Under the stunned gaze of countless onlookers, the figure projected by the Book of Akashic Records finally, slowly, opened her eyes.
But the moment the girl opened her eyes and took in her surroundings, her face was completely blank.
Who am I?
Where am I?
What am I... supposed to do?
These questions clouded her mind until memories flooded in with the answers.
But the answers felt strange, precisely because they were too clear.
When a person genuinely recalls an answer from their own memory, the process feels natural. Even if they were completely stumped a second ago and suddenly had an epiphany, the transition of thought was organic.
But right now, "Yun Mengxi" felt none of that.
It was as if someone else had turned her past memories into a reference book, flipped it open, and subjectively handed her the answers based on her questions.
They were clearly her memories, yet she was being told them by an external force. This eerie sensation would be unbearable for most people, because for the vast majority, their memories were their true anchors in reality.
So many people had nothing. To have the very ownership of their memories stripped away as well? It was a terrifying concept.
But "Yun Mengxi" accepted it.
The moment she materialized, she understood the truth: not a single fiber of her current existence truly belonged to her. And she accepted this reality with complete serenity.
She wasn't the real Yun Mengxi... because the data used to construct her contained two entirely contradictory sets of memories.
Was she the Yun Mengxi who died in the Pearl of the Sea (Sapphire City)? Or was she the Yun Mengxi who smiled and handed over a slice of a pocket dimension in a divergent timeline born from the Herrscher of the Past?
No. Neither of them were her.
The real Yun Mengxi was a little selfish. My life is mine to enjoy alone, she'd say. Even another version of me can't take it away. But we can share the experience!
Right...
Having established this truth, "Yun Mengxi's" mood instantly lightened.
Why should she harbor resentment or regret? She wasn't left with nothing.
Above life itself, she had a family who loved her. She had a wish she was willing to sacrifice everything to fulfill. And most importantly, she had hope.
Hope that she would see a future where everything she wished for came true.
These were "treasures" worthy of envy... she wasn't someone who had nothing at all.
Besides, what she was about to do wasn't something she hated.
Singing. Performing.
After pursuing her brother's dream in his place for so many years, it had long since become an irreplaceable part of the life she truly enjoyed.
Though, this situation is a bit unexpected...
With a wistful sigh in her heart, Yun Mengxi raised her hand and gently took the book radiating desolate white light from Azhar's grasp.
"I know what I need to do now. Thank you." Holding the Book of Akashic Records, Yun Mengxi smiled softly at the little girl. "You can leave the rest to me."
Azhar's tightly wound nerves finally snapped into relief.
Perfect! Since someone else is tanking the aggro, it's my cue to bounce!
With a slight, respectful bow to Yun Mengxi, Azhar turned on her heel and scurried off the stage in a very rapid—yet impeccably polite—pitter-patter of tiny footsteps, leaving the spotlight solely on Yun Mengxi.
"Alright..." Yun Mengxi placed a hand on the book's cover and gently turned a page.
It was time for her performance.
As the page flipped, the authority of the Book of Akashic Records began to manifest.
Starting from beneath Yun Mengxi's feet, the stage began to transform.
Backstage, the lighting and visual effects crew were dumbfounded.
The chief operator—who had just fought a grueling, three-hundred-round cyber-brawl against Ai-chan to wrestle back control of the console—stared as his boards once again locked him out completely. Without a word, he threw his hands in the air.
Screw this. Whoever wants this garbage job can have it.
Did they think the backstage server was their personal backyard? Coming and going as they pleased? Did he, as the chief operator, have zero dignity?!
I quit! I am absolutely quitting!
This stupid job did nothing but stop him from buying a ticket and watching the show from the stands!
On stage, a desolate white mist rolled over the floorboards, gently enveloping the steel scaffolding and completely reshaping it.
As the glowing fog swirled, the sleek, polished stage flooring peeled away, revealing cracked, rough concrete. Withered, yellowed weeds stubbornly pushed their way through the fissures.
The dazzling neon signs surrounding the arena looked as if they had weathered a century of erosion. Their paint flaked off, leaving only broken letters swaying precariously in the wind, emitting faint, agonizing bzzzt sounds of dying electricity.
The state-of-the-art speaker array suspended above was gone. The heavy, leaden gray smog that permanently choked Sapphire City had become their new canopy.
The ruins of the city loomed like the skeleton of a prehistoric behemoth, its massive ribs casting oppressive, colossal shadows over them.
This was the world constructed by the Book of Akashic Records—a wasteland forgotten by time, paralyzed by catastrophe.
But this wasn't true history. Sapphire City hadn't actually decayed to this extent.
It had only been a month. The city itself hadn't suffered this level of structural damage; most of the buildings were still intact, and it certainly wasn't overrun by overgrown weeds.
But... as everyone knew:
Human memory naturally romanticizes and distorts itself according to one's will.
A single day apart feels like three autumns... The time spent completely severed from civilization felt like centuries. In their minds, Sapphire City had always looked like this—dilapidated, barren, an absolute ruin.
Yet, in the dead center of this wasteland, the stage radiated a breathtaking, haunting beauty.
The human mind didn't just exaggerate the passage of time when idealizing memories.
Fantasy was where the ego bloomed most vibrantly.
Translucent crystal flowers sprouted around the edges of the stage, glowing with a spectral blue light beneath the gloomy sky. They were Lycoris flowers blooming in the apocalypse, desperately holding up the crumbling wooden floorboards.
Countless motes of light floated in the air like fireflies. Even without the sun in the sky, these specs of dust adamantly asserted their presence, striving to reflect the faded glory of a bygone era.
At some point, Yun Mengxi's outfit had also transformed.
She was now draped in ethereal ribbons that gleamed with the unique starlight of the Milky Way, drifting weightlessly around her.
She stood barefoot, stepping between the illusory crystals and the reality of the wooden floorboards.
She raised a hand, tracing her fingertips through the empty air.
Following her gesture, countless silhouettes began to condense in the empty space behind her. The translucent figures swayed and danced, perfectly synchronized—the greatest backup dancers in the world.
Or rather, long-deceased phantoms.
Their bodies were formed of pale, flowing light, their faces blurred. Yet the costumes they wore perfectly recreated the outfits from their final dress rehearsal.
They seemed to whisper:
We are here. We are on stage.