Chapter 30

The mist gradually dispersed, General Barottoli sighed in relief—the Mist Village incident had finally been resolved—though over four thousand had died, as long as the mist would not spread further and the nearby Balia City remained unharmed, no more deaths would occur, and all sacrifices were not in vain.

He gazed at the distant Chinese rescue team; though his heart had eased, his expression grew even more anxious and solemn than before, for Director Zhou’s face had darkened to the point of dripping, and all other Chinese support personnel wore looks of urgent distress. If he now suggested withdrawing troops, he had no doubt Director Zhou would instantly turn on him.

“Search—search every inch! Even if you dig down three feet, bring her back to me!” The harsh words spat from Director Zhou’s clenched teeth.

Though they had already searched the mist three times, Feng Liancheng, Chen Yushu, and Wei Chang’an re-entered the thinning fog.

Hamid watched this and shook his head, muttering: “Even if you dig through the entire Earth, it’s useless—the fissure leads to another world; she’s probably still there now…”

Daniel, Helen, and Silva—the three who had just escaped the fissure—moved silently away from him; only Jane kindly tugged his sleeve, urging him to watch his tongue.

Director Zhou forcibly suppressed his rage, whirled around, and glared at him fiercely.

How could these useless fools emerge, while Yang Yi—given her abilities—ended up trapped inside? If not for fear of provoking international disputes, he would have arrested these Awakened right now and forced them to spill every detail—every hidden, every unnoticed nuance—of what happened within.

Suddenly, a fissure opened above the mist, like a sky-eye opening. This anomaly instantly triggered a commotion; everyone went on high alert.

Then a figure flashed out from the fissure, stood motionless for a moment, then flew down toward the people below.

“It’s Yang Yi!” Feng Liancheng, with his keen eyesight, shouted the moment she appeared.

Director Zhou’s furrowed brow suddenly relaxed; he exhaled in relief.

As soon as Yang Yi landed, Director Zhou carefully scanned her from head to toe, and a smile returned to his face. He wanted to scold her, but feared humiliating her in front of everyone, so he swallowed the rebuke—for now—and resolved to address it later, in private.

Feng Liancheng studied Yang Yi; her complexion was poor, dark clouds gathering on her face as if a storm would break at any moment—she rarely showed emotion, usually wearing a calm, detached expression—but now she didn’t even bother pretending. Her mood was truly at its lowest.

Something must have happened! he thought silently, observing Yang Yi’s movements closely.

Yang Yi voluntarily briefed the Brazilian side on what had occurred inside—essentially matching the accounts of the five who had just emerged. General Barottoli warmly invited them to nearby Balia City to express gratitude, but Yang Yi declined.

“Let’s go home,” Yang Yi said wearily.

Director Zhou waved his hand. “Set course for home!”

The word “home” instantly lifted everyone’s spirits, though they’d barely spent any time there. Only the scientific staff sighed heavily—they still had to remain to monitor the mist.

On the return flight, Yang Yi gave Director Zhou a detailed report of everything that happened inside the fissure—except for the stone chair, the Source of Life, and the voice inside her own body.

Hearing prophecies of “gods” and “doomsday,” Director Zhou listened calmly; but when he learned that Veid had linked doomsday to the emergence of New Humans and deliberately sowed discord between them and ordinary people, his brow tightened; when he heard the altar could truly connect to some unknown mysterious entity, his face grew even more grave; when he learned a Fire Demon had a Fire Demon God behind it, he drew a sharp breath; when Yang Yi described how Veid had projected images of planets being invaded into their minds, Director Zhou leapt to his feet.

“This must be reported immediately!” he declared firmly.

By the time they returned to the Chinese capital, city lights blazed, everyone was starving, but no one had time to eat—a meeting concerning the future direction of the world awaited them.

Meanwhile, Silva, who had escaped, and Daniel and the other three returned to the United Nations entered a heavily guarded meeting room.

