Chapter 1010: The Red of Hatred

"So this is the anti-memetic effect……"

March 7th watched Marion walk away in silence, truly realizing the terrifying nature of the anti-memetic effect.

Regardless of what emotions one held the second before, whether intense or indifferent, before the anti-memetic effect, there was no difference; they would all be erased equally.

"Hmm, it is a formidable effect," Jing Yuan nodded. "If some Lord Ravager possessed this ability, the suffering the Legion brings to the galaxy would be far beyond what it is today."

Fu Xuan also had her own conjectures:

"Unknowable…… It actually reminds this seat of 'The Enigmata'. I wonder if the Path presided over by that Aeon is related to this power."

Welt Yang:

"I think not. According to the contents of the containment files, if the Path of 'The Enigmata' possessed an anti-memetic effect, this Path, and its corresponding Aeon, would never be known to the galaxy at all."

Tingyun also wore a look of regret. She whispered to Bai Xuan:

"That Ms. Moreno reminds me of myself. If not for the Benefactor's rescue, I would have only met an end where my soul scattered."

……

Adam Bellamy Wheeler was born on February 27, 1962, in the Common Era, into a wealthy family in England.

From a young age, he displayed musical talent far exceeding his peers, and by his middle school years, he was considered one of the most gifted violinists of his generation.

Even past the age of fifty, time had not been overly harsh to this musician. He was like vintage wine stored in a cellar; the older he grew, the more charming he became. From young girls to elderly women, all were drawn to him.

On the surface, and measured from a rational perspective, his life could be called perfect.

He graduated from the Royal Academy at twenty-two and naturally joined the New England Symphony Orchestra "183," starting as the most ordinary violinist and rising all the way to concertmaster.

As a professional violinist, he made a living from his beloved music, enjoying all the gifts his talent brought: praise, applause, and moderate wealth.

Aside from the fact that there was not yet a lady who could be called "Mrs. Wheeler," his life, more than half over, seemed fulfilled.

Was it really so……?

For some reason, a touch of gloomy melancholy would always rise in Adam's heart.

It was in those few minutes just after waking in the early morning, before stepping into the bathroom; it was during the long, silent moments backstage when mobile phones were forbidden and he could only wait in silence.

When that feeling appeared, Adam felt as if he were under some vast shadow, shrouded by a massive, unfathomable thought.

But for the rest of the time, he and his manager kept his schedule as busy as possible.

Half the reason was, "What you love is your life."

The other half was that Adam felt he wanted to escape that emotion. He tried to use endless work to erect an invisible barrier, separating himself from these potential questions.

He participated in all kinds of performances, whether solo or orchestral collaborations, recording music, teaching composition……

And this indeed worked.

……

August ▇▇th, 6:00 AM.

"……"

His eyes snapped open.

When Adam broke free from that emotion, he had already forgotten what past it was that had been drowning him.

Again, like this……

Adam raised his hand to rub the corners of his eyes, fruitlessly fighting the discomfort emanating from inside his eyeballs; they felt like they were on fire, sour and astringent.

After a while, the hallucination of swelling and bursting eased slightly.

Adam left the bed, not attempting to recall the dream buried at the moment of waking, not knowing if he was afraid of picking up some fragment that shouldn't appear, or seeing a truth that was not permitted.

He stood before the vanity mirror in the washroom brushing his teeth when a tiny black slug suddenly slid from the corner of his eye and fell into the hotel sink.

"hfuidsafaz……?" he mumbled indistinctly.

He rubbed his eyes, the foam from his toothbrush flowing down his cheeks.

Adam leaned close to the mirror, examining it carefully.

That's right, there was another, larger slug, its black tail slowly emerging from his tear duct.

Spitting out the toothpaste and saliva in his mouth, Adam wiped the foam from his chin and took a pair of tweezers from his toiletry bag.

He carefully clamped onto the wriggling tail of the slug and pulled it out, just like pulling out a nose hair.

He threw the slug into the sink to reunite with its friend, then flushed them away along with the toothpaste foam.

When he finished all this, Adam's movements suddenly stopped.

"What happened……"

Adam stared at the sink's drain for a long time, a feeling of loss in his heart, unable to grasp even a shred of a clue.

He shook his head helplessly and continued his morning preparations.

……

Watching the developments in the scene, the audience expressed that they were shocked.

"? What kind of development is this?"

"What do you mean 'don't watch and regret, watch and regret more'…… I feel like there are slugs crawling in my eyes."

"I'm gonna puke."

"Why slugs? Was he infected by some anomaly after his wife performed memory deletion surgery on him?"

"Adam is so explosive the moment he appears; I have a premonition that the content to follow will be even more explosive."

……

The New England Symphony Orchestra had been on tour for nearly a month.

Tonight was the final performance.

For Adam, the tour was an exploration of the possibilities of life.

During this time, he could push aside a pile of worldly concerns and immerse himself in the world of music; life was simple, requiring only waking up, traveling, performing, and sleeping.

But four consecutive weeks were also exhausting.

Even the most optimistic and cheerful member of the orchestra could not hide their weariness and nervousness, and the repertoire, after repeated performances, had become lackluster, making the performers feel bored.

According to the schedule, today's rehearsal began at 11:00 AM.

Adam carried his formal wear and violin, taking a taxi from the hotel to the venue.

The violin was a family heirloom with hundreds of years of history; the formal wear was nothing special, just an ordinary performance outfit.

The concert hall was located in the bustling heart of the city center; even though the rush hour had passed, the taxi still struggled to move.

Finding a place to get out early, Adam walked through the busy crowd to the backstage, then changed, dressed, and took out his violin to tune it.

He knew tonight's repertoire by heart; recalling it now, it was less like reviewing and more like killing time.

After that came the boring waiting time. Adam took out his phone and browsed the news listlessly.

As expected, some terrifying trends he couldn't understand were spreading wildly on social media.

Today's fashion was to paint a black rectangle, leaving this inexplicable mark on walls, on the tops of mirrors, or on the edges of paintings.

And the conversations of the people around him made him feel even more confused—the language they used was strange and peculiar, as if it were a variant of English, with vowels and consonants swapped.

Adam was not a singer, but in the past, he had performed works containing lyrics in Latin, German, Greek, French, etc. The language he heard today, however, left him baffled.

It didn't seem to belong to human civilization, as if it were a language stiffly created.

He didn't take it to heart; perhaps it was some new, uniquely popular grammar, just like those black rectangles.

The rehearsal proceeded step by step, and Adam's performance always maintained the proper demeanor.

However, he noticed that many people in the orchestra seemed absent-minded. He tried several times to communicate with the conductor through eye contact, but the response he received was equally absent-minded.

During the dinner break, the conductor named Luján said to him privately:

"Their eyes need a little adjustment."

Adam didn't understand what he meant for a moment and reflexively rubbed his own eyes.

Something was trying to surface from the deep sea of the collective unconscious, but it failed.

Adam only felt a bit dazed for a moment. He didn't pay it any mind and asked the conductor: ===== CHAPTER 1012 =====