Doran

A dark red trench coat. A pitch-black mask. Blurred features. Without a doubt, this was Yaxiu Heath's appearance. Yet more than sixty years of life experience blared relentless warnings in Banjie's mind. Even his sorcery spirits were trembling in terror deep within his soul, and key spirits such as 'Ice Heart', 'Bone-Piercing', and 'Typhoid' were lashing out like madmen, beating the other sorcery spirits. At this critical juncture, Banjie suddenly realized why Helaifeisi and Rog had died so easily—they had possessed no means of resisting whatsoever! The sorcery spirits had rioted! The only sorcery spirits Banjie could still drive were the native sorcery spirits he had summoned himself. Every other spirit—those retrieved from the Void Realm or purchased in reality—had completely slipped from his control. The ones merely shivering and refusing to report for duty were bad enough, but the problem was that some spirits he hadn't commanded long enough had outright mutinied, brutally thrashing Banjie's native spirits. And Banjie was a man in his sixties whose spirit repertoire was rarely updated; even the shortest-held among those turncoats had been under his command for three years! For young people still on the rise like Helaifeisi and Rog, their lineups underwent minor updates almost every year and major overhauls every three. The ratio of native to foreign spirits could easily reach 1:10 or higher. Once a sorcery spirit riot broke out, their native spirits might even be beaten to death on the spot by the foreign ones! With native spirits beaten to death and all foreign spirits in revolt, they had no sorcery spirits left at their disposal. Unless they were ascetic sorcerers, they were virtually indistinguishable from ordinary mortals! The only way for a sorcerer to avoid a spirit riot was to rely exclusively on native spirits, but that was utterly impossible. During the foundation-building phase of a Silver Sorcerer, the proportion of native spirits might be somewhat higher. But upon reaching the Gold Sorcerer stage, constructing a combat or production system necessitated building around one or two native spirits with many others. The contrast was like that of a small family workshop versus a factory; the latter certainly entailed far greater management risks, yet the surge in productivity was more than enough to outweigh the danger. What was more, in his fifty years as a sorcerer, this was the first time Banjie had ever witnessed a spirit riot—he hadn't even heard of such a thing before. But on second thought, it made sense: any sorcerer who encountered a sorcery spirit riot had no chance of surviving to tell the tale. Was it a sorcery spirit, a miracle, or perhaps...? Am I going to die? Banjie found himself unexpectedly calm. But when he raised his head, he saw neither 'Yaxiu' nor the mirror. He saw a rainy night. A heavy, outdated semi-truck was stopped outside a nostalgic cafe, the air thick with the acrid stench of burnt rubber and tar from the tires skidding violently against the asphalt. A woman in a purple trench coat lay on the pavement, her lower body crushed under the wheels. Banjie's mind went blank in an instant. The shriek of headlights, the wild cries of passersby, the harrowing wails of raindrops shattering against the road—everything was shut out from his ears. The world fell into an echoless silence. He crouched beside the woman and held open a blue umbrella, yet the raindrops still splattered across her face. "The rain's too heavy; an umbrella won't help." The woman could still smile even now. "Don't cry, little Banjie. Though you do look quite pretty when you cry, as expected of... cough, cough... the champion." "The healer will be here soon," Banjie choked out, his vision blurring. Grief surged from his limbs straight to his heart. The mature, steady butler suddenly vanished, leaving behind only a fragile boy. "And aren't you a sorcerer?! A miracle—use a miracle! You said that once the Weaving Ceremony was over, we'd be family! You lied, you lied to me! You swore on the name of Doran!" "Swearing on the name of Doran means I have to honorably deceive you," the woman giggled weakly. "Banjie, you're already my family. So I have a favor to ask of you..." "No! I won't! Forget it!" "Laikesi is only three. I don't have any other relatives left, so I can only ask you to look after him. That boy just loves clinging to you; I'm afraid he might think of you as his future wife..." "Why should I raise your kid for you? Raise him yourself! Once you die, I'll go feed him to the dogs right away!" "That's fine too. Doran should have gone extinct long ago anyway; I don't even know how we managed to survive to this day." The woman's voice grew fainter and fainter. "I'm sorry, Banjie. I really... really wanted to give you a home..." "At least... I didn't want you to... stand in the rain alone..." The air died. The night rain died. The youthful Banjie died as well. ... When the sound of rain ceased, Banjie looked up to find himself on the outskirts of Azula. Azula had not yet built its two-tiered city back then, and the suburbs were barren and awaiting development. The young man before him pulled on a purple helmet, straddled a motorcycle, and said, "Walking me this far is enough." "What on earth are you going to do?" Banjie asked. "Why can't you tell me?" "Rebellious phase. You wouldn't understand, old man." "Aren't you a bit too old for a rebellious phase in your twenties?" Banjie sighed. "Now that your wings have hardened, you call me 'old man.' You were so adorable when you were little, following right on my heels every day. Whenever I looked back, you were always right there. Back then you called me—" "That was over ten years ago!" the