“The sky is about to change!” Before entering the meeting room, Feng Liancheng gazed at the night sky lit by the city’s glow.

————

The meeting lasted all night.

At dawn’s first light, exhausted, Yang Yi returned alone to her dormitory. Slumped on the sofa, she stared blankly at the ceiling light, its surface patterned with faint purple speckles—so like the tiny flowers of the yellow jasmine in her secret base.

Every late spring to early summer, yellow jasmine bloomed—her favorite season, when all life stirred, grass turned lush green, and flowers burst forth in endless succession. On the high cliff, she lay on a wicker recliner, waves crashing against the rocks below, gazing far out at the sea—a brilliant turquoise, like fine jade—as she drifted between sleep and wakefulness, feeling as if she’d stepped beyond the mortal world.

What time was it now? she wondered, but her mind was a fog; she couldn’t recall today’s date, not even the year.

Though only days had passed since her powers were first discovered, it felt like years.

The faint purple speckles before her blurred; a vast jade-like sea surged toward her; she seemed to smell the scent of blooming yellow jasmine—though not pleasant, its wild, mountain air freed her from torment, gradually drawing her back to that otherworldly haven.

She lay on the recliner, a cup of osmanthus tea steaming on the small table beside her; its fragrance drifted on the sea breeze, opening every pore of her body.

Tomorrow after work, I should go pick some Buddha’s hand clams, she thought; it’s been ages since I ate them, and I’d save a meal’s cost. Sigh—I paid a full year’s rent at once; the next few months will be tight.

Should I set up a stall at the night market? The other day I saw several girls selling trinkets—lots of buyers. Maybe I should too?

But the thought of the crowded night market instantly crushed the idea. Forget it—I’ll just take more online freelance jobs.

On the way here, I saw a few locust trees in bloom; when I get back, I’ll pick a bagful—saves on groceries. Wild amaranth and purslane are growing well too—I’ll gather some…

Thinking this, she immediately rolled over, pulled a plastic bag from her pocket, shook it open to the wind, and bent to search for wild greens.

But why had the sky suddenly darkened? Distant black clouds pressed low, crushing down to the sea’s surface; the wind grew fiercer, scattering the blue-purple yellow jasmine blossoms, carrying the osmanthus scent far away, overturning her small table—its glass tea set shattered on the cliff’s bare rocks.

Is it going to rain? Yang Yi thought. Better head home before I get soaked.

Just as she lifted her foot to leave, she heard a rustling from below the cliff—as if countless insects were climbing upward.

Why would there be insects? Curious, she walked to the cliff’s edge and looked down—when a withered hand suddenly shot up and gripped her ankle.

Yang Yi gasped—but the sight along the cliff face sent a chill crawling up her spine; she froze in place.

Along the cliff’s hundreds of meters, a dense crowd pressed against each other, piled atop one another like bees swarming in a hive, layered and overlapping, like goldfish exploding with infected scales—all desperately clawing upward.

The hand gripping her ankle belonged to the person at the very top.

Yang Yi’s entire body turned icy; her mind went numb. Suddenly, a tiny figure struggling upward on the cliff seemed eerily familiar—a flash of lightning split her thoughts: she remembered a small boy in a red T-shirt, kneeling before a blue altar, all flesh dried away, leaving only gray-white skin stretched over bone, impossibly gaunt.

Ah—she remembered. These people—all of them—were residents of Mist Village. They all died before the altar, their flesh transformed into pure energy. And that energy now resided inside her.

Her ankle ached with pressure; she snapped back to awareness. The dense crowd along the cliff had begun climbing up, like a summer lake overrun with fish eggs, piling thickly at the cliff’s edge.

Yang Yi wrenched free from the grip on her ankle, stepping back—but heard their faint, whispering murmurs. She strained to understand, yet her mind buzzed with noise; she heard nothing.

She retreated, retreated—until a sharp pain pierced her heel, halting her. She looked down: the broken glass tea set. She had backed into her secret base.

