Chapter Thirty-Five: The Unfinished Reply

In the afternoon, the blazing sun hung high in the sky. The esper still carried a faint scent of burnt smoke on his body, and he regretted not having taken a shower at the informant’s place before coming home. The young lady next door appeared not to have returned yet. Gongsun Ce pulled out his phone, glanced at the unanswered messages, and walked into the house in low spirits.

His mood now was utterly different from last night. Everything had been fine barely a dozen hours ago—how had it all changed by this afternoon? The young man knew the reason. It was their own fault, wasn’t it? For all their attempts at appearing mature, none of them truly were. Kiruo, who always spoke her mind, was far smarter in this regard than any of the four of them.

He looked toward his desk. Once empty before his departure, it now held a thick, large parcel, on top of which lay a letter.

“Hiss…”

A sense of foreboding washed over him, and he nearly wanted to turn and flee.

The envelope was stamped with a red wax seal, the golden mouth embossed with a stylized star emblem marking the sender’s identity. He’d seen this small seal before and knew how to open it. Gongsun Ce shaped a stamp out of white material, pressed it to the wax, and the red seal dissolved on its own.

Inside the envelope were two sheets of letter paper. The gray-haired young man picked up the first, steeling himself before reading the words upon it.

Comparing the knight lady’s letter to his own handwritten one was nothing short of psychological self-torment. Her letter read like a report from the Supabia Times, neat handwriting, flawless, reflecting her meticulous style.

The first line was:

“Dearest Ce.”

The gray-haired youth coughed violently, though there was not a soul in the room besides himself.

“‘Dearest.’ By using this address, I wish to remind you of a truth I once told you. Unlike the reserved Eternal Light Empire, in the Morton Kingdom and United States of Usters, people are not shy about expressing their feelings. We show affection to friends and family, not just lovers. So you may use familiar terms or simply write my name, rather than ‘Respected Dawn Knight’—that sounds as though you’re submitting a thesis draft to your mentor.”

Gongsun Ce gave a silent cry of despair. Could we please skip these trivialities and get to the point?

“Given your temperament, I will begin answering your questions from the next line, reserving personal matters for later in the letter.”

You should have done so from the start. This is official business! Official business!!

“Regarding your aptitude for the Law of Impermanence. A Silence Index of -15 is shocking, but not unexpected for you. I am certain this is your inherent aptitude, not the result of the Final Sword: Silent Star Calamity.”

Wow, wonderful. So I was born to be a lunatic. How did I not see that sooner, hmm? Now I can reserve a bed in the asylum and stop wasting living space in the city.

“Having written this, I suspect you are now making acerbic comments in your mind, though what I write is entirely factual.”

Please, let’s skip personal commentary and get to the serious matters. Even if you are right, it won’t improve your mood.

“The erudite ‘Celestial Extreme’ Yan Qi has told you the basics of the Law of Impermanence. I must stress again: you should trust everything he says—dragon-slaying arts are so dangerous that we had to keep you away from them for a long time, until we were truly sure you were stable. Now you’ve made your decision, and I will fulfill my duty and offer help. Here is my advice.”

Don’t speak as if you’re my guardian.

“You should study the Law of Silence.”

Are you serious? Study Silence?

With a Silence Index of -15, I’m afraid I’ll grow fur and drool as soon as I start.

“The introductory stage of dragon-slaying arts is not as dangerous as you imagine. Now, remember my next words.”

“Do not study any mind aspects other than Silence.”

…?

“Be especially wary of Wildness. Do not touch any knowledge related to it, not even the most basic runes.”

I beat three wild aspect mages two weeks ago, and now Wildness is my nemesis.

Gongsun Ce suppressed his thoughts. He recalled Yan Qi’s warning—he couldn’t let himself dwell on it.

What about Void and Spirit? Surely he had talent in those areas.

“Regarding your curiosity about Void and Spirit, I will provide some harmless explanations.”

“Void was the first mind aspect I abandoned. As Yan Qi said, pursuing Void will make your condition ‘worse’: you’ll become a second me. Once you realize this, you’ll fall into deep self-loathing and are highly likely to descend into madness. Do not deny my conclusion—I understand your character as you do mine.”

…

He fell silent, reading the next line.

