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墨書 Inktalez
I held the Charcoal Pencil in my hand, trembling as it scratched against the Sketch Paper, graphite dust coating my knuckles. The crooked sunflower on the easel looked as if it had been struck by lightning, and in the Thirteenth cycle, my drawing skills remained at a kindergarten level. Outside, the cicadas' chirping suddenly halted, and as the second hand passed twelve, a familiar burning sensation surged up my spine.
"Another failure," I murmured to the air, watching the callus on my palm vanish after the reset. But this time felt different; as I instinctively reached for the palette, my fingers automatically formed the correct grip for holding a pencil. The cobalt blue in the paint box glinted so brightly that I squinted, suddenly recalling what the professor at the Fine Arts Academy had said during a previous cycle: "Observing shadows should be as delicate as caressing a lover's skin."
The top floor of the library was filled with the metallic scent of sweat from the Fencing Room. In the Fifteenth cycle, my Sword had knocked Coach Chen's weapon away for the thirty-second time. The old man rubbed his wrist and chuckled, "You've made some strange progress this week." I didn’t tell him that I had practiced that Backhand Thrust for a full seven cycle days, once even breaking my pinky on the hilt.
The day I saved Li Yao, it poured rain. This Transfer Student, who usually hid in a corner of the art room, was supposed to be struck by the collapsing Awning at two twenty. As I yanked her into a flowerbed, mud dripped from her hair onto my School Emblem. Her trembling eyelashes brushed against my neck: "How did you know it would collapse?"
In three days' time, an explosion echoed from what should have been an empty Chemical Laboratory. When I kicked open the door, Li Yao was kneeling in a pool of blood, clutching a charred arm—it belonged to her brother who had secretly experimented to develop an Anticancer Drug. The thick smoke stung my eyes and made me weep; it turned out that fate had already marked its price in darkness.
When Xiao Ya replaced the candles on her strawberry cake with the ninety-ninth one, we were lying beneath the dome of the Planetarium. "What if we could stay on this day forever..." She suddenly rolled over and bit my earlobe, her warm breath carrying a hint of vanilla. "Would you get tired of me and push me into the Meteorite Pit?" I counted the starlight dancing on her eyelashes; my throat felt stuffed with dried daisies.
As the musty smell from the Ancient Text Room invaded my nostrils, a chill ran down my spine. That copy of Eternal Record was hidden within the cover of Jin Ping Mei, its yellowed silk inscribed with Vermilion: "Breaker shall experience Three Thousand Forms; yet for every cause changed, must bear Hundredfold Retribution." As thunder crashed outside, bloodstains between the pages began to fade.
Xiao Ya's icy fingers traced those strange symbols: "Doesn't this Hexagram pattern look like your Birthmark?" Her breath formed white mist on the glass window as our exhaled warmth wove intricate patterns over frost flowers. Suddenly, a heavy thud echoed from downstairs—the Principal's Office window was emitting black smoke.
When I rushed into the fire for the twenty-seventh time to carry out the Director of Academic Affairs, a familiar pain shot through my right leg as if it were breaking again. Through the smoke appeared Li Yao's distorted face; she held a Gasoline Bottle that continued to drip ominously: "Why save them and not my brother?" Collapsing onto the scorching tiles with a bitter smile, I finally understood the true meaning of "Hundredfold Retribution" in that book.
Xiao Ya crushed my sketchbook outside the emergency room. Blood droplets seeping from her fingernails fell onto sunflower petals, staining those crooked lines an eerie orange-red. "Before the next cycle begins..." she suddenly tore open my hospital gown, her teeth biting hard into my collarbone, "I want you to remember this pain."
I watched as the Green Line on the Electrocardiogram Monitor flattened out, counting down to my 214th heartbeat before consciousness faded away. This time upon rebooting, the burning sensation at my nape was particularly intense, as if a hot iron were etching new Reincarnation codes into my skin. The smell of burning paper wafted in from outside; thick smoke rising from the library twisted into spirals amidst pouring rain.
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