Eling Park, a public park ingeniously built along the undulating terrain of the Mountain City, was steeped in a unique historical charm, having once been the site of several foreign consulates.
From the moment its gates opened at dawn until they closed at dusk, the park was never short of a steady stream of visitors.
Now, the sky was rapidly sinking into twilight, and there was less than half an hour until closing time. The last batch of tourists, in scattered groups of three or five, were lazily making their way out along the stone steps and tree-lined paths.
Amidst the crowd, however, a young man in his twenties was moving against the flow. He leisurely passed through the dispersing throng, heading towards a scenic pavilion that jutted out over the cliffside deep within the park.
The location of this small pavilion was nothing short of magnificent. Leaning against the railing, one could gaze upon the mighty Yangtze River rolling eastward, and the colossal bridge that spanned its banks like a steel behemoth.
Flanking the view were skyscrapers, their lights beginning to twinkle in the encroaching darkness.
Below the pavilion was a high, steep cliff; further beyond the cliff lay an internet-famous photo spot that had gone viral online.
From morning till night, that spot was perpetually crowded with men and women, young and old, who had traveled from afar just to strike various poses for photos.
Precisely because this small pavilion commanded such a spectacular view, finding a moment of peace here during the day was an almost impossible luxury.
This young man was, of course, no tourist who would just snap a few pictures and leave. He was a local.
He disliked dealing with all sorts of people, and had even less interest in taking the same generic landscape photos as everyone else.
So, he always waited until this time, when the crowds had thinned, to come here for a while and clear his cluttered thoughts.
The young man's name was Xue Ding'e, a web novel author.
Of course, in his own words, he was a"future novelist."
Since he was a novelist—and even world-class ones are bound to face moments of dried-up inspiration and writer's block—a"future" novelist like him was naturally no exception.
For the past week, he had been engrossed in brainstorming an epic mythological novel, attempting to weave the world's four major mythological systems—and even the solar system itself—into a single, coherent world-building framework.
He always felt that these seemingly unrelated ancient myths shared too many hidden commonalities at their core.
He even had a faint feeling that he was like Wegener, the man who conceived of the"continental drift theory" from his sickbed with only a world map. He felt he was on the verge of touching a world-shattering secret buried by history.
But the problem was, the similarities and potential connections were ultimately in the minority.
Far more numerous were the logical conflicts and contradictory settings that were impossible to ignore.
These damn logical dead ends were a nightmare. The moment he managed to untangle one, two or three new ones would immediately pop up.
He was forced to tear everything down and start over, time and time again. He would painstakingly build a basic framework, only for it to collapse spectacularly at the next minor detail...
After three days and nights of such torment, he hadn't even stepped out of his rented apartment.
It wasn't until noon today, after combining breakfast and lunch, that he pushed open his window and discovered that the Mountain City, which had been gloomy for nearly a week, was finally graced with a rare touch of warm winter sun.
His mind had long since stiffened like a rusty gear. Even last night, as he lay in bed half-asleep, his brain was still running uncontrollably, trying to break through those godforsaken logical knots.
In Chongqing's winter, a little sunshine like this was a precious, fleeting gift.
Schrödinger grabbed a jacket and left, heading to the place closest to him, a place he had visited no less than eighty times: Eling Park.
Since the park was free, one couldn't expect it to be perfectly exquisite.
But in his eyes, this free park was like a silent old friend—a friend who also didn't like to talk, but who would always be there no matter when you sought him out.
Even just spending a little time with this friend, while it might not solve his problems, could at least ease his tense nerves and reactivate his stagnant thoughts.
Closing time was drawing nearer. He was the only one left in the pavilion, with not a single tourist in sight.
Schrödinger rested his hands on the cold railing. Half of his mind was admiring the slowly flowing Yangtze River below and the brilliant city nightscape on either side, occasionally glancing at the dense, ant-like swarm of tourists at the periphery of the photo spot.
The other half couldn't resist charging through the tangled mess of logical knots in his head, desperately trying to find some connections...
"Logic... logic..."
He muttered in his mind,"Could it be, as the mainstream academic view suggests, that all these so-called 'commonalities' are nothing more than coincidences?"
As he pondered, the sound of two foreigners speaking rather clumsy Mandarin came from behind him.
"Excuse me, we are... Danish tourists. This park is too complex, we cannot find the way out. Can you help us with directions?"
Danish tourists?
Schrödinger remembered clearly that the old Danish consulate was located right here in this park. He had even gone inside for a detailed look before.
He turned around and saw two Caucasian men in windbreakers. Both were exceptionally well-built, and the smiles on their faces seemed sincere enough.