“For you, a Spirit Index of -10 should be relatively stable. The reasons for abandoning Spirit are complex; one is that I believe Spirit does not suit your temperament. Studying Spirit is likely to induce anxiety, panic, and unease for a long time. This is something an esper should always avoid.”

Prolonged accumulation of negative emotions easily triggers a superpower rampage… Just like when the young lady first arrived.

Abandoning this mind aspect was understandable, though he didn’t see how -10 was stable.

Six normal squares were darkened, four malignant stars blackened. A sign of relative balance?

“You now know which direction you should pursue. From the next line onward, I’ll inform you of what you need to do at present. You may pick up the second sheet, the words unrelated to the Law of Impermanence. This will help you maintain a calm mindset.”

I don’t think so. I suspect what you wrote on that page will be more terrifying than a hundred malignant mages.

My mindset will collapse, truly. I fear a superpower rampage.

At that moment, he even forgot the happenings of the past few days.

She was that important in his heart. He longed for her evaluation, yet deeply feared the content—much like Shiyu Lianyi dreaded hearing Cardesia’s rejection. Fear bred distance; timidity led to withdrawal.

He hadn’t written to the knight lady in three years—what right did he have to criticize Shiyu Lianyi’s evasions?

His stomach ached, breath heavy; he nearly threw the letter aside and pretended he knew nothing of it. In the end, Gongsun Ce chose a compromise: finish reading the first sheet.

“If you disregard my advice and read this line—”

She deliberately left two blank lines, then wrote a tiny phrase below.

The writing was so minuscule it nearly needed a magnifying glass; the esper squinted, practically pressed his face to the paper to decipher it.

“It means you still have the same childlike heart as before.”

You’re poisonous!

Is it fun to toy with me? What right do you have to chide me, pulling these little tricks in your letter!

He sped through the remaining text, face twisted in indignation.

“Cover the letter paper, and you will see a symbol. Try to write what you see, or visualize it by other means. If you notice any anomaly, do not open the notebook included in the parcel—hand it, unopened, to Yan Qi.”

“If nothing unusual occurs, you may use the notebook yourself and practice under the supervision of a trustworthy Law of Impermanence mage. Your supervisor must meet the following criteria: have deep understanding of you; possess the ability to subdue you quickly; be versed in dream interpretation; have medical or sealing skills. He or she should be at least a Manifestation-level mage, ideally a Creation-level one.”

…Maybe I shouldn’t study at all?

Why does it seem like I’ll get into trouble even if nothing happens?

The esper deeply questioned the purpose of his studies.

The knight lady hadn’t specified what to use to cover the paper, but after thinking a moment, he understood her intention.

Gongsun Ce muttered as he tapped the paper, “So old-fashioned… Must’ve been reading detective stories again. Why not use fire?”

White matter quickly covered the paper. Without manipulation, the pure white substance withdrew in places, revealing a hollowed symbol: two oblique lines converging at an acute angle, their ends bent twice, pointing inward, piercing the slanted edge from the center.

The esper pushed up his glasses.

“The kind of rune Shiyu Ling once used?”

It looked aggressive.

He grabbed pen and paper, imitating the strange arrow.

The gray-haired youth waited patiently for half a minute. Nothing happened—the world was utterly quiet.

It seemed the Dawn Knight was worrying for nothing this time. He curled his lips, laughing in petty revenge: “—”

He heard no sound from his laughter.

Gongsun Ce closed his mouth in astonishment. He rapped the desk, hard enough to hurt.

Pain radiated from his knuckles, but the room remained silent—no sound.

He tore up the paper bearing the rune.

“Hiss—” he immediately heard his own gasp. Now, the esper couldn’t laugh; the knight lady’s caution was justified. It seemed he truly was a troublesome prodigy. Even a random symbol could trigger anomalies.

He snatched up his phone, intending to seize the chance to contact Yan Qi. The screen lit up on its own, displaying his elder brother’s name.

A sense of unease welled up in the esper’s heart.

“What’s happened, big brother… Death’s Wing?”

He dashed outside, shocked by the news.

“—Central District?!”

Something was wrong. The esper told himself again.

The Central District was the territory of the academies, and under strict control, there shouldn’t be such blatant fighting. Nothing was following the current rules; it all sounded absurd…

As if the city had returned to its past.

You are a genius, remember in a second: Red Spring—