Chapter Fifty-One: Freedom

All feasts must come to an end.
After the table was littered with the remains of the meal, Yan Qi left behind a heap of scraps and was the first to depart the house.
He’d had two drinks tonight, and his face was flushed with a hint of intoxication; his steps were slower than usual. Such a small amount of alcohol wasn’t enough to make him stumble, but walking alone meant no conversation—whether drunken ramblings or idle banter, without an audience, they lost their charm.
Perhaps it was the lingering effects of the dragon disaster today, or simply the late hour, but aside from the weary security guard at the entrance to the apartment complex, there wasn’t a soul to be seen. Yan Qi walked on for a while, his attention caught by the dazzling advertisement at the bus stop, so he wandered over and sat beneath the sign on the bench.
He looked over the bus stop, then glanced at the advertisement.
Silent electronic ads cycled through: a popular idol’s new album, university labs recruiting new members, public safety campaigns urging caution with superpowers...
He snorted.
“Same old soup, just a new bowl. It’s still the same as everywhere else.”
At that moment, heavy footsteps shattered the quiet, and a broad, imposing figure emerged from the darkness into the light.
He instinctively reached for his handkerchief to wipe his brow, but remembered the cool weather—early February—so he withdrew his hand. Even a man of his considerable girth wouldn’t have sweated after just a short walk.
The newcomer was dressed in a loose purple official robe, a tiny official hat perched atop his head—the unmistakable Liu Zhongwu of the Cangshou District. He peered closely and saw the man on the bench had bruised eyes, so he hurried forward, concern in his voice: “Master Yan, are you hurt?”
“Cut the act,” Yan Qi retorted, producing a scroll and tossing it toward him. “Here, the Emperor’s letter.”
Director Liu respectfully reached out with both hands, bowing to receive the scroll, placing it delicately in a jade box—quick and light as if the slightest delay might soil the precious item.
After completing the ritual, Liu Zhongwu exhaled deeply.
He plopped down next to Yan Qi, his bulk forcing the tall man to the other end of the bench. His tone shifted entirely: “Got your ass handed to you?”
Yan Qi laughed and cursed: “With an imperial edict, I’m Master Yan; without one, just a loser? Look at that bloated bureaucratic face of yours!”
“We officials must keep public and private matters separate,” the middle-aged bureaucrat said, unfazed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering one to the rogue beside him.
Yan Qi waved it away. Liu took the cigarette for himself, lit it, and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“Sigh... Master Yan made a decisive move, propping up a collapsing house, bringing a bunch of dangerous folks along—necessitated by circumstances. I pretended not to see it. But why did you bring along Old Qin’s granddaughter…”
The tall man waved away the smoke in annoyance.
“Young people need to broaden their horizons! If you disapprove, come and take her yourself.”
“I’d love to, but the Hall of Rituals is locked down from top to bottom—no one can move. Who can I send? One wrong move and it’s an international incident, with accusations that our Yongguang Empire triggered the dragon disaster. How can I argue with that?”
“Don’t be foolish. Who’d dare claim you cursed anyone to death?” Yan Qi yawned. “How’s the investigation?”
“Not great. The Shiyu Institute is wiped out, all leads gone. Any insights, Master Yan?”
Tianji sneered: “If it were the Seven Luminaries, there’d be hope. But those idiots want to create a unified technique? Ridiculous.”
“Morton owes you a favor; it made things easier, but even so, we haven’t figured out how the glass beads ended up with the mad dragon. It’s tough to dig deeper on Zero Island…”
Yan Qi rubbed his chin and declared, “There’s something wrong with Zero Island.”
“No evidence. Few local irregulars, and Agent Zero wiped out the crazies and escaped—it all adds up.”
“To hell with evidence. Have the Emperor send someone over! With such a big bargaining chip, they can hardly refuse!”
The tall man slapped the bench, while the fat bureaucrat shook his head vigorously.
“We ran the whole show ourselves this time—a lot of people are already talking. Wait for the right opportunity.”
Liu Zhongwu blew out his last puff of smoke, stubbed out the cigarette, and said, “There’s still half the crystals left in the Ebinoth Mountains…”
“Arranged with the Emperor—keep them for research, as negotiation material.”
“Good, good.”
Liu Zhongwu fell silent, staring into the pitch-black sky, lost in thought.
That was the direction where the Glass Dragon appeared.
After a moment, he said in defeat, “When will this all end?”
In stark contrast to his companion’s gloom, the tall man was all animated excitement.
“From Supebia until now, it’s been three years without a single spirit prison dragon disaster.”
The fat middle-aged man spun around, his jowls trembling: “Really?!”
“Whether it’s real or not—I’m guessing! Three years is hardly enough to tell.” Yan Qi pinched his chin, chuckling. “But I, Yan Qi, have never guessed wrong.”
“Tsk, tsk—say what you will, I believe that…”
Liu Zhongwu pushed himself up off his knees. The fatigue on his face vanished, replaced by vigor. “Where are you staying tonight?”
“Damn, I forgot all about that after a day’s work. Book me the best hotel!”
“Oh, the best hotel, huh? I have a little villa—you should go straight there. Great view by the Dragon’s Head, chef, garden, full set of scholarly accoutrements—do what you like…”
The final night bus arrived, stopping by the bench. The driver rubbed his eyes.
He thought he’d seen two figures, one tall, one fat, sitting on the bench, but as he approached, the bus stop was empty.
Maybe he’d seen ghosts—or maybe the dragon disaster tonight had left him hallucinating.
Such a big incident and they wouldn’t even let him off work—what a lousy job.
The driver muttered to himself, followed standard protocol, and pretended he hadn’t seen anything.
The bus closed its doors and drove off.
No one boarded, and the bench at the bus stop was empty.

