This was a mingling of memories and dreams.
All Ronan needed to know was the memories of "Brother Qiang," whose full name was Hong Qiang. Every other element existed to serve that purpose, providing the appropriate stimuli.
Since the "Mirror of Appraisal" was organizing and consolidating them, constrained by its inherent rules and order, the information presented by the "rising memory bubbles"—even the emotions surging at the time—was arranged logically and sequentially. There was an especially clear thread running through it all: centered on the crucial information of the "Sanctuary," automatically sorted according to the development of time and events.
After the first memory bubble burst came the second.
Hong Qiang endured the burning pain in his head and face, lowering his head to look at the mechanical arm that had just been installed in place of his flesh-and-blood limb. A coworker beside him awkwardly comforted him. "None of us can escape this. Nearly twenty people died in this wave. You only lost one arm—you got incredibly lucky in your misfortune. Say, when that slurry bubble burst, why did you think to dive forward?"
"My face is ruined too..." Hong Qiang was still dazed as he slowly replied, "Maybe it was the 'Sanctuary'? At the time, I felt like the world suddenly slowed down. It was like the best state when Laying Bricks for the 'Sanctuary.' Then I saw that excavator over there could serve as cover. Yes, it was the 'Sanctuary.' Without it, I'd be dead... Maybe being dead would've been better?"
"Don't talk nonsense. You still have to live." It was impossible to tell whether the expression on his coworker's blurred face was comforting or envious. "Looks like you've got talent."
"Really? At my age, I have talent too?" Hong Qiang flexed his metal arm. Disfigurement, the loss