young man said impatiently. "Can't you look to the future like a young person instead of constantly clinging to the past?!" Rumble. Thunder echoed from the distance under overcast skies. Banjie said, "It's about to rain. Why don't you—" "Then I need to hit the road right away," the young man said. "By the way, I have a favor to ask of you." "Hmm?" "Don't go take care of Annan. She'll live very well in Fanmula. I transferred some money to your account, and found a way to transfer some Gospel points to you as well. You're not young anymore, old man. Find somewhere to settle down and start a family, or get those books of yours published. They might have little literary value, but they'd probably be surprisingly good bestsellers..." "Wait." Banjie gripped his shoulder and aimed a gun straight at his waist. "What on earth are you going to do? Go back, or I'll freeze you and take you back myself." "I bet there are no bullets in your gun." Banjie froze, then immediately noticed the off weight of the weapon. As torrential rain poured down, the young man's voice cut through the drumming drops: "You shouldn't have lent me guns to play with since I was little. Taking out your bullets was far too easy." "Laikesi, even if you don't care about yourself, you have to think about Annan—" "I'm going precisely for Annan's sake. If I don't do this, Annan will walk this path sooner or later. Swearing on the name of Doran, I will put an end to our clan's destiny." "Then what about me? Laikesi, what about me?!" Banjie clutched his shoulders tightly, his voice brimming with desperate pleading. "Just how many times do you Dorans plan on hurting me?! I've already lost Wenna..." "That's why I could write letters to everyone else, but to you, I had to say it in person," the young man said. "I'm sorry, Mom." "Don't look back anymore. I won't be there." On a bright afternoon many days later, he finally confirmed the news of Laikesi's death. The location was Nabistin; the cause of death, a traffic accident. The sunlight died. The tears died. The middle-aged Banjie died as well. ... Just when Banjie felt he was drowning in the Six Emblems family dreamscape, a little girl nervously sought him out: "Uncle Banjie, I found a route to escape Fanmula!" "Miss, Sennheiser is a safe place. There is no need for you to leave." "No way! I am a descendant of the Doran clan, and I must restore the glory of Ancestor Denzel!" "Miss, your family name is Sennheiser now." "That's exactly why I have to leave! Fanmula only raises useless bums. I want to leave this place and see the outside world!" the little girl said earnestly. "Besides, Qinna always bullies me. Swearing on the name of Doran, I will definitely get my revenge in the future!" Banjie couldn't help but chuckle. But looking at Annan, it was as if he had returned to his youth, returned to his middle age. How could he ever refuse an invitation from a Doran? ... "I don't know why, but our clan is cursed by the Gospel," Annan had said. "Perhaps because of this very connection, I can log into our ancestors' accounts and read the Gospel's future with the authority of the Empress. It was only after logging into those accounts so many times that I saw my own end coming at the age of twenty-eight... I wonder what kind of future the Gospel has in store for me." "So that's how it is..." Banjie had murmured. "That's why I must obtain the divine wish to sever the chains of our bloodline once and for all. Just as Grandmother helped you take first place in the Weaving Ceremony, I need to find other people from an outside domain to deceive the ceremony. It would be best to find them a few days before the Weaving Ceremony begins so their records remain completely clean..." "Hm? The client behind this actually turns out to be the Four Pillar Cult? They're looking for people from an outside domain too? Cleios asked me just a few days ago if I had any intel on the Four Pillar Cult... The Four Pillar Cult, the Red Hats, people from an outside domain... I suddenly have a brilliant idea." "Banjie, are you ready to raise some hell with me?" "Of course," Banjie replied, gazing at the pitter-patter of drizzle outside the window. "Until I melt into this rain." ... Banjie opened his eyes to find himself in an unfamiliar palace. Before him, Annan lay in a pool of blood, the Purple Moth dyed a vivid crimson. He looked up to see the Empress behind the Curtain in the distance. The air, the night rain, the sunlight, the tears from his memories—all of it seemed to flood back. He understood completely now. "I am a block of ice, within which my love for Doran is frozen." "On this final journey, how could I bear to let her walk alone?" "I truly am second on the Assassination List." Banjie drew the Twin Frostcurse Guns. "This is my future." Just as he charged forward, a man clad in a dark red trench coat bolted out from behind the Curtain as well. Wielding a longsword, he deflected every bullet, then condensed an icicle on the blade and thrust it straight forward. Instantly, Banjie recalled his own prophesied manner of death— The assassin of the Empress shall be pierced through by the most chilling icicle! "Daddy!" When Lisi's crisp voice echoed outside, 'Yaxiu' gave Banjie a deep, lingering look, and then all visions of the future vanished into thin air. Yaxiu entered the room carrying takeout bags in both hands, accompanied by Lisi. "Time to eat, time to eat!" The faucet was still gushing with a rush of water, and there was no man in a dark red trench coat in the mirror. There were only Yaxiu and Lisi walking past outside the doorway, Lisi trailing behind Yaxiu like a little shadow. It was as if everything just now had been nothing more than an illusion to Banjie.