Deceitful Game

Chapter 283 My Chapter Has Arrived, World

A thought suddenly popped into Mingpo's mind.

He strode towards the full-length mirror directly opposite the wall, and the black cat in his hand jumped down on its own.

Through the mirror, Mingpo saw herself clearly again.

In the mirror, he was wearing a white trench coat from the executive department, and his black curly hair was messier than usual.

He could still see a few traces of gold on his face, like those on a circuit board… those were necessary additions to the surface of the prosthetic body to inform others that this person had used a prosthetic. Just like artificial gems and diamonds need some kind of marking added inside.

Because if we don't do this, then the "real gems" will be devalued.

Man-made things are always purer and of better quality than natural things.

Mingbo discovered that his prosthetic left eye was still there, and it was still dark green normally.

only………

A thought struck him, and his eyes turned a hazy yellow.

The whites of his eyes turned a dull yellow, while his pupils became hollow black rings like copper coins.

Like a monster.

As Mingpo gazed at herself in the mirror, memories of the past gradually surfaced.

The Mingpu of the past, and the Mingpu of today...

The image of Mingpo, who wore black-rimmed glasses and had the demeanor of a student, is gradually merging with the image of Mingpo now, without glasses, who has the demeanor of a corporate slave.

The next moment, countless fragments of memories surfaced!

It was like a slideshow, frame by frame, yet each frame instantly "decompressed" to reveal the complete and specific cause and effect. He remembered, he remembered everything…

He watched as the dog was smashed to pieces by a giant sword at the round table of Death of the Minority, blood splattering on the rabbit's mask.

He watched with a smile as Lin Ya was riddled with bullets by machine gun fire, reduced to a pile that could never be recovered.

He still remembered Chang Ning's paradoxical transformation into a monster kneeling on the ground, begging him to look after Coco; he also remembered Gao Fan kneeling in a pool of blood, vomiting and crying, the kitchen knife making dull thuds as it struck his cervical vertebrae...

He also remembered... Chizuko.

The transparent, ghostly girl sat before the dilapidated Steinway piano, slowly pressing a key. He remembered playing his Nocturne in E-flat major on that piano.

He remembered a woman with an indistinct face sitting by the window of a French restaurant, looking at him with amber eyes, smiling and saying something like, "You're about to die, do you have any last words you want me to pass on?"

He still remembered... that man.

That damn guy, that bastard who betrayed his ideals.

That friend who upheld justice and ideals, and who was still willing to believe in Mingpo in the final moments of his life.

That madman, as brilliant as the sun.

That... the buryer of the old era.

A sinner who destroyed one world and then created a new one.

"...Shen Yiqi."

Mingpo slowly uttered that person's name.

He didn't know where this guy was working now.

But presumably, he must have become one of the most powerful figures.

Mingpo's memories continued to flow out, like a spring that had been blocked for too long finally being opened.

However, the amber was not submerged.

These memories are not foreign objects invading his brain, but things that originally belonged to him.

Just like those two bright amber pieces on the snow-capped mountain.

They had tried with all their might to kill each other, only to realize in the end that... there was no need to distinguish who was who.

They jumped off the snow-capped mountain together; one of them would die first.

The one who survives will inherit both the love and hate of the one who died.

They are a whole; they are incomplete without any one half.

...Just like the fusion of the present self and the past self.

They are like one person inside and outside a mirror.

There will always be someone who becomes a mirror image, and there will always be someone who exists with their feet firmly on the ground.

But the person who disappeared was neither an illusion nor food... but his reflection in the mirror.

"……I'm back."

Mingpo slowly opened her mouth and nodded gently at her reflection in the mirror.

The person in the mirror nodded to him.

It looked like just a mirror image, but Mingpo knew... it was the Mingpo in the mirror nodding in sync with him. Mingpo's lips curled up slightly, and his old self in the mirror smiled too.

Through the glass, raise both hands simultaneously, palm to palm.

A faint warmth emanated from my fingertips, as if seeping in from the other side of the glass... or perhaps it was just my fingertips warming the mirror, creating an illusion.

The next moment, Mingpo realized it.

The image of him in the mirror disappeared.

Although the mirror image remained unchanged, only Mingpo herself was now reflected in it.

He stared at himself for a long time before slowly removing his hand from the glass.

The warmth of my palm left a trail of moisture on the mirror.

Mingpo moved his palm slowly and carefully, as if someone had placed a card on his palm that would easily fall off.

He raised his right hand to his eyes, then raised it toward the huge floor-to-ceiling window.

He looked out the window at the black and white world and slowly raised his middle finger.

"I'm back, you son of a bitch!"

Mingpo laughed wildly, his laughter as hysterical as a madman.

He finally understood why Ai Shiping had looked at him with such disappointment before.

"Shen Yiqi..."

As Mingpo gradually calmed down, she raised her middle finger even higher, pointing it straight to the sky, to the very top of the heavens.

"I misjudged you."

He said softly, "I will correct the mistakes I made."

The next moment, he abruptly retracted his extended middle finger and clenched it into a powerful iron fist.

Mingbo walked briskly around her palace.

Although the renovations have changed a lot, this is no longer his home...

Fortunately, the mysterious television set and the shrine to Dionysus are still there.

The amber-colored wine cabinet radiated a warm golden light in the corner of the office.

However, there was an extra bottle of wine in the wine cabinet.

It was a bottle of Madeira wine.

The bottle is made of dark brown glass, the color of a quiet, decaying book cover from an old bookstore. The liquor gleams with a dark reddish light under the amber lamp.

The painting on the bottle depicts a young man facing sideways to a mirror.

His face was perfect and handsome, with smooth skin, slightly upturned lips, a high nose bridge, and an unsettling arrogance in his eyes. But the face reflected in the mirror beside him was not the same.

The face was old, twisted, and ugly, grinning grotesquely, its half-missing yellow teeth stained with blood. Only its eyes held the same arrogance.

"...Dorian Gray."

Mingpo slowly read out the title she had just received.

He remembered; he had read this book.

"The Picture of Dorian Gray," Oscar Wilde's only full-length novel.

A once handsome and kind young man, under the influence of a mysterious friend, makes a wish upon his own portrait to remain forever young, while the portrait bears the burden of time and sin.

From that time on, he never grew old again.

He gradually degenerated, and his portraits became increasingly ugly, yet he remained handsome.

He maintained his dignity and prestige on the one hand, while simultaneously indulging in depravity and debauchery on the other.

Later on, he became increasingly insane, even killing the painter who painted his portrait.

Later, he went mad, unable to confront the evil depicted in the portrait. But when he tried to destroy the portrait, which symbolized his sinful soul, with a knife, he killed himself.

In an instant, he transformed into that aged, ugly, and twisted monster, while the past version of himself in the shattered portrait reverted to the young, handsome, and kind boy he once was.

Mingpo stared at the bottle of wine, his expression gradually becoming serious.

Two selves.

Good and evil...

Past and future...

It turned out to be the case.

Is this a warning?

"Heh."

Mingpo chuckled and put the wine back.

"...I would never become that stupid."