Tales and Time

Chen Miemie occasionally suffered a sudden lapse in emotional intelligence.

“Persimmon, you’re in your fifties. Calling yourself Granny is indeed a little premature, but it’s not exactly outrageous.”

Persimmon folded her arms across her chest. “Hmph. I’m a high-level Mystic. Do you understand what ‘high-level’ means? Several stories tall! At my level, people are usually over a hundred years old. I’m still just a young woman.”

“Then what did you mean when you said you were about to die?”

“Exactly what I said. Back when I was lower-ranked than I am now, I was constantly fighting one battle after another, often using various methods to squeeze my potential dry. That damaged my foundation. And since humans naturally have limited lifespans, I’ve got at most ten years left before I kick the bucket.”

“That’s not quite how you use ‘kick the bucket.’ Never mind. I’ll put it plainly: this request is beyond what I can handle. I can’t help people live forever.”

Persimmon nodded, then surprisingly turned the tables on him.

“I know. Since that’s the case, shopkeeper, I can’t come all this way and leave empty-handed. How about this? Tell me what’s troubling you, and I’ll solve it for you.”

Chen Miemie: “...”

“My problem is harder than immortality. You can’t solve it.” Chen Miemie wore an expression of outright refusal.

As the dignified shopkeeper, Chen Miemie found it unbearable to ask a customer for help. He shook his head repeatedly.

Persimmon was indignant. “You haven’t even told me what it is. How do you know I can’t solve it? I’ll have you know, the witches all trust me because I, Persimmon, am very good at smoothing things over! If you’re in trouble, come to me!”

Chen Miemie gave a cold snort. “What an outrageous claim. Fine. I need to pass something tangible through a super-powerful barrier. The barrier is incredibly sturdy, and breaking it would have serious consequences, so destroying it is out of the question. Do you have any ideas?”

Persimmon placed her left hand beneath her right, then rested her chin on her right hand, thinking very seriously.

After a long while, she asked, “This barrier you mentioned—can absolutely nothing pass through it? Not even forces such as time or space?”

Chen Miemie saw that she was taking the matter seriously and entered the discussion himself. “I can say for certain that spatial forces won’t work. I’m not sure about time, but even if it has an effect, it would probably be very slight.”

Persimmon nodded. “Good. Time might have a subtle influence—that’s a possible opening. But there’s something else you haven’t answered. Can truly nothing pass through?”

Chen Miemie thought for quite some time. “Almost nothing. The only two things that can pass through are light—the light of the sun and moon—and my consciousness.”

Persimmon’s right eye immediately lit up.

“Excellent. An exception is good news. If there are two exceptions, there might be a third. Time, light, consciousness. I can’t be certain, but I know of a force similar to all three.”

Chen Miemie hadn’t expected Persimmon to actually have something worthwhile to offer. He was skilled at changing his attitude, and immediately began asking questions with shameless humility.

“Miss Persimmon, please enlighten me.”

Persimmon did not keep him in suspense. Smiling broadly, she began to analyze the problem.

“Time, light, and consciousness can combine to form time itself. Time and stories are highly similar. Both possess the power to transcend dimensions and cross the boundary between subject and object.

“You happened to find exactly the right person. My codename is First Words, and I wield the power of [Story].

“I can collect the beginnings of stories. The first sentence anyone says in front of me, the first character they write, or the first action they perform may all be taken away by me.

“Once I take away a beginning, its original owner can never remember it again—they won’t remember what they were about to say, write, or do.

“Of course, I don’t take beginnings for free. I give the original owner a new one in return, and it’s usually better than the old beginning.”

Chen Miemie was having trouble keeping up. “So, your [Story] can help me bring something in from outside the barrier?”

“Of course not. It has to be your own story.

“You write your own story as a book. In the book, you retrieve something from outside the barrier. Then, outside the book, there’s a chance you’ll be able to retrieve it in reality as well.”

“A chance?” Chen Miemie didn’t much care for that word.

“Obviously. You can’t make anything happen just by writing it down. The probability of success is directly proportional to the limits of your ability and inversely proportional to the difficulty of what you’re trying to do.”

Chen Miemie considered it. Probability might be unreliable, but having some hope was better than having none at all.

“Persimmon, I may not have explained the barrier clearly enough. The one I need to deal with is extremely, extremely powerful—one hundred times more powerful than a Great Witch. Does your [Story] possess that kind of power?”

Persimmon smiled. “One hundred times more powerful than a Great Witch? That really is something. Whether it can work or not doesn’t depend on the power of my [Story]. When the time comes, it will be your story, and it will rely on your own power.”

Only then did Chen Miemie relax a little. “So how do we begin my story?”

Persimmon glanced toward the study. “I need a book.”

“What kind of requirements does it have?”

“The closer your relationship with it, the better.”

Chen Miemie thought for a moment, then waved a hand. The books The Brocade Zither and Gathering Spring Blossoms, Reaping Autumn Memories floated out of the study.

The Brocade Zither, which had originally been slightly behind, overtook the other book and arrived in front of Persimmon first.

Persimmon praised him. “What amazing control.”

“Hm? Why can’t I open it?” Persimmon asked, puzzled. “I can sense some very strange power on these two books, and there aren’t any words on their covers, either.”

Chen Miemie frowned slightly. “It’s normal that you can’t open them. But did you say you can’t see the titles on their covers?”

“I can’t see them. I know there are several characters where the title should be, but they look like twisted lines. I can’t make out the shapes of the characters.”

“All right. These two are books I had a hand in. They’re called The Brocade Zither and Gathering Spring Blossoms, Reaping Autumn Memories.”

“ The Brocade Zither? Since that one arrived first, let’s use it. Can you give me a rough summary of what happens in it?”

Chen Miemie nodded and recounted the story of The Brocade Zither as concisely as possible without leaving anything out.

Persimmon clearly loved listening to stories. Her right eye sparkled as she blinked.

When he finished, she clapped her hands. “That’s a wonderful story. I hope the Yi siblings, who paid the price for the other party, can eventually recover their health.”

“Mm. I hope so too.”

“All right. I’m going to activate my [Mystery]. Oh, right—since I’m taking part in this, I’ll need to play a role in your story. Which character do you think would suit me?”

Chen Miemie looked at the three characters on the cover of The Brocade Zither—the name of its original author, “Granny Qiu”—and slowly said:

“On Warm Jade Road, there’s a Granny Qiu who runs a small restaurant that sells honey.”

Persimmon puffed out her cheeks again.

“All right, all right. Since it’s your story, you get to decide. I’ll reluctantly play Granny Qiu this once. But let me make this clear: just this once.”