Outside the window, light snow fluttered down, and the plum blossoms on the branches opened one after another, a lovely sight of red and pink dotted with white snow.
Inside the ward, a blue-haired girl sat on the bed, taking a bite of the apple in her hand. The television above the bed broadcast the news for the new day.
“Ascetic Sect member Jenny the Ripper is still at large. Residents are urged to report any suspicious individuals to the nearest tuner's office immediately. The fugitive is extremely dangerous; do not attempt to engage the fugitive alone.”
“The events on Death Island remain unresolved. One hundred and twenty-seven family members who traveled to the island aboard the Dream of the Ocean cruise ship died in a siren descent incident orchestrated by the Pole Star Society. The academy has yet to issue a direct response regarding this matter.”
“Withered Flower and the Winter family have jointly pressured the academy, demanding the reorganization of the Starry Gallery and the re-election of the principal. The academy refused, stating that during the Starry Art Competition, focusing on artistic endeavors was more appropriate. The Association agreed with the academy’s decision and affirmed it, as people’s psychic waves during the competition are relatively....”
“Hey, hey, Ah Xin, guess who’s here?”
Outside the ward, a girl peeked her cat-like face in, hands behind her back, and quietly walked in. After placing a fruit basket for well wishes by the bed, Amy silently pulled up a chair and sat by the bedside.
Tang Xin was used to her friend’s dramatics. She merely glanced at Amy, then picked up her small drawing board and wrote: “Hasn’t Aivmey given you anything to do these past few days?”
Amy paused. In truth, she was swamped. With only a month left until the New Year, people from those families were eager to be packaged from head to toe, just to make a grand appearance at the family New Year’s gala. Aivmey’s schedule was booked from today until mid-next month, and as her assistant, Amy naturally had a mountain of troublesome tasks to handle.
She had even sneaked out on a pretext.
Speaking of which, Ah Xin has been watching the news every day since she woke up, Amy thought, then casually pulled out the small screen she held and waved it in front of Tang Xin.
“Here, Ah Xin, the curtain you wanted. I brought it.”
Tang Xin was slightly startled, and a change flickered across her usually serene face. She quickly took the screen from Amy’s hand. At her strong insistence,
Amy had sent her previously damaged screen back to Kowloon Information Enterprise, retaining its original chip memory for an iterative upgrade. It had only just been returned today.
Tang Xin opened the screen, and several photos popped up. Seeing these group photos, she finally relaxed, holding the screen to her chest, a faint, sweet smile appearing on the girl’s lips.
Amy glanced at the photos, her lips twitching slightly. She wanted to ask what magic that heartless Pomelo Pest had, that even after disappearing for half a month, Ah Xin still thought of her so much.
“Who knows which hive city she’s in now, living a carefree life. Maybe she’s already forgotten all about you, Ah Xin.”
Tang Xin shook her head, as if she didn't quite understand, and wrote on her small drawing board: “She’ll come back for me.”
“What if she doesn’t come back?” Amy said casually.
The Dawn Society had almost fully reconstructed the scene from that time and could practically confirm that Dark Gold Rose was Xu Xiaoyou. In the final moments, she had used some method to temporarily burst forth and severely wound the Siren King, then fell into a coma and was taken away by the Abyssal White Flower that rushed over; this was their unique core technology—the spacetime traceback protocol.
They had not made this discovery public, neither to the Association nor to the blue-haired girl before them. Amy had been strictly ordered to keep it confidential, but given Tang Xin's meticulous nature, she felt Tang Xin had already guessed something.
Tang Xin’s slender body looked somewhat lonely sitting on the hospital bed. She smiled, continuing to write on her small drawing board: “Then I won’t mind her. I’ll become stronger and soar towards my own ideals.”
Amy nodded, reaching out to rub Tang Xin’s face, then touched the girl’s messy long hair. Since returning from the island, her hair had grown rapidly, nearly covering the entire bed, and the light blue at the ends had transformed into a tranquil deep blue; the youthful naiveté in her eyes was gone, replaced by a captivating brilliance, as if meeting her gaze would cause one to fall into a sea of stars.
“I also brought you this. Try it.” Amy took out pure white gloves, their cuffs adorned with intricate lace.
They fit perfectly, concealing the fierce burn scars on the girl’s arms.
“And this, this too.”
Amy leaned closer, placing a veil-like facial ornament over the small scars on Tang Xin’s cheek. Tang Xin paused slightly, reaching up to touch the ornament; it felt like a butterfly, transparent, yet radiating captivating brilliance from a certain angle of light.
