In the midst of a bustling world, there lies a realm of serene clarity.

The long night stretched endlessly, seemingly no different from the outside world.

A torrential rain enveloped everything, washing away all, isolating all—a rain both unsettling and comforting; blackness so dense it obscured the path ahead. The black curtain, pierced only by the sound of falling rain, drew a faint smile from Su Ningxin’s heart. Rain that couldn’t touch a person—what kind of storm was that?

A winding stream flowed from above, passing at Su Ningxin’s feet, barely allowing her to sense that she stood amid mountains.

She followed the stream upward, unaffected by the illusion, utterly unconcerned. In her right palm was her name tag, while on her left hand—

Black threads flowed from Su Ningxin’s shoulder, entwining, twisting, attaching themselves to the sleeve of her black garment like an external vein, extending to her palm. The black patterns spread along the lines of her palm, converging again at her fingertips, finally forming a feather held gently in her hand.

Though the rain could not be touched by Su Ningxin, the moment the feather drifted from her palm into the air, raindrops scattered it, and it then wove itself back along her arm.

A form of certification, he said? So in that sense, it was no different from my name tag!

Su Ningxin’s memory was drawn forward along the stream, recalling a recent moment.

“I’m curious—how do your records describe my relationship with her?” Mo Ling asked.

“A close relationship,” was the brief reply, leaving Mo Ling contemplative.

Beside them, the strange beast kept its mouth tightly shut, even its eyes closed now. Silent, motionless, its flowing crimson hues spread into the water mirror below. Like these broken walls and ruins, it could easily be mistaken for a statue.

A clear voice rose, as if the rain fell suddenly.

The beast opened its eyes, still crouched atop a small peak.

“Finally noticed us,” Mo Ling said. “This makes things easier. You should go find her.”

He reached out to Su Ningxin, who grasped his hand without hesitation. Mo Ling’s voice turned cold; his expression, always icy.

“I don’t know much about you,” he said before she could respond. “I’ve seen many foolish mobs shouting slogans, but how do you, who carry the banner of light, compare?”

His sarcasm caught Su Ningxin somewhat off guard; their earlier exchanges had been quite pleasant. She glanced sideways, a smile rising at the corner of her lips, choosing not to answer.

“Outside Yuantan Mountain, what is the scene now? Opportunists avoiding harm, crazed cowards, hypocrites, vile and insidious deeds—are they absent? The world may have improved, but not to the point where we can feign ignorance to such things,” Mo Ling’s voice was calm and clear. The black swirling lines on Su Ningxin’s left hand twined; if he wished, they could reach her neck—assuming no resistance.

“People like you, aren’t you the ones who see her as the first to bear the brunt—weak in spirit, under the guise of maintaining stability, secretly coveting, scheming to exploit, or even directly destroy her.” Mo Ling’s words held no emotion, only a terrifyingly calm frankness.

Su Ningxin felt no alarm and did not withdraw her hand. She thought that Mo Ling was not adept at interrogation and wore a faint smile as she said, “She is also one born and raised in Nightdawn. Approaching her is our duty, and the premise to avoid misunderstandings.”

Releasing her hand, Mo Ling remained cold, turning to stroll upon the water mirror.

“Apologies, I was rude,” he said. “Forgive my probing. Nowadays, whether in Nightdawn or beyond, people and matters are harder to discern—dark and complicated.”

He then stroked the beast’s massive black body, murmuring to himself:

“Purity like yours is also a part of what confounds and terrifies.”

Su Ningxin raised her left hand; the black stream extended from her fingertips, reaching into the star-studded sky, cutting through the haze as a dashed line across the night.

“Let’s go. This is my proof; she’ll understand at once. None who reside here can escape her gaze, though she does not watch all moments,” Mo Ling said.

“Is that certain?” Su Ningxin asked.

“You said you want clarity, life and death distinct, ensuring everything follows the right path. That would be ideal,” Mo Ling replied. “Meeting you now is fortunate; having her live under some order and rule may lessen her sorrow.”

He paused, whispering words only he and the beast could hear:

“After all, complexity, chaos, and murkiness are the reality to come—just as it was in the past and remains now.”

“Hey, Mo Ling,” Su Ningxin said shyly, “I’m still here, you know?”

Mo Ling shook his head. “Not enough understanding.” He gently pushed Su Ningxin, who, as if drawn by something, sank beneath the water mirror.

