Volume One, Chapter Ten: The Eternal Flame

Black flames, relentless as maggots gnawing at bone, invaded and consumed every inch of Mu Qing’s flesh. Deep within her soul, the searing pain robbed her even of the strength to moan. Her body curled in upon itself, beads of sweat evaporating the instant they appeared. In the smoldering torment, she clung to a fragile sliver of consciousness.

Such agony and suffering was the price for crossing the chasm and gazing directly upon the divine.

No longer able to scream, she trembled at the limits of pain. Fainting offered no reprieve; the soul-burning black fire would wrench her back from oblivion. Like a candle that never burns out, Mu Qing was forged in an endless crucible, caught in an eternal loop with the flames. The black fire seemed to warp space, magnifying every fiber of her body and soul a thousandfold, pain multiplying beyond the limits of human sensation, exploding ceaselessly. Time itself felt scorched away; she could no longer tell how long this torment had lasted, nor how much longer it would persist. It was as if her very self was being melted down and reforged, again and again, without end.

At some unknown moment, the fire began to recede. Illusory black flames swirled like streams, withdrawing from every corner of her body and pooling within her eyes before vanishing entirely, leaving no trace as though they had never existed.

Relief washed over her. Violent gasps quickly depleted her remaining strength. Fresh air was forced into her parched, burning lungs, cooling her overheated shell. Like a fish on the brink of death reunited with rain, the sensation of “being alive” occupied her every sense.

After a long while, Mu Qing managed to reach for the nearby shower, tilting her head back and gulping down the cold water. Droplets slid unimpeded down skin smooth as white jade.

Once replenished, she groped in the darkness to dry herself and dress. When the familiar weight returned to the bridge of her nose, she finally opened her eyes and reconnected with the world.

Standing before the mirror, she gazed at her reflection, the corner of her mouth lifting in a weary smile.

The woman in the mirror had her eyes wrapped in bandages, a pair of tea-colored glasses resting on her elegant nose.

The cool, silky bandage was woven from the “Scripture of Clarity and Stillness” penned by a Daoist master. The soothing snow silkworm threads brought a hint of comfort to Mu Qing’s exhausted frame.

She unlocked her phone; the images and words on the screen seemed to pierce through layers of obstruction, unfurling directly in her mind. This was one of the functions provided by her current sunglasses.

On the densely packed itinerary, few unchecked destinations remained. The locations spanned the breadth of the nation.

Mu Qing was searching for a solution to the black fire within her eyes. Not a single document in the digital archives mentioned a case of black flame inhabiting a human being, nor did any explain what this black fire was. The only hope lay with the so-called “ancient objects.”

Since the eve of the “Metal Frenzy” in the old calendar year 2700, the fundamentals of the world had begun to shift. The foundations and chains that made up all things—“matter” and “rules”—underwent simultaneous transformation.

Matter, the cornerstone of existence, began to birth consciousness on a large scale; “selfhood” was no longer a treasure unique to humanity. This was the root cause behind the first cataclysmic surge and the birth of countless metal lives.

Rules, the laws and causal threads governing existence, changed as well. Some rules began to materialize, becoming tangible, giving rise to “authority”—physical manifestations of rules.

The so-called “ancient objects” referred to those stable, materialized authorities that had existed for ages. These authorities took myriad forms: sand and stone, mountain and river, broken blades and battered armor, even living beings, or abstract shapes. All such stable, tangible ancient objects unearthed across the country were preserved in regional repositories.

Mu Qing’s task was to find among them an existence capable of attracting, channeling, or containing the black fire.

Mu Qing had no certainty, but it was her only hope.

The tea-colored sunglasses allowed her to act freely under normal circumstances, but could not extinguish the black fire at its root. The intervals between eruptions of the accumulating black flames grew ever shorter. She knew that without a way to resolve the threat entirely, one day the black fire would devour her completely, and she would never awaken again.

