Volume 2

Chapter 81: The Only Color, Part Four

From the moment Mingfuluo cast curious and passionate gazes upon this world, she lost all other possibilities.

She lost all choices in her life.

And after tirelessly, joyfully pursuing this for over a decade, it was only on that flimsy scroll that she saw the heaviest truth.

Her life was shaped.

As Anselm said… Mingfuluo Zege’s fifteen years of life were Erlin’s greatest masterpiece.

An idealist even Hendrik and the others feared.

The puppet dazedly looked at the elders before her.

She could name every one of them, their expertise, their research focus.

Over these fifteen years, she had sought guidance from each of them countless times, gaining from each the steel-like belief and strength.

Now, recalling Hendrik, Ronggor, and the emotions these elders showed when she made those sacrificial decisions—anger, shock, confusion, sorrow—Mingfuluo realized she should have understood back then.

Those emotions weren’t because “Mingfuluo, why have you become this person?” but… “Mingfuluo, why haven’t you become the person we hoped for?”

—Because Erlin would never sacrifice others; he would only sacrifice himself.

And… his own family.

The petite scholar leaned powerlessly against the doorframe, her lips twitching.

The absurd reality made her want to laugh, while her collapsing self made her want to go mad. Her delicate, beautiful face twisted grotesquely from this contradiction.

She once thought Erlin’s failure lay in his excessive kindness, his unwillingness to sacrifice others to achieve his goals.

But now… it turned out she was the one sacrificed.

“Mingfuluo… please, calm down first.”

Hendrik, lips trembling, spine chilled, tried to soothe the Mingfuluo who seemed on the verge of total collapse, “Listen, this isn’t true. The truth isn’t like this… We never intended to deceive you, and our teacher would never—”

“You… truly never deceived me.”

The puppet’s purple eyes, unfocused, reflected everyone’s faces yet cast no gaze upon anyone, like a lusterless gem set in a hollow socket.

“Because all you needed to do was be yourselves.”

Erlin’s fifteen-year-long “creation,” praised even by Anselm, was brilliant precisely because it was… a lie not built on lies.

In Hendrik and the others’ eyes, Erlin’s suicide was to create the opportunity for Babel Tower’s birth, to pave the way for a new world.

He didn’t need to say anything about Mingfuluo; his students, following him, would naturally make her live in an environment where nothing existed but that ideal.

Any thoughts they might have had, like “let her live like a normal child,” would be dispelled by their teacher’s death and Mingfuluo’s own obsession.

They were happy to see that unyielding belief take root in her heart, and Mingfuluo, because of their indulgence, dove deeper into it…

A cycle that drove her to madness.

Such a false life was more real than anything, flawless, impregnable.

Was it this truth itself that made Mingfuluo so despairing? Clearly not.

Because she knew Hendrik and the others weren’t acting in a fifteen-year performance under Erlin’s orders.

They, too, held genuine passion for that ideal.

Erlin built her a false stage, but everyone performing on it believed they weren’t acting.

She had no choice, a puppet pieced together from fragments of an ideal, yet every fragment indeed shone with radiant light.

So… what destroyed her?

“Even so, that doesn’t mean you didn’t lie to me.”

Miss Doll murmured softly, “You abandoned it.”

In that moment of panic and confusion among everyone, only Ronggor’s expression froze, then turned deathly pale.

She hurriedly tried to explain, “Mingfuluo, listen, I didn’t mean…”

“Hendrik.”

The puppet ignored Ronggor’s words, looking blankly at Hendrik, repeating the question she asked when she burst into the meeting room:

“Tell me, in your eyes, what should Babel Tower be?”

“Mingfuluo, I…”

Hendrik seemed to want to say more, but her chillingly vacant gaze silenced him.

He opened his mouth, then sighed, “Babel Tower… is, of course, to change the Empire, to change the world, to realize our teacher’s, all our ideals. That’s what it is.”

He believed his answer was flawless, perhaps wanting to say more, but seeing Ronggor’s bloodless face, his heart trembled involuntarily.

What was going on?