It was weightless, about half the size of a palm, and when worn on the face, it maintained a subtle distance from the cheek, not affecting the girl’s daily life.
Tang Xin puffed out her cheeks and held up her drawing board: “Actually, I don’t care about these things. It’s fine.”
Amy tapped the butterfly wing with her fingertip: “Who wouldn’t want to look good? Seeing your scars in the mirror inevitably brings back bad memories. This way, you’ll look much better, even though you’re already very pretty, Ah Xin.”
Tang Xin didn’t refuse Amy’s kind intentions. It wasn’t until Amy had left the ward for a long time that she turned her head, her serene eyes reflecting a swirl of thoughts.
She truly didn’t care about those things.
Rather, when her broken body lay in the rain, she was deeply attracted by her own reflection. She felt that was the most beautiful and moving moment of her life....
At the Starry Grand Opera House, on a stage that had stood for a century and given birth to countless famous choirs, a hundred-person performance was underway. People were immersed in the grand aria; not everyone among them had deep musical knowledge, many were merely mediocre, attending simply to cultivate their sensibilities.
“What a beautiful, emotional melody! The Proclaimers Orchestra, I’ll remember their name. After this performance, I’ll invest in them and let them perform on a grander stage.” A businessman in the audience wiped his moist eyes, tears streaming down his face.
“Indeed,” another actor chimed in, “whenever I immerse myself in this melody, I feel my soul burning hot, my life profoundly sublimated, my whole being elevated to another realm.”
“Perhaps this is the true essence of our pursuit of art: finding enlightenment within art, reflecting on ourselves, and loving wisdom.” Someone spoke with a heightened tone, like a poet.
The performance was only halfway through, yet the audience was already erupting in thunderous applause. Seeing this, the members of the Proclaimers Orchestra on stage performed even more vigorously, their bodies arching in exaggerated curves, every inch of their skin straining, their fervent emotions vividly displayed on their faces.
Everyone in the audience cheered, unaware that a woman in a tuxedo had her brows furrowed almost to her hairline. For what exactly were these incompetent mediocrities applauding?
Jenny was furious. She had seen it clearly: more than half of the hundred-person orchestra were just making up the numbers. The third person from the left in the back row was utterly clueless about the trombone, merely going through the motions, not even daring to blow a note. The strings of the violinist third from the right were so worn, yet his fingertips showed no bloodstains, as pristine as a young master who had never done physical labor.
The conductor at the front of the stage failed to correct several dissonances within the orchestra and didn’t even show any abnormal expression. That damned bastard’s mind had long drifted off. Not a single one – be it the trombonist, saxophonist, tubist, or drummer – was competent. How could such a motley crew of an orchestra perform in such an elegant and sacred hall?
And these damned fools were actually applauding?
Why were they applauding? On what grounds were they applauding?
An unspeakable rage surged in Jenny’s heart. She had wanted to disembowel the freeloaders in the orchestra, to show everyone the consequence of desecrating art. But everyone on stage was desecrating the sacred art in her heart, and those corpulent scoundrels in the audience were precisely why these crude and simple-minded individuals could ascend to such an elegant and sacred hall.
They were condoning the desecration of art.
Jenny stood up, the wrath in her heart consuming all her reason. She now wanted to slaughter all five thousand people in this opera house, using the most cruel, artistic, and aesthetically pleasing methods!
Everyone must pay the price for their blasphemy against art!
Everyone must pay with flesh and blood for their arrogance towards art!
Everyone must atone for their acts of desecration against art!
Everyone will be nailed to the gallows of judgment, their souls never to transcend for eternity!!
An unprecedented aura descended from the sky. Three thousand people inside the opera house were instantly crushed into bloody foam, exploding into flying blood beads and pulp. Jenny’s tuxedo lengthened infinitely, fluttering in blood and gale. Half her face was covered by a pitch-black, silent mask, and an invisible giant hand danced wildly behind her. All those arrogant, blasphemous individuals who desecrated art were blasted into bloody mist amid their screams.
Jenny sat on the phantom of a piano and began to play ecstatically, performing in a purgatory where the orchestra members screamed loudly.
Their bodies were torn into countless musical notes before their throats could utter a sound, flowing across a pure white score composed of countless people’s spirits, flesh, and soul wisps, playing a melody that was pleasant and painful, driving one's mind to madness, making one's brain tremble, one's body tear apart, and one's soul resonate.
