Cthulhu America, I can see the kill line.

"Damn it! I don't want your sinful spiritual power!"

Kong Jiu instinctively dodged, trying his best to avoid the torrent of blue light that Fara unleashed as she was dying.

He had no idea that Farah would resort to suicide to transfer his power!

But it was too late.

Blue light entered his brow, and countless taboo concepts suddenly flooded into Kong Jiu's mind. In the ocean of reason, they were like countless spreading tentacles, stirring up this already unsettled sea.

"With your complete control over time, you will surely be able to create that paradise, that paradise that reaches the future!"

As Farah cried out in despair, Kong Jiu's head throbbed with pain, and his consciousness completely dissipated.

……

"Are you finally starting to accept yourself?"

"Don't talk, Abby. It's this silly boy who's starting to accept me."

In the void, two voices, seemingly close yet distant, conversed, their echoes reverberating through the empty space, as if coming through a curtain of water.

Kong Jiu tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt as heavy as lead; he tried to move a finger, but his body felt as if it didn't belong to him. Only the sound of their conversation clearly reached his ears.

"Hey, 'it's me, listen carefully..."

The voice was unsettlingly familiar, like an echo crawling out from the depths of one's heart, yet shrouded in a layer of unfamiliar indifference.

"Next, you'll fall into an utterly absurd fantasy, like being crowned king, recreating the world, or even challenging the heavens... Whatever, haven't you been fantasizing about these things since you were little?"

The voice paused for a moment, then added a barely perceptible warning in its tone:

"But remember, no matter what you see or experience, firmly remember who you are. Not the identity others give you, not the role imposed on you by illusion, but your original self, your ultimate true self."

"Remember! Remember! Remember..."

The ethereal voice drifted further and further away, and in the endless emptiness, the heaviness gradually faded from his fingertips, and Kong Jiu felt his limbs again.

He opened his eyes.

The night was as dark as ink, and the glazed tiles of Weiyang Palace were bathed in the cold moonlight, even the bronze bells on the eaves were silent.

who am I?

A name came to mind:

季。

Ji slowly sat up from the dragon bed. The brocade quilt embroidered with nine dragons was thick and luxurious, but it could not warm the chill that seeped from the bone.

He raised his hand, and by the moonlight shining through the carved window, he could see the loose skin and dark brown spots on the back of his hand.

It's too quiet.

The only sound was his own breathing, one breath after another, heavy and weary.

This magnificent palace, with its golden brick floor and white jade steps, is the supreme place that everyone in the world dreams of.

But as he lay on the dragon bed, each breath he took was heavy with weariness. More and more white hair appeared at his temples, and his back became increasingly hunched.

Those youthful exuberances have long been worn away by years of war, court intrigues, and the betrayals of feudal lords.

How many years has it been since I left Pei County?

Memories suddenly flooded in like a tidal wave.

Back then, there were no carved beams and painted rafters of Weiyang Palace, no solemn imperial guards, only the familiar loess lanes of Pei County, low adobe houses scattered in an orderly fashion, and the old locust tree at the entrance of the village with its gnarled branches, with a few grasshoppers left behind by naughty children still hanging on its branches.

The air was filled with the fresh scent of wheat straw, mingled with the smoky aroma of firewood from a farmhouse stove—a scent etched into his very being.

Unbeknownst to him, the earthen lanes around him had transformed into a camp where the banners of the anti-Qin uprising fluttered.

Ji was dressed in heavy armor, holding a long sword whose hilt was gleaming with sweat.

Behind him followed familiar faces, all brothers who had come from Pei County together. The campfire illuminated their young, rough faces, their eyes burning with the same fire.

"Are kings and nobles born with a special destiny?"

The shouts spread like wildfire, engulfing the chaotic world.

He slew the white snake and gathered righteous troops. From a lowly village head, he was pushed, squeezed, and fought his way up to higher and higher positions.

