2025-02-05 19:33:01Golden glittering dust flew as Zhao Lingyun pulled a worn scroll from the highest shelf of the Ancient Library. The room was silent, only the ticking of the water clock from the corner of the room breaking the silence. Outside, the sun had long since set, and the dim light from the lamp crystals created dancing shadows on the tall walls of the library.
“History of Realm Interaction: Early Period of Separation,” he read the scroll's title silently. His practiced hands carefully broke the ancient seal. However, as the scroll unfolded, his brow furrowed in confusion. The initial pages looked normal, containing the standard accounts of the separation of realms. But in the middle of the scroll, the writing changed. Not only was the content different-the style of writing, even the energy emanating from the ink was unfamiliar. “...and in those days, before the Supreme Council enacted the Law of Absolute Separation, the two realms lived in harmony. Light and shadow were not enemies, but two sides of the same coin. Sages from both realms often gathered in the Hall of Balance to exchange knowledge...” Zhao Lingyun held his breath. The Hall of Balance? That name had never appeared in any official records. Suddenly, a voice startled him. “Looking for something interesting, Young General?” Zhao Lingyun turned around quickly. In the doorway of the library stood Elder Zhang Qingxuan, one of the oldest members of the Heavenly Council. His pale blue eyes stared intently at the scroll in Zhao Lingyun's hand. “Elder Zhang,” Zhao Lingyun bowed respectfully, without letting go of the scroll. “I'm studying the history of the realm for a better defense strategy.” Zhang Qingxuan stepped over, his white robes sweeping the floor silently. “Ah, sure. But isn't it strange that a brilliant young general like you chooses to read... an unsanctioned version?” “The unsanctioned version?” Zhao Lingyun repeated carefully. “Oh, come on.” Zhang Qingxuan smiled, but his eyes remained cold. “We both know the scroll should have been destroyed centuries ago. The fact that it's still here... well, it seems like someone was negligent in their duties.” Before Zhao Lingyun could react, Zhang Qingxuan raised his hand. A beam of golden energy shot towards the scroll. But something surprising happened. The scroll didn't burn. Instead, the golden energy was absorbed, and for a moment, the writing inside glowed with a strange light-half gold, half silver. “Interesting,” murmured Zhang Qingxuan, for the first time looking genuinely surprised. “Very... interesting.” Zhao Lingyun looked at the scroll in his hand, then at the elder. There was something in Zhang Qingxuan's reaction that didn't add up-as if he had expected this to happen. “Elder Zhang,” Zhao Lingyun began carefully, ”you don't seem too surprised to find me here.” Zhang Qingxuan chuckled. “Ah, you are indeed as smart as they say. No, Young General. I am not surprised. Actually... I was waiting for you.” “Waiting?” “You think the scroll's being there is a coincidence? Or how did you manage to easily find this supposedly sealed part of the library?” Zhang Qingxuan stepped to the window, staring at the red clouds that were never absent in the night sky. “We've been watching you, Zhao Lingyun. Since day one you've shown... unusual tendencies in your fighting techniques.” Zhao Lingyun felt the tension in the air. His hand slowly moved towards his sword. “Don't worry,” Zhang Qingxuan raised his hand in a gesture of peace. “If we wish for your death, you will never reach the position of General.” “We?” “There is a small group among the elders who... well, let's just say we have different views on the separation of realms.” Zhang Qingxuan turned around, his pale eyes now flashing with a strange intensity. “And we have been waiting for someone like you-someone brave enough to question, strong enough to endure, and wise enough not to act rashly.” Before Zhao Lingyun could digest this, the sound of footsteps could be heard approaching. Zhang Qingxuan moved quickly, touching the scroll in Zhao Lingyun's hand. In an instant, the scroll disappeared. “Find me at the Dusk Moon Pavilion the next full moon,” he whispered quickly. “And Zhao Lingyun... be careful who you trust. Not everything that shines is true light.” Just then, two library guards appeared at the door. Zhang Qingxuan had already changed his demeanor, returning to being a cold and stiff elder. “Ah, General Zhao,” he said in a loud voice. “Next time ask for official permission before accessing this section. We don't want any... misunderstandings.” With that, he walked away, leaving Zhao Lingyun with a myriad of new questions. But one thing became clear-the game he was playing was far more complex than he had expected. The next morning, as he led his troops' routine training, Zhao Lingyun noticed something strange. Hong Ying, the young soldier he had seen practicing shadow techniques, was absent. When she asked, no one remembered having a soldier by that name. In the midst of her confusion, a piece of paper floated down from the sleeve of her robe-a paper that she was sure hadn't been there before. On it, written in the same ancient script that he had seen on the scroll last night: “Not all lost memories are completely erased. Meet me at the place where light and shadow meet in harmony. -H.Y.” Zhao Lingyun crumpled the paper in his grip. H.Y.-Hong Ying? But how could that be? And why didn't anyone remember her? When he returned to his room that night, another surprise awaited him. On his desk lay a small mirror-a perfect replica of the large mirror he had found in the library. And as she gazed into it, what she saw was not her own reflection, but a room she recognized from her dreams: The Twilight Library. In the mirror, Hong Ying stood among the bookshelves, but her appearance had changed. Her black hair was now golden, and her eyes-one golden, one red-reminded him of someone. “Lin... Fengtian?” Zhao Lingyun whispered in disbelief. The image in the mirror smiled, before fading into a silvery mist. On the surface of the mirror that returned to normal, writing appeared that slowly disappeared: “Not everything you see is reality, not everything that is real you can see. Choose your allies carefully, Young General. Even light can be deceiving.” Zhao Lingyun sat in his chair, massaging his throbbing temples. In one day, everything he believed in had been shaken. Zhang Qingxuan and his secret