Vaca

Ye Yan had no idea that naming the book had become a spiritual anchor, pulling Fabre back to the shores of reason when he had nearly drowned in madness.

He stared blankly at the pages in his hands.

Ye Yan didn't believe Fabre would deliberately leave a mark of power in his written dedication to harm him.

Something had definitely gone wrong with Fabre in this world!

That was why a simple act of naming had allowed Ye Yan to cross the ocean and directly affect the course of Fabre's life.

"Once I'm out, perhaps I can ask Holmes what's going on and tactfully warn him."

Ye Yan decided to first probe into Fabre's recent circumstances.

He sincerely hoped he was just worrying over nothing, but something was clearly wrong.

Still, matters couldn't have reached the point of no return yet. Since Fabre had written Sickle Strange Insect into his first draft, that at least proved he had been safe while writing it.

Hopefully, this was just needless worry.

Ye Yan brooded silently.

[Administrator, the mark of power remaining on the book has been removed. Would you like to submit it?]

Sam and Sara's reminder brought him back to his senses.

Ye Yan nodded without hesitation.

"Yes."

[Please close your eyes.]

As Insect Records was submitted, darkness surged in like a tide. Ye Yan felt like a traveler journeying through the night, trudging onward amid the howling of the barren sands.

When his vision cleared again, a familiar desert scene came into view.

It was Mia.

The ancient city he had seen when he first submitted knowledge.

But this time, he was no longer lingering outside the city. He was standing right amid its ruins.

A colossal stone statue stood before him.

Its surface was covered in strange characters, resembling the ancient Indian Brahmi script, yet even older and more mysterious.

Ye Yan watched his fingertips touch the uneven grooves. A chill spread from his fingers.

He couldn't understand the writing.

But a voice whispered in his heart:

This was the world's first language.

It had existed before the gods were born from blood, and long before humans walked upright.

"I am Vaca."

The writing on the statue suddenly glimmered, and a voice rang directly in his mind.

Could a language speak for itself?

Ye Yan had thought the idea absurd, but when he looked directly at the mysterious writing on the statue before him, he realized that language could indeed have a voice of its own.

"I am language, and I am a goddess. I am the only gateway to the light of secrets."

The voice grew louder, like a great bell tolling inside his skull. The being who called herself Vaca was imprinting her name deep in Ye Yan's soul like a branding iron.

"Listen. Come and see me, and I will prove it to you."

The complex, self-satisfied echo gradually faded into the wind, but its lingering resonance would not leave him.

Darkness descended once more. When Ye Yan opened his eyes, he was back in the Samsara Bookstore.

[Administrator, did you gain anything?]

The bookstore's voice came to him.

"Well... how should I put it? I definitely gained something." Ye Yan's pupils still hadn't adjusted to emerging from the darkness, and his gaze unconsciously followed the flickering candlelight.

"I became acquainted with a language called Vaca."

He paused, brow furrowing. "But I didn't learn it. I only recognized the few words she used to introduce herself."

Ye Yan didn't know whether he had succeeded or failed. Ever since he acquired the recipe for Salt Trace, then Queqian Meter, and most recently submitted My Uncle Jules and received the recipe for Sinking Red Wisdom, which could promote recovery, every piece of knowledge he had obtained had been complete. He had never only understood part of something.

"So it was Vaha Language."

The bookstore's voice suddenly grew excited.

[Administrator, if you fully learn the world's first language, perhaps you will soon be able to master the Great Arts.]

"So I didn't fail to comprehend it?"

Ye Yan pressed.

[Of course not.]

[It is a language that transcends the ordinary. I suggest you first study Sanskrit as a foundation; this will help you comprehend Vaha Language.]

"Sanskrit?"

Ye Yan scratched his head. "In this era, I'm afraid I'll have to find a linguist well versed in Indian culture."

Though it would be a hassle, that price was negligible if it meant mastering the Great Arts.

"Wait."

Ye Yan suddenly straightened, a glint flashing in his eyes. "Vaca's introduction mentioned a word that means 'gateway.' With the rules of Queqian Meter, I might be able to recite the 'gateway' incantation in Vaha Language and open a passage to the bookstore from the outside. Then I wouldn't have to return to the storeroom every time."

[Administrator, your understanding is entirely correct.]

The bookstore's voice carried a note of approval.

[Language is both a form of power and a key that opens doors. As the bookstore's manager, once you have fully mastered Vaha Language, you will be able to open the doors of Samsara freely without a physical key.]

At those words, the bookshelves glowed faintly, as if celebrating this important realization.

After bidding the bookstore farewell, Ye Yan knocked on the door next door.

Mrs. Hudson told him that Holmes and Watson had not returned yet. Disappointed, Ye Yan left a letter asking about Fabre and then went home.

The next morning.

Ye Yan tightened the collar of his coat, tucked his pass into an inner pocket, locked the bookstore's door, and hurried away.

He strode along the flagstone path.

In the distance, the gates of Thornwood Rose Garden loomed through the fog.

Ever since the Butler Family's scandal had come to light, the Rose Garden had become a forbidden place shunned by London's upper class. The Royal Research Institute was managing it on their behalf.

"Please stop, sir."

The guard warily raised his lantern and blocked Ye Yan's way.

Only after seeing the pass in Ye Yan's hand did he step aside and open the gate. "Sir, please don't stay too long. The Research Institute's new regulations..."

"I only need to collect a single flower as a sample," Ye Yan replied.

He went inside. The garden was in even worse shape than he had imagined.

The once carefully pruned rose bushes had all withered. Dead thorns coiled around the pure-white statue of Venus, as though trying to drag the goddess into hell.

Ye Yan headed straight for the garden's depths.

The rarest Color-Changing Roses were cultivated there—the sole "result" of the Butler Family's crimes that had been preserved.

Amid the garden's withered rose bushes, a cluster of flowers with a strangely black-and-white hue stood out. Their petals looked like photographic negatives drained of color, gleaming with the cold sheen of mother-of-pearl.

These were precisely what Ye Yan had come for. The main ingredient for making Sinking Red Wisdom was a Curio flower that wasn't red.

Ye Yan took a pair of silver scissors from his coat pocket.

Suddenly, he froze.

The thorns on the rose stems were wriggling slightly, like the tendrils of some living creature. More unsettling still, fine red veins had appeared faintly on the black-and-white petals, as though blood vessels were slowly carrying nutrients beneath the skin.

"What is this?"