Old Times

Quicksilver? You're telling me that was Quicksilver? Ji Jue's mind buzzed with static. He turned around stiffly, suddenly overcome with the urge to ask the Prophet: Why not just say *I'm* Quicksilver instead? Yet the truth stood right before his eyes, undeniable. "What on earth happened to her?" Ji Jue asked hoarsely. "What did she... turn herself into?" "I do not know." The Prophet let out a silent sigh. "Are you not familiar with the affairs of your own Path of Embers? No one can say for sure what a Sage leaves behind after death—let alone one who remained obstinately obsessed until the bitter end, like her." Ji Jue had nothing left to say. He could only gaze toward the direction where that silhouette had departed. One day... after he died, would he end up like that too? No, if he could actually end up like that, it might even be flattery. The embers of a Celestial-Human, the remnants of a Sage. That was something a blank-slate Celestial Chosen like Ji Jue could not possibly compare to... Even though that thing hadn't done anything just now, merely touching his face before wandering off, who knew what bizarre transformation would occur if they recklessly resisted or revealed their status as outsiders? A whale falls, all things flourish. A Celestial Chosen who spent their entire life dealing with Sovereign Virtue was destined to be steeped in it, altered by its boons, their very Exaltation rippling out with countless consequences. Even an ordinary person who gorged themselves on corn before dying could pop some popcorn for fun in the crematorium furnace... A craftsman who spent a lifetime around furnaces and alchemy—every alchemical creation, every extraction and refining process, every channel of a boon—would leave traces and sediment within their soul and flesh. It accumulated day after day, year after year. To the point where the Path of Embers' most infamous symptom of corruption had become reification. A Celestial Chosen unable to rein in runaway boons or tainted by Vile Folly would gradually shed their humanity and soul, transforming into bizarre alchemical artifacts and giving rise to catastrophe after catastrophe. It was easy to foresee what terrifying scale of change would unfold after the fall of a Celestial-Human. If it were merely a single monster, Ji Jue could practically burn high incense and thank his ancestors for hitting the jackpot. Regrettably, that was completely impossible... God only knew how many of these runaway abominations still prowled within these deep, submerged reaches. "Rest assured. You bear traces of Fluid Alchemy upon you, along with permissions from the Old Furnace. They have no interest in you. Besides, there are plenty of chaotic intruders outside." After casting a blank glance outward, the Prophet turned her gaze ahead, toward the deep shaft that seemed to plunge straight into the underworld. "We are almost there." She said, "Non-Offensive is down below." Standing at the rim of the immense shaft, Ji Jue looked down. He felt the cold wind blowing against his face, yet at the very end of that vast darkness, there seemed to be a faint, shimmering glint. When he came to his senses, he took a step back on reflex. In typical RPG fashion, this was where an NPC would kick him in the rear, followed by the classic floor message: [Ahead, jumping is effective]. Yet behind him was nothing at all. Little Niuma stood there dumbly with its headlights on, while Xiao An froze mid-bite, chips in hand. Realizing Brother Ji Jue hadn't turned around to catch her, she hesitated for a second, then lowered her head and resumed munching. *Crunch, crunch, crunch.* A crisp sound. *Ah, a sudden sense of security.* He eyeballed the depth below, then glanced at the narrow spiral stairs winding all the way down, utterly unable to comprehend Quicksilver's thought process. "Non-Offensive is still an important artifact, isn't it?" Ji Jue asked. "Why leave it here? It's like it was just thrown away... unwanted?" "A Celestial-Human no longer requires a matrix to bind and suppress the boons within their body. Even losing the matrix is no great matter—it is not as crucial as you think." The Prophet answered with a trace of mockery, "Besides, she likely couldn't wait for that thing to vanish from her sight. Had it not held immense significance, she probably would have cast it away to who knows where long ago." "Why?" Ji Jue was baffled. "Perhaps she simply never wanted to see it again," the Prophet sighed softly. "Or perhaps she feared remembering the past, remembering who she once was... After straying from the Path of Embers and becoming entirely unrecognizable, how could she face what she used to be?" "..." After a long silence, Ji Jue finally couldn't resist asking, "Prophet, who are you, really?" "A guide, a severed head, an evil consequence that shouldn't have survived until now?" The Prophet let out a self-deprecating laugh. "A tool buckling under its burden." She said, "Nothing more." And so, they walked into the darkness. Vanishing into the abyss's blackness. Beyond the shadows, the gloom seethed, spreading silently outward. Carried on the echoing strains of a song. *"Thinking of home... thinking of home... A lonely traveler in a distant land, so lonesome and cold. I yearn to return home, to return to my old home..."