Having finally fought their way back to the fifth floor, Qi Yue’an surveyed the dilapidated scene with a contemplative gaze. The rules explicitly stated that after 11 PM, remaining in one’s room was imperative, lest one risk becoming ‘lost.’ Paradoxically, however, the very path to ‘that’ sixth floor necessitated employing precisely such a risky method.
“What do we do next? How did you return to the original fifth floor?”
Upon hearing her query, Li Yan merely gestured to his wristwatch.
“I’m afraid I don’t know myself. After first arriving in this place, I simply roamed aimlessly around. The lower floors were identical to the fifth; not a single person I encountered was real, and the vast majority of doors were marked with crosses, leaving no trace of even the substitutes.”
“I even attempted to use the elevator to exit, only to find myself not on campus, but in a strange, sinister ruin overgrown with tombstones. I lingered there for several hours; it seemed to be almost eight in the morning when the surroundings abruptly shifted back to the school. Only then, returning from a classroom to this apartment building, did everything revert to its former appearance.”
“Have you, then, attempted to engage with any of the living substitutes still present here?”
Li Yan shook his head.
“I did, but they offered no response whatsoever. Take, for instance, the sole remaining little girl on this floor; she merely weeps within her room, and the door remains unyielding, impervious to any attempt to open it.”
Qi Yue’an drew closer to the door, which remained stubbornly locked. This time, however, no sound emanated from within; a profound silence had seemingly settled over it.
“Knock knock knock—”
She rapped on the door, then spoke aloud:
“Miss Knight? Are you there?”
No response echoed from beyond the door. She preemptively conjured flames to shield herself, then gestured for Li Yan to maintain his vigilance. He nodded in understanding, realizing she was poised to employ a perilous tactic.
“Bai Jin, are you in there?”
In a blatant disregard for the rules, she uttered a true name. Had anyone been on the other side, they would undoubtedly have surged forth to attack her. Yet, the silence remained unbroken.
“It seems she truly isn’t here…”
Ultimately, Qi Yue’an abandoned her search on that floor.
“Where is that place you mentioned, the one like a graveyard? Take me to see it.”
Li Yan assented to her request, taking the lead as they advanced towards the elevator.
Unlike the stairwell, which remained entirely sealed and offered no egress to the outside world, even on the lowest levels, the elevator was confined to travel solely between its designated floor and the ‘lobby.’ While conventional logic dictated the lobby to be the first floor, it seemed the apartment building’s interior, the school, and the lobby occupied entirely separate spatial dimensions. Even those residing on the nominal first floor were compelled to take the elevator from their level to reach the lobby.
The elevator remained unchanged from before, rumbling in its operation. Yet, it offered no sensation of G-forces or weightlessness, feeling less like a conventional lift and more akin to a rudimentary teleportation device.
Stepping out of the elevator, she was immediately struck by the breathtaking vista before her.
Where the school building once stood, an ancient ruin, almost beyond recognition, now lay, its decaying expanse blanketed by a profusion of purple blossoms.
She turned, intending to question Li Yan, only to discover the dormitory building behind her had vanished. In its stead loomed a long-abandoned church, its ancient stones now cloaked in an array of unknown, luminous vegetation, creating a fantastical yet profoundly desolate tableau, mirroring the entire surreal landscape.
Li Yan had evidently not followed her out, or perhaps some unseen force had separated them. Ever since the school’s inexplicable and sudden metamorphosis, she had been plagued by a persistent sense of being deliberately kept in the dark.
With no companion by her side, and Li Yan, whom she had encountered again here, perpetually vague in his explanations, a gnawing uncertainty persisted. Despite the fact that almost every level seemed meticulously arranged according to the trajectory of her own memories, she had failed to locate Lin Xiao himself, or even a substitute for him, on any floor, as if his very existence was nullified within this place.
Her experiences over these past few days had yielded no desirable information; instead, they had only served to deepen the labyrinth of questions within her mind, leaving her consumed by a profound sense of vexation.
An urgent desire to find a way out, to return to Xiyin and her companions, seized her. The insidious sensation of being gradually eroded by some ethereal nothingness, of slowly losing her way within this place, was becoming unbearable.
