Chapter 881: Young People Really Know How to Play

Dark golden specks drifted through this hazy consciousness space, and Huan Long's mood was originally leisurely.

She had seen countless consciousness spaces—shattered, insane, polluted and corroded by Abundance into a thousand holes—each like a violently torn old wound, making one feel no interest at all.

But the consciousness of this Xiao Bu Zhe from Tai Bu Si was different.

It was as tidy as a freshly cleaned archive room, the Memory fragments arranged orderly, even the scenes representing idle slacking carried a relaxed aura of "today I'm also seriously wasting time."

Huan Long traversed this space like strolling through a free museum, occasionally pausing to examine an interesting exhibit before moving on.

She skimmed past countless daily moments of Tai Bu Si: Fu Xuan slapping the table, Fu Xuan sighing, Fu Xuan tapping Qingque's head with a folding fan, Fu Xuan standing before the Exhaustive Observation Formation with a knot of tension at his brow.

The repetition was so high that Huan Long couldn't help but mutter internally, "I'm not inside Fu Xuan's mind either; why is everything Fu Xuan? Just pair them together." After long contact with cats, Huan Long's thoughts had changed considerably.

She skimmed more idle scenes: skipping work to drink tea, napping behind the innermost shelves of the archive room, dragging tasks to the last moment before the deadline and completing them at an unbelievable speed, and countless times winning colleagues' snacks at the Thus Item: Thus Item: Thus Item: Diyuanqiongyupai table.

This Xiao Bu Zhe's idle skills were master‑class, even Huan Long felt a mutual respect; if she weren't an Extinction Great Lord, she might even consider recruiting this person as a subordinate.

Then she crashed into a scene clearly larger and brighter than the other Memory fragments, and her steps involuntarily halted.

The scene was crystal clear: the Shen Ce Fu council hall, that long table she recognized, and most of the seated figures she also knew:

Bai Lu, Yan Qing, Han Ya, Yukong, Xing, Walter, and Fu Xuan seated at the head, his complexion a steel‑blue.

Then the door was pushed open, and a Qingque shuffled in, swaying.

His hair was ash‑white, just as now, but his clothes were intact, lacking the withered flowers that once sprouted from his skin.

Her expression bore the daze of just waking from a dream, she yawned, said something to Fu Xuan, and then—

Huan Long's steps were nailed to the spot.

The Qingque in the scene walked straight to Fu Xuan and, in front of everyone, kissed him.

The kiss was solid, mouth to mouth, zero distance, lasting so long that Huan Long silently counted over a dozen seconds in her mind without it stopping.

Then something even more outrageous happened: the Qingque stuck his tongue in.

The Shen Ce Fu council hall erupted on the spot.

Bai Lu covered her eyes, her fingers spread wider than the eyes themselves; Yan Qing turned to stone; Xing, with lightning speed, pulled out a phone and began recording.

And Fu Xuan—Fu Xuan's eyes widened to the largest size of his life, his face shifting from steel‑blue to blazing red.

Huan Long stood at the edge of this memory scene, watching the whole thing.

After watching, she was silent for a moment, then gave a slight shiver.

She laughed.

Young people really know how to play.

This Xiao Bu Zhe of Tai Bu Si usually seemed lazy, yet his nerve surpassed that of most Extinction Great Lord subordinates; he boldly kissed the Acting General in front of all Luofu civil and military officials, stuck out his tongue, and the kiss lasted dozens of seconds—such daring would instantly earn promotion even in the Destruction camp.

Huan Long mentally gave Qingque a note: one star, a bonus item.

Then she continued drifting forward.

The surrounding memory scenes gradually thinned, the neatly arranged fragments replaced by a thin gray‑green mist.

Floating lightly at the bottom of the consciousness space, as if suppressed by some force from spreading, yet Huan Long could sense the essence of this mist.

An Abundance aura, something more primal and pure.

She followed the source of the mist forward, passing through several thin memory membranes, and then saw.

An eye.

Red, hovering in the deep of the consciousness space, about the size of a bronze mirror.

The pupil was vertical, the iris a deep hue as if stained with blood and solidified for millennia, and something within the pupil's depths writhed slowly.

From the eye's edge countless fine roots extended outward, dark‑red, some as thick as fingers, some as fine as hair, densely piercing the surrounding consciousness space like tree roots into soil.

The surfaces of those roots pulsed subtly, beat by beat, slowly and steadily, as if something was drawing something up from the depths of the consciousness space through them.

Huan Long stopped.

She had seen many Abundance creations: Giant Tree roots, Nian Dragon flesh, the twisted polluted marks deep in the consciousness of a Mo Yin‑infected being.

Each had its own unique aspects.

But this eye before her was clearly different.

The Abundance aura was so strong that the surrounding air was tinged with a faint dark‑gold hue, yet it was extremely clean, lacking the chaotic, uncontrollable proliferative urge of ordinary Abundance creations, instead bearing a rational restraint.

It was rooted deep in Qingque's consciousness, but it was not an invader.

More like a seed.

A seed that someone had personally buried here, lying quietly, as if waiting for something.

Huan Long drifted a bit closer.

The eye's pupil suddenly shifted, locking directly onto her.

Then the vertical pupil was ripped in two from the middle, the fissure expanding outward at an incredible speed, stretching the whole eye into a massive crack.

Inside the crack blazed a dazzling golden light, spewing out and instantly engulfing Huan Long's entire field of view.

Huan Long's first reaction was to marshal her power to stabilize the boundary of her consciousness.

But the golden light's force wasn't directed at her; its mere existence was enough to tint everything around it with its hue.

When the light faded, she was no longer in that hazy consciousness space.

The heavens and earth were golden.

The dome was endless golden sky‑light, without sun or clouds, yet the whole sky glowed.

Below her feet stretched an endless dark‑gold water surface, with concentric golden light patterns slowly expanding.

The air floated with tiny golden particles, like pollen blown by wind from a massive flower field, each carrying a faint sweet, intoxicating scent.

Then she saw the tree.

It rose from the far edge of the water, piercing the golden firmament, its trunk so massive it could cover the entire sky.

The bark was dark brown, and the trunk—densely packed—was covered entirely with eyes!

Several ten thousand, perhaps several ten million.

Their sizes differ, their shapes vary; some are only the size of a fingernail cap, some as large as a wheel, embedded in every fissure of the bark, stretching from the roots up to the canopy.

Each eye has a vertical pupil, its iris color shifting from dark red to bright red to crimson gold, each moving independently to focus and blink, the densely packed eyelids rising and falling, closing and opening.

Huan Long looked at the tree, and his thoughts stopped dead for a moment.