He pointed towards the main path behind him and said to them,"Follow this path straight ahead, take the second left turn, walk a bit further, and you'll naturally see the main exit."
The two foreigners turned simultaneously, gesturing in the direction he pointed while confirming in their broken Mandarin,"Go straight... second turn... left... then go straight, correct?"
"Yes, that's right. Forward, left, second turn, straight," Schrödinger emphasized with a nod.
Just now, a flash of inspiration had struck him. A key connection was about to solve one of the critical logical problems.
But with this interruption from the two foreigners, that precious train of thought vanished more completely than anything.
Schrödinger sighed helplessly. He turned back, trying to recapture that crucial spark of inspiration from his wild associations.
However, the voice of one of the foreigners sounded again, this time seemingly closer than before.
"It is very high and steep down there, and the sky is getting dark. You are not in a hurry to leave. Is something troubling you?"
Schrödinger:"..."
"No, no, nothing's wrong. I'm just enjoying the view here. I'll be leaving soon."
He was getting a little impatient. As he spoke, he gestured again,"Follow this path forward, second turn on your left, and the exit is just ahead. It's only a three or four-minute walk."
The meaning couldn't be clearer. Surely these two foreigners would get the hint now?
Unexpectedly, not only did they show no intention of leaving, but they both took a large step towards him, standing so close they were almost pressing against him, subtly boxing him in.
One of them placed a hand on the railing next to him."It's so high and steep here. It would be truly dangerous to fall."
Schrödinger felt something was strange, but mostly, he was just annoyed.
Then again, he thought, maybe these foreigners were just concerned. After all, he had been frowning deeply, and a fall from here would indeed be difficult to rescue.
So he tolerated it, sighed softly, and said with basic politeness,"This spot is indeed dangerous for a child, but obviously, I'm not a child. I was just thinking, and with the park closing..."
Before he could finish, the other foreigner suddenly spoke in a tone that was significantly more fluent and much, much colder than before.
"Actually, for many people, no matter what lies beneath their feet, moving forward is the only 'exit'."
Something was wrong!
Absolutely fucking wrong!
Alarm bells screamed in Schrödinger's mind. A chill shot up from his tailbone straight to the top of his skull!
He spun around abruptly, intending to push them aside and get out of there without a second thought.
However, it was too late.
The two powerfully built foreigners had clearly planned this. Their hands clamped down on him like iron vises from both sides, pinning his body firmly. One of them smoothly pulled a syringe from the side pocket of his backpack and stabbed it viciously towards his chest!
"Fuck you,bitches! Who the hell are you people?!"
Schrödinger shouted as he struggled with all his might, but he was against two men whose strength was astounding. His resistance was like a praying mantis trying to stop a chariot.
Just as the cold, glinting needle was about to pierce his chest, Schrödinger, eyes wide with terror, saw a hand appear as if from thin air, seizing the wrist of the man holding the syringe with lightning speed!
Thwump!
A dull thud of a sharp object piercing muscle.
The hand had grabbed the attacker's wrist and twisted it back, forcing the syringe to stab into the attacker's own chest!
The plunger at the end of the syringe was instantly depressed by an invisible force!
At the same time, the other foreigner, seeing this, was stunned. He clamped one arm around Schrödinger's neck while his other hand gripped his head, trying to twist it violently to the side.
Killing him this way was clumsy and would likely be ruled a premeditated murder, but at least it would ensure the mission was complete!
However, the mysterious rescuer simply placed his other hand gently on Schrödinger's chest. The foreigner's full-force, lethal twist barely managed to turn his neck slightly!
The rescuer then waved his right hand gently, as if merely brushing away a speck of dust.
The foreigner trying to snap Schrödinger's neck suddenly coughed up a spurt of blood. The light in his eyes instantly faded, and he collapsed to the ground at the same time as his companion who had been stabbed with the syringe.
What the hell...
What the hell was going on?
It had all happened in the blink of an eye. Schrödinger, his heart still pounding with fear, finally got a quick look at his savior. The man looked to be in his thirties.
His clothes, his appearance, his features... in every aspect, he looked like a perfectly ordinary tourist.
But what was most unsettling was his face—a faint, unreadable smile played on his lips, and his eyes held a look of... mocking amusement, like someone who enjoyed watching chaos unfold.
What the hell was going on?!
This man had just killed, or at least gravely injured two people. How could he look so utterly nonchalant?!
Just then, Schrödinger suddenly noticed something else. Something was flying towards his eye, faster than anything he had ever seen.