As long as she had breath, she would not relinquish her will to survive. Having witnessed firsthand the most unseeable beings of this world, her life was no longer something she could discard at will.

Mu Qing feared neither death nor life; she desired both.

The moth no longer rushes to the flame; light resides within the heart.

“The next stop is Jinmen City... and then...” Her slender fingers swept across the screen, tracing the names of cities.

One was called “Qin.”

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“My advice—let’s not get involved in this lunar tide event.” Rubbing the dark circles beneath his glasses, the man in white took a sip of black coffee and spoke lazily. “This year’s lunar tide will at least be full moon level. If we’re unlucky, casualties could be in the fifties or sixties, all depends on fate. If we’re lucky and the safe zone doesn’t shrink, we should thank the heavens. Getting mixed up in this is too risky.”

“What do you all think?” A voice called out from the center of the conference room. The woman slouched in her seat, legs crossed, idly playing with a silver cigarette case.

“No way! I just took out a loan to buy a house in the safe district. If the zone shrinks, I’ll lose even my underwear!” The young man codenamed “Fishball” sprawled across the table, utterly dejected.

“I told you not to buy those cheap houses near the edge of the safe zone, but you wouldn’t listen...” The petite woman codenamed “Chiba” sat backward on the conference table, arms propped on the edge, legs swinging as she mocked him.

“Knock knock,” two taps on the table. Setting aside the cigarette case, Shu reminded them irritably, “Back to business.” This group was excellent in every way, except none could stay serious. Two sentences into a meeting and the topic would drift far afield.

Catching sight of the man in white raising his hand, Shu motioned for him to continue.

“Too much coffee, gotta hit the restroom.”

“Scram.”

With permission granted, the man in the white coat sprang from his chair, vanishing from the room in a flash.

Laughter and banter exploded. Shu pressed her forehead, struggling to maintain her dwindling ladylike composure, resisting the urge to thrash and hang up everyone present.

She endured until the man in white, looking refreshed, pushed open the door. Shu snapped her fingers, and a sudden metallic blast startled the group.

“Now then...”

At that moment, a new virtual figure appeared in a seat.

“Sorry, sorry, just finished up with the team, I’m late.” The tall man codenamed “Scholar” offered an apologetic smile to all, then turned to Shu. “Where were we?”

After clearing her throat, Shu recapped the lunar tide issue for Scholar, her gaze warning the group against further interruptions.

“Oh, that explains why things have been so restless lately...” Scholar listened intently, then asked, “What’s ‘Tide’s’ stance?”

Pulling a light screen closer, Shu’s hands danced across the virtual keyboard. Soon, several options appeared before them.

“Option one: effective immediately, block all intelligence regarding full moon level lunar tides. No more related commissions, keep out of harm’s way.”

“Option two: sell intelligence on full moon level lunar tides. Early investment, time to recoup.”

“Option three: make all intelligence public, mobilize everyone for early preparations.”

“Choose. The direction of ‘Tide’ rests on your decisions.” Her eyes tinged with silver, Shu’s voice was unusually grave.

Before long, the votes were in.

“Ayao, start anonymously publishing the relevant matters on this full moon lunar tide,” Shu said as she glanced at the results. A faint smile touched her lips.

“And contact Master Jiang, he loves these losing deals—spending his fortune for the world’s safety.” The man in white, lounging with his hands behind his head, interjected, prompting “Yao’an,” who handled “Tide’s” finances, to sigh in relief. Those who only spent money could hardly fathom the woes of the accountant.

“Got it.”

“If there’s nothing else, let’s adjourn.” Shu pushed back her chair and stood. “As always, I hope after this tide, the organization won’t need to issue extra condolence payments.”

“Take care, everyone.” Shu raised her fist in salute; the others returned the gesture.

“As the tide flows, our ways are ever-changing; gathered, we are a flood, dispersed, we become the sea, surging endlessly, rolling forth.”

In that room, voices rose as one, thundering like the tide.