Chapter 681: No Pain

She lifted her hand upward and touched her own hair.

Gray‑white strands slipped through her fingers, cold and smooth.

Yan Qing said it was caused by the influence of the Imperial Bow's power.

She pulled out a lock and held it before her eyes to examine it; from root to tip the color gradated, shifting from the original light brown to a misty gray‑white, as if winter were slowly climbing onto autumn branches.

It wasn't dyed; it was altered from within.

She touched her face again.

Emerald‑green apricot eyes, long lashes, and cool‑toned bare‑pink lips.

The faint teal hue at the outer corner of her left eye felt slightly slick to the touch, while a fine silver line at the outer corner of her right eye was slightly raised.

The asymmetrical garment cut clung to her body; the left side featured a loose, comfortable wide sleeve, the right side had a cut‑away shoulder design exposing the entire shoulder line, and the crossed silver‑chain straps on the shoulder felt faintly cool.

She lowered her hand and stared at the unfamiliar version of herself in the mirror.

Then she raised her hand, slapped her own face hard.

Snap.

The crisp sound echoed through the spacious hall.

She felt nothing at all.

Qingque's hand froze mid‑air.

She lowered her head to glance at her palm, then at the version of herself in the mirror who had been slapped yet showed no change of expression.

There was no red mark on her cheek, nothing at all.

It was as if the slap had struck not her face but a numb stone.

She refused to believe it and slapped again.

Snap.

Still no sensation.

She slapped again, then again, alternating left and right as if drawing a bow, several times.

Snap snap snap snap.

The crisp sound reverberated through the hall for several rounds before fading.

But her cheek still felt nothing.

No pain, no sensation at all.

Only the tactile feedback of her palm striking the skin traveled from her hand, confirming she had indeed touched something, yet the slapped side—no reaction whatsoever.

Qingque's hand finally lowered.

She stood before the mirror, looking at the bewildered girl with emerald‑green apricot eyes reflected within.

That girl also stared at her, her expression identical to hers—eyes wide open, lips slightly ajar, a look of disbelief.

The person in the mirror raised a hand, then lowered it.

She also raised a hand, then lowered it.

The mirror person's hand touched her cheek; she felt only cold skin, no pain.

She pulled a gray‑white strand hard—her scalp gave a slight tugging sensation, but the feeling was vague, as if perceiving the outside world through a thick layer of cloth.

Her sense of taste was gone too; she licked her lips and could taste nothing, unable even to tell whether her lips were dry or wet.

Yan Qing said she had lost pain sensation, lost taste, and a bunch of "other negative conditions."

Now she confirmed that the pain sensation was truly gone.

The taste was also truly gone. As for what those "other negative conditions" were—she didn't know yet, but they certainly weren't anything good.

Qingque lowered her hand, letting it hang at her side. The person in the mirror also lowered a hand, hanging at the side.

If this were a dream, it would be too realistic.

Pain can disappear, taste can disappear, hair can be bleached to gray‑white, clothes can become asymmetrical yet stylish and attractive, Fu Xuan can call her "Sparrow General," and Yan Qing can answer each of her questions earnestly.

Every detail withstands scrutiny, and each follow‑up question has a reasonable answer.

She asked from beginning to end and found no logical flaw.

Trials, retirement, nomination, endorsement, treasure arrows, personal approval— the timeline is clear and complete, cause and effect tightly linked.

But the problem is— it's too complete.

Qingque stared at the unfamiliar woman in the mirror, and a thought suddenly flashed in her mind.

So complete it didn't feel real.

Like a deck of cards, feeling like four tiny fish straight flushes—too perfect, perfect enough to make one suspect someone had tampered with the deck.

She pulled a strand of hair and tugged hard.

The tugging sensation was so vague she could barely detect it.

She slapped the mirror again, still feeling nothing.

The mirror person's hand froze mid‑air, the emerald‑green apricot eyes reflecting the skylight pouring down from the hall's dome.

"Is this really a dream?"

No one answered her.

Only the gray‑white‑haired girl in the mirror stared at her with the same bewildered gaze, lips slightly open, as if asking the same question.

Perspective shift.

On the barren surface, purple‑black Flame still burned sporadically, and the criss‑crossing ravines on the ground looked as if a giant beast had repeatedly clawed them.

The dim yellow sky overhead had been ripped open by several meteor trails, and the clouds churned with purple‑red boundaries, dyeing the whole sky like a cooling hot iron.

Heimu stood on a jutting rock, looking up at that thing in the sky.

Shen E hovered in mid‑air, the purple patterns on its upper body still flowing slowly, Light Wings unfolding behind it, each breath causing the patterns' brightness to pulse.

Her ash‑white hair fluttered in the heat wave, and those unfocused purple eyes kept Lock onto the Heimu on the ground without blinking.

Heimu lifted a hand, and the fingertip brushed across her own cheek.

The slight scratch was shallow, located less than an inch below the left eye, made when she brushed past earlier.

The edge of the scratch showed no torn skin pattern, nor any fluid seeping out, only an extremely fine violet‑black glimmer flickering faintly within the fissure.

In less than two seconds, the scratch healed on its own.

The violet‑black light gathered from the edge toward the center, like a zipper being pulled, sealing the fissure anew.

The restored area was smooth as before, with not a trace left.

The warm‑up is over.

Time to show some real skill.

Heimu's mouth corner lifted in a tiny arc.

Something flashed deep within the violet‑black pupil.

In the silence, countless thoughts flashed through her mind: data simulation, spatial folding, Dimension Compression, causal chain dismantling.

These processes ran in parallel deep within her consciousness, each thread computing independently, finally converging into a conclusion so concise it was a single character.

It works.

She casually raised her right hand.

The ground began to tremble.

The rocky surface beneath her feet started to bulge upward, piece by piece, as if an unseen hand were pushing from below—Boom!

Each bulge formed a stone pillar, varying in thickness, yet every cross‑section was a perfect square.

After breaking through the ground, the pillars kept growing upward at an absurd speed, covering dozens of meters in the blink of an eye.

From afar, the earth seemed to sprout a perfectly square stone forest, the dense pillars arching toward the Shen E in the sky at angles that appeared casual but were precisely calculated.

Doesn't he love diving from height to cleave people?

Then let's give him a stepping stone.

Shen E did not wait for those square pillars to enclose it.

Her ash‑white hair swung in the wind as she dived down, the great sword trailing behind, carving an arc of violet flame!

Bang!