Night fell once more. Qian Renxue lay on the bed in the inn, not falling asleep right away. She tried to sense her own existence, that sense of heaviness brought about by "time anchoring." In the God Realm, this sensation had been very pronounced; she was like an excessively real object, standing out starkly against a relatively illusory backdrop. But here in the Douluo Continent, the sensation had become subtle.
This world itself was inherently "solid." The existence of mortals, the existence of matter, the passage of time—everything here was more concrete, more substantial than in the God Realm. Here, her characteristics as a time anchor seemed to blend into the background instead, making her far less conspicuous.
Yet, when she focused, she could still sense the difference. She could feel her connection to this world—not through divine power, but through time. Her past—not just her history as Qian Renxue, but also the moments when she guarded this world as the Angel God—had left marks in the river of time. These marks acted as anchors, fixing her in the here and now.
"I need a future..." She closed her eyes, allowing her consciousness to stretch forward along the timeline.
Not precognition—that was beyond her abilities. It was sensing the branches of possibility. From her current position, the future looked like a tree with countless branches. Some branches were clear, representing choices she might make: continuing to study the rifts, helping the afflicted like Lin Mo and Xiaoyu, traveling to other rift observation points... Other branches were blurry, representing possibilities dictated by external factors: the rift suddenly expanding, a continent-wide crisis breaking out, Tang Wulin descending from the God Realm...
But at the end of all these branches lay chaos. Roughly ten years from now, all the clear futures abruptly terminated, plunging into an impenetrable gray mist. That was the point in time when the abyssal rifts would completely erode the world, the moment the Void descended. Beyond that moment, there was no future—or rather, the future was undefined and non-existent.
"That is what I must change," Qian Renxue thought. "I must create a future solid enough to pierce through that gray mist and stretch even further."
But what kind of future could be solid enough to pierce the Void?
She thought of the girl, Xiaoyu. Among the countless future possibilities eroded by the Void, the only one to survive was rooted in a mundane moment: a teddy bear given by her mother, a birthday, a smile. It wasn't a grand vision or a magnificent goal, but a simple, deeply human connection.
Love. Memory. Warmth. These seemingly fragile things were capable of surviving within the Void.
A sudden thought struck Qian Renxue. Perhaps, to fight the Void, what was needed wasn't greater power, but deeper connections. Not expanding outward, but delving inward. Not becoming an impregnable fortress, but becoming an unforgettable mark.
She sat up and took a notebook and pen from her backpack—Tang Wulin had prepared these for her, saying they were standard equipment for a wandering scholar. Opening to the first page, she began to write:
"Day One, Northwind Town. I met a girl whose future was almost swallowed by the Void. I helped her by reinforcing a single moment in her memory. I realized that the anchors of the future might not lie in grand plans, but in tiny connections."
"I am Qian Renxue, and I am also Xue Yan. I was once the Angel God; now I am a mortal. I once guarded the world from high above the heavens; now I must understand it down in the dust. Perhaps this is exactly what I must experience—stepping down from the absolute highest point to touch the solid ground, in order to find something truly worth protecting."
"The old man said I need a future of my own choosing. So, I choose this kind of future: a world where I understand and cherish every life, a world that persists in existing even when faced with the Void, a world where I am not just a guardian, but a participant."
"This choice is the first anchor of my future."
When she finished writing, she closed the notebook. Outside the window, the moonlight was like water, and the distant rift emitted a faint grayish-white glow in the darkness, like a scar upon the world.
Qian Renxue lay back down and fell asleep quickly this time. In her dreams, she saw countless images: the palaces of Heaven Dou City, the altars of the Spirit Hall, the sea of clouds in the God Realm, and from even earlier, almost completely forgotten memories—her mother's gentle hands, her father's stern but caring gaze, chasing butterflies in the garden as a child...
All of these were the marks of her existence, her past that could not be erased.
And the future would be forged by her own hands.
At dawn the next day, Lin Mo knocked on her door right on time. Qian Renxue was already prepared with a simple backpack, enough drinking water and rations, plus her notebook and recording tools.
"Let's go," Lin Mo said. "The road won't be easy. We need to make it back before dark."
The two left Northwind Town, heading northeast. The initial stretch of the journey was easy enough, following a maintained trail. But two hours later, the trail vanished, leaving only tracks trampled by wild beasts. The trees grew increasingly sparse, and the colors of the flora became increasingly monotonous—green diminished, while gray and brown took over.
Three hours later, they reached the first checkpoint. It was a simple sentry post staffed by two Soul Master guards, both wearing dark blue uniforms similar to Lin Mo's.
"Permit," one of the guards said, extending his hand.
Lin Mo handed over the documents. The guard scrutinized them carefully, then scanned both of their bodies with an instrument before nodding. "You may pass. Remember, do not cross the four-kilometer marker, do not stay longer than six hours, and do not attempt to collect any samples. If you violate any of these rules, we have the right to take immediate coercive action."
"Understood."
After passing the sentry post, the environmental changes became even more pronounced. The trees disappeared entirely, replaced by a grayish-white shrubbery with desiccated leaves that crumbled at the slightest touch. The ground was grayish-brown, devoid of moss or weeds. A strange scent hung in the air—it wasn't a foul smell, but an "absence of smell," a hollow sensation completely lacking in any odor.
The most unsettling part was the sound. An absolute silence, without even the wind blowing. Their footsteps were amplified in this quietness, seeming exceptionally jarring.
"We've entered the affected zone," Lin Mo said in a low voice. "In here, all your senses will become unreliable. Don't trust what you see, what you hear, or even what you feel. Stick with me and follow the markers."
He pointed to the ground. At regular intervals, there were fluorescent markers all pointing in the same direction.
After walking for another hour, they arrived at Observation Point No. 2. It was a small metal platform elevated about three meters off the ground, surrounded by railings, and equipped with various fixed devices: telescopes, spectrometers, energy detectors, and so on.
"That is the rift," Lin Mo said, pointing east.
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