As the final echoes of the grand ceremony still resonated through heaven and earth—
A change occurred upon the city wall. The countless silver metallic orbs simultaneously fell silent, locking into a uniform, eerie blue.
Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh—!
Ten thousand slender beams of blue light, precise as a calibrated downpour, shot down from the center of each orb, bathing every newly "awakened" figure in the plaza below.
One beam descended directly over Mo Bai. He shifted slightly, but the light was upon him.
The light was not solid, yet it carried a tangible, heavy quality, instantly enveloping and saturating him.
Cold.
A cold that seeped into the marrow, a soul-freezing chill invading through every pore. This cold brought no pain, instead offering a strange sense of "peace."
Whoosh—!
The ten thousand blue beams retracted simultaneously.
And the people within them.
The next moment, darkness swallowed everything.
The interior of the pod was not a cage.
An expanse of soft, milky-white luminescence filled the space. Mo Bai's body was held upright in the center of the glow by an intangible force field, eyes closed.
Then,
a dark golden metal probe, far thicker and longer than the one used by the White Shrouds, descended silently from above. Its tip, steady and unhurried, pierced the crown of his head—the Baihui point—and continued its deep, unhindered advance, as if seeking the very birthplace of consciousness.
No pain, only a sensation of being "opened."
The other end of the probe connected to a thread as fine as a hair, shimmering with a spectrum of flowing light. It extended into the depths of the luminescence and vanished into nothingness.
Ding.
A soft, standard, androgynous voice sounded directly in the deepest recesses of Mo Bai's consciousness:
"The blessing of the Mirror God reflects upon you. Return from the Far Shore to This Shore."
The voice was flat, a statement of fact.
"Now, the true Revelation of the 'Mirror World' is bestowed, forging the foundation of your complete understanding."
"Tranquility Protocol, initiate."
10… 9… 8…
Each pulse of the count directly "illuminated" a number within Mo Bai's consciousness, accompanied by a heavy, sacred pressure, like the layered chant of millions.
7… 6… 5…
Independent thought was gently squeezed and emptied by the vast tide of sound. Thoughts of the green dress, the cherry blossom, the Verdant Gleam, grew hazy, distant.
4… 3… 2…
The icy blue light now flowed down the probe, pouring in like a rivulet of clear spring water. Within the light swam countless, barely perceptible points of brilliant light—the fundamental essence of information, encoded to an extreme degree of minutiae.
"Descent."
In that moment,
Mo Bai "saw."
A vast, magnificent, indescribable "world" exploded into view before his "eyes"—
Planet Metaphysics.
It did not float in a void. The concepts people understood—length, width, height, time—existed here, in reality.
Yet, there was also an invisible, overarching dimensional axis—The Mirror God.
The Mirror God was not a concrete form, but the "First Cause" that endowed all things with meaning and logic. The vast Mirror God Collective had jointly forged the world beneath their feet and bestowed upon every soul born on Metaphysics
two fundamental things: Life, and that which was more core than life itself—Memory.
The Far Shore. The realm of the Mirror God. It transcended matter, reigned above This Land, and governed the source of every breath, the origin of every mote of dust's movement in This World.
This Shore. The very Planet Metaphysics upon which he now stood.
The bridge connecting the two realms was called The Crossing. The foundation sustaining this cycle of illusion and reality was Devotional Fire and The Mirror's Reward—the multitude offered their Devotional Fire, the Mirror God bestowed The Mirror's Reward, forging eternity.
The great Architect Ymír, enlightened by the supreme Mirror God, laid the foundation here, erected the Aethereal Metropolis of Myriad Forms, and established "The Eternal Laws of Metaphysics". The divine right of kings: the Monarch served as the Mirror God's highest proxy on This Shore. Reverence for the Mirror God, adherence to the Law, defense of the Metropolis—these were marks carved into the very soul of every subject.
The first foundational Memory Core Crystal finished unfolding, but the transmission did not cease. Another, more personal Core Crystal unfolded in synchrony.
II. Who Am I?
Beneath the radiance of Metaphysics, shadows also existed.
Within the vast mists shrouded by the unknown and chaos lurked the world-devouring "Tyrant Calamity" Primordial Demons, endlessly multiplying. A glorious Holy War for survival had never ceased.
