Eldritch Horror Theatre

A gift from Excellency Nepheli.

The runaway dean of the Academy Court of Benevolent Curses had left this little souvenir behind after their pleasant conversation during their excursion into the Long Night a thousand years ago.

She had even briefly explained its core property at the time: it could resonate with its twin, making it essentially a specialized occult pager.

And back then, Fu Qian had given Excellency Nepheli's little precaution high marks.

Whether to accept it, whether to call, whether to answer, how to answer...

Every decision surrounding this item was filled with mutual probing and gamesmanship.

That was exactly why he had specifically brought it out of the Warehouse earlier.

And just a few hours later, it had actually stirred.

Such a tacit understanding almost made ignoring it feel like a sin.

...

Excellency Nepheli seemed quite persistent.

The night was deep, but Fu Qian's pace remained unhurried.

Thanks to his precise control, the timing and distance of every step were astonishingly consistent, practically serving as an unconventional timer.

However, even as this timer reached the three-hundredth step, the resonance showed no sign of stopping—and Fu Qian continued to ignore it.

They had once shared tea and discussed the world's heroes, after all; this posture was admittedly a bit callous.

But Fu Qian had a perfectly good reason for this—how was he supposed to respond?

He didn't currently have that functional module equipped, all right?

With his perception at zero, he couldn't activate more than half of his equipment, let alone something that maxed out the spirit attribute.

Exactly—it wasn't even a matter of personal willingness. As far as he was concerned, the pager simply had no buttons he could press right now.

Under these circumstances, a misunderstanding was probably unavoidable.

Even someone as erudite as Excellency Nepheli likely couldn't have predicted this situation.

But that was fine. One had to trust in human initiative.

Just like those driven individuals who tirelessly pursued knowledge late into the night.

Fu Qian's gaze fell upon a familiar sight by the side of the road.

...

So he actually hadn't turned off the lights when he left?

Such a waste of resources was really quite inappropriate.

Staring at the familiar layout bathed in the light, Fu Qian didn't break his stride as he casually pushed open the door to The Bookstore.

Exactly. Even though he had dropped off nowhere near The Bookstore, a mere few hundred steps had somehow brought him right back, giving him a profound sense of the bonds of knowledge.

And this bond wasn't even over yet—

The shop was completely empty, including the space behind the manager's counter, firmly proving that leaving the lights on had indeed been a waste of resources.

However, a relatively thin book lay spread open directly on the counter.

...

Considering its excessively classical binding, Fu Qian could confirm that this was not one of his shop's wares.

Yet he didn't stand on ceremony. The next moment, he simply sat down, picked it up, and began to flip through it.

Captivating.

Though the cover bore no title, a single glance was enough to convey its deep, infectious power.

That was no false praise, for it went far beyond mere text.

As he turned the pages, he could almost hear a nasal chuckle, like someone waking in the morning light and refusing to get out of bed.

The boundary between text and sound blurred in that moment, even stimulating a vivid visual sensation.

Combined with the book's contents, it provided a full experience of what 5D reading might be like.

Moreover, the book appeared to be written in the first person, and its protagonist was a young woman...

Idly flipping through it, Fu Qian took in the extreme stream-of-consciousness prose. Even though he couldn't find the protagonist's name, the emotion brimming within the words felt as if it were about to spill over.

Joy, hesitation... and pain.

The shift was incredibly abrupt. Just as Fu Qian turned to the next page, the previously joyful atmosphere took a sharp turn, and a sudden sob rang out.

Listening closely, the sound actually seemed to be coming from beneath his feet.

It was as if an unknown hollow existed down there, serving as a continuous playback loop for this resentment.

Meanwhile, the Eye of the Punished Consort by his hand had quietly fallen silent.

...

All right.

Despite his efforts, he ultimately failed to find the protagonist's name.

Fu Qian didn't force the issue. A moment later, he set the book down and turned to put theory into practice.

Standing up, he followed the sound all the way around to the space behind the stairs.

He had never realized the property was so well-endowed.

It really wasn't an illusion. An extra entrance had genuinely appeared in the area normally used for storage.

And even though a thick, tightly sealed door stood there, it couldn't stop the ethereal sobbing from seeping out.

The door didn't appear to have a lock; it looked like it could be pushed open with a single hand. It was just a bit retro in style and eerie to look at, resembling a bridge to memories of the past.

Pushing it open would lead to an unimaginable scenario, but it would also mean taking on the risks that came with this magical encounter.

Excellency Nepheli truly had impressive methods.

The previous description was no mere figure of speech. Fu Qian clearly understood that a choice lay right before him.

Just as he had noted about trusting human initiative—since he had continuously refused to answer the call, the person on the other end clearly refused to give up, taking further measures to get a response.

Be it a dream or a hallucination, this light and the crying were obviously caused by the eye in his hand; their level of reality was not high.

It wasn't strange. The Prison Archangel had already managed to track down Eldest Miss Wen before; what was so odd about the Origin Council locking onto and replicating his place of business?

And the recent sequence of events, in Fu Qian's view, was mainly just setting the mood. Now, the true invitation had arrived.

Whether he pushed this door open or not was probably equivalent to answering the call.

And if he really opted for this immersive reading experience, extricating himself might not be so easy—creak!

Not only was the style nostalgic, but even the quality was traditional.

Amidst the melodious, ear-piercing friction that reeked of age, Fu Qian pushed the narrow brown door open.

...

Sure enough, he hadn't been wrong.

In an instant, Fu Qian felt the heavy weight of passing years wash over him.

It wasn't an exaggeration—something was actually surging out.

Decay, humid heat, dampness... These were indeed common elements of a basement. In that moment, before Fu Qian could even take a step, they skipped the process of diffusion entirely and filled the whole space.

In just a split second, Fu Qian seemed to see a century of time rapidly accumulating on the bookshelves, even sprouting mushrooms.

The invitation had been accepted.

This scene of opening the door to history validated, to a certain extent, his earlier judgment regarding the door's implication.

And amidst all these uncomfortable elements, the protagonist's shift from joy to pain in the book suddenly seemed much easier to understand.

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