Eldritch Horror Theatre

Logically speaking, it was an easy connection to make.

Even if he hadn’t known the name Ti Lanqi at the time, the Red Moon and Annalise were plainly right there.

The reason Fu Qian hadn’t rushed to probe in that direction was because a few core contradictions were just as obvious.

Take the most glaring one, for instance: if it really was the Red Moon, why hadn’t it recognized him?

Judging by how the Red Moon and the Blazing Rainbow had each behaved back in the Sacred Night Capital, he knew the former wasn’t flexible enough to track him into a mission.

But during that mission in the Archipelago, he had practically barged right onto its home turf.

He had even used his true face. Aside from wearing a mask that was better than nothing, he hadn’t used any disguises.

Yet the Red Moon had shown zero reaction.

Now, however, ”Annalise and Ti Lanqi” offered a faint explanation for this.

If Ti Lanqi truly was the Red Moon, then one of the triggers for her madness was undoubtedly the violent clash between those two consciousnesses.Which meant it was highly likely that, at times, she couldn’t maintain her self-awareness as the ”Mother.”

Put simply, the blood-red moon back then had projected itself in the guise of ”Annalise.”

Even the protection granted to the King of the White Tower was merely due to a glance from the Progenitor of the Blood Clan.

Of course, this Progenitor of the Blood Clan might not be the real deal. It might just exist at the level of ”what the Red Moon believes the Progenitor of the Blood Clan to be,” much like Old Man Mosson and his son in this recent mission.

But that was probably the exact reason he hadn’t been recognized.

Beyond that, however, lay another hefty inconsistency—why would the Red Moon be interested in the White Tower Codex?

The mission summary had made it perfectly clear: the reason the Archipelago drew attention was because its iron laws, set amid wanton indulgence, had formed a bizarre ecology.

But what appeal could such a thing possibly hold for a ”moon”? From Fu Qian’s perspective, he was far more inclined to link it to that Golden Tree in the West Plain.

Exactly. Codexes, iron rules, the Law... the fundamental nature of these things was clearly cut from the same cloth.

In contrast, the flesh-and-blood power and the door-opening abilities the Red Moon had displayed so far were completely at odds with that style.

Yet once again, the mission he had just completed brought a turning point to this contradiction.

What if the Red Moon had been drawn in through her identity as Annalise?

Perhaps the Progenitor of the Blood Clan hadn’t previously displayed any ties to the Law either, but a somewhat comparable element had appeared in this mission—the True Word Notebook.

Write down any sentence, and it could pass judgment on whether it was right or wrong. Broadly speaking, wasn’t this property of the notebook a little akin to the Law?

Both imposed boundaries on the Real World. One dictated what could and couldn’t be done; the other dictated what was right and what was wrong.

If that single reason still felt a bit far-fetched, there was actually another point to consider—the relationship between the First Generation Dark Moon and the Golden Tree.

That theoretical junior of Annalise had engaged in far, far too much manipulation when it came to the Law.

Given the ambiguous relationship between the various moons, the probability that Annalise had dabbled in the Law was undoubtedly rising.

And rising right alongside it was the probability that she had been drawn in by the White Tower Codex.

In short, even though calling her name had provoked no response, Fu Qian was still unwilling to dismiss the possibility that Ti Lanqi was the Red Moon.

Thus, he had decided to visit a place more likely to jog her memory and try to fish out a bit of nostalgic sentiment.

Aside from that, the Archipelago also held great significance for his Rebirth Club, so it was perfectly reasonable for him to come take a look, wasn’t it?

It wouldn’t even look suspicious in the eyes of the Night Watchers. After all, as a professor at the Academy, he was also playing the role of a righteous idealist who despised the foul atmosphere of the Archipelago and had risked his life to assassinate the King of the White Tower.

That was exactly why Fu Qian was acting so uninhibited on this trip.

Thunk!

He casually tossed his empty cup. It traced a perfect arc through the air before dropping into a distant trash can with a dull thud.

After pulling off that effortlessly leisurely move, Fu Qian finally rose from his Deck Chair and turned to look in a certain direction.

A burly man with half his face and neck covered in tattoos was just dragging his gaze back from the trash can, looking deeply disappointed.

Fu Qian had timed his movement so perfectly that their eyes met head-on.

”What are you looking at?”

As everyone knew, when paths crossed, the one to ask ”what are you looking at?” held the initiative. In this slightly awkward standoff, averting one’s gaze first was simply unacceptable for anyone walking the path of the jianghu.

The burly man’s eyes immediately sharpened as he coldly barked back.

”What are you looking at?”

Since they were all men of the world, how could Fu Qian not know this etiquette? He immediately smiled, nodded, and offered a reply.

”...You’ve got good luck.”

The coded exchange seemed to work perfectly. The burly man narrowed his eyes slightly, surprisingly deciding not to escalate the staring contest, and merely offered a gloomy response.

”Sure is. Not a single drop spilled.”

Fu Qian wore a look of pure arrogance, completely devoid of any modesty.

...

What an incredibly familiar sense of déjà vu. Could capital truly alienate people this much?

The last broad-shouldered fellow he’d met here had also tried to exploit the ”strictly no dirtying the beach” rule to extort him.

Yes, to Fu Qian, what this guy had just been doing was all too easy to read.

Although he had drained his drink, a tiny bit of liquid inevitably clung to the inside of the cup. Tossing it over such a long distance meant there was a genuine risk of red droplets flying out as the cup tumbled through the air.

The regulars around here were clearly hyper-sensitive to this. That guy hadn’t blinked once, staring fixedly the entire time in hopes of spotting a spill.

What a pity. As a leading academic, applying a little basic mechanics was child’s play.

Thanks to his precise control, Brother Tattoo was left utterly empty-handed.

”Are you messing with me?”

Of course, the man wasn’t completely dense. Faced with Fu Qian’s on-the-nose remark, he clearly realized their earlier eye contact hadn’t been a coincidence at all—the guy had been baiting him.

And since their brief exchange had already drawn a bit of attention from the bystanders—even the beverage staff were glancing over from a distance—swallowing this insult was obviously unacceptable to him.

Thus, he didn’t just step forward; his tone turned vicious—Thump!

Sadly, before he could even finish his sentence, a perfectly ordinary punch shoved the words right back down his throat.

As someone who had practically memorized the White Tower Codex, how could Fu Qian forget that while making a mess here was strictly forbidden, throwing hands was completely allowed?

And considering that Old Man Ibu was currently trying his hardest to keep the event’s popularity soaring, the chances of him revising that specific rule were incredibly low.

Ugh—

A solid punch to the solar plexus had always been the ultimate emetic. Brother Tattoo’s neck instantly spasmed as he prepared to turn into a human geyser.

Unfortunately for him, his mouth and nose were clamped shut in the next second, forcing him to violently swallow it all back down.

”Lie down nicely. This is a gift for you.”

Having completed his little combo, Fu Qian simply lifted the man up and tossed him onto the Deck Chair, instructing him to get a good rest.