The lingering heat of the flames hadn't yet dissipated when a bone-chilling cold washed over us like a tidal wave.
The scene before us distorted in a dizzying way. The churning lava, the collapsed sacred mountain, and the crimson sky resembled an oil painting soaked in water; the colors began to flow, mix, and finally fade.
In their place lay a thick, grayish-white fog.
The air was thick with the damp smell of coal ash, the stench of stale engine oil, and an indescribable aroma, a mixture of formaldehyde and musty roses.
Beneath our feet was no longer scorching rock, but a cold, damp brick platform. The platform floated in the endless void, a few dim gas lamps hissing and flickering like will-o'-the-wisps in the fog.
"Where...is this?" Shen Qingqiu instinctively reached for her red dress, but her fingertips touched not rough fabric, but delicate, cool silk and vibrant lace.
She lowered her head.
The battle robe once stained with blood and gunpowder was gone.
In its place was a lavish yet somber Victorian court dress.
The deep emerald green velvet skirt cascaded in layers, like moss in the dark night; a tight whalebone corset accentuated her breathtaking waistline; a delicate black lace trim encircled the neckline, and a scarlet ruby necklace hung from her porcelain-white neck, like a drop of congealed heart's blood.
In her hand, she held a black lace folding fan.
"Rules rewritten..." Shen Qingqiu murmured to herself, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do?"
The underlying logic of this world automatically assigned outsiders a skin that conformed to the "settings."
"Qingqiu." A deep, magnetic voice called from behind, tinged with a hint of restraint.
Shen Qingqiu turned around.
For a fleeting moment, her golden pupils narrowed slightly, then flashed with a stunning light.
Seventeen, standing under the gaslight, was no longer the heavily armored Asura War God.
His long hair was meticulously combed back and tied with a black ribbon. He wore a perfectly tailored, wrinkle-free black tailcoat with a silver-gray bow tie, and a corner of a white handkerchief peeked out of his breast pocket.
Most striking was the change in his face.
His once pale and handsome face now wore a single gold-rimmed spectacle over his right eye. The lens gleamed coldly, perfectly concealing the savage, crimson-gold demonic eye that had become violent due to inheriting Xing Tian's will.
And his ferocious "Xing Tian's Grip" right arm was now encased in a spotless white cotton glove. Although he appeared outwardly normal, Shen Qingqiu could feel the surging power beneath his gloves, a power capable of crushing steel.
Abstinence.
An extreme sense of abstinence.
He was like an elegant yet dangerous demon butler who had just stepped out of an ancient castle.
"The clothes… are too tight." Seventeen tugged at his tie somewhat uncomfortably. This feeling of constraint made him feel that his combat abilities were being restricted.
"Don't move." Shen Qingqiu stepped forward and gently tapped the back of his hand with her folding fan.
"This is gentlemanly etiquette, my great demon king."
She stood on tiptoe, straightening his tie, her fingertips tracing his cold Adam's apple, watching with satisfaction as he bobbed nervously.
"From now on, forget that war god who only knows how to kill." Shen Qingqiu leaned close to his ear, her voice languid and alluring.
"Here, you are my butler—Sebastian Seventeen."
"And I am your master, Earl Shen." Seventeen lowered his eyes, looking at the noble and aloof woman before him through his monocle.
In the core code, the command "protect" was automatically replaced with a more appropriate term for the current situation—"loyalty."
He slowly took half a step back, his left hand behind his back, his right hand pressed to his chest, performing a flawless gentleman's bow.
"Yes, my master."
Woo—!!!
A piercing whistle tore through the silence of the mist.
The sound wasn't like the roar of machinery, but more like the desperate howl of a dying beast.
The ground began to shake.
Two rusty railway tracks stretched across the void, ending at a massive, suffocatingly black train, billowing white smoke (the steam of souls), slowly pulling into the platform.
The K109 Ghost Train.
The locomotive was a gigantic skull cast from brass and black iron, its eye sockets burning with green will-o'-the-wisps. The train body wasn't cold metal, but covered in a layer of soft tissue resembling biological skin, expanding and contracting with each breath, its surface riddled with constantly turning gears and pipes flowing with black liquid.
The doors opened.
There was no cheering crowd, only deathly silence.
A train conductor stood at the door.
He wore a crisp uniform, holding a hole punch in his hand.
But he had no face.
His face was a smooth brass plate, displaying only a ticking pocket watch.
"Ticket," the conductor's voice was mechanically synthesized.
Shen Qingqiu took the yellowed one-way ticket from his handbag and handed it over.
The train conductor's pocket watch spun around, seemingly scanning.
"Detected...high-risk energy source. Detected...unknown data packet." The faceless figure turned to Seventeen.
Seventeen stood behind Shen Qingqiu, a faint red light flashing behind his monocle. Although he wore a tuxedo, the chilling aura emanating from him made the conductor's hole punch tremble.
