Time trickled by. Anbaixiu tried to recall the most unforgettable memories of his life. Reason told him that these memories could stir emotions within him, slowing the speed at which he was losing himself.
Yet what was his most profound memory?
The terror and rage when he had been kidnapped and had his hands and feet chopped off?
The grief when friends passed away?
Or perhaps the sheer powerlessness of being manipulated by fate time and again?
Ah, he couldn't dwell on that last one. Just thinking about it made Anbaixiu want to die even more.
Anbaixiu suddenly realized that he had never truly looked back so calmly, examining the hundreds of years he had lived. In the past, because those memories were sorrowful, he had habitually avoided them.
Thinking about it now, there had still been happy times.
Like when he had first transmigrated, full of lofty ambition, imagining he could reach the pinnacle of life and summon the wind and rain. The first time he completed an alchemy experiment, he had been overjoyed, showing off his results to everyone he knew. The first time he successfully cast magic, even though it burned down half the house, he had still stood before the raging flames with his hands on his hips, laughing out loud, feeling utterly invincible.
It was just that as time went by, life became less and less joyful.
Because the ensuing development was not the plot of a power-fantasy web novel, Anbaixiu came to understand that he was neither the zero-to-hero nor the genius protagonist—just an unremarkable member of the teeming masses.
In his entire life, everything he could influence was confined to a few small circles.
Anbaixiu could not help but sigh. "To think I could repeat such a life for hundreds of years."
The instinct for survival had been so intense that even if he just slacked off and coasted, he had kept going. But now, Anbaixiu had lost that desire. It was as if someone was constantly whispering in his ear to "stop thinking."
So exhausting. Why not just stop thinking and become an ordinary plug-in for the magic mirror?
Anbaixiu's figure gradually faded from the mirror's surface; he had already begun to forget what he originally looked like.
Just as Anbaixiu was on the verge of dissipating completely, the God of Alchemy finally returned to the divine realm, holding something in his hand that resembled a clown mask.
Exaggerated tear streaks and a grin were painted across the white mask—a tragicomic expression that looked both comical and sacred.
The God of Alchemy had no time to explain. He merely tossed the mask forward gently.
Floating before the magic mirror, the clown mask addressed the nearly transparent Anbaixiu in an operatic, aria-like song: "Lost mortal, on behalf of my lord Oghma, I come to ask you three questions."
The illusory figure on the magic mirror stirred slightly and asked in a cold, detached tone, "What questions?"
The clown mask continued, "The first question: How can the world bring forth more wondrous poetry, elegant melodies, and profound, captivating paintings?"
The figure in the magic mirror fell silent for a moment, then answered, "Among billions of mortals, countless serfs live and die never knowing they possess absolute pitch. Let them eat their fill, and give them time to contemplate their lives."
The clown mask swayed slightly, as if shaking its head, and countered, "Suffering is the fertile soil from which art is born. Wealth and stability bring only vapid, whining trash."
Rebutted by Oghma's emissary, the figure in the magic mirror showed no panic at all, saying calmly, "Indeed. When writing books and lyrics can effortlessly put food on the table, countless pieces of trash will erupt. But when everyone can freely read every story in the world, tired tropes will no longer find favor, and truly thought-provoking masterpieces will become classics. Pay no heed to the surging tides of trash, for that trash is the very best fertilizer to nourish a masterpiece."
The clown mask chuckled. "An intriguing perspective. Different angles of thought yield answers that transcend right and wrong, yet still enlighten. The second question: Do you believe a world where everyone has enough to eat, warm clothes to wear, and the freedom to read any book can ever be realized?"
This time, the magic mirror's reply was even more succinct: "Deities are omnipotent. It is merely a matter of willingness, not capability."
The clown mask shook its head once more and countered, "The gods are indeed omnipotent, but they stand in mutual opposition. Light and dark, good and evil, all require balance. The world you speak of is far too wonderful; no evil god would wish to see it."
The magic mirror replied again, "That is because their vision is too narrow. I have never seen abundance eradicate sin, nor have I seen poverty breed more of it. What crime is there when a starving man steals a piece of bread to fill his stomach? Yet the wealthy often resort to extortion, plunder, and slaughter without end.
"Human desires are never satisfied. Good people choose to satisfy themselves without offending others, while wicked people choose to bully others to satisfy themselves. The standard is not wealth or poverty, but simply how one chooses to fulfill oneself. If everyone in the world were fed and clothed, they would not fight over food to fill their bellies; instead, they would vie for greater riches, more beautiful lovers, and higher power. The evil born from that would hardly be any less than before."
This time, it was the clown mask that fell silent. Only after a long while did it speak again: "Extreme words, yet not without merit. The third question: If you were granted one wish, what would you choose?"
"I..."
The figure in the magic mirror had faded until it was barely visible. The previous exchange had been an intellectual duel of logic, but this final question required a strong sense of self to answer.
When a person has sunk entirely into nothingness and even desire has vanished, what wish could he possibly make?
The clown mask did not press him, merely waiting in silence.
The God of Alchemy clenched both fists tightly. This was Anbaixiu's last chance. He had pleaded with Oghma for this clown mask; as long as Anbaixiu's answers satisfied Oghma, that near-omniscient, great deity would grant Anbaixiu a chance at rebirth.
Yet now, Anbaixiu was completely silent. It was as if time had run out—his thoroughly dissolved ego could no longer comprehend the meaning of a wish.
Seeing his student about to perish utterly, the God of Alchemy could not help saying, "I'll make the wish for him..."
The clown mask turned around and told the God of Alchemy, "This is not something you can do in his stead. But rest assured, I will wait right here. Until he makes his final reply, I will not leave."
The God of Alchemy said agitatedly, "What's the point of waiting, no matter how long? He's already lost consciousness!"
To a sense of self that had completely dissipated, no amount of time held any meaning. No matter how long one waited, nothingness was ultimately just nothingness.
The clown mask did not answer, remaining poised quietly before the magic mirror.
Like the magic mirror, this mask was merely a tool operating according to a programmed routine. Unless Anbaixiu could speak for himself, this eternal stalemate would persist—until a miracle appeared.
Chapter 531