“Near the end of the Pacification War, Right Minister Chu Qin, whose fame matched that of Saint Heir Wen Qing, their talents were equally matched. Working together, they achieved many victories… You really don’t know about this?”
Luo Kangsheng had resigned himself and recounted this old story at Xiao Si Nuo’s request, but he couldn’t help feeling doubtful. Such renowned names—could it be that none of you know them?
Xiao Si Nuo took out a small notebook and wrote the names down. “No, we don’t know. Because those names were deliberately erased.”
Cheng Qiong glanced over, looking as if he was pondering something. Though he couldn’t recall it precisely, he felt he might have heard it before.
But that didn’t mean anything. After all, he wasn’t young anymore and had lived through that era as a child. Back then, society hadn’t recovered; there was no Network, nor reliable printed news.
Under the decrepit sky, it was common for storytellers to perform oral arts, sharing legends of heroes from all over the world.
Perhaps, among those stories, Chu Yuan’s name had been mentioned.
But who would pay attention to such things? Nine out of ten names from a storyteller’s mouth were fake, and sometimes a made-up name just happened to coincide with a real one.
So whether he’d heard it before or not made no difference.
But for people today not to know this name—that was hard for Luo Kangsheng to accept.
“You all don’t know, so I… I…
Should I not know it either?”
Xiao Si Nuo put his notebook on the desk, ready to take more notes. “Go on, tell us what you know about those two.”
Luo Kangsheng did not reply immediately. He leaned back in his chair and remained silent for a while. After several minutes, he finally spoke: “I never had contact with Ji Ying, so I don’t know much about him. I only saw him from afar. But after so many years, the faces of that time are long gone, unrecognizable now.”
“What about Wen Kunqing?”
“Saint Heir… After he defeated me back then, he urged me to surrender voluntarily and promised that I wouldn’t be subjected to more severe punishment. He was someone who took his word seriously—a promise from him was as good as a vow.”
At this point, Luo Kangsheng suddenly smiled:
“At the same time, anything he didn’t say was never guaranteed. For example, he only said I wouldn’t be punished, but he never promised what treatment I’d get after the war…”
In the Crystal Stone World, the group had already left the Hall of Desolation, crossing the vast White Mist Plain as they headed towards the Third Sacred Place.
Even Lian Meiyu’s team only now learned that Liu Qi and his group had been there before and were somewhat familiar with it.
“Fossil Corridor,” Liu Shuang said to Wang Biao, “That’s what we call this place—Fossil Corridor.”
It was clear that after being cleansed by Yichen, their mental states had improved greatly. Not only did their actions become more human, but even their speech flowed much more smoothly.
“Corridor, huh…”
Shen Ning tried to understand in his mind.
That place was probably like a semi-enclosed passageway. It sounded grand, calling it a corridor, as if it were an indoor structure. But in reality, the interior layout was much rougher, just like the previous two Sacred Places.
Upon arriving, even though they lowered their expectations, the girl was still shocked by the sight.
“So this is… the Corridor?”
A massive rectangular pit with no refined decor, only rows upon rows of earthen walls. Looking from a distance, some surfaces glowed faintly.
When you got closer and looked carefully, the earthen walls seemed to be embedded with many small humanoid figures. Some emitted light, some were dim, each with different brightness.
“What exactly is this?” Shen Ning couldn’t help but ask.
Liu You still answered as before: “Fossil Corridor—these things are fossils.”
“Fossils of what?”
“Our fossils.”
“Ours?”
Shen Ning instinctively repeated, lightly touching one, and suddenly thought of a possibility: “So these represent versions of ourselves?”
“Yes, they’re about our mental states,” Liu Shuang said, using a technical term he wasn’t sure of at first. He’d only discovered it after touching the wall for the first time and finding that word in his pocket unexpectedly. Later, he figured it out—these little figures on the stone slabs corresponded to the mental state of everyone who had come here. Those who retained a bit of reason would emit some light.
After the explanation, Shen Liu finally understood.
“So we…”
The girl didn’t finish her sentence before Liu Ji pulled her toward the very front, of course. As the earliest people brought in by Mu Shi, their places were right in the first row on the first slab.