* It was the raspy chanting of lost souls wandering in the dark. And so, out of pools of blood, out of wailing sobs, out of the thunderous roar of cave-ins, blurry figures emerged one after another from the gloom, pacing aimlessly through this maze-like nexus. Like prisoners pacing within a cell they could never leave. As pale wisps of mist curled through the air, the clear sea of spiritus was slowly stained by a crimson frenzy. Agitation, despair, and agony—countless layers of despair accumulated over long ages—rose like rain, soaring toward the sky. *Boom!* Above the heavens, the illusion of the shattered tower shone with light once more. From the fissure of the tower, strands of crimson seeped out, showering over the earth. Just like blood. At that moment, from the deepest part of the darkness, Ji Jue heard an illusory voice once again. So gentle. "Mama..." Little Niuma came to a sudden halt, its engine trembling. Ji Jue turned around warily. It sounded as though someone had spoken. When he glanced over, a figure seemed to dart across a blind spot in the gloom. Yet when he whipped his head around, there was nothing clear to see. Footsteps would sound unexpectedly from somewhere, along with breathing, noise, and hushed murmurs... It was as if they had trespassed into the realm of the dead. The further they advanced, the closer they drew to another world... Another distant world. Little Niuma trembled all over, refusing to move forward until Ji Jue dragged it with all his might. Xiao An slowly peered around, sniffing carefully, yet she could not detect the scent of anything living or dead. Until a girl's soft giggle echoed before their eyes once more. In the deep gloom just beyond the narrow stairs, iridescent ripples of spiritus shimmered. A petite, tender figure ran past right in front of Ji Jue, throwing herself into the embrace of another: "Mama! You're back?!" "Did you miss me?" A gentle voice rang out, freezing Ji Jue in place. He turned his head slowly. Across the blurry phantom, the face remained indistinct, but that voice and silhouette were etched into his memory—he would recognize them even if they turned to ash. Quicksilver!!! In the dark, the Sage from four hundred years ago took her daughter's hand, whispering softly, and walked away with laughter. Yet the bustling commotion continued, rising from every direction. It was as though they had finally crossed an invisible boundary; blurry silhouettes emerged in unbroken succession. "Sixteen-fifty a kilo, not a penny less. It's a fine brand from the Southern Continent! We're old acquaintances, so I'll throw in a bit of garlic at most." ... "Whoa, come look! They say that Mo bunch pulled off another attack in the Central Capital." "A bunch of lunatics, the lot of them. Why care about that? Have you scraped together your business tax for this year yet?" ... "It's four in the afternoon. Praise the Emperor. Shall we go to worship together?" ... "Gloria has to stay here. Take the money and go. Raising a child doesn't require that much. Don't worry, she's like my own daughter to me." "It's my fault, Big Brother, but I..." "Enough, say no more. I don't want to hear about your business. And stop talking about doing it for the world or for everyone..." Beneath the flickering lamp, a man puffed on his cigarette in the living room, sighing. "You've only been back a few days and you're leaving again. Have you told her?" The silhouette facing away from Ji Jue remained silent. "Mama?" At the top of the stairs, a little girl clutching a plush toy poked her head out timidly. "Do you not want me anymore?" Quicksilver stayed silent, lowering her head, saying nothing more. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Gloria." ... "Mama, where did Mama go?" A young girl cried in the early morning: "I want Mama! I want Mama!" "Someone fell ill, and Mama had to rush out for an emergency. Don't worry, Mama will come back." An elderly woman stroked the child's long hair. "How could Mama ever forget Gloria?" Soon, however, that phantom vanished as well. More tangled, chaotic fragments rose from the dark alongside the iridescent light, overlapping like a kaleidoscope, dazzling and dizzying. As Ji Jue moved forward, he couldn't help but pause before a weeping maiden, letting out a soft sigh. Yet across four hundred years of time, that distant sigh seemed to reach the other side. The weeping girl with lowered eyes lifted her head, looking toward him in confusion: "Who are you?" Ji Jue's hair stood on end. He stumbled back. Yet the vision quickly dispersed once more, vanishing without a trace. "Has the Aether recording overflowed this severely?" the Prophet sighed softly. "Without maintenance for all these years, I suppose it can no longer contain the phenomena of the past." "What on earth is that?" Ji Jue couldn't hold back the question any longer. He looked down into the shaft. At the bottom of the deep well, a shimmering, rippling radiance lay like a doorway to the past, brimful of bygone visions. "That is the old times, Mr. Ji Jue. The scattered remnants of time, pieced together with painstaking effort and relentless labor, shattered phenomena gathered through the power of Aether." The Prophet said, "The likeness of a town tucked away in some desolate corner of the Empire, four hundred years ago." This was Quicksilver's hometown. Her eyes lowered, pupils illuminated by the light from days gone by, seeming to grow clear and bright, devoid of gloom. "What an overly long... and distant dream." In that instant, infinite time surged forth, rising from the darkness. A rushing torrent. Swallowing them whole!