Why… why did Mingfuluo know about what happened back then, and what was with Ronggor’s expression—

“To realize Grandfather’s ideal…”

Ronggor closed her eyes in pain, while the others watched Mingfuluo murmuring, each instinctively averting their gaze when they saw those lifeless eyes.

“You, all of you, really think that way?”

The emotional fluctuations in her words faded to nothing, her lips merely forming syllables, like the most rigid automaton.

“Mingfuluo! How could we—”

“Let commoners, let all those who cannot touch transcendence, also wield transcendent power.”

Mingfuluo’s words echoed in the meeting room, her voice so mechanical and indifferent, yet like a thunderclap.

“Do you really still hold such thoughts?”

Thud—

Ronggor collapsed powerlessly to the ground, the ever-proud, radiant noblewoman now trembling, covering her face with her hands.

When Mingfuluo brought up this unspoken but mutually acknowledged topic among Babel Tower’s elders, the meeting room fell silent.

Yes… this was the truth.

Why was this a lie not built on lies?

Because the belief and passion of Babel Tower’s elders were real, but that belief and passion had long shifted direction with the passage of time.

Fifteen years of struggle had made everyone face reality—a reality not of ideals but of delusion.

Creating convenient alchemical tools, rather than dreaming of enabling all ordinary people to wield transcendence… that was practical, the true way to realize Erlin’s ideal.

Every one of them believed this.

And this was something Ronggor, as an elder, had said herself… under Anselm’s guidance.

In Babel Tower, no one was moving toward the future Erlin truly desired.

—Except Mingfuluo.

Except her, the puppet pieced together to chase a phantom.

If in the past Mingfuluo thought she had no companions because no one could keep up with her, now, looking back with the truth revealed, she realized it wasn’t that they couldn’t keep up.

It was that, from the beginning, she was the only one on this path.

While everyone else had quietly changed their direction and beliefs, thinking themselves blameless, believing they were still realizing Erlin’s ideal…

Only she, so pitiful, so tragic, so laughable, gave everything, sacrificed all, for an endpoint she could never reach.

This was the only lie Babel Tower’s elders told Mingfuluo, aside from concealing Erlin’s death—a lie that, after she learned the truth, sent her into destruction.

When she looked up, asking, “Who among you still holds to Grandfather’s ideal?”

She was met with only silence.

—The puppet born from fifteen years of fervor was abandoned by that very fervor.

She gained from them the will to change everything, even without witnessing the world’s suffering, but they abandoned the possibility of forging that new world.

“We… Mingfuluo… don’t be like this.”

The last time Hendrik felt such fear, nearing despair, was when Ivora casually threatened to destroy Babel Tower.

He was almost incoherent, “We didn’t mean it that way, we didn’t… abandon it. We’re just… changing, using… another way to…”

“Creating alchemical tools and artifacts to improve commoners’ lives… is that it?”

Mingfuluo finished Hendrik’s words for him, then, as if knowing what he’d say, spoke in that ghostly voice, “Nothing will succeed. It will only end in failure.”

“Even with Anselm’s protection, even without transcendent interference… it’s the same.”

Anselm… had already shown her.

Showed her the reality she hadn’t understood and couldn’t change.

The complexity of society’s essence, the chaos of human hearts and nature, and…

The fact that the entire world, twisted by transcendence, was already profoundly deformed.

Even in absolute fairness, where no external means could be used, Watson Territory’s prosperity collapsed within a mere month.

Mortals holding miracles didn’t want to share them with others.

They only wanted to become the miracle itself.

Everything she sought to save wanted to devour the hand she extended in salvation… That alone was something she couldn’t solve.

What about the complexity of human hearts?

Of society? And above that, the looming threat of transcendence watching like a predator?

Nothing could be changed.

The puppet gave one final look at everyone in the meeting room, their evasive, bewildered, hesitant, sorrowful expressions etched in her eyes, then lowered her head, said no more, and turned to leave.

“Mingfuluo… wait, wait!”

Ronggor, kneeling on the ground, reached tremblingly toward the petite scholar’s back, “We didn’t mean to hurt you… We, we can change, we still have time, we—”

“…We?”

Mingfuluo stopped.

