Morris didn’t know when he had arrived here.
This place felt unbearably familiar, yet he couldn’t quite recall where it was. Even his own name had only come back to him the night before.
–My lord, you’re finally awake. Shall we prepare a meal?–
Lying in bed, Morris stared in bewilderment at the opulent room, filled with people solemnly gathered around his bedside, waiting for him to awaken.
Beside the elderly man in an elegant robe stood a knight clad in heavy armor, even his hand holding a dark red fine-iron helm.
A few steps away, a middle-aged man of noble bearing, with his hair meticulously combed, met Morris’s gaze and promptly bowed his head with polite deference. The pendant on his chest glowed faintly—clearly no ordinary trinket.
On the other side stood several figures completely cloaked, as if lost in some form of silent meditation, resembling monks in devotion.
–You… who are you? And why are you calling me lord?–
Their attire was utterly unlike any people in his memory, as if merging the medieval garments of highland minorities. Yet, they all shared a common trait: their eyes gleamed with fervent emotion.
At the forefront of the crowd, a white-haired elder who appeared to be of high status stepped forward energetically, then knelt on one knee, placed his hand on his chest, and said in a very non-standard Chinese:
–You don’t remember. It is said that over four thousand years ago, you walked on the earth alongside the Undying King, bestowing upon us the power of the gods.–
–The Undying King.–
Morris’s eyes darkened, then suddenly a brilliant flash burst from his pupils.
–Yang Zicang… no, the Jiazi Term? Could this place be… that primitive world?–
Morris thought in confusion: Am I in a dream constructed by the psionic field?
–You… you said ‘that… primitive world’?–
The old man, as if uncovering a tremendous secret, said in astonishment:
–So… so you have walked through countless worlds?!–
Everyone in the room trembled with shock. The circle of people behind the old man all knelt on one knee, pressing their hands to their chests.
–Could this place really be the world Zicang once entered?– Morris murmured to himself. How could he have possibly entered it?
Suddenly, a voice appeared in his mind.
[Yes, this is the spiritual world constructed by the psionic field.]
Morris, who was about to reply to the crowd, immediately shut his mouth. Who is inside my head?
[Have them all leave.]
Morris furrowed his brow, then said:
–All of you, step out. I need to be alone for a while.–
–We shall obey your command.–
The crowd withdrew, closing tightly the two-meter-high bedroom door engraved with reliefs.
[It hasn’t been easy getting in here; it took several days to finally synchronize frequencies.]
A faint fragrance filled the room, while beyond the window lay green hills and clear waters, with rocky houses standing in clusters. The sound of hymns faintly drifted from the not-so-distant colossal Gothic structure.
Morris rose and cast a glance outside—there were actually military forces stationed nearby. Judging by their formations and the towering buildings, they seemed to have been there for many years.
He turned to a full-length mirror and scrutinized himself. It reflected a figure in opulent robes, but the next instant, the image warped and shifted, transforming into a handsome young Asian boy with yellow skin and short hair.
–Who are you?–
The man stepped out from the mirror in one stride. Startled, Morris took a step back.
–I am the spiritual imprint left by Hong Haocheng. Hmm, the energy comes from your sea of consciousness, so I am both you and him.–
–You’re that…–
–Yes, yes!–
Hong Haocheng turned his head to glance outside and grinned, –Curious about those troops, aren’t you? Want to know why they’re here?–
Morris looked out the window once more: –Uh? Why?–
–Because, hmph, they are the Imperial Guard who have guarded a sleeping king for eighteen hundred years—right here in this place.–
–Wh-what?!–
Hong Haocheng watched Morris’s shocked expression and sneered:
–Do you know that over the past eighteen hundred years, they’ve tried countless ways to awaken you? My Sleeping Beauty.–
Morris glanced at his own body and immediately realized something, but before he could speak, the spirited youth in front of him raised his hand and snapped his fingers, instantly transforming everything around them.
They now seemed to be floating in the cosmos, with a circular stone floor beneath their feet and a round table placed right in the center.
It all appeared to be drifting through the universe.
–Alright, enough small talk.–
Hong Haocheng hummed a tune as he walked over to the round table, mumbling, –Don’t worry, this is just the purest ‘sub-etheric field’; they won’t find us.–
–They? Who.–
–Those people you were talking to earlier.–
Morris hesitated, –Aren’t they fake?–
–Who told you that?–
–Uh.–
Hong Haocheng turned to him with a grin: –Is the ‘you’ in the dream real or fake?–
–Fake, of course.–
–If it’s fake, how do you know what happened in the dream?–
–This… hey, don’t try to confuse me. First, explain what this is all about. I remember you just called me a moment ago.–
–That was a long time ago.–
Hong Haocheng raised his hand innocently. –After all, I’ve been stuck here honestly for over eighteen hundred years—bored right out of my mind.–
Morris glanced around left and right, then cautiously took a seat at the round table.
–What exactly is this place? And when you asked me earlier whether those people were real or fake… could they actually be real?–
–Of course!– Hong Haocheng put on an exaggeratedly surprised expression, as if correcting some basic knowledge to a grade-schooler, and spoke:
–Hey, didn’t you know? They’re all pitiful mental fragments—only here can they preserve their energy. Heh heh, alright, don’t look at me like that. I know you had no idea.–
Hong Haocheng’s finger drew a messy circle in the air, and one by one, images of people Morris had just seen flickered in and out of existence.