🎶～～
She wandered aimlessly through the ruins, which held nothing but glowing flora and unidentified purple blossoms scattered across the ground. After an indeterminate period, a faint humming, like that of a young girl, suddenly drifted from a distant point.
The sound, melodious and hauntingly beautiful, resembled moonlight spilled across the earth. It carried a profound desolation and sorrow, yet simultaneously offered a unique serenity that subtly quelled the turbulent vexation that had churned within her moments before.
Following the direction of the ethereal melody, she found its familiarity growing stronger with each step. The sound emanated from the crest of a hill ahead, a place strikingly similar to one she had frequented in her childhood. Here, however, there were no piles of refuse, no parked vehicles; only an endless expanse of unknown flowers blanketing the slopes, enveloped in an atmosphere of profound, almost absolute, silence.
The ascent seemed to stretch interminably, yet simultaneously felt like a mere instant. Upon reaching the summit and surveying her surroundings, she beheld nothing but an endless, sprawling graveyard. Each small, verdant mound was crowned with a pristine, sacred tombstone. Overhead, the sky was tinged with a subtle violet hue, as if weeping a fine rain of obsidian ash. This falling ash, rather than darkening the earth, instead birthed a transient flower at each point of impact, blooming for but a fleeting moment before fading away.
At the very heart of this somber expanse, amidst the four most prominent tombstones, a young girl sat perched upon one. Her form shimmered with an illusory translucence, and her features struck Qi Yue’an as remarkably familiar.
Her long hair was a striking dichotomy of black and white, and she was clad in a sweeping black and white Gothic gown. Her silver eyes were fixed upon the sky, and it seemed the haunting hum emanated from her very lips.
The girl, seemingly aware of Qi Yue’an’s arrival, turned her head to meet her gaze. In that precise moment, Qi Yue’an finally comprehended the origin of that profound sense of familiarity.
She was, undeniably, the spitting image of Qi Yue’an’s transformed self. Yet, in stark contrast to Qi Yue’an’s current form, this other girl possessed a more mature physique, her once somewhat cold and childlike features now replaced by a unique blend of captivating allure and profound melancholy.
Where the current Qi Yue’an resembled an adorably naive, emotionless doll, this other self evoked the image of a stunning, yet solitary and mournful widow, imbued with an undeniable aura of gentle grace.
“Ah… it’s you. You’ve finally arrived.”
Qi Yue’an’s gaze lingered on the face, identical to her own yet undeniably more mature, and her heart began to beat with an uncontrollable, frantic rhythm.
A torrent of questions surged through her mind, ultimately converging into two stark, immediate inquiries:
“Who… are you, truly? And what… is this place?”
The girl perched upon the tombstone offered no direct reply.
She merely shifted her weight, turning slightly. Her fingers, delicate to the point of translucence, traced a feather-light path across the cold, engraved surface of the stone beneath her.
Then, with an elegant, unhurried motion, she raised an arm, her sleeve gracefully falling away to reveal a wrist as pallid as the stone itself. In profound silence, she gestured towards the boundless forest of tombstones that stretched in every direction.
Qi Yue’an’s gaze followed the direction of her silent summons.
Her eyes swept across the procession of pristine white headstones, the names etched upon them a mixture of the unfamiliar and those that pricked her soul like icy needles.
Bai Zhi, Xiyin, Li Yan…
Each a vibrant, living name, now frozen in perpetuity upon a tombstone, a stark symbol of ultimate finality.
And then, inescapably, Qi Yue’an’s gaze returned to rest beneath the girl – upon the most central, most prominent tombstone, where a name was clearly etched, a name that sent a tremor through her very soul: Qi Yue’an.
Here, amidst this desolate expanse, she had discovered the ‘graves’ of virtually everyone she had ever known.
An inexpressible sensation crawled up her spine. She instinctively extended a hand, and just as her fingertips hovered on the verge of touching Xiyin’s tombstone, a potent surge of emotion—a bewildering blend of warm tenderness and ultimate despair—electrified her senses.
She pressed on with her search, and within this graveyard that seemed to encompass her entire sphere of acquaintance, she acutely registered two pivotal absences: Lin Xiao and Bai Jin.
Forcing down the tumultuous waves within her heart, she turned towards the spectral girl. Driven by an inexplicable caution, she refrained from using any appellations intimately tied to herself, such as ‘Qi An,’ ‘Qi Yue’an,’ or ‘Qi Yue.’