All her emotions seemed to have converged—no, not converged, but… extinguished.

Extinguished into a gray void. Like her lifeless eyes reflecting a world devoid of any color.

“There is no ‘we’ here,” she said.

“There is no me, no… Mingfuluo Zege.”

The puppet left those words and walked away.

Everything that had happened during this time, if taken individually, if any single event had occurred alone… none could have broken Mingfuluo.

The pain of her elders’ “betrayal,” the fear of self-nullification, the despair of being unable to change anything, even the realization that her most beloved kin had sacrificed her for a shaped belief and ideal… All of it could have been mended by her fifteen years of near-mad belief.

No matter how great the hardship, given time, given room to think, she could have overcome it.

But Mingfuluo had none of these.

—Because Anselm didn’t intend to give her any.

From guiding Ronggor to admit their abandonment of Erlin’s ideal, from concrete facts to illusory lies, the devil dismantled her self, her ideals—more important than herself—and… everything about her, step by step.

When the seed of self-doubt was planted in Mingfuluo’s heart, the chain of destruction had already begun and with Erlin’s chilling “great creation” as the endpoint, it reached… its grandest curtain call.

I… didn’t know why, despite never understanding the suffering of commoners, I was still obsessed with changing everything.

So it was because Grandfather designed everything with his death, designed my life.

But it didn’t matter, because Hendrik and the others were like me, chasing Grandfather’s ideals.

I wasn’t alone.

Oh, they had already given up.

They all thought Grandfather’s ideal was impossible.

They believed their way was better, that compromising was fine.

That… doesn’t matter.

Even if my belief was shaped, even if I’m the only one left in the end, I can move forward.

I will move forward.

But… How do I move forward? Where is the path?

How… Do I change all this?

…So tired.

If my life was designed, if I was abandoned in that design, if… if I don’t even know how to achieve the goal set for me.

Then… What am I?

Why does Mingfuluo Zege exist?

From within to without, everything—absolutely everything—about Mingfuluo Zege pointed to nothingness, loneliness, and… utter meaninglessness, devoid of value.

In the end, even swallowing the bitter pain of a false life, even consuming the despair of eternal loneliness, the one anchor she could grasp—turning that pursuit into reality—shattered too.

What reason does a puppet, unable to even fulfill its designed purpose, have to exist?

Thus, the puppet who lost all possibilities died in the hell of lost hope.

She stumbled forward, not knowing why she moved, not knowing where to go, only driving her legs, only keeping herself in motion.

She didn’t know how long or how far she walked until, like a cripple unable to control their limbs, she collapsed face-first onto the ground.

No tears, no cries, no roars—just sprawled there, her entire being as a human lacking any trace of humanity.

Like a puppet drained of all energy.

After an unknown time, the puppet heard a startled exclamation nearby.

“Ah, Anselm, found her!”

She heard footsteps approaching, heard the girl’s odd muttering, but her frozen eyes didn’t move an inch.

“Eek!”

The girl, half-crouching and tilting her head to examine the puppet, yelped, “Is she dead?! No… wait, isn’t she still breathing?”

She reached to poke the puppet but was stopped by the boy behind her.

“Alright, hit, go home first,” he said gently.

“Go home?” Hitana froze, then said with utmost grievance, “Did… did I do something wrong again?”

“Of course not. There’s just something… I need to settle with her.”

“Oh, okay… then I’ll head back, Anselm, Anselm, come back soon too.”

As the cheerful footsteps faded, the puppet heard that infinitely gentle voice by her ear again, carrying no hint of comfort:

“I gave you a chance to turn back, Mingfuluo.”

The young Hydra knelt beside the collapsed puppet, gently stroking her cold cheek, “Do you regret not seizing that chance now?”

“…”

“Truly thorough, isn’t it?”

He laughed, his finger lightly tracing her lips, “This must be the worst day of your life, right? But for me… it’s not.”

A long prelude and wait culminated in the climax before the final curtain.

Taking Babel Tower, stirring Mingfuluo’s emotions, making her waver in her stance toward him, then pushing the already softened, no longer cold and unyielding her into the abyss… self-denial, confusion about her ideals, realizing her powerlessness, and finally, the collapse and falsehood of everything, reigniting all the despair she had endured.

