Chapter 680: Logical Closed Loop

A subtle expression of admiration appeared on the young man's face, as if recalling a scene that had left a deep impression on him.

His fingers gripping the hilt tightened slightly, the knuckles rubbing against the handle as if he were gathering his words.

"The General's trial lasted a full seven shichen."

The light in his pupils dimmed slightly, the Imperial Bow Director of Destiny's oracle launched more than thirty divine arrows at you throughout the trial. You caught most of them, and a few you didn't evade—you also didn't evade. After the trial ended, you stepped out of the space; your mind remained relatively clear, but various bodily functions had already been damaged. Your hair, once light brown, has turned gray‑white, allegedly because it was stained by the Imperial Bow's power.

"Lord Bai Lu later diagnosed that this was caused by the Imperial Bow's divine arrows consuming your destiny, not ordinary physical injury, and recovery will be slow. You laughed at the time, telling Lord Bai Lu that as long as you passed, it was fine, then you fell asleep for a full three days."

How many?

Seven shichen.

Over thirty divine arrows.

Did not evade.

Am I really that awesome?

Qingque listened to these matters concerning herself and felt as if she were hearing someone else's story.

She had no memory at all, and subconsciously brushed the gray‑white strands hanging on her shoulders.

When her fingertips touched the icy hair, an indescribable feeling rose in her heart.

Stained by the Imperial Bow's power?

Yan Qing continued, "After passing the trial, you received the Imperial Bow's bestowed spiritual might—Boundless Myriad Blossoms. I have never seen you wield this spiritual might, but according to senior members of the Cloud Cavalry, that day it shone with blinding radiance."

The corner of Qingque's mouth twitched.

Spiritual might.

She, a Tai Bu Si Diviner, now actually possesses a spiritual might.

And its name is "Boundless Myriad Blossoms"—it sounds impressive, yet she has no idea what it is.

Thinking of that, Qingque's eyes suddenly narrowed a bit.

Could it be a dream?

She pinched herself.

It didn't hurt.

There was nothing.

That patch of skin felt like someone else's; aside from the pressure of the fingers pinching it, no pain was transmitted.

It really is a dream!

Qingque's mouth corner involuntarily lifted.

What the heck, so it was a dream.

She had been nervous for so long, still forcing the General's stance.

Since it's a dream, there's no need to pretend; after all, it's her own dream, it can come however it wants.

"General."

Yan Qing's voice suddenly sounded, with a hint of confusion, "Did you forget—you have already lost your sense of pain?"

Qingque's smile froze on her face.

She slowly turned her head, her emerald eyes meeting Yan Qing's serious pupils.

The young man tilted his head, pure confusion on his face.

"What?"

Qingque's voice squeezed out of her throat, "Lost what?"

"Sensation of pain."

Yan Qing repeated, "You sacrificed your sense of pain in the Imperial Bow Trial. Don't you remember?"

Qingque stared at him.

Her mind completely halted at that moment.

Sacrifice? Sense of pain?

Those two words together, she had never even heard of.

What does sacrificing pain mean?

Can something like a sense of pain be sacrificed?

Sacrifice to whom?

The Imperial Bow?

What does the Imperial Bow want with her sense of pain?

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Her facial expression went through the full process—from shock to doubt to attempting to maintain composure—in just two seconds.

Then she inhaled deeply, switched the direction of her crossed legs, leaned back against the chair, and tried to make it look as if she had merely taken a short divine walk earlier.

"Continue."

The voice was half a tone lower than before, "I ask, you answer."

Yan Qing nodded.

Qingque threw her questions one after another.

She asked quickly, Yan Qing answered even faster.

The young man knew every detail of the Luofu General's succession like the back of his hand—when the resignation documents were submitted, when they were approved, who drafted the recommendation letter, what the trial entailed, and how the trial results were announced.

Each piece of information fit together tightly, the timeline precise to the month, the relationships clear down to who said which line in which setting.

The more Qingque listened, the colder her back felt.

In theory, a dream should be chaotic and illogical.

The dreams she had before—flying in the sky to strike Imperial Wall Jade, being chased by the Grand Diviner into overtime, drinking talking oolong tea in a tea house—none of them held up to scrutiny.

But this dream before her, every sentence stands up to scrutiny.

All the questions Yan Qing answered could corroborate each other; the causal chain of the timeline was as clear as Tai Bu Si's divination analysis report.

The logic formed a closed loop, indeed.

Qingque remained silent for a long time.

Long enough that Yan Qing began to anxiously shift their toes.

Finally, Qingque raised a hand and waved it weakly: "You… go down first. This General wants to be alone for a while."

Yan Qing immediately clasped fists and saluted: "I, your subordinate, take my leave."

The youth turned and left, his footsteps light and rhythmic, soon disappearing at the far end of the hallway beyond the hall.

In the hall, only Qingque remained.

She slumped onto the General's seat, eyes vacant as she stared at the dome overhead.

The entwined cloud patterns on the beams cast mottled shadows in the daylight, and the pieces on the massive Chessboard stood silently.

Everything felt so real—the faint incense in the air, the feel of the seat beneath her bottom.

Qingque inhaled deeply, braced the armrest, and stood up.

She needed to confirm something.

As she turned, she happened to see the floor‑to‑ceiling mirror beside her.

The mirror fully reflected her current appearance: gray‑white mixed‑brown hair loose down to her waist, an asymmetrical cyan‑green and mist‑gray outfit outlining a slender figure, the left side's wide sleeve hanging loosely over the shoulder, the right side's sleeveless cut exposing the entire Lock and shoulder line, the left thigh's white lines evident beneath the short skirt, and the right side's layered sheer fabric slanting in a light split.

The outer corner of her left eye was lightly brushed with a pale cyan hue, the outer corner of her right eye slightly lifted with a fine silver line; her jade‑green almond eyes, set against the disheveled gray‑white hair, held both a girlish charm and an indefinable, aloof coolness.

She walked to the front of the mirror and stood still.

The person in the mirror looked at her, and she looked at the person in the mirror.

The gray‑white hair fell over her shoulders, shimmering with a faint cool sheen in the light spilling from the dome.

The asymmetrical cut of the outfit clung to her body lines, each exposed patch of skin appearing especially fair against the fabric.

In her jade‑green almond eyes reflected the mirror's glint; her lashes were long and unruly, her lips a cool nude‑pink; when not smiling they exuded a high‑level aloofness, and when slightly pursed they revealed a girlish charm.

Qingque had to admit—quite attractive.

"Is this really me?"

She reached out and brushed the face in the mirror.

Her fingertip touched the icy glass, and the mirror‑person's fingertip touched hers.

The gray‑white strands fell onto the back of her hand, the feel absurdly real.