99: Chapter 99 Emotions are a knife, but I want to see where the hilt is.

Time stagnated in the stone chamber.

Water droplets continued to fall, the "drip... drip..." sound amplified infinitely, like the drumbeat of some kind of countdown.

Xia Lengbai's gaze shifted from Shen Xiao's face, slowly falling onto her own left wrist.

The scar was still there.

Five fingernail marks, deeply embedded in the flesh, their edges bruised purple, the blood beads oozing from the center had already coagulated, turning into tiny dark red particles, like a string of eerie runes.

She extended her right hand, her fingertips gently brushing over the mark.

The movement was very slow, carrying a calmness and focus akin to examining a specimen.

Shen Xiao did not urge her.

It was not used for hesitation, but for calculation—calculating the concentration and controllability of this emotion of "disgust," and the impact coefficient on herself once it was stripped away.

This cold self-analysis made Shen Xiao feel a slight chill in his heart.

If it were him, being asked to one's face to "use your annoyance with me as experimental Materials," his first reaction would most likely be "What the hell kind of joke are you making?"

But Xia Lengbai did not.

She was seriously evaluating the feasibility of this proposal, just like evaluating the ingredient ratios of a recipe.

Her fingertips lingered on the edge of the scar for three breaths, then withdrew.

She lifted her eyes, that cold arc at the corner of her mouth emerging once again—not a smile, but a complex expression somewhere between mockery and appreciation.

"You are very good at persuading people, Shen Xiao."

Her voice was low and clear, every word sounding as if it were squeezed out from between her teeth:

"Using the thing I lack the least, and also most want to see clearly, as a bargaining chip."

Shen Xiao raised an eyebrow slightly, not replying.

But he understood.

She agreed.

Not because of trust, not because of curiosity, but because she also wanted to see—to see what was truly hidden behind that programmed "deep affection."

"Let's begin."

Xia Lengbai's tone returned to that scalpel-like calmness,

"Tell me what I need to do."

Shen Xiao did not waste words.

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

The Silver Pattern System was still there, flickering on and off, like a lightbulb about to burn out.

But when he probed his consciousness into it, it still lit up, very faintly, but enough to use.

"System, retrieve the residual trajectory of the previously established channel."

[...Retrieving... Host's Mental Energy is less than 37%, proceed with caution...]

"Less nonsense, just do it."

The Silver Pattern flickered, and a barely visible silver thread extended from his Dantian, traveling along his Meridians, finally emerging from his fingertips, hovering in the air and trembling slightly.

Shen Xiao opened his eyes and looked at Xia Lengbai:

"Extend your hand."

Xia Lengbai did not hesitate and held out her left hand.

Shen Xiao grasped her wrist—not the side with the scar, but her unharmed right wrist.

The touch was ice-cold, and he could vaguely feel the pulse beating under her skin, steady and powerful, forming a stark contrast with her calm expression at this moment.

"Now!"

Shen Xiao's voice was very low, carrying an almost hypnotic sense of guidance,

"Think of one thing."

"Think of the look you gave me just now.

Think of that bit of wariness, impatience, and even disgust you felt toward me.

It doesn't need to be very strong, just a wisp is enough.

Gather it at your fingertips, like condensing a drop of water."

Xia Lengbai's pupils contracted slightly.

She did not close her eyes, but looked straight at Shen Xiao, the arc at the corner of her mouth not disappearing, but deepening by a fraction.

"You are very good at guiding people, Shen Xiao."

She said calmly,

"Just like an experienced interrogator, knowing how to make people lower their defenses."

Shen Xiao did not reply, just waited quietly.

Three breaths later, he felt the frequency of the pulse under his palm change—not speeding up, but appearing with a subtle, irregular fluctuation.

It was like a fish stirring under a calm lake surface.

Then, he saw it.

A wisp of almost transparent, grayish-white mist slowly overflowed from Xia Lengbai's fingertips.

The mist was very faint, so faint it almost blended into the air, but the moment it touched the silver thread, a set of blurry images suddenly appeared in Shen Xiao's mind.

It was his own face.

Pale, exhausted, his eyes carrying calculation, his mouth wearing that punchable, annoying smile that made people want to beat him up.

The image flashed and vanished, but that feeling of "disgust" was as clear as a needle prick.

Shen Xiao's mouth twitched, and he cursed inwardly: Damn, being disliked this specifically.

But he did not let go; instead, he wound the silver thread around that wisp of grayish-white mist and said softly:

"Hold on tight, I'm going to start guiding now."

The silver thread trembled, carrying that wisp of "polluted" consciousness, slowly extending toward the Light Cocoon.

The Light Cocoon sensed it.

It contracted violently, its dark golden light flickering intensely, emitting a harsh, high-frequency buzzing sound—that was the sound of fear, a conditioned reflex like a mouse that had been electrocuted hearing a bell.

"Don't... don't come closer..."

Broken consciousness came through, intermittent,

"Something... something will go wrong..."

Shen Xiao did not stop.

The silver thread continued to advance, not quickly, but for every inch it advanced, the Light Cocoon's resistance grew stronger by a fraction.

The dark golden light filaments twisted frantically, attempting to weave a protective net, but it was too weak—so weak that even its most basic defense was full of holes.

