Chapter 20
Chapter 20
The dust had settled over Xinghui Amusement Park, and with the hefty consultant’s fee came a brief shot of adrenaline to Yun Xi’s everyday life. Up in the penthouse, the air carried a post-calamity slackness—ghost-scents of spicy crayfish and syrupy milk tea braided with the drowsy afternoon light drifting through the windows, conjuring the counterfeit peace of “all is well.”
A wicker chair on the balcony creaked. Yun Xi lay half-reclined in it, silver-white hair strewn across her shoulders, a few strands teasing her smooth forehead whenever the breeze stirred. Eyes shut, thick lashes casting a faint shadow, she might have been napping. On the petite round table in front of her, a half-finished full-sugar boba tea stood sweating; droplets slid down the cup wall.
Her right hand rested on the armrest, fingertips absently brushing the cool, glossy surface of the Eternal Dream: Prime Abyss bracelet around her left wrist. The park ordeal—shattered laughter, petrified terror, the resigned grief of endings—unspooled in her mind like bleached film, minus the old nausea. In its place: a strange, lucid clarity.
She understood now. The so-called Shadowmares weren’t mere filth or monsters; they were splinters left after entire world-lines winked out—congealed emotion, unfinished obsessions, lamination of time-forgotten screams. Knowing where they came from and why they clung on showed her where to send them. That knowledge became a key, unlocking a door to deeper mysteries of power.
A fingertip twitched.
A single strand of indigo light—thinner than hair, almost transparent—slipped out of the bracelet like a living thread. Not the destructive flecks of Xing Dian, not the clumsy freshness-preserving halo she’d first produced: this was gentle, warm, carrying the quiet cadence of time itself.
The filament drifted to a pothos on the side table and curled around a tired leaf whose tip had yellowed.
Hum...
A ripple so faint it might have been imagination.
And then the impossible. The yellowed edge paled, as if an invisible eraser had smudged it away. The leaf perked up, still mottled but no longer dying. Three, maybe four seconds; then the indigo thread dissolved, exhausted.
Yun Xi opened her eyes. Blue irises held fatigue, but brighter still was a flash of triumph. It worked. Costly, brief, yet it was the first time she had used—really used—the so-called Time Stardust. Not to smash or freeze, but to coax, to guide, to slow time’s flow inside a living cell.
“Waa—!” Milu, draped over the railing, squeaked, jade eyes perfectly round. “Senior Yun Xi, you’re amazing! You... you bent time!” She hugged her oak staff, whole face screaming teach-me.
The indigo orb—Xing Dian—whizzed around the vanished thread, humming like a delighted bee, flames of light skipping in glee.
At Yun Xi’s feet, Yue Fei flicked a snowy tail tip, violet slits of eyes cracking open long enough to appraise the plant, then closing again. A satisfied purr fluttered in his throat.
Warm sun, distant traffic, Milu’s adoration, Xing Dian’s dance—Yun Xi sipped the cooled boba, chewy pearls rolling across her tongue. For a heartbeat she almost believed she was adapting.
The park’s echo had become her tutor; understanding the after-images lent her a scrap of confidence in the chronal power under her skin. That fragile peace settled over her like a thin blanket, muffling the sharpest edges of the chaos that had followed her transformation.
But stillness on the surface never calms the undertow.
Her city-issue handset—a stark, blocky CAMCC device—pinged. She flicked it open: follow-up monitoring report, all readings nominal, contamination eradicated. Attached, a boiler-plate thank-you letter.
Dear Consultant Yun Xi,
The handling of the Xinghui Amusement Park incident has proven satisfactory; both efficiency and methodology were exemplary. The city’s safety relies on dependable forces such as yourself. May you persevere in this condition and respond whenever the Center calls.
—Anomaly Management Section, City Anomaly Management & Coordination Center (CAMCC)
The phrases “reliable force,” “ Consultant Yun Xi,” slid across her mind without triggering the old recoil. She felt... nothing much. Odder still, that absence of feeling.