To achieve such destruction, Anselm had to thank his three-years-ago self.

Thanks to him who, as a friend and companion, didn’t tell Mingfuluo the truth about Erlin’s death to spare her immense grief.

Otherwise, this perfect destruction would lack its most critical performance.

“Have you lost all thoughts about everything?”

Anselm lifted the puppet’s petite body into his arms, whispering in her ear, “Even if I destroy you, humiliate you, ravage you here, you wouldn’t care at all, would you?”

Held in his embrace, her head resting on his shoulder, the puppet still made no sound, only faint, warm breaths… proving she was still alive.

“Heh… just kidding. How could I do such a thing to my precious daughter?”

“You agree, don’t you, Helen?”

The young Hydra chuckled softly, and that name caused the puppet’s eyes to flicker almost imperceptibly.

“I said earlier this is the worst day of your life, but that… was for Mingfuluo.”

He kissed the puppet’s cheek, and a teleportation scroll suddenly appeared in his hand, disintegrating with the infusion of ether:

“For Helen, this will surely be the best day.”

When the light faded, Anselm and Mingfuluo… stood atop a city’s walls.

“Do you remember this place, Helen?”

He set the puppet on the ground.

She swayed, only managing to stand by clinging to Anselm.

Her lifeless purple eyes reflected the city’s scenery.

Her halted consciousness flickered for a moment.

This was…

“Breeze City.”

The young Hydra smiled, “The other participant in our game, forgot?”

Breeze City… Breeze City…

Yes, the other participant.

The lifeless gaze swept over the distant and near sights, and a thought emerged in the puppet’s mind—

Is this… Breeze City?

Clean, orderly streets, intact and beautiful houses, bustling and lively roads, endless streams of passersby…

How could this be the barren territory from just over a month ago?

“Because Little Pelican City caused such a stir, you stopped paying attention to this place in the mid-to-late stages of the game, didn’t you?”

Anselm chuckled leisurely, “Curious about what happened here?”

He snapped his fingers lightly.

From a distance on the wall, a richly dressed young man, who seemed to have been standing there for ages, sprinted toward them with an urgency that belied his elegant attire.

Stopping about three meters from Anselm, he stood straight, unable to suppress the near-fanatical adoration on his face, bowing deeply, “Lord Anselm, Longlana Byron, at your service.”

Anselm waved dismissively with a smile, “No need for extra formalities. Do you know why I called you?”

“Yes!”

The young man stood tall, as if proclaiming his honor, saying to Anselm, “To report the economic department’s adjustments to Breeze City over the past month!”

Anselm, arm around the puppet’s waist, leaned casually against the wall, “Go ahead.”

“Yes! Starting from the day the soil enhancement potion transformed the farmland, on the sixteenth day, the second harvest flooded the market with high-quality grain. The department began investigations and completed all work in seven minutes and thirteen seconds.”

“After confirming the situation, we held a one-hour-and-thirty-seven-minute strategy discussion and finalized a response plan.”

“Per the strategy, we absorbed all circulating grain in the market and negotiated with farmland holders, completing purchase pricing for all transformed farmland’s output that same day.”

“Then, we matched grain prices to quality, not yield, and through actuaries’ valuations, sold it in bulk, diluted, at higher prices across the Empire.”

“This yielded… a 3,210 percent profit. As profits far exceeded expectations, we returned the excess to the farmland holders and renegotiated purchase prices.”

“The remaining profits were invested in Breeze City, hiring transcendents to rapidly complete infrastructure construction. A larger portion went to creating new production jobs for farmers across the territory and providing relevant guidance…”

“Because, foreseeably, with the production speed of transformed farmland, our sales strategy won’t last long. External dumping will eventually saturate markets, and the grain will dominate all markets sooner or later. To prevent native farmers from being devastated, we need to provide more jobs… Mr. Ketaen suggested offering farmers various technical vocational training… For these, you’d need to review specific documents, as I can’t explain verbally. My apologies.”

