The System answered immediately: [My full official title is: ‘Blame Others More, Reflect On Yourself Less.’]

[You pursued him tirelessly for twenty-five years without success. That proves the issue wasn’t with you—it was with the target. Erasing him was the logical choice.]

I was momentarily speechbound. “Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

The System let out a cold snort. [Why didn’t you ask sooner? My name isn’t just for show.]

I was left speechless. Twenty-five years of my youth, ultimately undone by a System’s title.

At the hospital, after a long barrage of emergency resuscitation attempts, the attending physician officially pronounced Zhou Heng dead.

Zhou Heng refused to accept it. His spirit repeatedly lunged at his own corpse—trying to re-enter through the head, then the feet, even attempting to lie flat on top of his body.

Unfortunately, none of it worked.

He sobbed and raged, causing a scene for nearly half a day, before finally accepting the agonizing truth: he was truly dead. Dead on his own wedding day.

I had his body transferred to the funeral home, handled the paperwork, set up the memorial hall, and sent out the obituaries to family and friends, inviting them to the service the following day. Everything was managed methodically, handled with a practiced efficiency that was almost heartbreaking.

Zhou Heng stood nearby, watching me. His gaze grew increasingly complex. Perhaps he had never imagined that the person handling his final arrangements would be the bride he had abandoned at the altar.

Once everything was arranged, I pulled out my phone and called my mother. “Mom… I want to visit Auntie Zhou today. Will you come with me?”

My mother sounded surprised. “Isn’t today only the tenth? Don’t you usually visit her on the fifteenth of every month?”

Hearing this, Zhou Heng froze. He turned to look at me, genuine shock in his eyes. “Vivi… I had no idea you visited my mother every month.”

I paused for a few seconds before softly telling my mother, “Mom… I need to tell you something. Please stay calm.”

“Zhou Heng is gone.”

Silence fell over the line instantly. My mother and Auntie Zhou had been close friends since their days as fellow housekeepers. Auntie Zhou loved me like her own daughter, and my mother had always treated Zhou Heng as her own son. It had been that way for as long as I could remember.

I still remembered back in elementary school when a classmate mocked Zhou Heng and me for being fatherless. Zhou Heng had stayed silent the entire day. I had taken his hand, slapped my chest with pride, and declared, “So what if we don’t have dads? We have two moms!”

Zhou Heng had burst out laughing back then. But now… the ones who would grieve his passing the most were likely those very two mothers.

Over time, the bond between Zhou Heng and me had only grown closer, much to our mothers’ delight. In their eyes, the four of us had long been a family—all that was missing was a marriage certificate. Well, we almost had that, too. It was just a shame the groom had run off.

On the way to the nursing home, my mother sat beside me, wiping away an endless stream of tears. Zhou Heng sat in the back, his eyes rimmed with red, unnaturally quiet for once. I couldn’t tell if he was thinking about his mother or mourning his own abrupt end.

When we arrived at the room, Auntie Zhou looked at me without any real recognition. She had suffered from advanced Alzheimer’s for years and had long since forgotten who I was. Some days, she couldn’t even remember her own name. To avoid being a burden to her son, she had voluntarily moved into the care facility. That was how she had lived her entire life—terrified of troubling others, terrified of becoming a weight, even to her only child.

Yet the moment she saw my mother, Auntie Zhou’s eyes lit up. She moved excitedly, trying to say something, but her body was far too frail. She was hooked up to IV lines and tubes, with a ventilator tube down her throat. Her lips trembled for a long time, but no sound came out.

At that moment, Zhou Heng completely broke down.

“Mom!”

“Mom!”

He rushed to the bedside, trying desperately to take her hand, to stroke her hair, to hold her. But it was useless. His hands repeatedly passed right through her body.

“Vivi!” he turned and yelled at me frantically. “Why didn’t you tell me my mother was this sick?”

Before I could answer, the head doctor came in for rounds. Spotting me, he said, “Ms. Gui, could you step into my office for a moment?”