She remembered loosening the rusted carousel bolts and sensing congealed time; whispering the tunnel’s Wailing Aggregate into momentary quiet; blessing the Cocoon of Termination atop the Ferris wheel. Victories, yes—but also validation. She had deciphered grief and granted rest, the same way she once chased basketball triumphs or looked after friends. A strange resonance—spanning genders, names, lives—rippled through her, warming her attitude toward the role of “Yun Xi,” if only by a hair. The costume was gaining weight, and perhaps, meaning.
“Senior Yun Xi?” Milu’s voice tugged her back. The girl had crept to the table, eyes sparkling. “I wanna be a witch like you—strong and gentle! Guard everyone, purify the sad echoes! Can you teach me more?”
Each word—witch, guard, purify—pricked the gauze of Yun Xi’s hard-won calm. Milu’s admiration was a mirror, reflecting “Senior Yun Xi,” the paragon. A benevolent cage, jeweled and soft, nudging her deeper down the witch’s track, shrinking the space where “Yun Xi” might breathe.
Yun Xi managed a smile, ruffled Milu’s silver hair. “You’ll be terrific, Xiao Milu.” Her voice stayed gentle, yet the Time Stardust twitched at her fingertips, almost scattering. She curled her fingers, hiding the tremor.
Then, inside her mental sea, that languid, just-woke voice drifted in:
“Mmm—looks like the park’s echo really was the best teacher. (´･ω･`)”
“Understand them, and you touch the root of your own power. Good job, cute ‘me.’ You’re starting to feel the rhythm of existence. (●ˇ∀ˇ●)✧”
Praise from the origin, from Ancestor herself—yet it landed heavy. Meng Yun Xi applauded Yun Xi’s mastery, not Yun Xi’s maleness. The remark felt like destiny clapping, confirming the road already paved. Understand your power’s root—yes, but whose root?
To shake the suffocation, Yun Xi inhaled, diving back into the bracelet. This time she reached for memory: the college championship, junior year. Jersey plastered to her back; the ball’s drum-beat on hardwood; Wei Wu’s hoarse “Hit me!”; the last drive, muscles coiled, launching at the center, finger-roll for the win—raw, male, hungry triumph.
The instant that thought flared—
Bzzt!
A pin-head of indigo stardust flickered, unstable, edges bleeding rust-red. Her meridians seized as two incompatible currents collided; the bracelet vibrated at a shrill, insect pitch.
“Ngh—” She severed the link. The light popped out of existence, leaving a scorched tingle.
What...?
She steadied her breath, focused on now: she is Yun Xi, the witch who just saved a leaf, who earned Ancestor’s nod, who guards (even if drafted). Power answered smoothly: a round bead of indigo, silk-smooth, stretching into a thread that wrapped the leaf again—seconds only, but easier, cheaper. The bracelet cooled, quiet.
Her heart sank.
When she summoned “Yun Xi,” the flow jammed; when she embraced “Yun Xi,” it sang. One identity obstructed; the other aligned. The body, the power, were choosing sides.
Dusk poured orange over the skyline, then drained away, leaving a chill. Twilight swallowed the balcony’s warmth.
Wei Wu’s voice boomed from the living room: “Xi Zi! What’s for dinner? Little bro just got paid—let’s hit a restaurant!”
Yun Xi didn’t answer. She lifted the cup; the tea was cold, cloying, almost greasy. One sip slid down, but the cold inside stayed.
The brief peace had been foam on stale beer—sweet on top, hollow beneath. The glimmer of understanding gained in battle now backlit the rift inside her, sharper, darker.
She exhaled; white breath vanished into indigo air. Her grip tightened on the bracelet, its chill the only certainty.
“Understand the echo and you’ll understand yourself?” she whispered at the city lights starting to glitter like an overturned galaxy. The answer lay deeper, colder.
The war of being—Yun Xi against Yun Xi—was nowhere near finished. When the amusement-park glow died, real night had only begun. And the lull... the lull had been the eye of the storm, already slipping past her fingers.