The silver thread touched the information flow overflowing from the Light Cocoon.

At that moment, Shen Xiao felt a huge pulling force, not on a physical level, but on a mental level.

Those memory fragments were as viscous as a quagmire, attempting to swallow the silver thread along with the "polluted" consciousness attached to it.

But he gritted his teeth, firmly stabilizing the trajectory of the silver thread.

Then, a mutation suddenly occurred.

In the information quagmire, the originally steadily flowing experimental memory fragments belonging to the First Child suddenly paused.

Immediately after.

A memory fragment vibrated violently.

It was an altar.

A grayish-white stone altar, its surface carved with twisted runes, with a transparent container placed in the center.

Inside the container, a mass of dark golden light was being slowly extracted, like silk threads, being pulled into the magic array surrounding the altar.

The owner of the image stood before the altar, hands forming seals, expression fanatical and focused.

He was stripping away.

Stripping away his own "paranoia" regarding the success of the experiment.

And just at the moment that memory fragment vibrated, a cold, desperate emotion of resistance gushed out from within—that did not come from Xia Lengbai, but from the image itself, from the most primitive fear and resistance of the First Child remaining in this memory.

Two emotions collided within the information flow.

Xia Lengbai's "disgust," the First Child's "resistance."

They should have been completely unrelated, but the moment they touched, like two magnets, they suddenly adhered together, forming a tiny, rotating vortex.

Shen Xiao's pupils shrank abruptly.

He felt the suction of that vortex, not targeting his Mental Energy, but targeting the information flow itself.

Those memory fragments that had been flowing steadily began to be stirred by the vortex, like a water surface into which a stone had been thrown, rippling layer by layer.

"Mirror... feedback...!"

The Light Cocoon let out a terrified shriek.

The dark golden light filaments twisted frantically, attempting to isolate the vortex, but its weakness made it a beat too slow.

That resonant vortex was like a key, instantly prying open a sliver of a gap in its memory defenses.

The gap was small, but it was enough.

A more complete flow of imagery poured out from that gap.

Still that same altar.

The First Child stood before the altar, hands forming seals, performing the final "stripping."

What he was stripping away was "paranoia"—the fanatical pursuit of experimental success, the obsession with perfect results, the desire to "become the Heavenly Dao's strongest work."

Light was extracted from his body and injected into the container.

His expression changed at that moment; the fanaticism faded, replaced by a kind of hollow, almost nihilistic calmness.

Then, he lifted his head.

His gaze pierced through the mist hovering above the altar, looking toward some non-existent, distant space-time.

Shen Xiao saw those eyes.

What kind of eyes were those? No emotion, no temperature, no trace of anything belonging to "life."

They were like two polished glass beads, reflecting the surrounding scene, yet without any focus.

Those were the eyes of a "perfect tool."

And those eyes were looking back.

Looking back at himself before the altar, looking back at himself in the midst of "stripping," looking back at himself who was about to become a "perfect container."

There was no hatred in that gaze, no pity, not even regret.

Only a kind of cold, cross-temporal confirmation.

"You will also become like this."

The imagery stopped abruptly there.

But those eyes, those hollow, tool-like eyes, were deeply branded into Shen Xiao's mind, like a scar that could not be erased.

He felt the pulse under his palm jump violently.

Then.

"Ugh...!"

A suppressed groan came from his side.

Shen Xiao turned his head, his pupils shrinking abruptly.

Xia Lengbai's body was trembling violently.

Not because of the backlash of that "polluted" consciousness, not because of the mental shock, but because.

Following that pried-open gap, she had "seen" it.

Seeing the phantom of emotion that might belong to herself, reflected in the mirror when the First Child stripped away his own "paranoia."

That phantom was not "deep affection."

Not the "love" that the Heavenly Dao had programmed, the kind that as a "female lead" she must possess for Lin Yun.

But a deeper, more obscure thing, deliberately buried beneath all other emotions.

Submission to the arrangements of fate.

And beneath that submission, the pain that was suppressed to death, not daring to reveal a single shred.

"Fake..."

Xia Lengbai's voice squeezed out from her throat, hoarse, broken, as if choked by something.

"It's all... fake..."

Her left hand lifted abruptly, clutching her chest tightly.

Her knuckles turned white from the force, her fingernails almost embedding into her flesh.

The Tomb Guardian Seal flickered violently in her palm, its light dimming and brightening, like a star about to explode.

Her eyes, that pair of ice-blue eyes that had always been as calm as cold jade, had lost all focus at this moment.

Pupils dilated, reflecting nothing.

Only shattering.

A thorough shattering, spreading from the depths of her cognition.

Shen Xiao let go of her hand.

He took a step back, the silver thread snapped, and that wisp of "polluted" consciousness dissipated into the air.

But he did not look at those broken silver threads.

He was looking at Xia Lengbai.

Watching her clutch her chest, watching her unfocused gaze, watching that cold arc at the corner of her mouth finally disappear completely, replaced by a kind of almost dazed emptiness.

In the stone chamber, water droplets were still falling.

"Drip... drip... drip..."

The sound was clearer than before, clear enough to be the tail end of some kind of countdown.

And in the gaps of that sound, Shen Xiao heard Xia Lengbai's muttering.

"Who am I..."

"Who... who exactly am I..."