The original suicide note was written in the phone's memo app—the handwritten version had been transcribed by Chu Zhi. Light Falling Into My Life was a song he had slipped into the box after receiving the "Random Songs Bundle" from the system.
Chu Zhi's body trembled slightly—not as an act. Exposing such deep scars to the public, raw and ugly, would be overwhelming for anyone, let alone someone with depression.
"It's okay. No one's blaming you anymore. Everyone believes you now—that you weren't kept by anyone, that you never had a secret marriage. It's okay, don't be afraid."
He whispered these words in his heart to the original soul. Whether it was psychological or a lingering reaction from the body, the trembling gradually subsided.
The Emperor of Acting felt a subtle dissonance within himself fade away—the last trace of the original soul had finally dissipated. The boy who once lived in this body was now completely gone from this parallel world, leaving nothing behind.
One of Chu Zhi's goals in staging this revelation was to let the world know what that child had endured.
Gulp.
The study was so quiet that even the sound of swallowing seemed audible.
What made a professional cameraman? Jelly was the definition of one. Even though his mind was still reeling, his hands instinctively kept the lens trained on Chu Zhi, capturing every moment—from the trembling to the calm that followed—broadcasting it all live without omission.
"Teacher Chu..." Wei Tongzi's eyes brimmed with tears, torn between heartache and fear.
The heartache was understandable—even a casual viewer would feel it. The fear came from realizing the severity of the situation. She had only wanted fans to know about his depression so they could support him more. She never meant to expose his deepest wounds, including the suicide note.
"It's all in the past. Talking about it is fine." Chu Zhi's expression remained neutral.
"I..." Wei Tongzi wished she could slap herself.
"How could you let Ninth Brother comfort you at a time like this? What's wrong with you?" she scolded herself inwardly.
The livestream exploded:
"Wuwuwu..."
"Ninth Brother, please stay strong!"
"55555"
"I have so much to say, but I don't know where to start. Chu Zhi always seemed so normal..."
"I just want to hug Orange..."
"No, please no..."
A few viewers tried to explain:
"Auditory hallucinations are a primary symptom of psychotic disorders, typically schizophrenia. In depression, they only occur in extreme cases, usually as fragmented, commanding voices. So Ninth Brother's diagnosis of severe depression isn't exaggerated at all..."
The atmosphere in the study was heavy. The show had to go on, but it fell to Chu Zhi to break the silence. He felt like he was carrying the entire program on his shoulders.
"Brother Pang, Tongtong, if you have questions, ask them directly. Let's not delay the recording," Chu Zhi said.
Ahem. Pang Pu cleared his throat. A veteran of countless storms, he quickly adjusted. Steeling himself, he asked bluntly, "Teacher Chu, is this a suicide note? When was it written?"
"August 17th. Yes, it is." Chu Zhi replied. "After writing it, I planned to take sleeping pills. Well—that's not entirely accurate."
"I did take them. At the time, it felt like the whole world was against me."
"Of course, I knew that was just my perception. The world didn't have time to spare for me."
He even cracked a small joke, though no one laughed. After a pause, he continued:
"For over two months, I desperately hoped someone would prove my innocence. I clung to the faintest hope—that the people who wronged me would come forward and clarify. I didn't do it."
"So I checked Weibo every day, praying for a reversal. But every day, I only saw more hate."
"Even when I stopped looking, my phone's notifications bombarded me with headlines like: [Where is the bottom line in entertainment? The government must punish immoral celebrities!] or [Buying fame and sabotaging rivals: Analyzing the shady tactics behind Future Idol's winner.]"
"Then the nightmares started. I still remember one vividly—I was a child again, and my parents reached out to hug me. But just as I ran toward them, my mother suddenly said, 'Why did you become such a liar? How could you hide a marriage?' My father added, 'We failed as parents. Go apologize now.'"
Though his tone was detached, almost like he was recounting someone else's story, Pang Pu, Wei Tongzi, and Jelly could feel the weight behind every word.
"What kind of torment could lead to nightmares like that?"
The nightmare was the original Chu Zhi's lived experience. The current Chu Zhi narrated it from an outsider's perspective, laying bare the descent into depression.
