It was dark at night, and the lights in the museum flickered on and off.
Li Guan sat alone in the deserted literature room, with two manuscripts on the table that should never appear at the same time:
One copy is a fragment of the "Book of Mountains and Seas", which reads: "Ocean to the northwest, there is an immortal tree with a candle dragon on it. As far as the eye can see, day and night are divided."
The other copy was the "Revelation" on the parchment, but the yellowed handwriting was so clear that it seemed as if it had just been written: "The angel blew the trumpet, the sun lost its light, and the dragon came out of the abyss and burned the world with fire."
Li Guan rubbed his eyes. When the broken pages and the parchment were placed side by side, the writing actually flowed between each other, like ink spilling over the paper and sliding towards each other.
A few seconds later, the "Candle Dragon" in "The Classic of Mountains and Seas" was replaced by "Dragon, the old serpent"; and the "Angel" in "Revelation" turned into "The Envoy of the Eastern Prince".
He subconsciously turned to the last page. That line of words seemed to be specially written for him at this moment.
"The person staring at the words at this moment is called Li Guan."
He was startled suddenly. Breathing stopped for a moment.
But the next second, the writing on the page slowly squirmed again and began to spell out another sentence:
"If you are not Li Guan, your name will be written the next time the page is turned."
Li Guan raised his head suddenly, feeling as if someone in the literature room was staring at him. But there was silence all around, except for the low hum of the old lamps.
He suddenly remembered an old academic joke:
"Myths are not legends of the past, but scripts of the future."
And now, this script seems to be decided by the person who is reading this text.
