And one more thing—was that friend of hers a boy or a girl?

  I was genuinely curious, but asking outright felt like it would change the whole tone of the conversation, so I swallowed the question.

  Alice seemed stumped by what I’d said. After a long pause, she finally answered: “…She was an exception.”

  “An exception to what?” I pressed.

  “She was only a ten-year-old little girl. In a world as dangerous as that illusion, if no one protected her, she’d die even faster.” She explained, “Even though being near me put her in danger too, it was still better than leaving her completely alone.”

  “A ten-year-old little girl…” I nodded. “Then you must remember her name, right? Since you were with her until the very end, there’s no way you’d forget something like that. Later we can check the records of soul-loss syndrome patients and see if she’s in there.”

  She seemed tempted for a moment, but then sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know her real name. She’d already forgotten it herself.”

  Another unexpected roadblock. I asked, “Why?”

  “I mentioned before that I’ve forgotten a lot of my past, right? That’s extremely common in the apocalyptic era.” A distant look came into her eyes as she recalled. “The apocalyptic world was shrouded in an invisible madness. People living in it would gradually be invaded by that madness from the inside—losing themselves, forgetting everything they’d experienced. Even the people I… hurt back then, I can barely remember their faces or names anymore.

  “And once someone forgets even their own name—once they forget everything—they lose their sense of self entirely, descend into insanity, and become monsters that prey on others.

  “Those who turn into monsters like that are called ‘freaks’… or ‘karma demons.’”

  “Freak” sounded fitting enough.

  As for “karma demon”… I remembered it was a term rooted in Buddhism.

  In Buddhism, “demons” are obstacles that hinder enlightenment. A “karma demon,” specifically, is the root cause that compels a practitioner to create evil karma—in plain terms, the fundamental reason they can’t stop doing bad things. Buddhism holds that people commit evil because a demon has entered their heart—and that demon is the karma demon.

  “One of the reasons I traveled with my friend was to keep myself from forgetting everything and turning into a karma demon,” Alice continued. “In the apocalyptic era, it was best to move in groups of at least two. That way you could call each other’s names, confirm each other’s memories. Even temporary nicknames were fine—as long as there was a name.”

  “I see…” I absorbed what she’d said, then continued, “But even if you don’t know her real name, you must remember her face, right? There’s no madness like that in this world, so you shouldn’t forget again.”

  “I remember her face.” She nodded. “Later I’ll do as you suggested—look into the soul-loss syndrome records… though I don’t believe the souls lost to soul-loss syndrome went to the apocalyptic era.”

  She still intended to go it alone. I had to make her abandon that idea.

  After leaving the aquarium, I led her to the abandoned construction site near Xianshui University.

  “This place is…” Alice murmured.

  This was where we’d first met—the place that, in my mind, felt like destiny. Though it had changed beyond recognition, she had to remember coming here before.

  Now it was cordoned off as a danger zone. The half-cleaved unfinished building still stood, but it was unmistakably a condemned structure. Yellow caution tape ringed the area to keep people away. In time, it would probably be demolished entirely.

  If I couldn’t persuade her no matter what, this was where I’d finally reveal myself as a superhuman.

  I guided Alice under the caution tape and into the building, then up the intact portion of the stairs. Though she looked puzzled, she followed close behind.

  “I strongly suggest you avoid showing your face in public for a while,” I said, trying once more to convince her with words. “It’s not just the visible authorities hunting you. According to what my friends dug up, there are some very serious groups operating in the shadows investigating you too. That police officer who showed up accusing you of being a serial killer was probably just the tip of the iceberg. The moment you surface, you won’t be able to gather the information you need anymore.”

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  “Shadow organizations… even if they exist, they’re something I have to face.” Her voice was resolute. “From the beginning, my goal has been clear: spread the news of the approaching apocalypse to as many people as possible and stop it from happening in this era.”

  “If that’s the case, then why were your first words to me ‘don’t call the police’? Wouldn’t handing the information about the apocalypse over to the authorities be the most efficient way?” I asked.

  She answered without hesitation: “Because I need to gather enough solid evidence first—enough to make people believe me.”

  “Then let me collect that evidence for you from the outside,” I said. “You can stay hidden at my place for now. At least until this storm blows over.”

  “No. You can’t do it.” She stated it flatly.

  “Why not?” I was genuinely confused.

  By now we’d reached the mid-level of the building—what was effectively the rooftop now. Above us stretched only a tangled skeleton of rebar and concrete.

