96: Chapter 96 Borrowing Your Memories

Then, Shen Xiao moved.

It was not the swift and sharp movements of combat, but a deliberate, almost ritualistic caution.

He turned slightly to the side, signaling with his eyes for Xia Lengbai to sit on the relatively flat patch of open ground in front of the Light Cocoon.

Cross-legged, eyes closed, relax—these were the demands he had not spoken aloud, but Xia Lengbai understood them.

She did not question him, but merely gave him a deep look, the meaning in her eyes complex:

Half of it was "You had better not pull any tricks," and the other half was "I want to see what kind of game you are playing."

Then, the woman just floated over.

Right, floated.

Her feet were three inches off the ground, her skirt fluttering without wind, like an ice sculpture under a Spell, moving smoothly through the viscous air.

When she landed, the bend in her knees was almost imperceptible, her spine held straight, and even her sitting posture carried a sense of icy detachment that kept others at a distance.

Shen Xiao silently gave this sitting posture a score in his mind: zero.

Meditation requires Qi to sink into the Dantian, with body and mind relaxed.

You are tensed up like a fully drawn bowstring; when the mental impact comes later, I am afraid you will snap instantly.

But he did not say it.

It would be useless to say it.

This woman would not listen, nor would she ever.

The desire for control in her bones made her instinctively reject any form of "being guided."

Shen Xiao himself circled to the back and side, choosing an excellent position.

Three steps to his left was that broken stone stele—his "retreat anchor point."

In front, the back of Xia Lengbai and that dark golden Light Cocoon formed a subtle triangle.

A sweep of his gaze could capture any unusual movement from both.

He even deliberately adjusted his stance, shifting his center of gravity slightly forward with his legs slightly bent.

It was not to look cool, but for speed.

If something went wrong, he had to dive toward the stele or dash in the opposite direction within 0.3 seconds; exactly where he would run depended on the situation.

What was this called?

This was called survival muscle memory.

Shen Xiao took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, carrying the distinct musty smell of rotting moss, mixed with a deeper, metallic scent like that released when underground Ore is crushed.

It did not smell good, but it was invigorating.

He closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into his Dantian.

There, the System Silver Pattern was flickering faintly, like a spark about to burn out.

Shen Xiao did not attempt to "analyze" it.

Previous experience told him that in the current state, any active analysis would result in a backlash—not a backlash from the System, but from the suppression of the Heavenly Dao.

Just like trying to force a connection in a signal-blocked area, it would only cause the device to overload and burn out.

But he could change the way he used it.

Not analyzing, not activating, just... borrowing.

Like borrowing a thread about to break to mend a drafty garment.

The risk was that the thread could break at any moment.

But the benefit was that he could carve out a temporary, controllable path in this quagmire of information.

Shen Xiao carefully "pulled" that wisp of Silver Pattern power out of his Dantian.

It felt very strange.

It was not the surge of warm currents like when circulating spiritual power; it was more like struggling to fish out the last grain of rice from a pot of porridge that was almost empty. You knew it was there, but you had to hold your breath, using the lightest force and the steadiest technique to lift it out completely.

The power of the Silver Pattern traveled up along his Meridians, and when it passed through his chest, it agitated the injuries to his internal organs, bringing a dull ache.

Shen Xiao frowned, but did not stop.

He let that wisp of silver light climb along his spine, pass through the back of his neck, and reach the center of his brow.

Then, it emerged from the center of his brow.

A wisp of extremely thin, faint silver thread, almost invisible, could only be barely distinguished under the reflection of the dark golden light emitted by the Light Cocoon.

Shen Xiao controlled this silver thread, reaching toward the Tomb Guardian Seal on Xia Lengbai's brow, while simultaneously splitting off another strand to touch the restless dark golden light threads on the surface of the Light Cocoon.

A System notification appeared in his mind:

[Host's Mental Energy detected connecting to high-density information field...]

[Evaluating risks...]

[Evaluation result: Feasible.

Recommended duration should not exceed one stick of incense (about 15 minutes); exceeding this will lead to exhaustion of the host's Mental Energy, with a 37.8% probability of falling into a coma.]

[Note: This operation does not fall under the category of "Plunder," does not count toward destiny value, and does not trigger System rewards.]

Shen Xiao cursed silently in his heart.

