Chapter Sixteen: The Blue Bookmark

“Demons and monsters are found north of the Great Wall on the Eastern Continent. At your current level, you’ll rarely encounter them. It’s said that ten years ago, the monsters there grew even more ferocious and bloodthirsty, influenced by the sudden appearance of a rift in time and space. That’s why, north of the Great Wall, even magisters of the highest order seldom venture alone.”

“A rift in time and space...?” Blackfeather’s interest was piqued once more, and he couldn’t help but ask.

Legend had it that the “rift in time and space” was a place where the human world and the demon realm were connected. No one knew why it had suddenly appeared on the eastern continent ten years ago, but since then, many demonic creatures had spilled through.

Although Blackfeather had the body of a human, demonic power flowed within him. Perhaps it was all somehow connected to the demon realm. He couldn’t help but think, “If I could explore that place, maybe I could unravel the mystery of my origins.”

“It’s far too dangerous,” Stonewall shook his head. “Not only are there ancient monsters, but true denizens of the demon realm as well. The surrounding energies are so intense, the distortion of time and space so severe, that even a Grand Magister cannot approach the rift.”

“Even a Grand Magister can’t get close?” Blackfeather pressed on. “So, does that mean no one can reach the rift at all?”

No wonder the rift had persisted all this time—perhaps there was simply no way to close it.

Stonewall shot him a fierce glare. “Why all the questions? For now, remember: you may only train on the meadows outside the city. You are absolutely forbidden to cross the river!”

“Yes, sir!” everyone replied in unison.

Time passed quickly. Within days, Blackfeather had already settled into life at the academy.

Most mornings, during lectures on magical theory, the loquacious, white-bearded old man, Cranehide, would appear behind the lectern. Blackfeather, however, would rest his chin in his hand, gazing out the window. His eyes drifted past the towering, pristine statue of the angel, over to the forests and hills in the east.

The seat to his right remained empty. A gentle breeze wafted in, stirring the curtains and the dark hair over his brow. His clear eyes shone with a resolute calm, a light deep within that could not be extinguished.

In the afternoons, it was Stonewall who led the practical lessons. Skilled in both magic and physical training, he offered much for both Yixin and Blackfeather to learn.

During free practice sessions, Blackfeather would seek out a secluded hillside, a blade of grass between his lips as he lay on his back, eyes closed in repose. He would watch, through half-lidded eyes, as Yixin ran laps around the woods, sweat streaming down his face, or practiced spellcasting with unwavering determination.

At dusk, Blackfeather liked to wander the city’s taverns; Ling Xiaolei, on the other hand, spent her days buried in the library, immersing herself in mountains of books.

She had been fascinated by history since childhood, especially “ancient history.” The vast collection in the library suited her perfectly. To spend even a second less there felt like squandering her life. She wished she could absorb knowledge as a sponge soaks up water—unceasingly, relentlessly.

History after the great war between humans and demons was known as “ancient history,” while what came before was called “primeval history.” The “Annals of Ages” chronicled only the events after the war.

Primeval history, however, was scarcely recorded—almost a blank void. This only fueled Ling Xiaolei’s curiosity, making her all the more determined to uncover its secrets.

Any time she stumbled upon even the briefest mention of “primeval history,” excitement would well up inside her.

One of the most significant eras in primeval history was the reign of the Crimson Gold Empire. Some claimed the empire never existed, that it was merely the stuff of legend. Others insisted it had been the richest nation on the continent, its cities paved with gold, destroyed only by some mysterious calamity that erased its presence from the world.

Many fragments from primeval history were written in the ancient language of the Dark Elves, evidence that their kind had thrived on the continent even then. Studying these texts greatly aided her understanding of spells inscribed in that ancient tongue.

Another thing fueled her reading in recent days—a peculiar pattern she had discovered. Whenever she delved from “ancient” into “primeval” history, among books few had ever touched, she always found the same bookmark.

It was small and exquisite, a pale blue throughout, pressed with intricate patterns. In every tale or record linked to the Crimson Gold Empire, this bookmark would be there, as if a spirit itself guided her reading. The discovery both amazed and delighted her.

“Could someone else be as captivated by these dry, obscure histories as I am?”

She never moved the bookmarks, always returning them to their place after reading.

Whenever she climbed the tall wooden ladder to retrieve a yellowed tome from the highest shelves—books thick with dust and long forgotten—she would find that same bookmark waiting for her.

Soon, she made a habit of betting with herself on whether she would find the bookmark at the very page she sought each time she opened a new ancient volume. The answer was always yes.

“Has someone really combed through every ancient book in this library?” she wondered, her heart filling with respect and curiosity.

“There are thousands upon thousands of books here; their knowledge must be vast beyond measure... Could it be some old, pedantic scholar? Or perhaps a senior who once studied here?”

She began to feel as though, in some mysterious way, someone was guiding her ever closer to the true secrets of primeval history. The thought made her feel less alone in her journey through the endless mountains of books. It was as if, in the dark of night, she had glimpsed a lighthouse burning atop a distant peak, filling her heart with a strange warmth and hope.

Sometimes she asked herself what drove her to devote such passion to the study of something as dry as primeval history.

“Could it be the anticipation of finding that bookmark?” she mused, unable to suppress a smile.

Of course, the matter of the bookmark remained her secret, quietly buried in her heart.

One day after class, Blackfeather suddenly appeared at Ling Xiaolei’s desk. She was busy gathering a tall stack of books—Legends of the Primeval Era, The Origins of Magic, The Genesis of the Gods, and more—clutching them tightly in her arms.

“Are you free tonight?” Blackfeather asked, his tone full of intrigue.

Ling Xiaolei, not interested in the slightest, replied impatiently, “No. Move aside, you’re in my way—I need to get to the library!”

She wanted nothing more than to hurry back, to search through the books she had set aside, hoping to discover that exquisite blue bookmark once more.

“What’s so interesting about the library?” Blackfeather persisted, blocking her path with arms outstretched. “I know somewhere much better. Come with me tonight—my treat.”