"VIP compartment...please." The conductor quickly changed his words, stepping aside to make way.
...Inside the carriage, extravagance was the height of luxury.
The dark red velvet carpet felt like stepping on rotting flesh, the walls were covered in gold leaf, and the crystal chandeliers clinked crisply with the train's sway.
But the passengers here were no ordinary people.
Shen Qingqiu, arm in arm with Seventeen, walked straight past the second-class carriage without glancing to either side.
On the left sat a noblewoman, elegantly sipping tea, but her hand holding the teacup had seven fingers, each knuckle bent backward. On the right, two gentlemen were conversing in hushed tones. Their heads were two enormous birdcages, each containing a miniature human still screaming.
"Don't look," Shen Qingqiu whispered to Seventeen. "In this world, sanity is a consumable. Looking at too much filth will lower your sanity."
Seventeen nodded.
His gaze remained fixed solely on Shen Qingqiu. To him, only she was clear; everyone else was negligible background noise.
Finally, they arrived at the VIP compartment at the rear of the train.
It was a private suite with leather sofas, a mahogany coffee table, and even a small fireplace with blue flames.
Seventeen closed the door, shutting out any outside prying eyes.
"Sit." Shen Qingqiu sat on the sofa, lazily crossing her legs, her black high heels swaying gently beneath her skirt.
Seventeen didn't sit.
He walked to the side table, where a set of exquisite bone china teaware sat.
Although his database lacked experience with "tea brewing," as a top-tier AI, his learning ability was millisecond-level.
[Skill Loading: English Afternoon Tea (Master Level)]
[Action Module: Elegant, Precise, Zero Error]
He picked up the teapot.
His right hand, gloved in white (Xingtian's Grip), was now carefully holding the delicate porcelain handle. The stark contrast—power capable of crushing stars—was now being used to tend a pot of black tea.
Hot water poured in, and the aroma of tea filled the air.
Seventeen carried the tray to Shen Qingqiu, kneeling on one knee (for stability due to the train's swaying) and offering her the teacup.
"Master Earl, your black tea."
Shen Qingqiu took the teacup and took a sip.
"The water temperature is 0.5 degrees too high," she raised an eyebrow critically. "However, for someone doing this for the first time, it's barely passable."
Seventeen's lips twitched slightly by 0.1 millimeters.
He was reflecting on the data error.
Just then.
Thump, thump, thump.
A knocking sound suddenly came from the window of the compartment.
This was a train in the void, outside the window was a spacetime turbulence, how could someone be knocking on the window?
Shen Qingqiu turned his head to look.
Only to be seen was a pale human face pressed against the windowpane. The face was flat and distorted, like a flattened dough. It had a gaping, black hole-like mouth, from which countless tiny tentacles stretched out, trying to squeeze into the cracks in the window.
"So hungry… such a fragrant soul…"
The thing uttered a sticky, delirious murmur.
Shen Qingqiu frowned and put down his teacup.
"What a spoilsport."
"Leave it to me." Seventeen stood up.
He didn't draw his sword (the sword was stored in his storage space, not suitable for a butler's status), nor did he transform.
He simply walked gracefully to the window and straightened his cuffs.
Then, he extended his right hand, gloved in white, and through the glass, lightly flicked his finger at the monster. [Xingtian's Grip - Remote Shock]
A soft pop.
There was no earth-shattering explosion.
The monster pressed against the windowpane, like a punctured balloon, instantly burst into a cloud of black mist, swept away by the train's airflow, leaving not a trace.
The glass remained intact.
Even the dust was shaken off by the force of that finger strike, making it even clearer.
Seventeen took out a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped his dust-free gloves.
Then he turned around, adjusted his monocle, and said in a flat tone, as if saying, "There was a fly just now":
"The trash has been cleared."
"Please enjoy your meal."
Shen Qingqiu looked at him.
Looking at this man in a tuxedo, wearing white gloves, killing the most disgusting monster with the most elegant posture.
Her heart skipped a beat on this ghost train filled with eeriness and madness.
"Seventeen." She reached out, her fingertips hooking his tie, pulling him towards her.
"On this long journey, besides black tea…" Shen Qingqiu's eyes were like silk, appearing particularly hazy in the flickering gaslight.
"Shouldn't you also provide some… other services?" Seventeen's body stiffened.
His core temperature began to rise, a thin layer of fog forming on his monocle.
[Warning: Unclear intentions detected.]
[System suggestion:… Obey.]
He obediently lowered his head, their breaths mingling.
Outside the window, mist churned, and the howls of the dead echoed.
Inside the carriage, the aroma of tea wafted, an atmosphere of ambiguity pervading.
This train to hell (or heaven) had finally departed. The lingering warmth of the flames hadn't yet dissipated when a chilling cold washed over him like a tidal wave.