The withered crowds had now invaded here, crushing her yellow jasmine, osmanthus, oleander, and vines, shattering her haven, crushing the last quiet sanctuary within her heart.

“…Nothingness…”

She thought she heard someone speak, but the whisper faded into the buzzing in her mind, replaced by another phrase: “…liar…”

“What? Who’s talking?” Yang Yi shouted at the crowd. Somehow, she felt weak, her limbs heavy, barely able to stand.

The sea-like writhing crowd paused—though perhaps it was her illusion—then continued crawling toward her.

“…liar…heaven…doesn’t exist…only nothingness…give back our life-source…”

This time, Yang Yi understood. Her body flushed hot, then icy cold; she felt drunk, spinning, all figures swirling around her, the whispers echoing louder and louder in her skull: “…liar…liar…give back our life-source…” The murmurs grew from faint calls to deafening roars.

She was trapped in mud, struggling desperately, yet could barely move a finger, watching the corpse-like crowd surge forward, gradually drowning her, swallowing her secret base…

Yang Yi awoke drenched in sweat, her undergarments soaked, binding her like ropes. She used her mental force to unfasten them; she exhaled in relief.

Just as before falling asleep, she still half-lay on the sofa; the purple speckles on the ceiling light still shone into her eyes, giving her a moment of dizziness.

She rose and paced twice around the room, then walked to the window. Outside, lights glowed everywhere; the garden below still shone; the roses bloomed alone; only insects chirped, deepening the silence.

What time was it? Why was it still dark? Yang Yi checked her phone: 3:41 a.m. She’d slept only minutes.

The final hour before dawn felt unbearable. She turned in place, deciding to shower—perhaps an even larger meeting awaited her tomorrow.

She approached the sink, picked up her toothbrush, squeezed on toothpaste—and suddenly felt the reflection in the mirror watching her. Her hand froze; her gaze lingered on the mirror—the reflection watched her too.

The face before her was still familiar. Objectively, it could be called attractive: a young woman in her prime, features even, skin smooth, tall and slender—enough to be considered good-looking. But her eyes bore a weariness unfit for her age; her pupils were pitch-black, like two black holes ready to swallow everything. A slight bony ridge on her nose added stubbornness and dominance to her delicate features, lending her a unique, indescribable aura.

She shoved the toothbrush into her mouth; the reflection mimicked her. She foamed her mouth; the reflection overflowed with white bubbles.

Ha—Yang Yi gave a self-deprecating laugh. Paranoid. Just a dream.

She drank water, swished, bent to spit.

But a terrible chill suddenly crawled up her spine; goosebumps rose in layers; her body locked rigid—her peripheral vision showed the reflection in the mirror had not lowered its head, but held the toothbrush and cup, smiling at her.

Yang Yi forced herself to look up, at the familiar yet alien face in the mirror.

The reflection smiled—and suddenly, black sludge burst from her eyes, mouth, nose, ears, oozing from every pore.

Yang Yi staggered back, dropping toothbrush and cup. She looked down: sludge seeped from her entire body, sticky, cold, dragging her downward with crushing despair—as if falling into an endless abyss.

She rushed into the dark bathroom, turned on the shower, scrubbed frantically, trying to wash off the sludge, wash away these black sins—until her skin burned red and raw.

The warm water brought some relief; gradually, the chill receded, her tense nerves loosened.

Too much has happened lately. Too much stress. Yang Yi, rinsing her body, thought silently: maybe I should return to Haibei City.

She used her mental force to turn on the light—and was instantly blinded by a sea of red.

The warm water wasn’t water at all—it was blood, still warm, gushing from the showerhead, washing black sludge into a swirling mire; black and red mixed, making her even more filthy.

Soon, the entire bathroom was flooded with sludge and blood, forming a swamp that swallowed her deeper and deeper; she couldn’t breathe.

As suffocation seized her, an involuntary thought surfaced: What is the point of being alive…