Chapter 692: Visiting Feng Jin

The market of Ao He Ma was bustling with voices.

Heimu walked along the marble‑paved main street, where the Greek‑columned buildings on either side glowed with a warm ivory hue under Yongzhou's daylight, and golden trim flickered at the swirling capitals.

A pot‑seller shouted hoarsely, and the scent of baked herb bread drifted from a nearby furnace, mingling with the fresh aroma of olive oil.

A few locals in linen robes herded a docile Earth Beast past her; the beast's hooves thudded dully on the stone slabs, and its tail swung lazily.

By the roadside spring pool crouched a tiny, furry chimera, pawing at the water's surface.

Everything felt as real as if it were genuine.

Of course, it was truly real; the data were replicated to this precision, even the spice ratios in the air restored gram by gram from Memory.

Heimu casually picked up a Stone Pomegranate from a stall, weighed it, then set it back down.

The stall owner, a middle‑aged woman wrapped in a blue headscarf, was busy handing Dried Fig to a customer and didn't notice anyone had touched her goods.

Heimu, using invisibility, roamed Ao He Ma for almost half an hour, walking from the mid‑mountain bathhouse of Yunshi Tian Gong to the market square, and no one gave her a second glance.

This way of strolling was incredibly satisfying—no greetings, no forced polite smiles, and she could touch whatever she wanted.

When she originally granted the permission to Xi Lian, she never imagined it could reach this level.

Heimu looked at the prosperous scene before her and nodded.

Indeed, leaving it to the locals is better.

As a lone transmigrator, even with a full data set in her mind, designing this isn't something raw computing power can solve.

She wonders how they are doing.

Heimu stopped in the center of the square; a few strands of her ash‑gray long hair were lifted by a breeze coming from the bathhouse direction.

Xi Lian, Na Ke Xia, Ti Bao, and a few others she hadn't formally met yet.

In a sense, these people are her responsibility.

Even though she didn't request it, since the permission is in her hands, she must bear it.

A thought triggered the System Panel to pop up before her, and the translucent Purple-Black Light Screen displayed real‑time data for the entire Ao He Ma.

She swiped twice, setting the filter: Golden Descendant, nearest distance.

The result showed: north‑east, less than two hundred meters away, inside a garden.

Heimu closed the panel and stepped toward it.

When she reached the alley entrance, her body dispersed into the transmitting Purple-Black Light Dot, then re‑coalesced behind the garden's shrubbery; the whole process was so quiet that even the birds perched on nearby trees were not startled.

Those few birds were actually quite pretty.

Gray‑blue small songbirds perched in groups on shrub branches blooming with pale‑purple flowers, occasionally emitting crisp short chirps.

The air carried a sweet herbal scent.

The ground was covered with fine white stones that whispered a faint rustle underfoot.

The garden was modest, encircled by neatly trimmed laurel trees, with a few stone benches in the center whose backs were overgrown with vines bearing small yellow blossoms.

On one of the benches sat a pink‑haired girl, turned away from her.

Her hair had a peach‑tinged pink hue, tied into two long twin braids.

A beret of violet‑red and white sat on her head, its brim adorned with wings and a golden halo, and a fluffy headband lifted the twin braids high.

Several Gold Hyacinth Ornaments were pinned to the hat, shedding a soft sheen in the sunlight.

Heimu halted, not moving forward immediately.

Feng Jin.

She had never met this person before.

Today was their first meeting.

Heimu's toe brushed the white‑stone ground, and a not‑very‑serious question turned in her mind: a greeting gift.

Going over empty‑handed always feels oddly awkward.

After all, greeting with empty hands on a first meeting seems insincere.

But what should she give?

Pull something out casually from System Space?

No, that would be too perfunctory.

Create a strange item?

What if the other side doesn't like it?

More crucial is the issue of identity.

How should she introduce herself?

"I am Heimu, or the Iron Tomb you know—the one that almost caused Destruction of the world. This world now resides within me, but I've made a replica for you to live in, hello."

Heimu pondered as she approached, her steps light, the soles of her boots whispering faintly on the white‑stone path.

When she was still twenty‑to‑thirty steps away, she suddenly heard Feng Jin speaking.

The voice was sweet, with a hint of a milk‑toned girl's timbre, yet the tone was steady, not like that of a little girl.

"If xxxx is your power, then without it, what are you?"

Heimu's steps halted.

What thing?

She didn't move forward, standing still, the final dozen‑plus steps away, watching Feng Jin's back.

The pink nape tilted slightly, and the wing ornament on the beret swayed.

Nearby were a few little girls, about seven or eight years old, wearing Ao He Ma's common little robes, their hair tied with colorful ribbons, all looking up with bewildered faces.

Feng Jin spoke again, still with that soft voice, but the sentences grew increasingly odd.

"People define themselves through actions. So, in the interval before an action occurs, what exactly is your existence?"

A little girl with a blue hairband opened her mouth, then closed it again, her brows knit into a tiny knot, and she looked at the companion beside her as if asking for help.

The curly‑haired little girl next to her shook her head vigorously and whispered something incomprehensible.

The older‑looking one sitting at the far edge was trying to keep a "I'm thinking" expression, but her gaze had already begun to drift.

Heimu stood beside the laurel tree, expression subtle.

What does it mean?

Feng Jin hadn't finished speaking.

The teal eyes beneath the hat were surely serious at this moment, yet her voice remained sweet; the two together produced an oddly cute effect.

She raised one hand and held up her index finger.

"Imagine this."

She said to the girls, her tone patient and coaxing, "Your hand. When you use it to take bread, it is your hand. When you use it for surgery, it is the surgeon's hand. So, if you simply place your hand on your knee and do nothing, is it still a hand?"

The blue‑hairband girl lowered her head to look at her hand, then slowly lifted it, flipped it over in front of her eyes and flipped it back, her expression as if checking whether her hand was still there.

The curly‑haired girl leaned toward the older one's ear and whispered, "Sister Feng Jin hasn't woken up properly today, has she?"

The older girl gave no answer, because her expression had shifted from "I'm thinking" to "I'm questioning life."