The scene before him distorted in a dizzying way. The churning lava, the collapsed sacred mountain, and the scorching red sky resembled an oil painting soaked in water; the colors began to flow, mix, and finally fade.
In their place lay a thick, grayish-white fog.
The air was thick with the damp smell of coal ash, the stale smell of engine oil, and an indescribable aroma, a mixture of formaldehyde and musty roses.
Below her feet was no longer scorching rock, but a cold, damp brick platform. The platform floated in the endless void, a few dim gas lamps hissing and flickering like will-o'-the-wisps in the fog.
"Where...am I?" Shen Qingqiu instinctively reached for her red robes, but her fingertips touched not rough fabric, but delicate, cool silk and vibrant lace.
She looked down.
The battle robes that had once been stained with blood and gunpowder were gone.
Instead, she wore an extravagantly luxurious yet melancholic Victorian court gown.
The deep, dark green velvet skirt cascaded in layers, like moss in the night; a tight whalebone corset accentuated her breathtaking waistline; a delicate black lace trim encircled the neckline, and a scarlet ruby necklace, like a drop of congealed heart's blood, hung around her porcelain-white neck.
In her hand, she held a black lace folding fan.
"Rules rewritten..." Shen Qingqiu murmured to herself, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do?"
The underlying logic of this world automatically assigned outsiders a skin that conformed to the "setting."
"Qingqiu." A deep, magnetic, yet slightly hesitant voice called from behind.
Shen Qingqiu turned around.
For a fleeting moment, her golden pupils narrowed slightly, then gleamed with a stunning light.
Standing under the gaslight, Seventeen was no longer the heavily armored Asura War God.
His long hair was meticulously combed back and tied with a black ribbon. He wore a perfectly tailored, wrinkle-free black tailcoat with a silver-gray bow tie, and a corner of a white handkerchief peeked out of his breast pocket.
Most striking was the change in his face.
His once pale and handsome face now wore a single gold-rimmed spectacle over his right eye. The lens gleamed coldly, perfectly concealing the savage, crimson-gold demonic eye that had become violent due to inheriting Xing Tian's will.
His ferocious "Xing Tian's Grip" right arm was now encased in a pristine white cotton glove. Although he appeared no different from an ordinary person, Shen Qingqiu could feel the surging power beneath the glove, a power capable of crushing steel.
Abstinence.
Ultimate abstinence.
He was like an elegant yet dangerous demonic butler who had just stepped out of an ancient castle.
"The clothes... are too tight." Seventeen tugged at his bow tie somewhat uncomfortably. This feeling of constraint made him feel that his combat modules were being restricted.
"Don't move." Shen Qingqiu stepped forward and gently tapped the back of his hand with her folding fan.
"This is a gentleman's etiquette, my great demon king."
She tiptoed, straightening his bow tie, her fingertips tracing his cold Adam's apple, watching with satisfaction as he twitched with tension.
"From now on, forget that war god who only knows how to kill."
Shen Qingqiu leaned close to his ear, her voice languid and alluring,
"Here, you are my butler—Sebastian Seventeen."
"And I am your master, Count Shen." Seventeen lowered his eyes, looking at the noble and aloof woman before him through his monocle.
In the core code, the command "protect" was automatically replaced with a more appropriate term for the current situation—"loyalty."
He slowly took half a step back, his left hand behind his back, his right hand on his chest, performing a flawless gentleman's bow.
"Yes, my master."
Ugh—!!! A piercing whistle ripped through the misty silence.
The sound wasn't like the roar of machinery, but more like the desperate howl of a dying beast.
The ground began to tremble.
Two rusty rails stretched out into the void, and at their end, a massive, suffocating black train, billowing white smoke (the steam of souls), slowly pulled into the platform.
The K109 Ghost Train.
The locomotive was a gigantic skull cast from brass and black iron, its eye sockets burning with will-o'-the-wisps of green. The train body wasn't cold metal, but covered in a layer of soft tissue resembling biological skin, expanding and contracting with each breath, riddled with constantly turning gears and pipes flowing with black liquid.
The doors opened.
There was no cheering crowd, only deathly silence.
A train conductor stood in the doorway.
He wore a crisp uniform and held a hole punch in his hand.
But he had no face.
His face was a smooth brass plate, displaying only a ticking pocket watch.
"Ticket," the conductor said in a mechanical, synthesized voice.
Shen Qingqiu took the yellowed one-way ticket from his purse and handed it over.
The pocket watch on the conductor's face spun around, seemingly scanning.
"Detected…high-risk energy source. Detected…unknown data packet." The faceless figure turned to Seventeen.
Seventeen stood behind Shen Qingqiu, a faint red light flashing behind his monocle. Although he wore a tuxedo, the aura of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood emanating from him was palpable.
