readytorunbook Chapter 1503 1503: Chapter
Chapter 1503 1503: Chapter
In just a few short months, going from a blank slate to Transformation sounds exaggerated, but that's on the premise of the entire Coast's supply chain and support from Paradise.
With Ji Jue providing such generous conditions, if you're still struggling to move forward, then you really have to consider whether you're suited for this at all.
What's more, Yan Chang himself is a self-awakened Superior elite, which is adding wings to a tiger. At this point, his current progress is already the result of repeatedly consolidating his foundations and basics, and only advancing when he truly had no other choice.
Can't be helped: with a Heart Core whose thoughts flow unimpeded, undergoing Ascension in a single night of sudden enlightenment, the speed is just fast—absurdly fast—no one else can even be jealous of it.
By comparison, Ember can be said to be the slowest in progress among all Superiors, second only to the Gate of Eternity.
Tian Yuan may progress slowly, but as long as there's a patron to lift you up, you can soar into the sky. Even if your rank and level are low, some key positions can carry an absolutely terrifying amount of power! White Deer needs to be hunted, but as long as you can keep defeating the strong while being weak, challenging above your level, then when Brother White Deer hands out rewards, he doesn't even look at how many zeros he's tacked on.
Whereas Ember… let's put it this way: in the same span of time, the Ruins might already have Transformation complete, Ascension stepping into Rebirth, while Ember of the same period is still grinding exams, fighting for a craftsmanship license and basic human rights in the Association!
Some things just can't be compared.
Ji Jue took a few books out of his pocket: "These are some of my recent insights, and some revised techniques. Remember to bring them to your brother."
"What about those?"
Yan Fei looked at the massive book chest behind Ji Jue, full of curiosity.
"Error book."
Ji Jue stacked pile after pile of books in front of him. "Keep an eye on him and make sure he finishes this volume of real questions. I'll give you the answer key later. For every question he gets wrong, he writes an analysis of at least a thousand words. Once he's collected the whole set, hand it back to me."
"Okay."
Yan Chang nodded repeatedly, his smile gentle.
After all, recently his brother's been lugging around a rocket launcher blowing stuff up nonstop; that's really a bit too much. A bit more homework will do him good.
"Come on, let's take a look."
Ji Jue led Yan Chang toward the colossal Family God that had been waiting for a long time.
In the vast, empty underground space, the Family God's outline loomed faintly. It stretched out a hand and pried open its own chest, and amid countless spiritual substances intertwined like flesh and blood, blurred faces emerged one after another. When those faces gathered together, they formed the outline of Busstaman.
Using numerous Bloodlines as the foundation, slowly replacing them, a Substitution: from the chaos within the Family God he built the cornerstone of his own existence, and then, relying on the power of the Family Head, step by step he leapt upward.
By gradually infiltrating with a massive number of Souls and repeatedly overwriting with his own memories, using infiltration and dyeing in tandem, up to this point, Busstaman can basically be said to be the Family God itself.
Although his life and death rest on a single thought in Minkler's mind.
And layer upon layer of Spiritual Circuits from the inside out are the shackles and brand-new framework imposed by Lou Feng. Even with good intentions, the gap between formal training and the wild path is beyond measure; efficiency and results have increased by more than double, while the consumption has dropped to a third of what it was before.
"Very simple, not troublesome."
After a brief inspection, Yan Chang extended his hand and began reading the countless memories Busstaman had stored inside the Family God.
What rushed in at him was day after day, night after night of burning the midnight oil, racking his brains over research: failure after failure, setback after setback; and when he finally broke through difficulties that, in Ji Jue's eyes, were trivial, he was limited by his own aptitude and could only squeeze out a few insignificant results by following the correct answer step by step.
Already at an advanced age, by day he had to contend with the vermin and flies of the Seven Cities, scheming and groveling; at night he had to force himself to take drugs and organize orgies, and when everyone else was asleep, he dragged his body hollowed out by wine and lust, chewing supplements and stimulants, staying up late to study every aspect of the Family God and his own plans…
Calculating and scheming to gather all kinds of materials to fill in the gaps in his research, while also having to painstakingly cover his tracks, hiding his true goals and plans.
These days began when he first developed ambitions toward the position of Family Head at the age of twenty, and continued until the moment before his death, without a single break.
Accumulating day by day, water wearing through stone.
Busstaman's life could be called a life of forbearance, a life of struggle, a life of persistence.
But when Yan Chang lowered his hand, his expression had turned puzzled.
"No problem, Mr. Ji."
He turned back to Ji Jue. "Busstaman's memories and consciousness, although incomplete, are continuous with no breaks, and I can't see any traces of a Heart Core's influence…"
Ji Jue was immediately puzzled: "Obsession this deep is normal?"
"Emmmm…"
Yan Chang's expression turned strange at once. "A 'person' like Mr. Busstaman… is different from others. His taste for and craving for power far surpass ordinary—even extraordinary—levels; it's almost more important to him than his own life.
Rather than calling it an obsession, it's more accurate to say it's a fear of losing power."
The more delicious power is, the less you can tolerate that sweetness slipping from your grasp. The higher your status, the less you can accept falling from the altar.
As Family Head, Busstaman himself is a standard political organism cultivated by the Chopra family for hundreds of years—addicted to power as if to his own life, incapable of relaxing in the slightest.