Though the young man’s face flushed slightly, he spoke without pausing for breath, his words impeccably clear, without a single stumble, and even added expectantly, “Would you like to review the documents now?”

“No, no need,” Anselm nodded with satisfaction, “Well done, Longlana. Everyone involved in this grain market adjustment gets a six-month stipend bonus.”

The young man’s lips trembled with excitement—not from the latter statement, but because when Anselm said “well done,” he was already in this state.

“No, this is… all thanks to Lord Anselm’s guidance!”

Words typically used to curry favor with a superior, yet this young man named Longlana spoke with a conviction that suggested he’d kill anyone who disagreed.

If Anselm asked him to carve out his heart to prove his sincerity, he’d do it without hesitation.

“I’ve told you many times, Longlana.”

The young Hydra shook his head, tapping the young man’s shoulder with his cane, “Everything you’ve gained—status, wealth, knowledge, vision, ability… it’s not all my gift.”

He chuckled softly, “Denying your own talent and effort is like saying… I lack vision, isn’t it?”

“No… no, no, no, no!”

Longlana shook his head frantically, “I meant no such thing, Lord Anselm. I… I’m honored by my wisdom, by my ability to bring such change to Hydra’s Domain!”

By the second half of his words, his panic vanished, replaced by genuine pride and honor, radiant as if it were his life itself.

The sixteen-year-old boy, yet to fully inherit this domain, only smiled gently, “Alright, go do your work. I won’t take up more of your time.”

“Yes!”

Longlana responded crisply, saying no more.

He bowed deeply again and left quickly.

Once he was gone, Anselm cupped the puppet’s cheeks, tilting her head back and looked into those purple eyes with a beaming smile.

Eyes that had been dead but now… flickered with an emotion called “confusion.”

“Didn’t understand what Longlana was saying?” Anselm caressed her cheek.

“…” The puppet opened her mouth but couldn’t speak.

She truly didn’t understand what the young man had said, but if she hadn’t misunderstood—

“No matter. You only need to know one thing.”

Anselm leaned down slightly, saying gently, “In this game, no one in Breeze City was harmed.”

“Farmland holders received massive payments, Breeze City gained vast construction funds, and the original farmers weren’t ruined by their grain. Thanks to Longlana’s sales strategy, farmers elsewhere in the Empire weren’t heavily impacted either. Of course… this is temporary, but as you heard, they’re already planning for potential future issues.”

“As for this…”

The devil lifted the puppet’s chin, his lowered head nearly touching her lips, “Any thoughts?”

A long, long, long silence.

Then, after collapse, after destruction, the puppet trembled and spoke her first words:

“This… can it be changed?”

“Of course,” Anselm laughed happily, “You couldn’t change it, they couldn’t change it, perhaps… no one could change it.”

His hand around the puppet’s slender waist tightened, as if to meld her into his body.

“But…” the young Hydra answered easily, confidently, “I definitely can.”

This… can be changed.

The puppet looked at everything before her, her once-dead, frozen eyes trembling.

Not the worst outcome, but… a better, the best possibility.

In the deepest void of despair, the puppet saw a fleeting glimmer of light.

“Mingfuluo… Mingfuluo…”

And then, that sigh, that name, instantly shrouded that light.

“Here…” The puppet grabbed Anselm’s hand around her waist, her voice numb and mechanical.

“Here… there is no… Mingfuluo.”

“Oh? Then who are you?”

“…”

Looking at the puppet who couldn’t answer, the devil laughed delightedly.

He leaned closer, whispering in the ear of the puppet held in his arms:

“Poor Mingfuluo.”

“A manipulated life, an abandoned pursuit, and… a worthless self.”

“Your belief is false, forcibly imposed and nurtured.”

“Your companions are false, having long betrayed you.”

“Your self is false, built on falsehoods—how could it be real?”

“Your pursuit is false, your desires are false, everything you think and do… is all false.”

Anselm’s words turned into a noose, tightly strangling the puppet’s neck, but how could the puppet suffer from such things?

Because these weren’t things Anselm needed to remind her of—she had already realized them herself, and they no longer mattered—

In that instant, that deep sea-blue abruptly filled her eyes.