·

11:40 p.m., Mo Yuankai’s residence.
After a hasty meal, the guests departed one by one. Mo Yuankai declined their offers to help clean up, leaving only the gray-haired youth to tidy the table with him.
Superpowers were especially handy now—there was no need to lift a finger, and the room was spotless in moments.

The two sat shoulder to shoulder on the sofa. Mo Yuankai pressed a button on the remote, and the big screen in the living room displayed a strange image.
Gongsun Ce recognized it. Every time he had nightmares, he saw that embodiment of despair etched in his memory.
The one-eyed beast perched atop seven clock towers—the Nether Dragon that descended three years ago.
He heard his elder brother say, “It’s all over now, Ce.”
The Nether Dragon had died three years ago.
The Glass Dragon, which hadn’t been dealt with back then, was slain today.
The tragedy named Kingdom Collapse, the event that shaped both their lives… had been resolved just over an hour ago, by those involved themselves.
“I don’t really feel anything,” Gongsun Ce said quietly. “It’s like I’m dreaming. Half a day… a string of battles… no time to feel tired… just following events and killing it.”
The Black Sword had been sealed again by Yan Qi.
There should be no more nightmares now.
The gray-haired youth blinked, repeating unconsciously, “It’s over, huh.”
“You did well. The event from three years ago is settled,” Mo Yuankai patted his younger brother’s shoulder. “But not everything is finished. Ce, from the beginning until now, why have we acted?”
“To protect the peace and safety of this city…”
He saw Mo Yuankai give him a thumbs-up, just like always.
The gray-haired youth smiled, and together with his friend, said, “And so that, one day, all superpowered people can leave this prison!”
Mo Yuankai encouraged him, “One day, we’ll succeed!”
“Yes, though we often end up stopping others from leaving, so I feel embarrassed saying this in front of people.”
“What can you do? The pursuit of personal freedom can’t override the public good—we’re partners in justice, not villains.”
“You’re the partner in justice,” Gongsun Ce pointed to the informant, then to himself, “I’m just the student helping out.”
“Come on, two hundred thirty pounds of justice partner.”
“You look like a seal in an aquarium, proudly showing off your belly every day—‘look, I’ve gotten fatter!’”
“Watch your mouth, four-eyes.” The informant sprawled on the sofa. “Want me to see you off?”
“Thanks, but I’ll head home on my own.”

·

After saying goodbye to his old friend, Gongsun Ce left the apartment.
He walked the empty streets, thinking about the past, about their earlier conversation, about their longing for freedom, and about Shiyu Ling’s desire for freedom.
Who doesn’t want freedom?
Perhaps only Yan Qi—he’d scoff and say everyone is bound by something, that life is just trudging forward with hands and feet tied.
But the young man didn’t see it that way. Like his peers, he yearned for an unrestrained life… so in some ways, he could understand that woman’s perspective.
At the moment of fusion with the dragon, at the moment of gaining immense power, did Shiyu Ling really achieve the freedom she wanted? Or…
He thought of birds flying overhead, of her laughing on the back of a pigeon.
Perhaps humans yearn for the sky because they envy birds’ freedom. But birds, admired by those below, might also crave the strength of hands and feet—even with wings to soar, they’re still bound by invisible gravity…
It’s all the same. Whether people or birds, all are dissatisfied, all are unfree.
He couldn’t help but agree with Yan Qi, though it irked him.
“Thinking too much…”
Gongsun Ce muttered to himself.
How could he know the troubles of birds? How could he know what Shiyu Ling thought?
It was all just empty speculation, unable to change reality, as meaningless as the words he often tossed around—just self-indulgence.
Even so, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. If only…
Just then, the sight before him pulled him from his reverie.
There were no pigeons, no hunters in reality—only a girl in green and yellow, standing under a streetlamp, looking at her phone.
Qin Qianbai put away her phone and waved at him: “Oh.”
“You’re already expressionless, so don’t pretend to be laconic.”
“That was an unexpected exclamation—I’m pretending we just ran into each other.”
“No one in this city, or the world, could have such a bland chance encounter as you.”
Miss Qin walked backward beside him. As if she had eyes on her back, she avoided every obstacle on the path.
A little further ahead—for her, further behind—was a flowerbed by the roadside. How would she handle that? He thought she’d walk around, but she nimbly jumped up, balancing on the edge like a tightrope walker.
Impressive. She’d be popular with kids in the park, he thought.
Gongsun Ce wasn’t sure what to say to her. He was exhausted, and recounting the day’s events would be mentally taxing. Besides, though they were friends, discussing other women in a conversation with a girl seemed impolite.
He realized he hadn’t asked why she got involved today. He knew Yan Qi had brought her along, but when did she meet him? He didn’t know how Shiyu Lianyi met Yan Qi either.
It was all rather personal—not easy to ask. As this thought flashed by, his elder brother’s advice echoed in his mind.
—“What’s personal or not… Do you know what friendship means, Ce? Life-and-death bonds!”
Should he change his approach? But doing so would mean giving up his one-sided stance… because knowing more about others also meant exposing more of himself.
From that angle, what should he say?
Gongsun Ce cleared his throat. “Ahem. That nightmare I always had—it wasn’t really as I described to you this afternoon.”

