Chapter Eleven: I Want to Learn...

7:40 p.m., Cangshou District, Hongyu Station.

Gongsun Ce leapt down from the back of the white-headed parrot, offering the biomorphic bird a piece of jerky. The great bird crunched away contentedly, reminding him of Qiluo at dinner—her delight over every dish, as if tasting food for the first time, despite their meal consisting merely of instant noodles and ready-made packs for convenience.

Was this the aftermath of her amnesia, or simply her nature? He couldn’t say, and decided to set the question aside for now.

He needed to help Qiluo recover her memories, and had promised to assist Shiyu in his romantic endeavors. But tonight, Gongsun Ce had his own affairs to attend to.

The gray-haired youth departed from the pigeon station, walking along the edge of the city. Cangshou District, colloquially known as "Dragon Head District," was indeed situated at the head of the great dragon. Physically, it was connected to the central district by a broad thoroughfare—the "dragon’s neck," to put it plainly—a stable link between the two. Following the Dragon Neck Road (he’d forgotten its official name), one’s first sight was not the city itself, but two small hills and the tunnel that ran through their bases.

According to the supers, the twin peaks of Cangshou were thought to be the protrusions at the back of the dragon’s head, or perhaps its ears. Some claimed they were the dragon’s horns, but judging by their size, that seemed improbable.

Whatever they once were, now they were simply two hills. Their feet carpeted with green grass and wildflowers; the slopes above cloaked in dense forest. Near the top, blue rooftops peeked through the foliage.

The students said the blue-roofed villas belonged to important figures.

He was heading toward one such villa now. After walking for more than ten minutes, he realized the hill was steeper than he’d anticipated, so the super powered youth launched himself skyward, flying directly to his destination.

It was wasteful of energy, but he wasn’t concerned—what trouble could possibly befall him at the doorstep of the Tianji family?

He soared above the treetops, crossed the villa’s garden and artificial lake, and landed at the solid wood gates. His pocket watch showed he was a few minutes early. He waited until the hour hand pointed exactly to eight before knocking.

Thud, thud, thud.

A moment later, a voice called from within, “Enter!”

The wooden doors opened automatically, and the gray-haired youth stepped inside.

First, he glimpsed a bamboo screen carved with landscapes; turning past it, he finally saw the hall. Yellow pearwood chairs, cushions embroidered with golden silk, a marble table bearing a white porcelain fruit plate, calligraphy hanging boldly on the wall. Upon closer inspection, the room was filled with rare and curious objects, far beyond anything a common student could recognize.

But all these displays paled in comparison to the man in black splashing ink in the center of the hall. He was working on a sheet of rice paper large enough to lie on, adding the last stroke to an odd array.

Yan Qi tossed his brush to the floor, gestured to a chair with his chin, and said, “Sit.”

The gray-haired youth glanced around at the lavish furnishings. “Quite extravagant, isn’t it?”

The tall man clicked his tongue.

“This is an official’s house, naturally it’s extravagant! Could a poor wanderer like me afford it?”

“You, a founder of the Boundary Arts, and you don’t have spare money?”

“If the Unchanging Arts could make money, I wouldn’t be so useless,” Yan Qi sneered. “Just because you’re a good fighter, does that earn you cash?”

Hard to say.

If some wealthy tycoon hired me as a bodyguard, or if I worked for the lab coats...

“Oh, so you can earn a living selling your life. What are you waiting for?”

He shook his head amid the man’s laughter.

“Like an idiot. If I had the chance to be a civil servant, maybe I’d consider it.”

“Fool! What’s the difference? Selling your life to the rich, selling it to the emperor—either way, you’re tying a noose around your neck!”

Yan Qi flopped into an old master’s chair, gesturing at the luxurious villa as if showing off.

“Is this house big?”

Big? Yes, undeniably.

From the outside, it was far grander than the little house he’d lived in back in the kingdom, and incomparable to his current apartment unit.

Gongsun Ce replied irritably, “It’s a waste for you to live here alone.”

“Oh! Alone, am I?” The man in black tapped his chair’s armrest with his knuckles. “You only see me in this house, don’t you?”

This question wasn’t meant to provoke. Yan Qi seemed to be confirming something, and coincidentally, Gongsun Ce had heard a similar question that afternoon.

He didn’t rush to answer. He hadn’t entered the shut rooms, but wandered around the reception hall, peering into every corner where someone might hide. Returning to his starting point, he said, “Within my sight, there are only the two of us here.”

The middle-aged artist raised an eyebrow.

“For once, you’re not whining. Met anything strange lately?”

As expected.

That afternoon, Shiyu had confirmed the number of people in the room. After Qiluo used her ability, she vanished from ordinary sight—only Gongsun Ce could see her.

Yan Qi must know something about his unusual “vision.” Otherwise, he would never ask such a question.

Was Qiluo’s amnesia related to the Unchanging Arts? Or was she herself a high-level practitioner?