"Because of the nightmares, my mental state deteriorated. I had constant chest tightness and headaches. For a month, even in sleep, I heard whispers—'Just die,' 'Go die already.' No earplugs could block them out. I even hit my arms and legs, trying to drown the voices with pain, but nothing worked."
"After two months, I couldn't take it anymore. So I wrote the note and took the pills." He didn't elaborate further, wrapping up the story quickly.
Some might assume the prescribed medications didn't include sleeping pills, but "sleeping pills" is a blanket term—drugs like zopiclone and zaleplon fall under it. The report's estazolam was one such medication. Hospitals typically dispense only a week's supply, with a maximum of twenty pills per prescription.
But if someone is determined to end their life, no doctor or policy can stop them. In this parallel world, one could visit multiple hospitals to stockpile pills. On Earth, such drugs were tightly controlled, but here, loopholes existed.
Many believe swallowing sleeping pills is a peaceful way to go—a lie perpetuated by movies. Chu Zhi knew the truth firsthand.
"Teacher Chu... who saved you?" Wei Tongzi's voice trembled imperceptibly.
"Maybe I didn't take enough. I woke up choking on vomit," Chu Zhi said. He truly wished that had been the case—that the original hadn't died.
He added solemnly, "Most sleeping pills contain emetine—a vomiting agent deliberately added by manufacturers to prevent suicide. When you swallow too many, your stomach and throat feel like they're burning with acid. Vomit blocks your airways. Those movie scenes where people drift off painlessly? Complete fiction."
Wei Tongzi pressed, "How... how did you keep going?"
Pang Pu winced inwardly. "Couldn't she phrase that more gently?" A better question would've been "How are you now that the truth is out?" But Wei Tongzi had lost all composure, her thoughts consumed by the revelation that her idol had nearly died.
"As for how I kept going—since we're on the topic, I'd like to say something to my Little Fruits, and to anyone watching." Chu Zhi turned to the camera. "I know life throws impossible challenges at you, making it hard to go on."
"Before my attempt, I kept thinking, 'If only someone would help me, just once.' But no one did. I know exactly how it feels to be abandoned by the world. So I decided to be that helping hand for others."
"That's why I wrote Against the Light—to tell my fans, 'You're not alone. I care. I care so much.'" His voice softened. "You've held on this long. Hold on a little longer, okay? A few more years, and I'll invite you all to my eighth-anniversary concert—for free."
Even Pang Pu, a seasoned professional, couldn't stop the tears streaming down his face. But he maintained his grip on the cue cards, refusing to wipe them away.
The next segment—selecting viewer questions—no longer seemed important.
"Also," Chu Zhi smiled, "when I was on the brink of death, I reached heaven. God looked at me and said, 'Go back and tell the children on Earth—no more suicides. Heaven's full.' Then He kicked me back down."
"We're all children of a beautiful world. So don't leave it, okay? Let's live on."
The Emperor of Acting took his final bow. His words, earnest and raw, sent shockwaves through the audience:
[User 1]: "I promise! I'm in middle school. My parents fight constantly, and I've been depressed for years. When I begged them to take me to a therapist, they called me dramatic. Mom said, 'We've suffered worse—at least you've never starved.' Logically, she's right. But I still feel so awful, especially when they start throwing things. I've cut myself just to cope. Online, people assume I'm doing it for attention. But I'm not. I've never felt so alone—until today. Hearing you say this... it's like I've found a lifeline. Someone out there believes me. I'll keep fighting. I'll make it to your concert."
[User 2]: "I tried to kill myself last month—slit my wrists. Woke up in the hospital. I didn't want to die anymore, but I didn't want to live either. Calling myself 'worthless' would be an insult to actual trash. I used to have dreams, but I failed so badly I almost died. Now? No courage left. I don't even follow celebs, but today, I'm your fan. How could you still want to help others after all that pain? Most people just give up. You're a good person, Ninth Brother. A really good one."
[User 3]:"Misfortune always targets the vulnerable. I won't share my story, but 'children of a beautiful world' broke me. I'm a 40-year-old man crying at a livestream. No one's called me 'child' in thirty years. I forgot I was ever one. Thank you, Chu Zhi."
Message after message poured in—each from someone who, moments ago, had been sinking in despair. Now, grasping Chu Zhi's outstretched hand, they saw not darkness, but light.
Maybe it was his story. Maybe they'd always wanted to live—just needed a reason.