She had seen it before, countless times, but this time… that clear, sky-like blue almost consumed the puppet’s pupils.

She heard the sea-blue say:

“But it doesn’t matter.”

She felt the sea-blue gently envelop her:

“When everything is false.”

She sensed the sea-blue seeping into her.

“I am surely… the most real.”

In that moment, countless memories exploded in the puppet’s mind.

Not memories she had lost, but ones she already possessed, etched deeply within her.

All… related to Anselm Hydra.

His teasing, his jests, his care, his seriousness, every word he spoke, every deed he did, those past dreams, joys, freedoms, and… happiness, all unfolded before the puppet’s eyes.

“Tell me, who shares your same ideal?”

[What did Anselm have to give up, and why was he so sad?]

“…It’s you.”

“Tell me, who is willing to walk with you, who can walk with you?”

[My thoughts and feelings for you, were they all lies too?]

“…It’s you.”

“Tell me, who has the ability to realize the vision you hope for… who is it?”

[But I definitely can.]

“It’s… you.”

The puppet’s breathing grew rapid, burning hot.

Those sea-blue eyes, as if searing into her own, drew closer, closer, filling her vision… leaving room for no other color.

No, her eyes, her world, had long lost all other colors.

“Then…” the sea-blue that made her feel alive, feel fervent, said gently, “Who am I?”

“You are…”

The puppet instinctively reached to touch his face, but as she realized and shrank back, he caught her hand tightly, pressing it to his cheek.

When the warmth of his skin reached her fingertips, the puppet murmured dreamily, “You are… Anselm.”

“Anselm… just Anselm?”

He smiled, using her hand to caress his face, “Remember when I asked you what a father is?”

“…”

“A father is an educator, a guide, a companion, a… creator.”

“Dear, dear.”

The devil rubbed against the puppet’s cheek, “I can teach you how to create remarkable alchemical artifacts, I can guide you on how to use them correctly, I can stay by your side forever, never abandoning you, I can save you from that void of hell…”

“Create a new you.”

“So.”

He kissed the puppet’s lips, “What am I to you?”

“You are… no…”

The puppet wavered, dazed.

She saw that light, but her indestructible talent and gifts, even amidst her shattered self, saw through the devil’s temptation. She struggled to respond:

“Anselm… you… don’t want… to help…”

He had already given up, he was no longer—

“But you know I have my reasons, don’t you?”

A pivotal moment pushed by fate was seized by the devil, turned into a blade that pierced the puppet’s final resolve.

The puppet murmured, “Reasons…”

Yes, reasons. Anselm was threatened, I thought, as long as I could clear those threats, then…

“As long as you can help me, as long as you can eliminate my enemies…”

The devil whispered tenderly, “Wouldn’t I be the one who never betrays you, who always stands by your side?”

“Answer my question again… Who am I?”

As long as I can… help Anselm, as long as I can solve his problems.

He will stand by my side, forever… steadfast.

He understands me more than anyone, can help me more than anyone, cares for me… more than anyone.

My ideal… can be realized.

A vivid flush spread across the puppet’s cheeks.

She reached out, wrapping her arms around the devil’s shoulders, her voice carrying… emotions no longer those of a puppet:

“It’s… Father.”

Uttering those three words, she felt an unprecedented peace.

“Very good.” Her father asked, satisfied and delighted:

“Then who are you?”

As long as I can stand by Father’s side, as long as Father stands by mine, I can realize my worth.

My existence… is meaningful.

“I am…”

The puppet, intoxicated by that sea-blue, took a new name, responding with such joy:

“I am… Helen, Father’s… daughter.”

Anselm Hydra gazed into those eyes, once lifeless and dim, now alight with fervent emotion, slowly embracing her soft body.

Destroy Mingfuluo? Destroy herself? Destroy her everything?

No… what Anselm wanted wasn’t destruction, but replacement.

To replace everything in her life, everything she held fast to, even her indestructible ideal.

Even now, you still hope to realize your worth, chasing that shaped illusion?

No matter. If so, I only need to make you believe… everything you do for me is everything you do for that ideal.

Helen, dear Helen.

From now on, I am your everything.

I am your… only one.