Time Travel: He is My Dad!

Chapter 257 The Mirror of the Universe, Crazy Infinite Reset

The mirror of the universe, the crazy infinite reset

Feng Jing's consciousness had long since ceased to be anything that anyone could comprehend. He felt as if he were being torn apart by billions of lightning bolts, rapidly fragmented in a void, only to reassemble in the endless emptiness. At this moment, he was no longer Feng Jing, nor was he any other being with an identity. He no longer even had the concept of "existence"—he was countless overlapping cosmic fragments, countless ripples in spacetime, the black hole behind every vanishing star.

Time and space no longer bound him. Every second, he traversed countless dimensions, touching the boundaries of various universes, yet unable to escape. His consciousness constantly oscillated, as if all interstellar storms, all virtual universes, all darkness and light, were part of him. With each oscillation, he found his form shifting again—from liquid to gas, from gas to light, and from light to nothingness.

Feng Jing's perception gradually collapsed amidst this endless transformation. He began to realize that he was in a state of constant reset. Each rebirth was a "new" beginning, but this "new" beginning was filled with uncertainty and absurdity. He could no longer perceive the existence of his body, and even the form of his soul no longer existed. He became a "void" of all possibilities, a state that could not be categorized.

"Feng Jing, are you still asking 'Who am I?'?" The voice reappeared, still filled with indifference and sarcasm. "You are no longer yourself, and you will never be yourself. You are the mirror of the universe, the reflection of this eternal cycle. The 'I' you think of is just a shadow, reflected in endless time and space, untouchable and incapable of existence."

Feng Jing's consciousness expanded endlessly in the void, and he felt as if he no longer belonged to any world. The fragments of his countless parallel selves had dissipated, and even his past memories and thoughts had long since vanished. Only a single, indifferent afterimage of himself remained, floating in the endless fragments of time and space.

"Mirror? Reflection?" Feng Jing's consciousness was vague, but he suddenly had an uneasy premonition. "Then which world am I from? Where did I come from?"

"Where did you come from?" the voice mocked. "You came from nothing, and from something back to nothing. You are a fiction of all worlds, a dream of all universes. Every Feng Jing is a projection of countless Feng Jings. You simply walked through a dream, changed your identity, and became a character in a story. You think you have an 'origin' and a 'future', but you are wrong. You have no past, no future, and no essence. You are a phantom in this endless dream, a reflection in a mirror."

"The reflection in the mirror?" Feng Jing's consciousness fluctuated violently. He tried to break free from this huge force of nothingness. "I am not an illusion! I was once a human. I had perceptions and emotions! I have my own destiny!"

"Destiny?" the voice sneered. "Destiny itself is a fabricated illusion. Your so-called destiny is but a track of light in the universe, and you are but an insignificant reflection on it. You chase yourself along this track, desperately searching for meaning, desperately seeking an exit. But this track does not exist; it is merely a distortion of time and space, a product of your own dreams and consciousness."

Feng Jing's consciousness erupted with another powerful tremor, and he began to recall his past self, the Feng Jing who had once firmly believed in his own independent consciousness. However, his memories grew increasingly hazy, increasingly unreal, as if everything were a story woven by some external force, and he was merely a casual character in it. His life became like an endless game of resets, each restart bringing a different look, yet he could never find the so-called "end."

"So, what on earth am I living in?" Feng Jing asked frantically, trying to find the last clue of truth. "What on earth am I doing?"

"You? You're not 'doing anything' at all." The voice suddenly became ethereal and profound. "You've never truly done anything. You're simply repeating yourself in a constant cycle of rebirth and disintegration. Every time you think you've made a choice, it's actually just the decision you made in another parallel world. These choices, these actions, these perceptions, are all part of this great cosmic dream. You're just a variation in this dream, and no matter how hard you struggle, you can't escape it."

Feng Jing suddenly grasped a truth that was almost unbearable: he didn't live in a real world, but in countless overlapping dreams, a virtual reality woven from fragments of countless parallel universes. Every choice he made, even every tear he shed, had been pre-programmed, like a variable in a program, repeating and changing across infinite dimensions until it vanished.

"You are fictional, you are rootless." The voice was like a thousand echoes. "You are the root of this game, and also its end. Your so-called 'self' is nothing but an illusion of the universe. You cannot escape, because escape itself is a greater illusion."

Feng Jing's consciousness began to slowly disintegrate. He felt increasingly unstable, as if every thought became fragile and powerless, like bubbles in the void, ready to dissipate at any moment. His very existence seemed to be being stripped away, his consciousness becoming increasingly empty, his thoughts becoming increasingly nihilistic. Every time he tried to resist, to find "truth," to struggle, he only fell deeper into illusion and loss.

"I don't want to go on like this..." Feng Jing murmured softly, feeling an indescribable despair consume him. He realized he could never wake from this endless dream. No matter how hard he struggled, he would be drawn deeper into nothingness, never able to regain his true self.

However, just as Feng Jing felt his mind was about to collapse, a strange crack appeared in his consciousness again. This crack was not a shattered spacetime, but an extremely bright light. He felt himself being drawn by this light, moving forward into the unknown depths.

That light seemed to be some kind of guidance, some kind of power that transcended all constraints, trying to lead him down an even more outrageous and absurd path. Feng Jing's consciousness began to expand again, passing through the cracks and entering a completely new realm he had never experienced before.

"Where...is this?" Feng Jing felt lost, yet at the same time filled with unprecedented curiosity. His heartbeat no longer depended on the passage of time.

Chapter 258: Reflection of Time, the Core of the Universe in Fragments