I followed him out, and Zhou Heng trailed right behind me. He had nowhere else to go anyway.

As soon as we sat down, the doctor let out a heavy sigh. “Ms. Gui, have you managed to reach Mr. Zhou about visiting his mother? Our nurses have called him countless times, but every time, he’s either in a meeting or out drinking.”

“Mrs. Zhou is now in stage three Alzheimer’s. Her recent bout of pneumonia severely weakened her. She doesn’t have much time left. If possible, you really should tell Mr. Zhou to visit her more often.”

“Gui Vi, you’re lying!” Zhou Heng immediately shouted. “When did you ever tell me?”

But the moment the words left his mouth, he froze as if struck by lightning.

“No…”

“You did tell me…”

“You really did…”

He began to mutter to himself, his ghostly face draining of what little color it had.

“You texted me…”

“You called me…”

“You brought it up multiple times…”

He suddenly clutched his head, his voice trembling violently. “Then why didn’t I go? Why didn’t I go see her? Damn it! Why the hell didn’t I go see my own mother?”

I stared at him coldly. Why else? Work by day, drinking by night. Between his job and his heart, was there room for anyone besides Ning Luo?

Before leaving the nursing home, I told the doctor, “Zhou Heng passed away in an accident. If anything happens with Auntie Zhou, please contact me directly.”

I paid an additional one hundred thousand yuan into her account before leaving.

Zhou Heng stood beside me, looking at me with a deeply complex expression. After a long silence, he whispered softly, “Vivi… thank you.”

For the first time in twenty-five years, I heard a genuine expression of gratitude from his lips. What a pity the person saying it was already dead.

The next day, Zhou Heng’s funeral was held quietly. Most of the attendees were business partners; very few friends or relatives showed up. After burning incense, people left one after another, leaving behind a pathetically desolate atmosphere.

Just as I was about to ask the staff to prepare Zhou Heng’s body for cremation, two unexpected guests arrived: Ning Luo and her husband, the second son of the Sheng family—Sheng Tianling.

Ning Luo clung to her husband’s arm, wearing a form-fitting black dress, a black veil hat, and immaculate makeup. She looked less like she was attending a funeral and more like she was walking a red carpet. Sheng Tianling wore a tailored, high-end suit, radiating a cold aura that practically screamed exorbitantly expensive. Standing side by side, they looked far more like a power couple attending a gala than mourners at a wake.

Zhou Heng, who had been huddled in a corner, immediately perked up the second he saw Ning Luo—like a loyal dog catching sight of its master. But the moment his eyes landed on her arm wrapped around Sheng Tianling’s, his expression darkened to a thundercloud.

“Ning Luo! Why did you bring him here? Why are you holding his arm?”

Unfortunately, Ning Luo couldn’t hear him. The dead often forget that simple detail.

She looked up at Sheng Tianling, a flattering smile gracing her features. “Tianling, we’ve paid our respects. Let’s go.”

Sheng Tianling calmly pulled his arm free, his tone detached. “No rush.”

His sharp, penetrating gaze settled squarely on me.

“Ms. Gui, I came here to inform you that tomorrow, the Sheng Corporation will officially launch its acquisition of Dongfang Technology.”

Dongfang Technology was the optoelectronics company Zhou Heng and I had co-founded. Zhou Heng held a 51% stake, while I held 49%. Back then, I had assumed that as the male lead, his luck and aura would be far stronger than mine, making him the better choice to hold controlling power for the company’s growth. Who could have guessed that the male lead would drop dead at his own wedding before ever reaching his peak?

I met Sheng Tianling’s gaze calmly. “Mr. Sheng, Dongfang Technology is the lifeblood of both Zhou Heng and myself. I will not sell.”

Sheng Tianling’s eyes narrowed into icy slits. “I think you misunderstand, Ms. Gui. I came here today to inform you.”

He paused, a faint, cold smirk touching the corner of his lips.

“Not to ask for your permission.”