The very first figure on the stone slab wore a vintage gentleman’s hat, easily recognizable as Xing Taolong. From the second figure onward were those who survived the mine disaster. Because they entered too late, the light on each figure was faint.
Shen Ning found herself at position twenty-nine—a thin little girl figure, the first Meilong in the row. She happened to be the twenty-eighth. Her body glowed with warm light, but… one of her eyes continued to emit a white radiance, much brighter than the others.
“What does this mean?” She pointed at the glowing eye and asked.
“That light is the remnant of reason supplemented by external power—it floats on the surface. It’s always that way,” Liu Ji explained. “Only by relying on emotions that come from within can humanity be restored, and those emotions shine out from the eyes—maybe because the eyes are the windows to the soul.”
Shen Ning looked around at all the figures with hollow, empty eyes, then back at the little girl that represented herself—one eye shining with radiant light. At that moment, she remembered what Liu Qu had once said.
The realm of sleep, the king of solitude… So it wasn’t about competition after all.
“But why am I like this? I wasn’t brought in here.”
The girl knew she was special, but her humanity had been left behind in the mortal world three years ago. But Liu Quan had also said, though she didn’t enter at first, her reflection in the stone had always been present. The little girl numbered twenty-nine in the Fossil Corridor was proof of that.
What was it that, even amidst confusion, added a burning light for her?
At that moment, Meige beside her suddenly spoke up: “Maybe someone has always been with you, but not in a particularly good way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if someone is always by your side, endlessly good to you, like a little sun, then both the person and the scene would shine, right?” Meilong shrugged and continued, “But sunlight that’s too strong looks red or yellow to us, and it’s dazzling, enough to illuminate the whole corridor. But yours… well, it’s not so bright, it’s soft, just like…”
At first, the people on the beach hadn’t noticed anything. Some bolder ones were in good spirits, tossing things on the shore, swimming, and even surfing.
“Hey, look there! What’s that? The tide’s coming in!”
They really were gutsy. After all, just a few days ago they’d seen people behaving strangely on the beach and just laughed about it.
Far away, Wang Li put away the binoculars—not because she didn’t want to watch, but because there was no need; this time, the scene could be admired directly.
“You know, during the Spirit Age, there was a saying about nature: ‘The law of the jungle, survival of the fittest.’ ” She began to explain to her subordinates. “That means, in short, the law of nature is ruthless. If someone can’t adapt to living in this world, they’ll surely be eliminated. Just like those people there, they’re about to be weeded out.”
As she finished speaking, the seawater suddenly surged upward, and countless long white tentacles emerged from the sea, gently brushing over the people on the Beach.
Swish, swish, swish!
Sharp barbed needles instantly pierced through the bodies of those in the front row, turning them into human pincushions in a flash.
“Ah—what the hell!”
The scream came from further back, where those unscathed by the first attack stood. Witnessing the scene with their own eyes, they were terrified and ran for their lives. Those struck had no chance to scream, for their bodies rapidly dissolved from the toxin within the stingers—a gruesome display of on-the-spot liquefaction and bone exposure.
Someone couldn’t help glancing back and immediately vomited on the spot.
Wang Li bounced up in delight. “Exactly! That’s it! Do you know, I’ve always felt that the element of ‘cruelty’ was missing from Elemental Power, and that’s why this world isn’t perfect. But now, it seems that’s not the case—the severed arm of Venus simply wasn’t attached to a human.”
Usually resentful, Qu Xia, at this moment, couldn’t help his scalp tingling and tried not to look any longer or respond to her words.
“Is there any way for them to survive?” Wang Li watched the fleeing crowd, showing little concern. “Isn’t there a saying, ‘when the props take the stage, the plot will end’?”
The mutant beast landed, and the crowd fled in panic. The patrol rushed in to capture them. The scene was utter chaos.
No one noticed the Beach had turned cold, with countless sharp ice spikes mixed into the sand. Anyone who stepped wrong could never move again.
But Xu Chu noticed.
“Wang Li’s making her move.” He spoke to Yu Jie, who stood by, “Head Teacher, can you track her main position along the Elemental Power signature?”