  The rooftop itself had been split in two, the halves separated by about ten meters. We stood on one side. The ground sloped slightly. She walked to the broken edge. The sky was a clear blue, sunlight pouring down. A cool wind swept across the heights, stirring her medium-length black hair.

  She pulled off the black cat-whisker mask and turned to face me, her expression perfectly calm.

  “Because, Z… you don’t actually believe in the apocalypse.”

  “What makes you say that?” I countered.

  Her next words left me speechless.

  “Have you ever once asked me when the apocalypse is supposed to arrive?”

  The question struck like lightning.

  “If you truly believed in it—if you felt any dread—you would inevitably want to know the timing. Years from now? Months? Days? You couldn’t possibly not ask. Because that’s the countdown to destruction.” She stared straight into my eyes. “But you never asked. Not once. And that’s only natural—because you don’t believe it’s real, you feel no sense of urgency, and without urgency, there’s no countdown.”

  “So in your eyes, I’m incapable of gathering evidence for you…” I murmured.

  “I’m not blaming you. I’m not accusing you of lying to me earlier.” Her tone was unshakable. “Because just a few days ago, you already made it clear: you ‘can’t believe’ me, but you ‘want to believe’ me. Even now, you’ve been trying your hardest to believe—so you’ve talked with me about so many things related to the apocalypse.

  “I’m truly grateful for your sincerity. But ‘wanting to believe’ isn’t enough. I will be the one to stop the apocalypse. I will be the one to protect your future.

  “But we cannot stay together.”

  “…”

  Her assessment of me was mostly accurate—except for one misunderstanding.

  In my heart, the apocalypse wasn’t something I feared. If I truly believed it was coming, what I’d feel would more likely be anticipation.

  So why hadn’t I ever asked about the countdown? Was it because my anticipation wasn’t strong enough?

  No. In my mind, the apocalypse was absolutely something worth looking forward to. But it was like someone who dreams of winning the lottery and becoming rich: you fantasize about it constantly, yet when you try to picture it actually happening in reality, it feels impossible to grasp with a realistic mindset. The apocalypse was that kind of distant, unreachable thing to me.

  Whenever I thought about the apocalypse and transmigration Alice described, I always prefixed it with “assuming” or “if.” Assuming it’s true, if it’s really true… How could I not think that way? Yes, everything she’d said so far had proven true—the jinx constitution, the blessing power—but the apocalypse was on an entirely different scale. Calling it “worlds apart” didn’t even do it justice.

  No matter how much I wanted to believe her, the reality was that not a single concrete clue had ever surfaced to prove the apocalypse was actually coming.

  Rather than pinning hopes on a far-off “apocalypse,” it made far more sense to hold on to the “jinx” right in front of me. That was the unvarnished truth in my heart.

  “You’re really just going to walk away like this?” I pressed.

  “You’ve done me a great kindness. I will repay it someday. But I can’t repay it by staying at your side—because that wouldn’t be repayment. It would be returning kindness with enmity.” Her voice was as hard as iron.

  “…If you’re worried that your jinx constitution will bring harm to me, there’s no need.”

  I’d finally been pushed to the last step.

  “I have to come clean with you. All this time… I’ve been lying to you…” I said slowly. “The truth is… I’m a superhuman.”

  “—What?”

  Her face filled with utter confusion and shock.

  I let out a long breath.

  Right in front of her, I raised my right hand, palm upward.

  A blazing fireball ignited in my palm, its light reflecting across Alice’s stunned face.

  But this alone probably wasn’t enough to convince her. From what I knew of Zhu Shi and Agent Kong’s group in Luo Shan, fire abilities were usually seen as lopsided powers—strong in offense but useless for long-term survival in the world of anomalies. Alice might think the same, so I had to go further.

  I flipped my hand and slammed the fireball straight into my own chest.

  The instant it made contact, my entire body erupted in flames. Skin, muscle, bone, blood, organs—every part burned. Long ago, this was exactly how I’d first ignited myself and awakened my second form. Now, in an instant, my whole body was engulfed in roaring fire.

  Yet the flames didn’t harm me at all. Instead, my body fused with them—taking on the same orange-red hue, turning faintly translucent. Not just my body—even my clothes were assimilated into the blaze. I’d transformed like this countless times in front of the mirror. In this state, I looked like a ghost woven from flickering orange-red light, my outline wavering like living flame. And this seemingly unstable form was actually my strongest trump card.

  This was my second form—the fire elemental state.