Girl, There's Something Wrong With You - Chapter 26

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Cheng Jinyang suddenly said.

As they followed the direction indicated by his hallucinations, Cheng Jinyang experienced several more visions, each time of a figure pointing toward a different location.

Eventually, the group concluded that the hallucinations were indeed guiding them forward.

For a moment, the way everyone looked at Miss Wang carried an indescribable mix of awe and apprehension.

Cheng Jinyang: ?

Wait a second—wasn’t I the one who first figured out this hallucination was leading us? Never mind, never mind. Wanrou’s on my team anyway. Praising her is basically praising myself.

Putting aside the question of credit, as they delved deeper into the island, Cheng Jinyang’s visions became increasingly vivid.

He saw a vague human figure, draped in a translucent robe, standing beside a throne of massive stones. The figure calmly pointed in a specific direction. Surrounding it were countless glowing orbs that pulsated rhythmically, expanding and contracting.

As they ventured further, Cheng Jinyang finally got a clearer look at the glowing orbs in the vision—they weren’t just orbs of light but clusters of fire, their surfaces roiling like miniature stars.

Could these be Celestial Flames? After explaining this to the group, Jiang Jiu slapped her thigh in excitement and exclaimed, “What kind of bad omen is this? If the place is full of Celestial Flames, doesn’t that mean we’re about to hit the jackpot?”

Maybe I can even snag a Heavenly Emperor Flame for myself… Although she didn’t say it outright, her eyes betrayed her desire.

“Though I have no interest in becoming a demon, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a Celestial Flame for research,” the princess joked.

“Don’t be naive,” Wang Wanrou said coldly. “If these Celestial Flames were so easy to collect, then why didn’t the Heavenly Emperors distribute them to reward their followers after returning from here?”

“Maybe the Heavenly Emperors did benefit from them, but only for themselves,” Su Lili speculated.

Wang Wanrou glanced at Su Lili but, surprisingly, didn’t mock or refute her this time.

Ye Ru and the others noted this and exchanged thoughtful glances.

With the Ziwei Emperor potentially on their trail, the group had no choice but to pick up their pace.

Finally, after about three to four hours, they arrived at a strange ruin:

It was a sunken basin in the island, filled with towering, bizarrely shaped rocks. They resembled the moai statues Cheng Jinyang had seen in documentaries about Easter Island.

But unlike the moai, these statues were inscribed with strange patterns—intricate geometric designs that seemed harmless at first glance. Yet, staring at them for too long induced an overwhelming headache.

The patterns were more than just carvings on a two-dimensional surface. They appeared to be projections of higher-dimensional lines, incomprehensible to the human mind.

Cheng Jinyang had a sudden, inexplicable realization: It was akin to how an ant, incapable of understanding three dimensions, might perceive complex terrain as a series of flat planes. For the ant, navigating intricate three-dimensional routes could lead to confusion or even disorientation—if it had a brain and could feel pain, that is.

The patterns on these stones weren’t confined to their surfaces; they seemed to extend into dimensions beyond human perception.

Above, strange beams of light filtered through the layers of mist. The light had no discernible color, or perhaps it existed in wavelengths beyond human vision. These beams precisely illuminated each monolithic stone.

The bases of the stones were mostly hexagonal, or pseudo-hexagonal—they weren’t precisely sculpted.

Floating around the stones were countless luminous orbs. Upon closer inspection, each orb turned out to be a miniature star, its surface churning with the energy flows of nuclear fusion. Outer layers shimmered with solar wind, occasionally erupting with phenomena resembling solar flares.

Cheng Jinyang guessed these Celestial Flames were merely projections of actual stars; otherwise, their proximity would’ve caused intense heat.

“Don’t touch them,” a voice suddenly rang out.

From the top of one of the colossal stone thrones, a figure slowly descended. It appeared to be draped in semi-translucent robes, reminding Cheng Jinyang of the Dementors from the Harry Potter series.

Behind him, Jiang Jiu, who had been stealthily trying to grab one of the glowing orbs, froze in embarrassment as the figure caught her in the act.

“Your body cannot yet withstand the transformation,” the figure said, its tone calm and unhurried. “Power must be gained gradually. Knowledge… of course, is the same.”

“May I ask,” Su Lili asked cautiously, “who are you?”

“I am a projection of a great being that your minds cannot comprehend,” the figure replied. “As for names… some call me ‘The Ancient One,’ others ‘The Eternal.’ You may call me whatever you wish.”

The group fell silent, their expressions tense.

Those two names carried profound implications:
The Ancient One suggested that this being had existed since ancient times, perhaps long before the history of humanity on this planet.
The Eternal implied immortality, or that this entity, as it claimed, was merely the projection of some vast and incomprehensible being. As long as the original remained intact, its projection would endure.

Seeing the others lost for words, Cheng Jinyang chimed in, “Since names are just labels anyway, why don’t we combine the two and call you The Eternal Ancient?”

The Eternal Ancient didn’t respond, merely remaining where it stood.

“May I ask, Elder,” Wang Wanrou interjected, her voice calm, “what is your purpose here?”

Trust Miss Wang to cut straight to the heart of the matter. Cheng Jinyang couldn’t help but think she never missed a beat.

The Eternal Ancient answered, “I guard the gate and welcome those who wish to pass through it.”

It gestured behind itself, where the stone thrones encircled a central point. There, the group saw a silver archway—a shimmering portal that seemed as though it had been squeezed into existence between the stones, like toothpaste forced from a tube.

“What lies beyond the gate?” Wang Wanrou pressed.

“Knowledge,” the Eternal Ancient replied.

“Knowledge?” Wang Wanrou raised an eyebrow.

“Knowledge is my master, and my master is knowledge,” it said. “It is the aggregate of all information. Every piece of data produced in the universe forms a part of its body.”

“Fascinating,” Wang Wanrou said with a slight smile.

“I have a question as well,” the princess said suddenly, her expression solemn.

Like Wang Wanrou, she had immediately grasped the profound implication of “the aggregate of all information.” If what this being claimed was true, then its master was essentially equivalent to a god.

“May I ask…” she said cautiously, “what are the true natures of the Star Beasts, supernatural abilities, and demons?”

The Eternal Ancient did not respond with a simple yes or no. Instead, it answered matter-of-factly:
“Star Beasts are designed to process waste. Supernatural abilities are one form of waste. Demons are one evolutionary path for your species.”

Its voice paused, heavy with meaning, before it continued:
“Someone else has asked me this question before.”

“Can you tell me who it was?” the princess asked, her voice trembling. Yet, deep down, she already knew the answer.

The Eternal Ancient did not reply directly but instead turned its gaze toward Cheng Jinyang.

In that moment, realization dawned on him.

It was his mother.

Xie Guyan, who had once returned to the human world and transformed herself into a human.