Jenny began to stand before the phantom of a canvas, creating ecstatically. In this purgatory of painting, the remaining people had their hands and feet severed by invisible blades; before blood could flow, their bodies merged with the floor and ceiling, transforming into crimson pigments that converged towards Jenny, leaving a bold and vibrant stroke on the white canvas made of countless pale bone fragments, painting a magnificent and vivid artwork that would rot one’s vision, cause blood to seep from one’s orifices, induce lesions in one’s body, and erase one’s very existence.
Jenny did not sing. These scoundrels were not worthy of her recitative to conclude this grand tragedy.
When she ceased her creation, the scene was devastated, ruinous. The opera house no longer held fresh blood and flesh; white bones piled up into a mountain-high jingguan. Pale lights shone directly onto her upright figure, surrounded only by mournful, fluttering grey wisps.
“The world will remember art.”
She whispered to the masses.
“If it cannot remember, then I will leave an unhealing wound upon the world.”
New Era Calendar, December 22, 532.
World-Class Urban Legend – The Artist Descends!
“Historically, the apocalypse-class urban legend Eight-Spider Hive Mother has undergone three revivals. Its first descent occurred in Red Calendar year 1382.
This descent severely crippled Red Heaven’s economy, marking the beginning of Red Heaven’s transformation towards a military-industrial complex, and also a turning point for Red Heaven to become Universal Heavy Industries’ military hub and a cornerstone of heavy industry....”
Outside the window, the leaves on the western hills turned yellow, precisely the season of falling leaves in autumn. The wind chased across the fields, and people yearned for freedom.
On stage, the middle-aged teacher, Chengcun Yi, pushed up his glasses and lectured tirelessly. The students below were already half-asleep; those who should be napping on their desks were napping, and those who should be daydreaming were daydreaming. Girls applied eyebrow makeup in their compact mirrors, discussing idol dramas, while rebellious-looking youths openly watched “Red Avenger” on their screens.
The middle-aged teacher’s forehead veins bulged.
Below, the dark-red-haired girl was sleeping soundly. More than a week had passed since the incident of abducting Chi Tianyi, and to Chi Chuchun’s annoyance, her companions’ subsequent actions had all gone smoothly without her participation.
It proved that her presence was far less important than the funds she brought. The thought of her personal stash being heavily used by others while she could only watch with longing infuriated the little family head, causing her to grind her teeth even in her sleep.
Just then, a crumpled paper ball hit her head: “Meijiu, school’s out, wake up.”
The girl immediately reacted, stood up, kicked her chair back, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and snatched a baseball cap from her drawer to put on. The series of movements was seamless.
“Yuzu, I’m coming.”
She hadn’t forgotten. Yuzu had promised to meet her this afternoon to join the Night Walkers. Just thinking about meeting this mysterious online friend had kept her so excited last night that she couldn’t sleep.
Seeing everyone staring at her, the girl dropped the smile from her lips, realizing something, her face clouding over with dark lines, and she glared fiercely at the girls next to her who were stifling laughter.
A burst of laughter erupted in the classroom.
“Hahaha, Kuri-san must still be dreaming, what Yuzu, I’m dying of laughter.”
“Mori no Natsu Kuri-san, are you dissatisfied with my lecture, in such a hurry to leave?” The middle-aged teacher on stage crushed a piece of chalk.
“I, uh, actually...” Chi Chuchun’s mind briefly blanked, and it took her a while to come up with an excuse.
“I wanted to go to the restroom. As for any dissatisfaction with you, teacher, that absolutely doesn’t exist. Really, really, I actually particularly admire you, teacher. You’re so knowledgeable and lecture with such humor and wit....”
“Go stand outside!” the middle-aged man roared. “Clean the classroom after school during club time before you leave.”
Chi Chuchun snorted, gave a throat-slitting gesture to the girls who had teased her, glared at them, then grabbed her face, shouldered her bag, and left the classroom.
The middle-aged teacher, Chengcun Yi, was inwardly triumphant, finally having vented his frustration. He wished he had known how bad the environment in Dragonfly Town was; he would never have left Red City for such a rural place, full of delinquent, morally corrupt problem children.
Suddenly, a dull thud sounded, and someone in the classroom shouted: “She jumped!”
The middle-aged teacher’s eyes widened in disbelief. He quickly ran out of the classroom to the open-windowed corridor. Below, the dark-red-haired girl, sucking on a bitter melon flavored lollipop, adjusted her jacket, turned back, gave him a cheerful smile, and made a peace sign.
Chi Chuchun ignored the stunned crowd behind her, pulled down her baseball cap, threw her bag over the wall, and lightly vaulted out of the campus. Every second before meeting Yuzu felt so anxious and long. She couldn’t wait any longer; she wouldn’t waste time in this lousy place!
Rate on N.U.
