The transformation of the stage ceased with the appearance of the "phantoms." Standing in the center, Yun Mengxi looked around and smiled in satisfaction.
The setting and the backup dancers—it seemed the changes were sufficient.
But... it still wasn't enough.
"Let there be light."
Ultimately, that stage was never meant to be a completely dead, apocalyptic wasteland, and that tragically delayed concert at the Pearl of the Sea was never meant to be a funeral dirge for civilization.
So, even amidst the ruins, there had to be light.
As Yun Mengxi whispered softly, countless dim, yellow lights flickered to life within the broken ruins surrounding the arena.
They were streetlamps from a bygone era, bonfires lit by survivors in the wasteland—the only slivers of warmth in an endless, freezing night.
These lights converged on the center of the stage, stretching Yun Mengxi's silhouette long and far across the ground.
She turned around and looked down at the audience.
In that moment, her movements seemed to carry a strange magic. The audience followed her gaze, turning to look beside themselves, or rather... below the stage.
Suddenly, everyone felt their perspective shift in a jarring, surreal way.
They were supposed to be the audience, sitting in the stands, watching the stage.
But as they followed Yun Mengxi's gaze, it was as if they became her. They were standing on the stage in first-person, looking down at the "audience" alongside her.
It was the stage from her memory, and it was the audience of Yun Mengxi's final concert.
Below the stage, there was no cheering crowd. There was no ocean of waving glowsticks.
There was only a dense, writhing mass of zombies clad in tattered rags.
Some were missing arms, others half their torsos, their milky, clouded eyes fixed dead-ahead at the stage.
Many in the real audience suddenly felt a bizarre sense of absurdity.
Why do I see myself among those zombies?
But I'm right here, aren't I? I'm alive. My blood is flowing, my heart is beating. There's nothing wrong with me.
No. Those weren't them.
Just as the Yun Mengxi on stage wasn't the real Yun Mengxi. Through the filter of memory, a faint, gentle halo enveloped even these grotesque monsters.
After all... to Yun Mengxi, they weren't bloodthirsty beasts. They were just her loyal, devoted listeners, their faces filled with guilt for being late to the show.
Wind poured in through the shattered dome, fluttering Yun Mengxi's long hair and the hem of her skirt.
She looked at this scene—this breathtakingly beautiful hell woven from death and memory—and smiled a mournful, poignant smile.
But beneath that sorrow lay a sense of gratitude bordering on absolute reverence.
She was grateful to the Book of Akashic Records. She was thankful that this sentient artifact was willing to answer the plea of a phantom that had long since dissipated.
It didn't matter what the Book's original motive was—whether it was to snipe Shu's ranking or just to play a massive prank on her.
If it hadn't chosen this path, if it hadn't manifested this illusory "Mandela Effect Construct" here tonight...
Then her unfulfilled wishes, the melodies she never got to sing in the ruins of the Pearl of the Sea, would have truly been buried beneath the dust, becoming an eternal regret.
And more than anything, she was grateful to everyone sitting here right now, sitting in front of the screens, who could hear—or might hear—her voice.
Whether it was the real, living audience, or the "them" projected from memory.
Thank you all for stopping your hurried footsteps. Thank you for spending this fleeting moment of this loud, chaotic night with me, a phantom whose time has long passed.
Yun Mengxi mimed a gentle sigh.
Her body was fake. She couldn't even draw a real breath.
She couldn't feel a heartbeat. She couldn't feel true emotion. Perhaps even her current thoughts were entirely credited to "memories."
But exactly because of that—because her entire existence was assembled from external fragments—she could be absolutely certain:
This feeling of being moved was real.
After all... if she had never truly experienced this profound emotion before, how could her current self extract it so flawlessly from the ocean of memories?
Thank you for listening to a ghost's rambling. Thank you for indulging her small, perhaps even selfish, wish.
"Well... since no one else is going to speak..."
Yun Mengxi took a deep breath, drawing the air—laced with the scent of rust and phantom flowers—deep into her non-existent lungs.
"Then let me sing for you."
"I'll sing for the past, and I'll sing for the future."
She tilted her head up, her gaze piercing through the leaden sky as if looking at a starlit canopy that had long since vanished.
No backing track played. This song didn't need instruments.
Her voice was the only melody required.
The zombies below the stage seemed to understand. Their restless snarling gradually subsided, leaving only low, guttural whimpers deep in their throats, like some ancient, sorrowful harmony.
Yun Mengxi stepped forward, her bare feet pressing against the rough wooden floorboards as she walked to the very edge of the stage.
The translucent phantom dancers slowly parted, framing her in the center like stars orbiting the moon.
"The fog obscures the exit, soaked in dust... A gentle breeze brushes past closed eyes..."
Her voice echoed through the vast, empty ruins, sweeping across the broken highways and silent streets, as if trying to awaken the slumbering city.
"After a nightmare with no final answer... I wake up... and meet your smiles."
As she sang, Yun Mengxi's gaze swept tenderly over the grotesque, slack-jawed faces below.
They weren't monsters.
They were her friends. They were her family. They were every vibrant soul who had promised her, "See you tomorrow," on the eve of the Great Eruption.
"Afraid of the world ending, the future losing its contours..."
Her voice suddenly soared, trembling slightly but laced with unshakable resolve.
"But the trajectory of bravery will never be drowned by time!"
With that lyric, the blue crystal flowers bordering the stage erupted in a blinding flash of light.
The beams shot into the sky, weaving into a massive, luminous net against the leaden gray clouds, as if threatening to tear the oppressive heavens wide open.
"Disappointment repeats day after day, seemingly endless... But we will still fulfill a better dream on that afternoon!"
Yun Mengxi closed her eyes, gripping the microphone tightly as if holding onto the very last shred of hope.
Her song was no longer just sorrowful. It was suffused with the raw, defiant power of finding life within death.
It was humanity's most primal resistance in the face of absolute despair, their most brilliant blooming.
"The hourglass forgotten by time still holds your smiles..."
"Now, I have finally replaced my fragility with strength!"
"The fireworks stained with regret, even if only black and white remain, I will protect them..."