In a chaotic world, smoke filled the air and shouts of battle shook the heavens.

He had seen battlefields strewn with corpses, heard heart-wrenching cries; experienced the deadly traps at the Feast at Hongmen, and endured sleepless nights of vying for supremacy.

The more generals under one's command, the better; the strategist plans and strategizes, winning battles from afar; the advisor governs the country, comforts the people, and provides them with supplies.

With the support of his brothers and the people of Pei County, he overcame all obstacles step by step, ascended the jade steps of Xianyang Palace, and crossed the Wujiang River where Xiang Yu committed suicide.

Finally, he stood on that high platform, a position ordained by Heaven.

The music and ceremonial music resounded, officials knelt and prostrated themselves, and shouts of "Long live the Emperor!" echoed like a mountain range and a tsunami.

Ji, dressed in a black dragon robe and wearing a twelve-tassel crown, stood on the high throne, receiving the worship of the masses.

The sunlight shone on the crown and jade beads, making him feel slightly dizzy.

At that moment, he had everything.

At that moment, he was the emperor who had established his rule over the world, the supreme ruler who governed the four seas.

Glory, power, and prestige—all the halos of the world enveloped him.

Is this not the ultimate goal of humankind?

But why does it feel like a piece of my chest has been hollowed out?

He could hear endless eulogies and see respectful ministers bowing their heads before him, but he could no longer hear anyone pat him on the shoulder and call out "Ji," nor could he smell the earthy aroma of wheat wafting from under the old locust tree.

On many nights, Ji sat alone in the empty bedroom, gazing at the same bright moon outside the window, her hands outstretched.

The calluses on the tiger's mouth are still hard, but these hands, which once held swords, raised flags, and clinked wine bowls with brothers, can now only hold a cold jade seal.

He always felt like he had lost something.

The Lunar New Year is here.

Ji stood at the palace gate, looking at the myriad lights outside the palace.

Another year has passed in the blink of an eye. For whom do the fireworks shine so brightly? Tonight, I am still sleepless.

In a daze, a faint yet deeply familiar humming sound drifted in through the layers of palace walls.

It is neither the solemn and elaborate court music, nor the clanging and jarring sound of battlefield weapons.

Is it... a country folk song?

"What tune is that?"

Ji suddenly raised his head, a look of bewildered urgency flashing across his face, and turned to the concubine serving beside him.

The concubine lowered her eyes and replied, "Your Majesty, it is a tune from a folk opera."

wrong.

Ji unconsciously clenched her sleeve. This wasn't a village opera.

No, it wasn't that village opera.

This is a rougher, more boisterous, and more reckless tune!

This isn't a traditional village opera!

It was a song I hummed decades ago in Pei County, after drinking with my brothers and other rascals until we were completely drunk, yelling and jumping around in the mud!

Those were the songs he listened to most often on every hangover night when he was in Pei County; they were voices etched deep in his soul!

"This is not a traditional opera!"

Ji suddenly leaped over the threshold and staggered towards the outside of the hall.

As he ran, he flung off the black robe he was wearing, the attire that symbolized an emperor!

The palace scene before my eyes began to shake and crumble, like a painting soaked in water.

"This isn't a traditional village opera!"

"Ji" roared and ran toward the faint, warm firelight flickering in the distance.

Come back home!

He wants to return to the people of Pei County!

Go back to that group of people, back to the brothers who would call him "Ji", fight with him for drinks, call him a "coward" and fight for him!

Come back home!

Come back home!

Come back home!

Go home, go home, go home, go home, go home...

The illusion emitted a series of cracking sounds, and a purple fissure opened up menacingly before him.

"I am not Ji, I am not Ji!"

"Ji"—no, Kong Jiu—used all his strength to stumble and lunge toward the crack.

"I am...I am..."

Her robes were completely undone, and her long hair danced wildly in the illusory wind.

"I am Kong Jiu, I want to go home!"