A Moment of Eternity

When the cicada pattern on a Western Zhou bronze jue pierced my fingertip, a patina of taotie-like copper rust instantly spread across the bulletproof glass. I saw myself three days later, torn apart by space and time. A crimson warning burst into view: “Mayflies turn nine times; an instant becomes eternity.” I am the last mayfly cultivator, my bloodline bearing the mark of my mother's resolve as she cut open her belly and cast me into the torrent. The “clinics” of a higher civilization are burning human civilization down and reforging it, while bronze roots burrow into the cores of stars. With the Sword of King Yue in hand, I burn the shed shells of nine lifetimes as fuel and strike at the frigid colossus that controls time. Born at dawn and dead by dusk? The splendor of this single instant is enough to kindle an eternal starfire.