"Aside from that?"
While Ji Jue felt a twinge of disappointment, he waved his hand, chalking it up to his own nerves, seeing problems everywhere: "Check again. If there's really no issue, then forget it."
"No need to look again."
Yan Chang shook his head decisively. "If we're talking about something strange, I've already found it."
The Matrix[Ignorance]is fundamentally different in direction from other Heart Cores. After fusing with Ascension, it isn't particularly strong in controlling emotions and memories; instead, it places more emphasis on inner obsessions and desires.
To see through illusions and cut off vexations.
If you can't even see clearly the source of your obsessions and the root of your vexations, how can you talk about 'cutting off all deluded confusion and inverted dreams'?
What he's best at is tracing the origin of this obsession, digging to the bottom in search of the root of this ambition and this fear… excavating that very first sprout of obsession buried at the root of the soul, then severing it, correcting it, or soothing it.
When he grasped in his hand this hidden thread that even Busstaman himself wasn't aware of, countless shattered memories had already been strung into a line.
Reverse tracing, seeking the origin.
More powerful than those giant-tree-like tangled memories and obsessions, it began to recurse forward, rolling back, tracing back to the source, forward, forward, forward.
Countless fleeting images roared past before his eyes.
Those blurred yet tangible memories rushed up and vanished without a trace, crossing one break after another, until finally they dug out the root of obsession that even Busstaman had long since forgotten.
"Found it!"
Yan Chang smiled faintly, turned back, and reached a hand out to Ji Jue.
Ji Jue didn't doubt it at all, reached out and gripped tightly, Perception and soul opening up, letting the young man seize his hand and give a sudden yank. His soul, consciousness, and Perception plunged as if passing through a tunnel.
Yet in that brief instant, an unexpected scene rushed to meet him!
A silent afternoon, sunlight blurred, countless details already distorted and degraded, contradictions surfacing—but the few paintings in front of him were the one exception, so clear.
As if he were standing in a museum.
Ji Jue descended into Busstaman's memory, looked around, and the Busstaman who followed right behind him also froze, incredulous.
This was his memory from when he was sixteen!
"Do you still remember?" Ji Jue asked.
"Seems I do, a little…" Busstaman looked around, stopping beside a handsome young man, examining his own features. "This was me back then."
Ji Jue glanced at that face and couldn't help rolling his eyes.
Even with memory's built‑in beauty filter, this Old Deng's self‑beautification was way over the top!
"Where is this?" Ji Jue asked.
"Probably the family gallery. I remember now—there was a fire here a few years later that burned up many of the collection, and my father stayed furious for ages back then."
Busstaman sighed softly and followed his younger self's gaze up to the wall.
That enormous oil painting.
This was a corner of the gallery, clearly not valued, yet it was what the young Busstaman had lingered over again and again—a dilapidated ship on the verge of falling apart, sailing through raging waves beneath a dark sky in a storm, pressing ever onward!
The technique was decent, but there was nothing groundbreaking or innovative about it. The craftsman's touch was too heavy; at best, it was just very realistic.
On the brass plaque under the frame was the title of the painting.
[Theseus]
Yan Chang snapped his fingers, and the Static memory began to flow.
"Theseus?"
The young Busstaman asked in puzzlement, "Why is it called that?"
"They say it's the name of a Divine Blood Hero from before the era of chaos, from even earlier times. Ah, back then the heroes on earth were all said to be descendants left behind by the Gods."
The administrator accompanying Busstaman sighed with emotion. "According to surviving documents, this hero moved a huge boulder in his youth, retrieved the weapon his father left behind, cut down villains all along the way, saw through a Witch's schemes, survived countless dangers, and finally inherited the throne.
His greatest deed was to enter a labyrinth and slay the brutal Minotaur…"
The administrator went on and on recounting the old myth, but in the memory it was no longer so clear. The sharpest thing of all was the old man's final, sighing remark: "But later, what this King became most famous for was actually a philosophical paradox. Perhaps that's where this painting's title comes from?"
"A paradox?" Busstaman was confused.
"Yes."
The administrator seemed to smile, sighing lightly as he looked at that huge oil painting. "Suppose a brand‑new sailing ship goes out to sea and, after years of hardship, is constantly repaired and maintained, its damaged parts replaced… As time passes, the original sailors grow old, one by one, and leave the ship, but new sailors keep joining.
When the last plank from the original ship has been replaced, when the last original sailor dies of old age, this ship as it exists now—can it still be counted as the original ship?"
The youth was puzzled and fell silent, as if thinking it over.
"…It should still count." Busstaman said decisively.
"Is that so?"
The administrator looked over, seemingly curious. "Why?"
"Whether the crew and the equipment are in their original state is actually irrelevant… it doesn't matter at all."
Busstaman lifted his head to the ship in the painting that was still pushing forward in the storm and said firmly, "What matters is that the ship is still that ship, that ship that can keep riding the wind and cleaving the waves—"
In that instant, with those words, something surfaced from the youth's heart—a realization he himself had never sensed, the root of obsession he had failed to notice even looking back over his whole life.
Busstaman's eyes lit up.
As long as the ship is still a ship, that's enough!
Whether it looks like it did originally doesn't matter at all.
What matters isn't even the ship.
It's…
The ship that belongs to me!