Doomsday Wonderland

Chapter 1654: The Cost of Principle

Lin Sanjiu couldn’t forget that scene for a long time afterward.

She had once heard a saying: if there were anything in the world worth living for, it would be beauty. When Yu Yuan’s memoir emerged from the churning gray mist, she was reminded of this phrase.

It was a dark ocean submerged under torrential rain, breaking through thick fog. Pitch-black waves rose high, carrying a terrifying power that seemed to shatter the very framework of existence, roaring and surging in eerie silence. It appeared as if countless ancient angers born from the depths of the universe were sweeping away any notion of peace. The black sea, like judgment and destruction from a darker world, pressed down overhead. If beauty could be derived from the extreme, then there was nothing more extreme than destruction.

Lin Sanjiu stood frozen at the edge of the city, s.h.i.+vering as she watched the black sea rise and fall, rapidly closing in. For a fleeting moment, she even forgot who she was.

“Memoirs often change form, especially after being triggered,” Ah Quan said, drawing her out of her trance. “I’ve turned his around so you can see him.”

When Lin Sanjiu looked back at the sea, she saw a small figure in the waves’ varied shadows. From this distance, it looked like Yu Yuan.

As the memoir touched the city and merged with it, the overwhelming beauty of the endless sea faded. Adjacent to the narrow, mundane city streets was a roiling ocean under a black rain. Yu Yuan was floating far out in the sea, his silhouette as small as a black bird tossed in the water.

“I can pause the memoir,” Ah Quan said as they stood at the junction of the narrow alley and the sea. “Once you step inside, everything will be suspended, reverting to its original, unrecorded state. Then, he can be awakened. It’s rare to see someone so deeply immersed that they forget their ident.i.ty completely; usually, stopping the memoir is enough to wake them.”

As Lin Sanjiu prepared to step forward, she hesitated. “I… I have to go in there to wake him up? You can’t bring him out?”

Ah Quan turned and smiled. “I can control the memoirs, but I can’t control the people inside,” he said knowingly. “For example, just now, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t forcibly pull you out.”

In other words, if she went to wake Yu Yuan, she would have to leave Ah Quan’s urban memoir on her own. Whether Ah Quan would still be there when she returned was a question.

Lin Sanjiu bit her lip, pausing. He might have countless intentions, but even if she could guess his motive, it wouldn’t change her situation.

That’s how things work: every situation has risks and unknowns, and no matter how carefully you plan, it’s impossible to control every outcome.

Of course, she could take Ah Quan captive first, and that would make things easier. But Lin Sanjiu didn’t want to. Despite the risks, she wanted to act on her own terms.

“I damaged your memoirs hoping to uncover the truth and find my friends. Meeting you was… unexpected,” she said, glancing at him. “And the other one?”

“I’ll bring his memoir over now,” Ah Quan replied instantly. He paused, looking at her. “So, are you going in?”

The question seemed to hang in the air, freezing the moment.

Lin Sanjiu turned and gave Ah Quan a faint smile, then stepped over the boundary line between the memoirs.

She expected to fall into water and had even prepared herself to swim, but when her foot landed, the seawater immediately receded, and her steps touched down on a surface with an indescribable texture—like clouds that could suddenly bear weight, light and formless but somehow solid.

Glancing back, she saw Ah Quan watching casually, a slight smile on his face as he pointed off into the distance. She turned and started running toward Yu Yuan.

“This is an irrational act,” Yu Yuan said, precise and detached, seventeen seconds after being awakened. “If I had remained immersed in memories, becoming lost in my own consciousness, it would have caused you no actual loss. Saving me doesn’t mean you’re preserving the Yu Yuan from your memories. But by leaving the urban memoir, you’ve lost the one way to counterbalance the controller, drastically reducing the chance of leaving. From any perspective, this decision lacks logic.”

Lin Sanjiu listened to him and couldn’t help but laugh. She reached out and did something she’d never done to a Veda before: she tousled Yu Yuan’s hair.

“Let’s not waste time now,” Yu Yuan admonished, still serious. “We’ll go separately. You check if Ah Quan’s urban memoir is still in place, and I’ll find out if Ji Shanqing’s memoir has been relocated. You’ve seen Ah Quan, and you can talk to him; you’ll be more effective than I will.”

Lin Sanjiu nodded and leapt up. The entire s.p.a.ce had reverted to its original state, with visibility only about ten meters, making it impossible to tell shapes or directions. After a moment’s thought, she turned and walked in the direction she thought was correct, calling out, “Ah Quan! Make a noise, I can’t see the way back.”

She walked for a while before a faint voice finally responded from somewhere in the hazy distance, “I’m over here!”

Realizing she was heading in the right direction, she sighed with relief, quickened her pace, but then began to slow down again.

The reason was simple: the voice sounded impossibly far away.

She had been walking back for quite some time, yet Ah Quan’s voice still echoed faintly, like a thin thread in the wind.

“I’m sorry,” his distant voice called.

Lin Sanjiu stopped.

“Have we parted ways?” she asked, unsurprised—this was the price she had been willing to pay to get her friends back.

“Yes.”

Ah Quan’s voice seemed to drift through the boundless chaos. “I connected the memoir where the other child is; you’ll find him soon. I appreciate that you didn’t attack me back there, and you should thank yourself too. Because if you had, you would have been trapped in the endless memories I’ve seen. Though I think you’re a good person, I can’t risk allowing you to come back. As the creator and overseer of this pocket dimension, as the guardian of these memories, I have responsibilities to uphold.”