“How should I address you?”
The girl’s silver eyes remained unperturbed, as if she had long anticipated such a query.
“Those two… no longer belong to me. So, simply call me Qi Yue.”
Her voice, ethereal and resonant like echoes from distant mountains, stood in stark contrast to the mechanical, role-playing substitutes. She possessed a complete, lucid self-awareness, akin to an independent, authentic entity burdened by the weight of endless time.
In the suffocating stillness, Qi Yue finally spoke once more, her words echoing those uttered by the faceless boy on the lower level:
“There’s no one left here.”
Yet, immediately thereafter, her subsequent words unveiled a narrative of profounder despair:
“Humanity… has all perished in the clutches of the End. Only I remain, awake, fruitlessly… striving to preserve the very last ember.”
No trace of self-pity could be discerned in her voice, only the profound weariness and unwavering obsession of one utterly depleted of all emotion.
Her words faltered, and Qi Yue’an instinctively followed her gaze, looking towards the distant edge of the horizon.
She found herself almost ceasing to breathe. The distant horizon was not a natural, graceful curve, but a jagged, grotesque chasm, as though the very fabric of existence had been violently torn asunder by an unimaginable force. The entire planet… appeared to have been annihilated long ago, leaving only this tiny fragment where they stood, adrift like an isolated island within the boundless cosmic void.
“‘His’ soul is not here,”
Qi Yue’s voice, imbued with a complex, almost sorrowful knowing, drew her back from the precipice of profound shock.
“He has already departed, no longer belonging to this world.”
Even without the explicit mention of a name, Qi Yue’an instantly comprehended the identity of ‘him’.
“I can feel it,”
Qi Yue’s gaze seemed to pierce the very fabric of space and time, extending through Qi Yue’an’s eyes, through her personal timeline, to pursue the world beyond.
“He… has already begun to descend into extremes.”
For the first time, she actively met Qi Yue’an’s gaze, her silver eyes imbued with an almost palpable plea.
“If you ever see him again… you must save him.”
“I don’t understand…”
Qi Yue’an felt a surge of exasperation. All of this transcended her comprehension; she knew nothing, merely being propelled forward by these inexplicable events, a void as painful as the earliest parts of her life.
“Where… exactly is this place?”
Qi Yue offered an answer, her voice as calm as if stating an ancient, preordained truth:
“This place? It is but the lingering shadow of a lost world. The story has concluded, everything has long since reached its end, everything was destined for conclusion, and the ‘protagonist’ who once belonged here, who belonged to me… has stepped into a new story.”
Before Qi Yue’an could fully process this horrifying information, Qi Yue suddenly drifted lightly from the tombstone bearing the name ‘Qi Yue’an.’
She approached slowly, her ethereal form carrying a cool, crisp fragrance. Before Qi Yue’an could react, Qi Yue gently took one of her hands.
The touch was not physical, but felt like a stream of icy moonlight flowing into her palm.
In that instant, the surrounding landscape began to violently twist and peel away. The graveyard, the ruins, the purple flower sea, the falling black snow… everything shattered like a broken mirror, dissolving into countless swirling fragments.
Qi Yue’an watched as everything around her seemed to collapse. A powerful pull seized her, tossing her consciousness through turbulent currents, and her vision grew increasingly blurred.
She saw destruction relentlessly spreading, consuming the girl’s form. Yet, until the very last moment, the girl did not flinch, but instead offered her a smile imbued with blessing and hopeful expectation.
“So please, my other self, we are always one, and we shall meet again.”
****
Accompanying the final words, the sensation of weightlessness abruptly vanished.
Qi Yue’an’s eyes snapped open, and she gasped for breath. She found herself standing inside the cold elevator car, its metallic walls reflecting the pale light of the overhead lamp.
The elevator doors stood open, revealing the familiar, yet now strangely alien, lobby of the dormitory building.
Was everything just now a dream? Or…
She instinctively lowered her gaze to her hand.
In her palm, it was not empty. A small crown, cool to the touch and neither gold nor jade, lay quietly there.
Its design was ornate, its golden edges intertwined with the dark purple flame patterns so familiar to her, as if eternally burning. Yet, at its very center, an unfamiliar rune, entirely different from anything she recognized, was inscribed.