Vaca

Ye Yan was completely unaware that his act of naming the book had acted as a spiritual anchor, pulling Fabre, who was on the verge of sinking into madness, back to the shores of reason.

He stared blankly at the pages in his hands.

Ye Yan did not believe that Fabre would intentionally leave a power mark on the written dedication to harm him.

Something must be wrong with the Fabre of this world!

That was the only reason his simple act of naming could cross the vast ocean and directly influence the trajectory of Fabre's life.

"After I go out later, perhaps I can find Holmes and ask about the situation, or offer a subtle reminder."

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

He truly hoped he was just worrying over nothing, but the situation was clearly not right.

However, things should not have reached the point of no return yet. Since Fabre had written the Sickle Strange Insect into his first draft, it at least proved that he had been safe and sound during the writing process.

Hopefully, this was just his own needless anxiety.

Ye Yan pondered silently in his heart.

[Administrator, the residual power mark on the book has been cleared. Do you wish to submit it?]

The reminder from Samsara Bookstore brought his thoughts back.

Ye Yan nodded without hesitation.

"Yes."

[Please close your eyes.]

As the Insect Records was submitted, darkness surged in like a tide. Ye Yan felt as if he had become a nocturnal traveler, trekking through the hissing of barren sands.

When his vision cleared once more, 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 wandering outside the city; he was placed directly within the ruins.

A massive stone statue stood before him.

Its surface was covered in strange, intertwined characters, resembling Brahmi script but far more ancient and mysterious.

Ye Yan watched his fingertips touch the raised carvings, the cold sensation spreading from his touch.

He could not understand them.

Yet, a voice whispered in the depths of his heart:

This is the first language of the world.

It predates the birth of gods from blood, and predates the time when humans first walked upright.

"I am Vaha."

The characters on the statue suddenly shimmered, and a voice resonated directly within his mind.

Can a language speak for itself?

Ye Yan had previously thought this was nonsense, but as he stared straight at the mysterious characters on the statue, he realized that language could indeed produce its own voice.

"I am language and I am the goddess; I am the only entrance into the light of secrets."

The voice grew louder, vibrating within his skull like the tolling of a great bell. The entity calling itself Vaha was branding its name into the depths of Ye Yan's soul like a hot iron.

"Listen, come to see me, and I will prove this to you."

The complex and arrogant lingering sound gradually dissipated into the wind, yet it left behind an indelible echo.

Darkness descended once more, and when Ye Yan opened his eyes, he had returned to Samsara Bookstore.

[Administrator, did you gain anything?]

The voice of the bookstore arrived.

"This... how should I put it? There was certainly a gain." Ye Yan's pupils still held the lingering discomfort of traversing the darkness, his gaze unconsciously following the flickering candlelight.

"I have come to know a language called Vaha."

He paused for a moment, his brows slightly furrowed: "But I have not mastered it; I only recognize the few characters she used to introduce herself."

Ye Yan did not know if this counted as a successful or failed comprehension. From the moment he obtained the formula for Salt Trace, to the subsequent Queqian Meter, and most recently the submission of My Uncle Jules, which yielded the Sinking Red Wisdom formula that could promote recovery—

Everything he had obtained was complete knowledge; he had never encountered a situation where he only comprehended half of something.

[So it is the Vaha Language.]

The bookstore's voice suddenly became somewhat excited.

[Administrator, if you fully master the first language of the world, you may soon be able to grasp the Great Arts.]

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

Ye Yan asked in pursuit.

[Of course.]

[It is a language that transcends the mundane. I suggest you first study Sanskrit as a foundation; it will be of great benefit in comprehending the Vaha Language.]

"Sanskrit?"

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

Although it was troublesome, for the sake of mastering the Great Art, this price was insignificant.

"Wait."

Ye Yan suddenly straightened up, a glimmer of insight flashing in his eyes. "The introduction to Vaha mentioned a representative word for 'entrance.' By utilizing the rhythmic rules of the Queqian Meter, I might be able to directly chant the 'entrance' incantation in Vaha to open a passage to the Bookstore from the outside, without having to return to the storage room every time."

[Administrator, your understanding is entirely correct.]

The Bookstore's voice carried a note of approval.

[Language is both a power and a key to opening doors. As the manager of the Bookstore, when you have fully mastered the Vaha Language, you will be able to open the gates of Samsara freely without the need for a physical key.]

Following these words, the bookshelves simultaneously emitted a faint glow, as if celebrating this significant realization.

Bidding farewell to the Bookstore, Ye Yan knocked on the door next door.

Upon learning from Mrs. Hudson that Holmes and Watson had not yet returned, Ye Yan felt somewhat disappointed. He left a letter inquiring about Fabre and returned home.

The next morning.

Ye Yan tightened the collar of his overcoat, tucked his pass into his inner pocket, locked the Bookstore door, and hurried away.

He walked briskly across the cobblestone path.

In the distance, the gates of the Thornwood Rose Garden loomed faintly in the mist.

Ever since the scandal of the Butler Family was exposed, this rose garden had become a forbidden place that London's high society avoided at all costs, now managed on behalf of the Royal Research Institute.

"Please stop, sir."

The guard raised his lantern vigilantly, blocking Ye Yan's path.

Only after seeing the pass in Ye Yan's hand did he step aside and pull the gate open to let him through. "Sir, please do not stay too long; the Research Institute's new regulations..."

"I only need to collect one sample," Ye Yan replied.

He walked inside, and the scene within the garden was even more dilapidated than he had imagined.

The once meticulously pruned rose bushes had all withered, and dead thorns were entwined around the pure white statue of Venus, as if trying to drag the goddess down into hell.

Ye Yan walked with a clear objective toward the deepest part of the garden.

There, the most precious Color-Changing Rose was cultivated—the only "fruit" of the sins committed by the Butler Family that had been preserved.

Amidst the decaying rose bushes of the garden, that cluster of flowers, displaying an eerie black-and-white hue, appeared particularly abrupt. Their petals looked like negatives stripped of color, shimmering with the cold light of mother-of-pearl.

This was precisely the target of Ye Yan's trip; the main ingredient for crafting [Sinking Red Wisdom] was a non-red flower of wonder.

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

Suddenly, his movements paused.

The thorns on the rose stems were actually wriggling slightly, like the tentacles of some living creature. Even more unsettling, fine red veins were faintly emerging on the black-and-white petals, as if blood vessels were slowly transporting nutrients beneath the skin.

"What is this?"