“This afternoon…”

He sat down, carefully recounting the events of that day to Yan Qi, omitting nothing—including the bizarre “316 hours” he hadn’t explained to his friends.

—Three hundred and sixteen hours and forty-seven minutes before noon today, which was precisely the morning of the Glass Disaster. If anyone claimed Qiluo’s anomaly had nothing to do with that event, Gongsun Ce would never believe it.

Yan Qi, for once, listened patiently to the entire story.

“You’re so idle! If you’ve got the leisure, keep investigating.”

Leaving this cryptic remark, he grabbed some nuts from the fruit plate and began munching.

Gongsun Ce slapped the table hard. “Enough with that! Why can I see Qiluo?”

The Unchanging Arts practitioner replied lazily, “Use your brain, Gongsun. If you have an extra eye compared to others, wouldn’t you see more?”

He’d never had more than two eyes in his life, aside from being called four-eyes by bullies.

Unless Yan Qi meant…

The super powered youth quickly caught on. “The Eye of the Nether Dragon?”

“Exactly, the Nether’s single eye! You personally entered the Spirit Prison Realm years ago—you haven’t forgotten what that hellish place looks like, have you?”

Gray-white mist, power that eroded flesh and memory, the Nether Dragon perched atop the clocktower… Supebia’s sinister visage was still vivid in his memory. Gongsun Ce asked, puzzled, “But wasn’t the phenomenon it brought just mist?”

“Mist is the boundary between illusion and reality—remember that much.”

Yan Qi clearly didn’t want to elaborate, but the gray-haired youth was unwilling to let it go.

“So what change did that orb cause in me?”

“The Nether Dragon is the progenitor of all illusions and phantoms in this world—what it sees is only the truth. What do you think it gives you?” The middle-aged artist tossed another nut into his mouth. “But, with my seal on it, now it only lets you see through tricks. Convenient, isn’t it? In just a few days, you’ve already picked up a girl.”

“I’d rather not have this ability.”

“You don’t want it? Fine, I’ll just cut out your heart again—what do you say?” Yan Qi shrugged. “Now, to business—why did you come?”

“…”

The super powered youth fell silent, a rare occurrence.

“It’s been nearly two weeks since the Glass Disaster was resolved. My life is stable, and aside from what I just told you, nothing messy has happened. Everything is as before. School, hanging out with friends, helping big brother with things, occasionally fighting troublemaking supers… talking about youth and the future like everyone else… Since the End Sword was resealed, even the nightmares have stopped. The past is over, Sky City isn’t as rotten as it used to be, and I think life now isn’t bad at all.”

It should have been ordinary, yet recounting it felt like blowing bubbles with words.

Transparent, soft bubbles. Under sunlight, they shimmered with color, carried by the breeze, growing larger and larger as they floated away.

Dreamlike, ethereal, intoxicating… and worrisome.

“But I… sometimes, at certain moments in the day, I’m suddenly afraid. Worried another disaster will yank me out of peaceful daily life, drag those I know into it… So, Yan Qi, what I want to ask is…”

He’d reassured himself with this thought for two weeks.

But speaking it aloud, Gongsun Ce still felt uneasy.

Just a confirmation, he told himself—nothing serious, anyone with common sense would give the answer he hoped for.

Clenching his hands, he said slowly, “I’ve lived through three dragon disasters already… Surely I won’t be unlucky enough to experience a fourth in my lifetime?”

Yan Qi propped his head on his hand, eyes like he was watching an ostrich bury its head in the sand.

“Do you believe it yourself?”

He didn’t.

If he could convince himself, he wouldn’t have sought out an expert for confirmation.

Yet somewhere in his heart, he still harbored an unrealistic hope—that all calamities would stay away for good, that he could return to a normal super’s life.

“How old are you, still fooling yourself? You know what you’ve been through, what you carry—don’t you?”

The tall man spoke mercilessly, his sharp words tearing the youth’s dreamlike bubble to shreds.

“Keep away from trouble? Dream on! Even if you run off alone to the wilds, disaster will find you. Even if you lose your heart and become useless, someone will come looking to exploit you! Let me ask you, Gongsun—if a dragon disaster’s about to hit the southern United States, tens of thousands doomed, would you go?”

The gray-haired youth roared, “…How could I not?!”

Yan Qi laughed and spread his hands wide. “That’s it, then! Enjoy the peace while you can—it won’t be long before you’re running off to the other side of the planet for some nonsense, probably of your own accord, hahaha!”

The middle-aged artist laughed wickedly, while Gongsun Ce sighed, unable to muster anger.

He knew the man spoke the truth.

His earlier question was just wishful thinking; he was destined never to live like an ordinary person.

Bubbles always burst, eventually.

So, those on the ground can’t remain motionless—they must respond.

“I know. That’s why I came to see you. I want to prepare for whatever might happen next. Simply put, I…”

Yan Qi chuckled.

Not mockery, not derision, but the self-satisfied, arrogant smile of someone who had predicted every move.

“You want to learn the Unchanging Arts, don’t you, Gongsun?”