society, Hong Ying who disappeared-or perhaps never existed, and now this mysterious mirror. But his biggest question was: Why did they choose it? And more importantly, what did they really want from it? In the distance, red clouds moved in a formation that now looked like it was mocking. And somewhere between realms, a mysterious figure smiled, observing the young general's confusion through an identical mirror. “Good,” the figure whispered in a voice that sounded like a combination of two different voices. “Let confusion guide him to the truth. For only in confusion will true questions arise.” Dawn was barely breaking when Zhao Lingyun found something surprising at the bottom of his desk drawer-a soldier's badge with the name “Hong Ying” engraved on it that was slowly fading into “Lin Chen”. His heart skipped a beat. Lin Chen-the name listed in the official records as one of the soldiers who died in the Battle of Red Dawn five hundred years ago. The same battle where Li Tianshen and Xiao Yingmei were last seen. In the midst of his confusion, a soft knock sounded from the door. Wei Xuan stepped in, but there was something different about the elder. His normally golden eyes now seemed misty, as if covered by a thin veil. “You found it,” he said, his eyes fixed on the badge in Zhao Lingyun's hand. “Sooner than we expected.” “'We'?” Zhao Lingyun raised his eyebrows. “You're also part of Zhang Qingxuan's group?” Wei Xuan smiled mysteriously, but the smile did not reach his misty eyes. “The truth is much more complicated, Young General. What you see as a 'group' might just be a shadow of something bigger. Just like the Hong Ying you know... or don't know.” With a barely perceptible movement, Wei Xuan touched the badge in Zhao Lingyun's hand. Instantly, the name engraved on it changed again-this time to “Ying Fenghua”, a name that made Zhao Lingyun's blood seem to freeze. Ying Fenghua was his mother's real name, a soldier who supposedly disappeared on a secret mission before he was born. A name he wasn't even supposed to know. “Remember, Zhao Lingyun,” Wei Xuan whispered before stepping back towards the door, his body slowly becoming transparent. “In a world where memories can be manipulated and reality can be fabricated, the only truth is the one written in your own blood.”
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Light. Blinding light. Then deep darkness.Lin lay on the cold, hard floor-no longer the absolute nothingness where she last met the Connector. Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim light that came from nowhere. His body felt different - denser yet lighter, as if mass and energy had reached a new balance within him.“Reintegration complete,” she whispered to herself, but her voice sounded like a small orchestra-several different notes resonating in almost perfect harmony.Lin got up, looking around. She was in a room she'd never seen before-not a room in the Library she was familiar with. The walls seemed to be made of solid light that flowed like a slow waterfall, displaying fragments of a narrative that moved constantly in unpredictable yet somehow familiar patterns.“Library?” Lin called out, feeling the building's conscious presence-but the response was different, deeper, more complex than she had ever felt before.We're here, a voice-no, many voices-answered in her mind. B
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Lin stared at the figure before her with a mixture of shock and recognition. This was her, yet it wasn't-like looking into a mirror that showed what could be, not what actually was."You were wrong." Lin finally said, her voice calm despite her racing heart. "I didn't come to take you home."The figure-the distorted reflection of Lin-Penarasik-tilted its head with a movement too sharp, too broken to be human. The abstract half of its face turned into an expression resembling confusion."Then what did you come for? To destroy me?" Her voice trembled with emotions too intense-too pure-to be contained by the structure of reality around them. The library floor made of book pages undulated more violently."No," Lin stepped forward, her hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I've come to understand.""LIAR!" the figure shouted, his voice now like an orchestra on the wrong note, making the bookshelves around them shake violently, some books falling like a shower of paper. "You've come to stop
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Three months have passed since the cosmic transformation that changed the very nature of narrative itself. Lin-Penarasik-not quite human, not quite meta-narrative-has returned to semi-normal life in Beijing. His small apartment in the Haidian district is now filled with books he never owned before - ancient texts on philosophical paradoxes, old manuscripts on Tibetan cosmology, and contemporary journals on quantum physics.Every morning, he would sit on the balcony of his apartment with a cup of pu'er tea, gazing at the city moving below him while feeling the subtle vibrations of reality that were now visible to him-layers of overlapping narratives, stories that intersected without colliding, small paradoxes that maintained stability in chaos.This morning was different. Lin sensed something-subtle waves in the fabric of reality, like seismic vibrations too weak to be detected by ordinary instruments but strong enough to be felt by her paradoxical consciousness."Something's coming,"
PARADOXICAL RESONANCE
The touch between the Writer and the Meta-Writer creates a phenomenon that cannot be explained by any language-neither existing nor imaginable. Not light, not sound, not vibration, but a kind of fundamental reorganization of meaning itself. Like the entire vocabulary of existence is being rearranged in a new, previously unimaginable order.As the two touch, the Storyteller watches with widened eyes as the space around them turns into a blank canvas-not white or black, but an existence without attributes, waiting to be redefined.Then, with the blink of an eye, everything returns to normal. Mei Ling's home was restored, the fluctuations in reality ceased, and the narrative structure seemed to stabilize again. But something was different-something fundamental.“What just happened?” The Storyteller asked, staring alternately between the Storyteller and the figure that had been the Meta-Writer.Mei Ling's figure now stood with a different posture-more upright, more graceful, her eyes radi