A chilling aura made the train conductor's hole punch tremble.
"VIP compartment...please." The conductor quickly changed his words, stepping aside to make way.
...Inside the carriage, extravagance was the height of luxury.
The dark red velvet carpet felt like stepping on rotting flesh; the walls were covered in gold leaf; and the crystal chandeliers clinked crisply with the train's swaying.
But the passengers here were no ordinary people.
Shen Qingqiu, arm in arm with Seventeen, walked straight past the second-class carriage without glancing to either side.
On the left sat a noblewoman, elegantly sipping tea, but her hand holding the teacup had seven fingers, each knuckle bent backwards.
On the right sat two gentlemen conversing in hushed tones; their heads were two enormous birdcages, each containing a miniature human still screaming.
"Don't look," Shen Qingqiu softly reminded Seventeen. "In this world, sanity is a consumable. Looking at too much filth will lower your sanity." Seventeen nodded.
His gaze remained fixed solely on Shen Qingqiu. To him, only she was clear; everyone else was negligible background noise.
Finally, they arrived at the VIP compartment at the rear of the train.
It was a private suite with leather sofas, a mahogany coffee table, and even a small fireplace with blue flames burning inside.
Seventeen closed the door, blocking out any outside prying eyes.
"Sit," Shen Qingqiu said, sitting on the sofa, her legs casually crossed, her black high heels swaying gently beneath her skirt.
Seventeen didn't sit.
He walked to the side table, where a set of exquisite bone china teaware was laid out.
Although his database lacked experience with "tea brewing," as a top-tier AI, his learning ability was millisecond-level.
[Skill Loading: English Afternoon Tea (Master Level)] [Action Module: Elegant, Precise, Zero Error.] He picked up the teapot.
His right hand, gloved in white (Xingtian's Grip), was now carefully holding the delicate porcelain handle. The stark contrast—power capable of crushing stars—was now being used to tend a pot of black tea.
Hot water poured in, and the aroma of tea filled the air.
Seventeen carried the tray to Shen Qingqiu, kneeling on one knee (for stability due to the train's swaying) and offering her the teacup.
"Master Earl, your black tea."
Shen Qingqiu took the teacup and took a sip.
"The water temperature is 0.5 degrees too high." She raised an eyebrow critically, "However, for someone doing this for the first time, it's barely passable."
Seventeen's lips twitched slightly by 0.1 millimeters.
He was reflecting on the data error.
Just then.
Knock, knock, knock.
A knocking sound suddenly came from the window of the compartment.
This is a train in the void, outside the window is a chaotic flow of time and space, how could someone possibly be knocking on the window?
Shen Qingqiu turned his head to look.
Only to be seen was a deathly pale human face pressed against the windowpane. The face was flat and distorted, like a flattened dough. Its gaping, black-hole-like mouth emitted countless tiny tentacles, trying to squeeze into the cracks in the window.
"So hungry…such a fragrant soul…"
The thing uttered a viscous murmur.
Shen Qingqiu frowned and put down his teacup.
"What a spoilsport."
"Leave it to me." Seventeen stood up.
He didn't draw his sword (it was stored in his storage space, not suitable for a butler's role), nor did he transform.
He simply walked gracefully to the window and straightened his cuffs.
Then, he extended his right hand, gloved in white, and through the glass, lightly flicked his finger at the monster.
[Xingtian's Grip · Remote Vibration]
*Whoosh—* A soft sound.
There was no earth-shattering explosion.
The monster pressed against the windowpane, like a punctured balloon, instantly burst into a cloud of black mist, swept away by the train's airflow, leaving not a trace.
The glass remained intact.
Even the dust was shaken off by the force of that single finger, making it even clearer.
Seventeen took out a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped his dust-free gloves.
Then he turned around, adjusted his monocle, and said in a flat tone, as if saying, "There was a fly just now":
"The trash has been cleared."
"Please enjoy your meal." Shen Qingqiu looked at him.
Watching this man in a tuxedo, wearing white gloves, killing the most disgusting monster with the most elegant posture.
Her heart skipped a beat on this ghost train filled with eeriness and madness.
"Seventeen."
She reached out, her fingertips hooking his tie, and pulled him towards her.
"On this long journey, besides black tea…" Shen Qingqiu's eyes were like silk, appearing particularly hazy in the flickering gaslight.
"Shouldn't you also provide some… other services?" Seventeen's body stiffened.
His core temperature began to rise, and a thin layer of fog formed on his monocle.
[Warning: Unclear intentions detected.]
[System suggestion:… Obey.]
He obediently lowered his head, their breaths mingling.
Outside the window, mist churned, and the howls of the dead echoed.
Inside the carriage, the aroma of tea wafted, and an atmosphere of ambiguity permeated the air.
This train to hell (or heaven) had finally departed.