not always be troubled by why she is here.

……

Song Che returned to the bedroom and began cleaning up the mess caused by the two cats fighting.

Peach Blossom huddled in another corner of the living room, continuing her eye contact with Bruce on the sofa. Xia Li stroked the book cover in her hand, feeling the unease in her heart gradually subside.

Since arriving here, Song Che has always encouraged her to read, and she enjoys reading. There are always different things in books; they can teach her knowledge, express her fragile emotions, and reveal things that are difficult to put into words. As soon as she opens the first page, her gaze is fixed on it.

Those were two completely different handwriting styles: one was flamboyant and unrestrained, almost bursting off the paper; the other was neat and restrained, with each stroke following the rules.

She recognized the latter—it was Song Che's handwriting.

She read aloud softly, word by word: 'You'll be disliked for troubling others, but not for troubling your parents, not for troubling your siblings, not for troubling your best friends, and not for troubling those who like you.'

She understood the first part of the sentence. Because, apart from Song Che, everyone else she had bothered eventually showed signs of annoyance.

But she couldn't understand the second half of the sentence.

Which category does Song Che belong to? And why doesn't he hate himself?

Xia Li noted the sentence down, her fingertips lingering on the ink, before continuing to turn the pages. Regardless of the book's content, its production was exceptionally fine. The paper was thick, with dark gold lines along the edges, exuding a unique scent of age. Almost every page contained annotations of varying lengths.

...Song Che really likes this book.

Xia Li began reading the main text. After reading about five or six pages, she sensed a heavy, somber tone. The word "loneliness" wasn't explicitly used, but its presence was pervasive, seeping from between the words. The story's foreshadowing subtly pointed to the tragedy the characters would ultimately face.

Xia Li was engrossed in watching. Song Che came to the living room several times after tidying up the bedroom, but seeing that Xia Li was still watching, he didn't disturb her. He went back to the bedroom to deal with some trivial matters.

The wind outside the window gradually picked up, not fierce, but persistent. It swept through the branches, carrying away one withered leaf after another that clung precariously to the ground. When the last leaf finally succumbed and twirled to the ground, the streetlights snapped on one by one, casting patches of orange light.

The light dimmed without us even noticing.

The words in front of Xia Li's eyes became blurry, and a small patch of moisture suddenly appeared on the black characters in her vision.

She froze, instinctively raising her hand to touch her cheek—a distinct coolness reached her fingertips.

It is a tear.

It slipped down without warning, landing on the open pages of the book.

She wondered why she was crying. She didn't feel any particularly sharp sadness, nor did her heart clench with pain. She couldn't even cry when she witnessed Song Che die in the other world.

A strange panic gripped her.

Your Highness should not shed tears, nor should you. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to erase the evidence.

Snapped--

The living room ceiling light suddenly turned on, dispelling the darkness in the room.

Xia Li quickly sat up straight, placed her hands neatly on her knees, arranged the books, and her face returned to its usual calm.

Song Che stood behind the small sofa, looked out the window and then at her, reminding her, "Xia Li, remember to turn on the light next time you read. If it's too dim, your eyes will be damaged."

"I understand," she replied, her voice steady.

"Let's pack up and go out for a walk. We can eat whatever we want today," Song Che said, waving his phone. The screen lit up to show his balance. "The money we got from that gold coin is considered as money we earned ourselves."

"it is good."

Xia Li was touching the pages of the book, about to close it, when she suddenly felt something strange in the touch.

She lowered her head.

The living room light was shining on that page of paper.

One Hundred Years of Solitude, page 97.

On the slightly yellowed paper, three small tear stains were clearly visible. One tear stain had long since dried, its edges wrinkled; the other two were almost overlapping, their color slightly darker, making them particularly clear in the light.

Like two pieces of amber that have quietly fallen, though from different times, they reflect the same feeling on the same page of the same book.