“Oh.”
After the opening, it was difficult to say what came next. Sharing one’s own story always brought a strange sense of shame.
“The real content of the nightmare… do you want to hear it?”
“To be honest, not really.”
The gray-haired youth was speechless, covering his face.
This was exactly what he feared! Something you thought was important, but others couldn’t care less. After steeling himself and telling it, the other party’s “Oh, that’s it?” face brought more defeat than losing a battle! It killed not just the mood but also the speaker’s delicate pride. Sometimes it was better to tell a lie no one would believe and fake ignorance to lighten things up!
He needed to say something quick to ease the awkwardness… As he thought this, he heard the girl say:
“If it’s a nightmare, it must be unpleasant. If recalling it makes you uncomfortable, it’s better not to talk about it.”
He watched her jump down from the flowerbed and turn to walk beside him.
Inexplicably, his mood calmed.
“It’s not that bad…”
He began to recount his dream.
As he spoke of the past, gray visions clouded his eyes.
Gray-white mist appeared silently, swirling around him as if trying to pull him back to before.
But the events of that day were over.
Today, he’d finally drawn a line under the tragedy from three years ago. At this moment, the fear in his heart faded along with the closure in reality.
So he stepped through the fog, moving forward in the present.
The gray mist lingered at first, but as his story deepened, it thinned and eventually vanished completely, leaving no trace.
“…At that point, I woke up.”
He finished his dream.
No beginning or end, just a fragment from that event. The knight charged the evil dragon, and everything that followed wasn’t in the dream. How would he comment if he heard it himself? Unclear, confusing—where’s the cause and what happened next? Gongsun Ce couldn’t help but smile bitterly; anyone would think that.
So, whatever she asked, he’d need to explain properly.
Even matters of the sword had to be shared; he steeled himself for it.
The superpowered youth looked at his friend.
Qin Qianbai gazed into his eyes and asked, “That knight—was she your girlfriend?”
“What are you thinking?!”
Gongsun Ce was at a loss.
Why would that be the first question after hearing this?! It wasn’t just a matter of mood—her thought process was really unconventional, wasn’t it, Miss Qin?!
The gray-haired youth sighed, covering his face. “As if I’d be so lucky—she has a boyfriend! He’s a great guy, their relationship is rock-solid, and when they stand together, the glow almost blinds me. I’m just waiting for them to announce their wedding so I can be the master of ceremonies.”
“Sounds like the loser’s lament from the third wheel in a failed ménage à trois, huh.”
He tapped his friend’s head.
“Let me give you an example you’ll understand. Me and those two—it’s like me, Karl Daisia, and Shi Yu-kun now.”
Miss Qin rubbed her head. “I completely get it.”
He began to believe girls tended to think with their hearts.
Qin Qianbai kept walking with him, just as they had that afternoon.
Neither took a detour; they lived in the same apartment building—she in Room 6 on the 7th floor, right next door to the superpowered youth. Their frequent outings together had no special reason—just proximity.
The night was late; the last bus had passed, and the pigeon stand was probably closed…
They’d likely have to walk all the way back together.
But, since they were so exhausted today…
The superpowered youth channeled his telekinesis, lifting both their bodies into the air.
They soared over roadside trees, over towering buildings, rising until nothing blocked the night sky.
Qin Qianbai pressed down her skirt, tilting her head. “Ce, do you have enough strength left?”
“Honestly, no—I think we’ll fall in about a minute. Let’s fly as long as we can.”
A minute might be generous.
Forty-five seconds—no, maybe thirty more and they’d drop.
Still, it beat walking.
They knew, in a moment, they’d fall.
Even so, they still wanted to fly in the starless night.
To feel the wind brushing past, to see the sky closer than from the ground.
Before the unavoidable constraints returned…
To savor, for a fleeting moment, the freedom destined to end.

(End of Volume One)