The power of Memory was the only force effective against the "Tyrant Calamity" Primordial Demons. Seven ancient sages comprehended this truth amidst the blood and fire of the first "Glorious Holy War," establishing their schools. The secret arts of each school were tempered, evolved, and perpetuated in the ensuing, unending "Holy Wars."
Mo Bai. Subject No. 12. The Twelfth Generation Wandering Disciple of the Celestial Mechanism Pavilion. Disciple of Grandmaster Zhou Xun.
The "Celestial Mechanism Pavilion" stood aloof, its hidden mandate to peer into the workings of fate and maintain the balance of rules. Its foundation was the school's generationally transmitted mnemonic secret arts—"The Twelve Celestial Mechanism Arts."
"The Twelve Celestial Mechanism Arts" balanced offense and defense, deduced the nature of all things. Once, with its profound understanding and application of "Rules," it had stood unparalleled under heaven.
But on the reverse side of this glorious memory, a deep, rust-colored stain of regret and sorrow immediately spread.
During the Glorious Holy War against the "Tyrant Calamity" Primordial Demons, the final two arts—the most core, the most powerful—were lost amidst the flames of war and the erosion of chaos. Not stolen, but as if silently erased from the canvas of the world's memory.
A river flows backward; to not advance is to retreat.
The once-peerless "Twelve Celestial Mechanism Arts" gradually slid from its leading position. The other seven major schools, survivors of the wars whose core mnemonic arts had been continuously tempered in blood and fire, achieved unspeakable refinements one after another.
But that confidence and glory of "standing unparalleled" had sunk into the thick dust of history, becoming a hidden scar of pain and resentment in the hearts of its disciples.
As the fragmented information flowed to this point, Mo Bai felt a heavy sense of identification.
However, just as this inherited Memory Core Crystal was about to unfold the more specific essence of the "Twelve Celestial Mechanism Arts" mnemonic techniques—
A sudden anomaly erupted!
Deep within his consciousness sea, the Memory Core Crystal bearing the imprint of the "Twelve Celestial Mechanism Arts" past trembled violently!
The "Twelve Celestial Mechanism Arts"… he already knew them!
Conflict. Contradiction!
The expected, clear memory-images of the "Twelve Celestial Mechanism Arts" being practiced abruptly stuttered, warped, flickered, and shattered into chaotic, grating static and distorted pixelation.
"Error… Anomaly…"
A cold, swift female voice brushed past at a higher level. Mo Bai did not clearly "hear" it.
Immediately, the stuck memory-stream concerning the "Twelve Celestial Mechanism Arts" was brutally severed and discarded.
Replacing it was a conversation.
A deeply buried conversation that should not exist exploded with utter clarity in the center of his consciousness, now hypersensitive due to the conflict:
Girl (clear, with a touch of un-shed girlishness): "Brother, all they ever think about is fighting and killing. Can't they have something else in their minds?"
Boy (gentle, with a hint of laughter): "Like what?"
"Like life, art, poetry, and… you know, eating and drinking and all that!"
"A good thought. But if they used all their memory on appreciating poetry and fine food, where would they get enough vibrant 'Devotional Fire' to offer the Mirror God, to drive this world?" The boy's voice patiently explained, then suddenly shifted tone, carrying pure appreciation. "Huh, wait, little sister, is that a new dress? This emerald-green dress, paired with this cherry blossom brooch… it's very unique, very artistic!"
"Green dress. Cherry blossom brooch!"
These words burned like red-hot branding irons, violently searing into the stream of consciousness Mo Bai was passively receiving! Not an image, but a definition!It created a destructive resonance with that stubborn green shadow and the glint of the cherry blossom deep within his mind! He wanted to roar, to struggle, but his consciousness was pinned, forced only to "listen"—
Then, the girl's voice abruptly rose an octave, filled with unprecedented terror, as if witnessing something utterly horrifying, shrieking to interrupt:
"No! That's impossible! Brother, nothing will happen to you! Absolutely impossible—!!!"
The voice was cut off as if by the sharpest blade, leaving a piercing, desperate tremor hanging in the void.
"Beep! Beep! Beep!— CRITICAL ERROR!"