Working for nothing.

Working for nothing again.

This System was as stingy as a Pixiu that only takes in and never gives out.

But he had no choice.

The fine silver thread continued to extend, and finally, at a certain moment, it touched the Tomb Guardian Seal on Xia Lengbai's brow.

In that instant, Shen Xiao felt as if his consciousness had been "sucked" by something. It was not forced, but rather like a gentle tug, like an invisible thread connecting his perception to the chaotic ocean of data inside the Tomb Guardian Seal.

Immediately after, his other silver thread also touched the Light Cocoon.

Hum...

An extremely slight tremor was transmitted between the three parties.

It was not sound, but information.

It was a chaotic torrent of information, woven from countless memory fragments, lingering emotional shadows, fear, and regret.

Shen Xiao gritted his teeth, controlling the power of the Silver Pattern to weave a "filter net," as thin as could be, between these two information sources.

This net was not for blocking, but for buffering.

Just like putting a lifebuoy on someone who has just learned to swim, it would not let you sink, nor would it let you drift too far, only allowing you to splash around freely within a controllable range.

The process of weaving was extremely difficult.

Every fine silver thread required him to inject Mental Energy to barely maintain its form.

And Mental Energy, in his current state, was like water in a desert—every drop was precious.

Sweat seeped from his temples, sliding down his pale cheeks and dripping onto his lapel, spreading a small, dark water stain.

Shen Xiao did not wipe it away.

He was afraid of being distracted.

Afraid that this thread, stretched to its limit, would just snap like that.

Finally...

"It has begun."

He gave a low shout.

The voice was not loud, but it exploded in this viscous Chaos like a muffled clap of thunder.

The fine silver thread connected simultaneously with Xia Lengbai's Tomb Guardian Seal and the Consciousness Entity's Light Cocoon, forming a channel of faint light that was almost invisible to the naked eye.

The channel was as thin as spider silk, yet it hovered steadily in mid-air, its two ends disappearing into Xia Lengbai's brow and the surface of the Light Cocoon, respectively.

Xia Lengbai's body shuddered violently.

Her back stiffened for a moment, and then, those ice-blue eyes lost their focus.

But it was different from before.

The previous loss of focus had been empty, blank, like a pool of stagnant water.

But this time, her eyes were moving.

Moving rapidly and rhythmically, as if "browsing" something.

Shen Xiao noticed that deep in her pupils, the frantically flickering data stream had become much more orderly; it was no longer chaotic and disorganized as before, but exhibited a certain rhythmic pulsation, as if reading a scroll unfurling at high speed.

At the same time, the dark golden light threads of the Light Cocoon became restless.

They extended toward Xia Lengbai, attempting to directly invade her consciousness—that was the method used previously to violently force memory fragments into her.

But this time, the filter net Shen Xiao had woven played its part.

The fine silver thread acted like an invisible sieve, blocking the overly violent torrent of thoughts and only allowing a softer, slower "information stream" to pass through.

The Light Cocoon seemed to perceive this restriction, sending out a faint wave of resistant intent.

But it quickly suppressed this resistance.

Because it was too desperate.

Desperate for someone to interpret its chaotic, fragmented memories, desperate to figure out what exactly happened back then.

Even if it meant it had to temporarily accept a stranger's "filtering."

Xia Lengbai's breathing became rapid.

What she "saw," Shen Xiao did not know.

He could only vaguely perceive the intensity and frequency of that information stream through the silver thread, like a rushing underground river flowing from the Light Cocoon toward Xia Lengbai, passing through his filter net in the middle, being weakened and buffered, and finally injecting into the depths of her consciousness in a relatively gentle manner.

Time, in this strange "three-party connection," was stretched extremely long.

Shen Xiao felt like he was standing between two torrents, barely maintaining balance with a rope as thin as it could possibly be.

He dared not be distracted, dared not relax, and even deliberately slowed his breathing, fearing that any tiny disturbance would cause this rope to snap.

Then, a change occurred.

Just as Xia Lengbai was passively immersed in those coherent scenes—the altar, the emotional light orbs, the phantom of the instrument, the dark vortex—Shen Xiao, through the silver thread, keenly captured a trace of something extremely hidden.

It was a trace of fear.

It was not Xia Lengbai's fear, nor was it fear brought by the external environment.