“‘Close relationship,’ yet unable to stay by her side. Then at least let me do this small task,” Mo Ling’s voice grew distant.

***

Afterwards, Su Ningxin remained there.

Though she vaguely grasped the construction of these illusions, inside she could only understand fragments. She gazed skyward as two shadows crossed—thanks to their unique forms, Su Ningxin recognized them as the beast and Mo Ling pacing about. In such a place, the presence of varied terrain and a tangible division between two areas was surprising, she thought.

Her mind grew heavy with speculations about “her.” So closely linked to the Nightdawn Yuantan yet still recorded within Nightdawn’s archives, rooted long in the land, contact with her might uncover the reasons behind the recent sudden changes—she hoped so.

Gradually, the rain lessened. Su Ningxin felt her left hand tremble involuntarily; the filter-like blackness had vanished. Uncertain how long she had walked, only her tangled thoughts felt real here; nothing else could be called true.

Clear skies revealed towering peaks. Reaching this point, the surroundings no longer seemed illusory or ambiguous.

There she was—deep as a chasm, dark as a shadow.

A woman gently traced the water’s surface; here lay a pool, quietly flowing downward through the mountains.

When Su Ningxin ascended, the modest peak revealed only a narrow plateau. Its surrounding heights seemed unreachable, isolating it from the world. The feeling shifted from quietude to icy stillness, as if a late breeze had passed. The most remarkable peak of Yuantan Mountain was the North Peak, Su Ningxin mused silently; this was not it.

“Su Ningxin? Sorry, I overheard some of your conversation,” the woman’s silhouette was graceful, her voice delicate. “May I call you Ningxin?”

“No objection,” Su Ningxin replied, approaching. The woman slowly turned; their eyes met, a gaze reflecting the heart.

Unexpectedly, the woman reclined gently on the ground. Her black attire spread around her, merging with the night’s shadow.

“Come, Ningxin, come here, beside me.” She beckoned.

This isolated peak, absent dialogue, might lull one into eternal enchantment; yet Su Ningxin had no leisure for that.

“Sigh, not time for sleep! There’s still work to do,” Su Ningxin smiled lightly, her tone playful, her thoughts hidden.

“Whatever you wish to know, I’ll tell you,” the woman steadied herself.

“I want to understand the unusual changes in Yuantan—whether they are good or ill. I have come for that,” Su Ningxin answered.

“Hah—” the woman laughed, covering her mouth, then floated to her feet.

“Then I too must be a part to be examined and confirmed,” she said softly. “Nothing must be omitted. As one of Nightdawn, you too must abide by rules—not just those you impose yourself.”

“Ningxin, you truly are lovely—a delicate heart,” the woman said. “A child born of this era.”

Without waiting for Su Ningxin’s thoughts, the woman swiftly approached, yet did not touch her. At the woman’s gesture, Su Ningxin’s left hand rose slowly; black strands swirled around them both.

“Right here, yet you never come to see me,” the woman showed a fleeting sadness.

She pursed her lips, smiled, shifted posture with grace, and when Su Ningxin looked again, the woman’s expression had returned to its calm smile.

“So, how well do you really know me? Or perhaps you’re more concerned with how well you understand Nightdawn?” she asked.

Su Ningxin said nothing, knowing progress here depended on the woman’s willingness. The woman began to stroll, her words lingering in Su Ningxin’s ears.

“It’s alright, Ningxin, I can tell you. Heh, Nightdawn—I know this land no more than you, from its fleeting strangeness. It is not some god or ghost, or other oddity folk speak of, nor a mysterious enigma,” the woman said, gazing skyward. “Why pretend ignorance? Because it is Nightdawn, you exist—to suppress and control the unusual.”

“Nightdawn holds no entity, but a hidden current, a secret undercurrent leading people to abandon themselves, endlessly pursuing divergent paths.”

“Heaven gave Nightdawn but a faint change, yet like the weight of history, that small favor combined with long time made it a land unexplainable by ordinary means; from it countless wonders arise—like me—bringing both avoidance and pursuit among people. In the end, people remain people; their thoughts no longer bound by common rules. Thus chaos is born. When order is lost, life and death invert, souls suffer; when order is restored, it becomes a hidden current, sustained by human obsession.”

Her voice encircled Su Ningxin; her figure danced around her.

