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墨書 Inktalez
As the neon remnants burned the topology of the Klein Bottle onto the Retina, Lao Zhao's Mechanical Arm suddenly twitched, pointing towards a Ventilation Duct. The rusted metal surface oozed a gelatinous Cerebrospinal Fluid. The moment I cut the lock with my wristband, the entire black market collapsed into a three-dimensional Möbius strip.
In the center of the Quantum Vortex, a transparent crystal floated with two thousand seven hundred and forty-three human bodies. Their umbilical cords intertwined with quantum circuits resembling star maps, each segment of spinal nerve endings connected to fluorescent digital clocks—displaying their respective frozen moments in time.
Lao Zhao's chest suddenly split open, revealing a military-grade quantum chip that was burning through his pulmonary artery. The twenty-third row of crystals emitted a sudden blue light. Li Ming's Body curled up within an octahedral lattice, golden patterns of the Mass-Energy Equation shimmering across his skin. His fingertips bore binary burn marks, coalescing into the shape of a daisy—the 3D model he had clumsily printed all night when we first met.
Sparks from Neuron synapses exploded on the Retina. As the Brainwave Analyzer connected to the crystal cluster, countless streams of consciousness surged into the prefrontal cortex, carrying fragments of memories. In the laboratory that smelled of disinfectant, six-year-old Li Ming was inserting a daisy into a brain slice specimen jar: "Once we crack the Quantum Tunneling Effect, we will..."
Suddenly, gamma rays radiated from within the crystal. As Li Ming's eyelids fluttered, all digital clocks' second hands froze at Planck Time. His Iris shattered into twelve Holographic Projections, each Pupil flickering with different Morse code signals.
"Run!" Lao Zhao suddenly tackled me to the Ground. When a bullet pierced his left rib, it splattered not blood but holographic fragments of the 1983 Beijing subway construction plans. Those yellowed Blueprints were being transmitted backward along quantum entanglement channels, and my forearm was instantly covered in burn scars shaped like power lines.
The crystal cage erupted in a supernova-like white light. Li Ming's lips tore apart into a fountain of quantum bits, with tips crystallizing into the topology of a Sixteen-Dimensional Coordinate System. As he aimed his Pupil at my wristwatch, his skin suddenly faded to transparency—I watched as his Capillary restructured into a flowchart of Bayesian algorithms.
Lao Zhao's respirator spewed forth liquid nitrogen with a Rusty Smell. His mangled right hand slowly carbonized into an old-fashioned Welding Gun from 1978, its end crystallizing with cluster-like Cerebral Gray Matter.
"Your father... Shen Tong..."
His Electronic Vocal Cords suddenly evolved a quantum entanglement function, and memories from thirty meters underground in 1998 surged into my Temples.
Twenty-three Cultivation Pods exploded simultaneously.
A clone of myself was etching an inverted Fourier Transform formula on the wall of the pod with a fractured ulna, her eye sockets hosting fungal filaments of nanoscale brain-machine interfaces.
"Code..."
Li Ming's voice suddenly tore through the fabric of space-time.
The phosphorescent petals of daisies converged into a black hole jet, etching an eleven-dimensional tremor equation onto the glass surface.
As my fingertips touched the third term of the formula, the entire crystal suddenly disintegrated into a thalamic neural map.
When the laser blade of the Pursuers pierced Lao Zhao's chest, his remaining Mechanical Eye suddenly emitted a dark matter beam.
Those beams wove together in the void to form the face of Professor Lin Zhengnan—I witnessed Huo Hua's father, who was now wearing a Mechanical Mask adorned with the Deep Eye Emblem.
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