It was a fragment of fear that quietly overflowed from the deepest part of the Light Cocoon, from the memory core of that Consciousness Entity.

This fragment was mixed into the information stream, like a forgotten landmine, lying there quietly, waiting for some inadvertent touch.

Shen Xiao's heart contracted violently.

He instinctively wanted to tighten the filter net to block this fear fragment outside.

But it was too late.

The fragment was like a viper, moving at a speed he could not have anticipated, slipping through the gaps in the information stream, passing through the weak point of the filter net, and piercing straight into the depths of Xia Lengbai's consciousness.

"Urgh!"

Two muffled groans sounded almost simultaneously.

Shen Xiao felt as if his Mental Energy had been bitten hard by something; a sharp pain exploded from the center of his brow and instantly spread to his entire skull.

The fine silver thread nearly snapped; he gritted his teeth, using his final willpower to forcibly stabilize it.

But Xia Lengbai's reaction was more intense than his.

She grabbed her own wrist violently, her five fingers sinking into the flesh, her nails embedding deeply, fresh blood seeping out from between her fingers and dripping onto the cold ground.

There was no pain on her face.

But rather a blankness of sudden realization.

That kind of blankness was like someone who had long been kept in the dark, suddenly having their blindfold ripped off, seeing something she should not have seen, yet which was undeniably real.

From the other end of the filter net, Shen Xiao also "saw" the content carried by that fragment of fear.

It was not a scene, but a feeling.

It was a fear that transcended time and space, deep into the marrow of the bones—the First Child, while operating the instrument during the final ceremony, had inadvertently caught a glimpse of some existence deep within the dark vortex.

That existence could not be described, could not be understood, and could not even be "seen."

But just that one glimpse, just that one-in-a-billion-of-a-second contact, had branded the First Child's consciousness with an indelible mark of fear.

This fear was so powerful that even after being Sealed for ten thousand years, even after the memories were shattered beyond recognition, it still existed, still able to pierce through time and space, transmitting that suffocating horror to anyone who touched it.

Xia Lengbai slowly raised her head.

Her movements were very slow, like a precision instrument recalibrating its angle.

In those ice-blue eyes, there was no longer the previous frenzied calculation, nor the fanatical curiosity.

Replacing it was a complex expression, mixed with pity and cold mockery.

She looked at that dark golden Light Cocoon, her lips slightly parted.

"So..."

Her voice was hoarse, yet clear.

"You are also an incomplete product."

The Light Cocoon shuddered violently.

The dark golden light threads contracted frantically, the curled human-shaped silhouette twisting violently, sending out a wave of intent that was almost a wail.

But Xia Lengbai did not stop.

She continued, each word like an icicle, piercing precisely into the Light Cocoon's vital point:

"No wonder... you are so anxious to piece together your memories."

"No wonder... you are so afraid of being forgotten."

"Because you know better than us that it was not just emotions that were stripped away."

She paused, a flash of cold realization in her eyes:

"First Child, what you were required to strip away during the final ceremony... was your own obsession with 'success,' right?"

"That obsession was the core catalyst for the entire experiment.

Stripping it away was the only way to truly 'open' that dark vortex."

"And you... after stripping away that part of yourself, you became what you are now—a broken failure who cannot even remember who they are."

The Light Cocoon's trembling reached its peak.

The dark golden light flickered on and off, like a star about to burn out.

The intent it transmitted was no longer complete sentences, but strings of broken syllables filled with pain and regret:

"...No...it...is..."

"...I...did not want..."

"...The price...is too...great..."

Shen Xiao raised his hand, wiping away a trace of blood that had seeped from the tip of his nose.

The blood was cold, carrying a faint, fishy-sweet scent, sticking to his fingertips like some ominous mark.

He watched this scene before him, a complex emotion surging in his heart.

This unexpected gain was deeper and more thorough than he had planned.

But it was also more dangerous.

Because Xia Lengbai's gaze had changed.

The change was so subtle it was almost imperceptible, yet it sent a chill down Shen Xiao's spine!

The pity in her eyes was disappearing, replaced by a colder light, one that was almost judgmental.

Shen Xiao opened his mouth, wanting to say something.

But before the words could leave his mouth, his knees suddenly went weak, and his body stumbled forward uncontrollably.