“Don’t you understand?” she leaned close.

Filled with metaphor and symbolism, this was not the concrete information Su Ningxin sought, but so far, confirming her state was the original plan and achievement. Records noted the woman’s peculiar mental state; lingering longer was futile. Next—

Su Ningxin grasped the woman’s hand. It was not cold; the woman’s gentleness was disarming. Even so close, Su Ningxin detected no difference from ordinary people—eyes, breath, all normal. The woman accepted this, gently stroking Su Ningxin’s hair.

Whether it was Mo Ling’s certification allowing such closeness, or the woman’s lowered guard, or some incomprehensible thought she carried, none could say.

“There’s no hidden agenda. Like now, look at me—I won’t do anything,” Su Ningxin said cheerfully.

“Is that so? Ningxin, did he ask if you have any attachments? Once trapped in one’s own thoughts, beguiled, guided—perhaps none of that matters,” the woman said. “Heaven guides; how can the people on earth disobey?”

“So they turn death into life, trampling others; as long as it brings peace, nothing else matters,” she said, looking at Su Ningxin.

The idea of turning death to life tangled in Su Ningxin’s mind, yet she smiled to mask her thoughts.

“Why all this talk of heaven? Humph, I’m about to get angry!”

They shared a silent glance.

“Well, that’s all for my inspection. This isn’t really my specialty. Seeing you satisfied my curiosity,” Su Ningxin stepped back, flicked her name tag, and said, “Coming uninvited means I’ll get scolded again—hmph.”

One last task remained—the verbal restraint, which now might be more effective than any concrete rule.

“Everything requires caution. By our next meeting, there won’t be so many involved. Come... wait, what’s wrong?”

The woman’s expression turned distant, she turned away, then back again, murmuring absentmindedly. Her eyes were cold, as if looking down on the peaks below from a superior height. Taller than Su Ningxin, her aura was icy; unchecked emotion would overwhelm one with pressure.

“Nothing, just some memories from the past.”

“What kind of memories?”

“In the past, many wished to stay here, because they feared this world, yet clung to their insignificant remaining lives. So they came to me; I gave them peace. Not the peace I’d have—death,” her words devoid of emotion, utterly flat.

Su Ningxin ceased her hand’s motion, thinking, “With her mental state, these words can’t be taken at face value, nor used for conclusions.”

It seemed much work remained for her.

“And you, Ningxin? I can tell you are not fond of this clarity. What led you to immerse yourself in the murky unknown, to walk this path?” the woman smiled.

“To me, the changes—heaven and earth transformed—simply add more to consider. When you ponder enough, there’s no room left for anxiety or fear. Maybe that’s it,” Su Ningxin said, staring at her.

“For us, more thought means many things can turn around.”

A faint voice came from afar.

“They’re looking for you,” the woman said, gazing into the distance.

“Then allow me one last dance for you. Please bear witness to what we have seen, and bring it to all of you.” The woman spread her arms. “As you say, changes in heaven and earth are but trifles.”

Her figure moved, the black garment swirling with her motions—graceful, ancient in style.

Shadows rose with the wind; this world shifted with her dance.

Sorrow, boldness, wrath, bloodshed, joy—she danced as her mood stirred, the world turning with her thoughts. Blurred scenes flashed before Su Ningxin’s eyes, lingering briefly—this was the pattern of Nightdawn as she saw it, from past to present. Her memories of Nightdawn were like a masterpiece painting; emotions full one moment, vanished the next. The woman’s flowing robes scattered mists and clouds with her dance.

The black stream on Su Ningxin’s hand was swept along by the woman’s movements, swirling about her. Su Ningxin could glean no information from these visions, only overwhelming emotion. From ancient times until now, the thread displayed in this land, like this chance encounter, held meanings only a few could understand.

The scene finally returned to modern Nightdawn, then to eternal night.

“Now,” Su Ningxin cast out her name tag with a smile, “I make no promises, but do not forget me, nor this very moment.”

The wind ceased. The woman held the name tag, staring blankly around, now alone.

Yuantan was bright; the sun had long risen.

Su Ningxin shaded her eyes—the sunlight was sharp. Someone called her, and as she turned, the black on her left hand again formed a feather that drifted away, dissipating into the wind.

Without a word, she stepped lightly, leaving Yuantan and entering the unseen.