–Thanks to your entry, these lingering mental remnants can, within the mental force field, take on roles and continue to experience the preciousness of time.–
–Wh-what…– Morris was utterly shaken.
All those human and animal lives he had experienced with Yang Zicang—had every single one them essentially once been, or even now still been, living, vibrant beings?
–To them,– Hong Haocheng said, –this is yet another rare journey through life. Of course, if you prefer to think it’s all fake, then by all means treat it that way.–
Pen and paper appeared in Hong Haocheng’s hands, and he immediately began writing rapidly.
Morris, startled at first, approached to take a look; several lines of handwriting had already appeared on the paper.
–Prologue…–
Chinese characters burst forth one by one, and Morris carefully identified them.
—As he flipped to this page, a majestic and weathered, vast world slowly unfurled before his eyes through elegant prose and intricate copperplate illustrations.
Hong Haocheng wrote at a rapid pace, as if the act of holding the pen was merely symbolic. The tip touched the paper, gliding naturally, and another line of text emerged.
—This seemed to be a fantasy tale about a traveler who strayed into an unknown world, searching for hidden treasures in a strange magical continent.
—Yet this book had been placed in the bookshelf labeled –World Ancient History,– and he knew that the elderly librarian would never make such a low-level mistake.
Morris stood stunned, watching this inexplicably appearing young man writing on his own. In just the span of a breath, another paragraph was finished.
—Looking back on the history of human civilization, there had indeed never been a record of a country or era similar to the one in the book.
–What are you doing?–
–Oh, can’t you see? Writing a novel,– Hong Haocheng replied without looking up.
Morris was a bit speechless: –I know you’re writing something. I’m asking why you’re writing this.–
–For someone to see. He’ll definitely come back in, right? And when he finds two such things left in his own Yore-Realm, that guy will be curious enough to read them, won’t he? Hah, I know him best.–
–Know him?–
–Looks full of himself as hell, but really, he’s a brooding pervert who wants to know everything.–
Rustle, rustle, he flipped the page quickly. Morris simply moved closer to watch his handwriting.
—–Did you find the map?–
—A slightly anxious young voice came from the pitch-black doorway outside, followed by the scraping sound of dragging a suitcase, and the old man coughing a few times.
–Hold on, you just said two copies?–
Morris said in surprise, –You actually plan to write two.–
–Because my beautiful wife gave me two memoirs. So adapting them into stories naturally means two books. Yeah, well, they’re both going to be left unfinished, rest assured.–
Hong Haocheng bared his teeth and grinned, making a funny face at Morris.
In less than a minute, both sides of a page were filled with text. The moment Morris casually turned his head back, another paragraph had already been written. He was churning out some character’s story nonstop, as if copying from a source.
–What’s this story about?–
–Mmm, about some guy named Lin Feng, who, after dying on Earth for many years, transmigrated into another world.–
–Well, that’s pretty cliché.–
Hong Haocheng looked up and snickered, –Exactly, that’s why it ended abruptly.–
He crossed his legs, curling into a ball by the table, and said, –But that guy could get through it, couldn’t he?–
–Alright, have it your way. By the way, this dreamscape is my ‘Yore-Realm’ now, right? Need me to speed things up for you?–
–You’re wondering if I can handle the acceleration without the owner around?–
Hong Haocheng saw through Morris’ little scheme, snorting:
–You’d just be skipping over your own time—haven’t you figured that out from your experience with that guy? Whether you speed things up or not, I’m writing every word myself.–
–Okay, okay… It shouldn’t take more than a few days.–
Morris resignedly let out a breath, slumping into his chair with an air of boredom.
He didn’t really care about these two remnants of stories—though he knew they must carry some deeper meaning.
Hong Haocheng shot a glance at the man, who was putting on a thoughtful expression, and sneered:
–If I were you, I’d seize the chance to train here more. Oh, right—you’d probably die.–
That silenced Morris even further.
「……」
How could he ever forget that call made into the future?
He wondered if he would really tell Yang Zicang about the theft of all his Moxel abilities. Facing this mysterious figure appearing before him, had he truly made a choice that would alter the future?
Would he honestly do that?
Was he really that noble?
Hong Haocheng put down his pen and said solemnly:
–I think you’ve already guessed it. The future me spared no great cost to send this message back, just to tell ‘us’ in the present not to waste any more time on trial and error. In truth, our Chronos isn’t something to be squandered. Not even a single second remains, bro. For any of it.–
He reached out and patted Morris on the shoulder:
–You’re not the only one changing the future—I am too.–
A sudden chill ran down Morris’s spine.
–What exactly is the future…–
–You haven’t yet set foot on the new path of destiny, so I can’t say. Because once I do, the place you’re in right now might read the words you let slip, causing it to potentially evolve into what once was. That would render countless past sacrifices meaningless.–
Morris looked at him, biting back his words.
The young man spoke gently yet solemnly:
–Don’t ask what those sacrifices were. This so-called new world—it didn’t come easily. Imagine painting an uncharted new world on such a blank canvas—you know how unimaginably hard that is.–
–It is like those who signed the end of absolute monarchy through constitutional rule, like the revolutionaries who sent Louis XVI to the guillotine to end feudal domination, or like those in a new era who forced the emperor to abdicate… This task is as difficult as theirs was when, after overthrowing feudalism, they first endeavored to build a new world never seen since ancient times. –
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