QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)-Chapter 68: Twisted joke

Chapter 68 – Daphne POV

So I found this empty tower room.

It’s tucked away in the highest part of the west wing, the kind of place that doesn’t exist on most maps and probably hasn’t been dusted since the last monarch was born.

Apparently, no one uses it anymore. It’s cold. Out of the way. "Not good for a lady’s lungs," someone said.

Perfect.

It has huge windows with warped glass and a broken latch that lets the breeze in. There’s a stack of old blank canvases leaning against the wall—slightly yellowed, but still good. The brushes are stiff, but fixable. Someone must have loved to paint here once.

Well.

I’ll take over.

I spend hours here.

Sketching.

Blocking out color.

Getting my hands dirty the old-fashioned way.

And today—today I’m working on her again.

Jiang Yuxi.

The face comes to life slowly, layer by layer. Line by line. Like I’m pulling her from memory and setting her into this world with charcoal and paint.

The angle of her jaw.

The shape of her mouth.

Those eyes I could never get quite right.

It’s almost like I’ve traveled in time.

Like it’s just the two of us again.

Like I could reach out and—

I stop.

Shake my head.

Keep painting.

The brushes here are a nightmare. The quills? Worse. And don’t even get me started on the paint, which is more like mashed up dirt and mood swings. But I’m managing. Slowly. Finally.

It’s coming together.

For once in this ridiculous lace-draped hell of a world, something is coming together.

I don’t know how much time passes. The light shifts from gold to amber to gray. I lose myself in brush strokes and breath.

And then—

Knock knock.

A soft sound. Gentle.

I flinch, snapping out of my trance.

I blink.

The sky is purple. The sun is almost gone.

How long have I been up here?

Did I eat?

Doubtful.

Did I bathe?

Definitely not.

"Shit."

I run a hand through my hair and realize it’s stuck to my face with paint and sweat.

I probably won’t make it to the stream in time—it’s too late, too dark, and I’m not walking two hours with paint-stained clothes in pitch black medieval woods.

Fine. Bowl it is.

At least I’ll wipe myself down.

I didn’t head straight back.

Instead, I wandered.

Through the garden.

It’s beautiful here. I’ll give them that.

They’ve outdone themselves in maintaining this place—someone clearly cares about it, even if they don’t care about me. The hedges are trimmed with an obsessive eye for symmetry, the flower beds layered in color like a painting. Even the gravel underfoot has been freshly raked.

The faint moonlight barely lights the path. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

But that’s fine.

I just wanted to take a walk.

Stretch my legs. Let the paint fumes leave my brain.

Let... her fade from my chest.

I find a stone bench half-shaded under a flowering tree and sit. The stone is cold through my skirt, but I don’t move.

Above me, the stars glitter—soft and endless.

It’s... nice.

Peaceful.

I let my eyes close for a second. Just one.

Just long enough to let my pulse match the rhythm of the night.

And then—

Someone walks toward the stone bench.

A figure. Feminine. Draped in a soft blanket, the edges dragging just above the path.

They pause mid-step, startled—like they weren’t expecting anyone to be here. The way they hesitate, pull the blanket tighter, glance sideways but not quite at me...

Did I just walk into someone else’s quiet corner?

Their safe haven?

I start to rise.

"I’m sorry. Excuse me," I say quickly, already moving, ready to let her have the moment.

I step to the side, meaning to pass—

And then I see her face.

My heart drops.

My breath catches.

I freeze mid-step.

Before I can even think—

I pull her into a hug.

Tight. Fierce.

As if she’ll vanish if I hesitate for even a second.

The air leaves my lungs in one shuddering gasp.

"Yuxi," I whisper, clutching her tighter. "Yuxi."

I feel her freeze in my arms.

The blanket shifts. Her hands twitch against my back like she doesn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer.

Her heartbeat is fast.

Too fast.

But she doesn’t speak.

And I can’t let go.

This is her.

It’s definitely my beloved.

.

I don’t want to think.

I don’t want to ask how this is possible.

Just the overwhelming relief of her presence.

The weight I’ve been carrying... loosening.

For one moment, it feels like I can finally breathe.

Her scent. Her warmth. The way her body fits in my arms.

This is real.

A hand gently tugs at my back.

"You may have me mistaken," she says.

The words hit like a slap.

I freeze.

Slowly—like tearing myself apart—I pull away.

Her eyes meet mine.

Blue. Clear.

But empty.

No recognition. Not even a flicker of affection.

I feel like I’ve just been dropped from a rooftop.

The warmth disappears all at once. The comfort. The meaning.

Gone.

I take a step back.

Then another.

I barely hold it together, barely manage to swallow down the twist in my chest.

"I’m sorry," I murmur, voice raw. "You looked like someone I know... someone dear to me."

She doesn’t reply.

She just watches.

Expression calm. Puzzled. Beautiful in that awful, untouchable way.

I bow slightly, more to hide my face than anything else.

"Excuse me."

And I leave the garden.

Fast.

Before I do something stupid.

Before I break in front of a stranger who has my beloved’s face.

Before the grief catches up.

What type of twisted joke is the universe throwing at me?

Wasn’t it enough?

Wasn’t it enough to take her from me once?

And now?

Now she’s here.

And she doesn’t even know me.

Her eyes—those eyes I used to wake up beside—looked right through me like I was no one.

Nothing.

And somehow, that hurts more than her dying ever did.