What appeared before him
was neither the wasteland he had come from nor the road leading to the next stop, but a vast river spanning the horizon, surging and roaring!
The river was so wide that its banks could not be seen.
Its waters were clear, yet its depths were impossible to glimpse.
Reflected on the surface were scene after scene that seemed both similar to and different from the real world.
Amid the splashing waves,
Dream Bubble flickered in and out of existence.
It was like the birth and destruction of a world.
Ancient and desolate.
Wild and magnificent.
Looking up at the vast river, Jiang Qiao's mind wavered, and he involuntarily felt as insignificant as a mayfly gazing up at the boundless universe.
"Just as I thought..."
"The River of History!"
From the seventh floor of Wangxiang Terrace, what lay beyond was not the Yellow Springs Road, but the River of History!
Although he had been mentally prepared.
Although he had entered the river twice before.
Seeing it again now still left Jiang Qiao deeply shaken.
"These Lost Souls."
"Standing on Wangxiang Terrace and looking toward the River of History, they are given certain experiences from a life. Those experiences do not belong to them. They are merely false, but in that moment, they take them as their own."
Fang Xun glanced at the Lost Souls crying all around them and said in a low voice:
"At that moment."
"They briefly gain consciousness."
"You see them crying. They are crying both for those false memories and because, after briefly gaining consciousness, they realize how precious consciousness is. They know they will soon lose it again."
So that was how it was!
Jiang Qiao suddenly understood.
Standing on Wangxiang Terrace, these Lost Souls saw fragments of lives that did