“Chu… the ‘Neng’?”
Chen Junnan turned back to look at Qi Xia: “Why do I feel like I’ve heard of this person?”
“One of the ‘Pathfinders,'” Qi Xia said. “In her final days as a ‘Zodiac,’ she fell into the same panic as I did.”
“What panic…?”
“The panic of ‘not knowing how to preserve memories that were about to disappear,'” Qi Xia replied.
Qi Xia’s explanation was somewhat abstract, and the others in the room struggled to grasp it. After all, none of them had ever tried to become a “Zodiac,” so how could they understand the mindset of a “Zodiac in their final days”?
“When she sensed that her ‘Zodiac journey’ was coming to an end, the only solution was to find a way to preserve her memories,” Qi Xia said, pointing from a distance at the notebook in Chen Junnan’s hand. “Without a better method, she could only ‘write them down.'”
“This lady really had nerves of steel,” Chen Junnan remarked. “Just leaving it out in the open like this? What if that bastard Qinglong found it? Wouldn’t he use it to control her students?”
Qi Xia shook his head softly. “Do you think Qinglong… would care about what some ‘Zodiac’ hid under their desk? Or even… would Qinglong ever step foot in these rooms?”
“Uh… Qinglong wouldn’t, but what about the cleaning staff?” Chen Junnan pressed. “With so many rooms—”
“The rooms are cleaned by ‘Natives’ under Tianshe’s leadership,” Qi Xia said. “Besides, once a room is vacant, even the ‘Natives’ stop entering.”
“Ah…” Chen Junnan scratched his head and glanced at the dust in the room. “Guess you’re right… Once no one lives here, it’s completely abandoned.”
Zhang Chenze felt that Qi Xia’s words carried too much information and turned to ask, “Then how did you preserve your memories?”
“I… can only say it was more profound than ‘writing them down,'” Qi Xia replied.
Zhang Chenze fell silent. She realized that what Qi Xia had done probably couldn’t be explained in just a few words here.
“Done reading,” Chen Junnan said, closing the notebook. “Just like Old Qi said, this is like a mix of a ‘work log’ and a ‘biography.’ It records everything, good and bad, as if it was meant for future readers.”
But Chen Junnan also noticed one thing: the further he read, the more the Golden Monkey’s thoughts became paranoid and extreme.
Though the handwriting remained the same, her mental state had clearly grown unstable by the end. She wavered between the immense power she held and her human nature, torn between adapting to her new life or retaining her last shreds of rationality.
The downside of preserving memories for too long had manifested starkly in her—a trial every “Zodiac” likely faced.
Even if someone started as an ordinary person joining the “Zodiacs,” over the years, they would inevitably grow violent and cold-blooded.
But the Golden Monkey had begun realizing something was wrong. Not only did she try to preserve her memories, she even planted a “needle.”
In a way, she walked a path similar to Qi Xia’s—but hers was far more cautious. Her “memories” were written, and she only planted one “needle.”
“She knew that if everything went according to plan, only allies would find this notebook,” Qi Xia said. “So while the method seems full of holes, it was ironically the safest on the ‘Train.'”
“Trickster!” Qiao Jiajin approached Qi Xia with a thoughtful expression. “Is that tall horse the referee from ‘Wooden Ox and Horse’?”
“It’s ‘Wooden Ox and Horse’…” Chen Junnan corrected.
“Probably her. With the Golden Monkey’s protection, rising to ‘Earth-level’ isn’t surprising,” Qi Xia said. “Why?”
Qiao Jiajin gave an awkward laugh. “Damn… I don’t know if I’m getting this right, but no matter how you look at it, that ‘Horse’ is one of ours, right? The ‘forbidden technique’ she had… seems like I…”
“That’s not my concern,” Qi Xia said. “At the time, if you hadn’t broken her ‘Echo,’ you would’ve died. What do you think I’d choose?”
“Well…”
“Even if I’d known beforehand, my choice would’ve been the same. That Earth Horse was no kin of mine—I wouldn’t let you die just to preserve her ‘technique,'” Qi Xia added. “Besides, we didn’t know anything back then, so there’s no need to blame yourself.”
“But… it’s not about blaming myself, Trickster!” Qiao Jiajin insisted. “I’m worried we’re losing a potential fighter here. Doesn’t that tall horse have a ‘Neng’? Maybe she could’ve helped us in some way?”
“I’m not sure how powerful the ‘Neng’ the Golden Monkey gave her was,” Qi Xia said. “So I wouldn’t count her as a primary fighter.”
“Better than nothing,” Qiao Jiajin argued. “Even in a street fight, the more people you have, the better.”
“Then it’s up to her,” Qi Xia said. “Your ‘Break All Laws’ essentially suppressed her ‘Echo.’ If her will is strong enough, she might break through that restraint.”
Chen Junnan thought for a moment, then frowned. “But that wasn’t her own ‘Echo,’ right? Wasn’t it the Golden Monkey who gave it to her?”
“Right,” Qiao Jiajin agreed. “Like how ‘No Pain’ gave me his ‘Echo,’ but I couldn’t control it. Whether I feel pain or not is still up to him.”
“The type of ‘Echo’ is different,” Qi Xia explained after a pause. “Think of it like a merchant giving her one of his boxes. She can take whatever’s inside freely. Now, Fist locked the box—but if she can unlock it, she can still use what’s inside.”
“Holy shit,” Chen Junnan muttered. “That abstract?”
“Simply put, the Golden Monkey’s ability is like a massive ‘box warehouse,'” Qi Xia said. “She can keep the boxes herself or give them away. She only makes the boxes and decides what goes inside.”
“Then what was in it for her…?” Chen Junnan wondered. “With such an overpowered ability… why entrust a box to a dumb horse?”
“Maybe she had no choice,” Qi Xia said, shaking his head. “Or maybe she saw something of herself in that ‘Horse.’ But we can’t guess her thoughts—even she’s forgotten now. That’s the horror of the ‘Endgame.'”
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