Cyrene's gaze fell on the canvas, and her breath hitched.
There was no depiction of her own appearance as she had expected, not even any concrete form.
Upon the canvas was a bottomless, pitch-black expanse.
The blackness was not dead silent, but contained countless layers, as if it were the vacuum background of the entire universe.
And in the center of this pitch-blackness, a luminous band coiled, its ends connected, endlessly looping.
Upon this eternally circulating halo, a few tiny yet exceptionally vibrant pink specks of light were dotted, like delicate flowers struggling to bloom within it.
The entire painting felt extremely abstract, yet it contained a terrifying truth.
It did not depict Cyrene's outward appearance, but seemed to point directly to some more essential aspect of her existence: that tiny and precious pink, trapped within an eternally looping structure, and all of it suspended in the cold, silent void of the universe.
Cyrene stared blankly at the painting, a chill quietly creeping up her spine.
She couldn't understand all the details, but the strong contrast of grandeur and insignificance, circulation and loneliness, brilliance and transience conveyed by the painting acted like a key, inadvertently prying open certain sealed emotions deep within her Remembrance.
It was a vague fear of endless time, a bewilderment regarding her own existence, and the eternal sorrow, buried deep in her heart, for the inevitable passing of 'fragile beautiful things' after witnessing countless tragedies as a 'Recorder'.
She fell silent, unable to speak for a long time.
This painting was like a mirror, reflecting an inner landscape she herself had never clearly examined.
Griseo didn't seem to expect her evaluation, merely standing quietly to the side, observing the subtle emotional changes on Cyrene's face with eyes that could perceive color and essence.
After a long while, Cyrene finally recovered from that inexplicable tremor. She averted her gaze, her voice a little dry: "Th-thank you... It's a very good painting. Although I don't quite understand it, it... feels... very special."
Griseo nodded again, as if it were only natural.
She finally remembered Cyrene's initial question, raised her hand, and pointed to a small door on the other side of the room: "Go out from there, turn left, keep walking, and you'll see an area with more light. Someone... is there."
"...Thank you."
She nodded to Griseo again, then hurried away in the direction she pointed, as if to leave behind that painting which pointed directly to her essence, along with the shock of being seen through.
Not long after Cyrene left, the studio door was gently pushed open again.
Kosma walked in silently.
He had heard that Dr. Mobius seemed to be actively looking for something, and worried that Griseo, alone in the studio, might get caught up in unnecessary trouble, so he came to check.
His gaze first fell on Griseo, and after confirming she was safe, he turned to the newly finished painting.
His orange eyes lingered on the abstract darkness and the silver ring.
Kosma's heart was not entirely unmoved:
(What did she... see? The colors are heavy. That ring... it's a bit unsettling. What is that pink dot in the middle?)
But his usual silence kept these thoughts circulating only within his mind.
"Griseo."
He spoke, his voice not loud, "Are you alright?"
Griseo turned her head to look at Kosma, and slowly shook her head.
Her gaze returned to the canvas, seemingly organizing her thoughts to describe the special 'model' from earlier.
"One,"
She paused, her small brows slightly furrowed, as if struggling to process the complexity she perceived, "...many?"
Kosma: "?"
(Many? Many what? Many people? Or some other meaning?)
Doubt showed in his eyes.
Griseo herself seemed dissatisfied with this generalization. She tried hard to recall, attempting to find a more accurate description, but ultimately only added a more intuitive characteristic: "Pink peach."
Pink?
Kosma's thoughts instantly returned to the corridor from not long ago.
That petite girl, strikingly similar to Elysia, who called herself Cyrene.
His eyes sharpened, and he almost instinctively uttered two words: "Cyrene?"
Griseo nodded, confirming his guess.
Kosma's heart skipped a beat.
(She really did come into contact with Griseo!)
He immediately looked at Griseo again, a hint of tension in his voice: "Are you alright?"
He worried that the unknown 'Cyrene' might have an unforeseen effect on Griseo.
Griseo shook her head again, indicating she was unharmed.
Her reaction was as calm as ever, as if she had just completed a normal sketch, even though the content of the painting was far from ordinary.
Kosma was slightly relieved, but his doubts remained.
He looked at the small door Cyrene had left through and asked, "Which way?"
Griseo pointed, clearly repeating the instructions she had given Cyrene earlier: "That way. Through the corridor, turn left at the second intersection."
Kosma nodded, turned to leave, and gently closed the door.
He didn't notice that in the slight breeze created by his closing the door, the painting on the easel gently fluttered, flipped over, backside up, and quietly slid into the pile of sketches on the floor.
The back of the painting was not blank.
A purplish-pink three-dimensional cube, formed by countless tiny aggregated cubes, with slightly irregular edges.
At the center of this cube, a bright and warm light shone through.
Most strikingly, around this core, the tiny cubes forming the larger cube were not static; they seemed to be slowly changing, as if alive.
Perspective shift.
In the room, Li Sushang had already changed into her moon-white and indigo attire.
She was carefully adjusting her cuffs and collar, her movements carrying a certain formality of ancient rites, and as her fingertips brushed the smooth, unfamiliar fabric, her eyes still held admiration for the 'immortal's woven cloth'.
Her long hair was loosely tied with a plain white hair tie found in the wardrobe, a few strands falling by her cheeks, making her still-youthful face appear even more heroic and lively, befitting a young martial artist.
Just then, the door was gently pushed open, and Fu Hua entered.
She had changed back into her usual, more practical clothes, but her expression was far more complex than it was during training.
Seeing that Li Sushang was already tidied up, she nodded slightly, sat down on a simple chair in the room, and gestured for the other to sit as well.
Li Sushang, however, did not sit down.
She took a step back, clasped her hands, and respectfully bowed to Fu Hua, her voice clear and crisp:
"Li Sushang, senior disciple of the Supreme Unfettered Gate, greets Master Ancestor!"
Fu Hua: "..."
Even with her temperament tempered by tens of thousands of years of accumulated memories, a wave of helplessness washed over her at this moment.
She raised her hand, making a gesture of 'no need for such formality,' her tone steady but with an undeniable clarifying intent: "Li Sushang, first of all, I am not your Master Ancestor."
Li Sushang straightened up, a clear look of confusion on her face, her clear brown eyes blinking: "But your appearance is identical to the portrait of the Ancestral Master that my Master treasures, and your demeanor is even more alike..."
"The appearance is the same, but 'I' am not the one you know."
Fu Hua interrupted her, trying to explain in a way she might understand, "You can think of me as... a 'Remembrance' she left here, a'shadow,' or rather, an independent'split consciousness'."
"Split consciousness?!"
Li Sushang's eyes instantly lit up, as if she had heard something extraordinary. Her previous confusion vanished, replaced by deep reverence and... sudden enlightenment.
"So that's it! Master Ancestor, your cultivation has reached the realm of manifesting thousands of avatars and splitting your consciousness! This junior understands! You are a split consciousness manifested by the main body, stationed here in this immortal's secret realm!"
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