Ice Vapor Goddess

Chapter 112 Destiny
The towering tower stood majestically, the crown crashed to the ground, and people fell desperately from it, heading towards their destined death.

But Siren simply pushed it in front of Cynthia.

"Refuse?" Cynthia asked.

Xilun shook his head. "Let me ask you a question. When you said, 'How can you be sure that this isn't fate's arrangement,' do you think fate was speaking through your mouth, or did your mouth actively speak of fate? Do you think fate exists objectively, or is it something you imagine? Do you think everyone has a fate? Are there differences between everyone's fate? Is the sublime other that is presupposed behind different fates the same?"

The series of questions left Cynthia stunned, and she didn't know how to answer them for a moment.

Xilun smiled: "Then let me answer that—I think you're right, what you said is fate, but unfortunately it's not my fate."

“Let’s imagine this scene—when I was born, my parents held me in their arms. My father said he was poor all his life, so I had to make a lot of money; my mother said she didn’t get into a good school, so I had to get into a top school; my grandparents said I was the hope of the family, and I had to be a filial, obedient and sensible child. They would keep telling me these things, which became the background noise and my only mission since I could understand words. This is my destiny.”

Cynthia's eyes suddenly lit up. The "brightness" was truly bright. Xilun could even feel the emerald green glow shimmering in those brown pupils, dazzling and captivating.

“Ah! That’s it! What a wonderful analogy!” she exclaimed excitedly, placing her hands on the table. “You mean, a person’s fate is determined by their parents?”

Siren was abruptly interrupted and somewhat confused by Cynthia's ardent gaze, but he still explained, "I was just giving an example. Parents are generally the most influential people, but other relatives, teachers, and even books are the same."

“The internalized ‘voice of the other’ is my destiny and my subjectivity. The words you said are your destiny, but not mine. If I had listened to them, they might have become mine, but I did not listen.”

Cynthia listened attentively, then slowly said, "So you believe that fate exists, but it's not a god; it's your life, your possible future, the path you take... your choices?"

Xiren played with the [Tower] card, completely ignoring it as a curse of misfortune.

"Of course it exists. After all, the word exists, so it must exist, it just exists in our imagination." He fiddled with the card and said in a light tone.

“Perhaps I will fail in the future, and then I will painfully say: ‘It’s all fate,’ and be trapped in a forced cycle of failure and pain. But that’s just an illusion, a fantasy that I can’t bear the pain and attribute it to external factors. It can make me feel better—I am a victim persecuted by fate, and I feel sorry for myself.”

“There was once a famous composer on the mainland who lost his hearing. He believed it was a curse of fate, but he composed music to express it and played a symphony of fate. So it is normal to have fantasies about fate, but the real question is how to deal with it and how to imagine the relationship between man and fate.”

"At least for me, it's not that there's some lofty so-called destiny above me, but rather that I'm influenced by whom, how I think, and what path I choose. So my unconscious writes my own script, and this script is my destiny. I am both the screenwriter and the actor."

"Perhaps many years later, someone will evaluate my life and say it was fate or historical inevitability. But that is just a retrospective construction of my actions, believing that my behavior was only a part of what history had predetermined. If I hadn't done all of this, they wouldn't have the right to sit on high and call it fate."

He tossed the tower back to Cynthia, his tone resolute.

“That’s wonderful.” Cynthia said with a smile, her eyes narrowed. “For a moment, I also wanted to serve you and follow you wherever you went.”

As an analyst or philosopher, his argument is undoubtedly unqualified; the tone is too strong, making assertions without room for discussion. However, as a leader, he is exceptional.

Because what people really want to hear is not "this argument may work in this context, but it is open to discussion in other theoretical systems," but rather "this is the way forward, and I will pave the way."

That resolute tone naturally possesses the charm to rally people.

“Alright, enough of that, now it’s time to talk about you.” Xiren put the tower back into the card pile. “Cynthia, I couldn’t find you in Speyer’s files, nor in this shop’s records. You’re like a shadow, suddenly appearing here. If it weren’t for my subordinates reporting this, I might never have known you…”

He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly: "Who are you? What do you know? And why do you want to see me?" "Just a fortune teller who does it out of interest," she said with a smile. "I heard your story and guessed that you might have the answers, so I asked you to come."

"The answer to what?"

"About fate, the future, and choices."

Why do you need to know this?

“Because of mission,” she said softly. “I can’t say much to you, but thank you for giving me this answer today. It’s the best one I’ve ever seen… Although it’s not what he wanted, I think it’s good.”

“You must remember it, and tell him about it in the not-too-distant future.”

"Who is he?"

"You'll know."

“…Alright.” Siren was certain the riddle-maker wouldn't say anything more, so she changed the subject, “So, regarding that case that's giving us a headache, do you have any leads? Why is Arthur's future the Grim Reaper?”

She said slowly, "That blasphemous ritual comes from the black magic 'Red Dragon Book,' and its purpose is to isolate divine thoughts and the gaze of the gods. However, the ice thorns, alder, and runes are not included; they represent another ritual. You can investigate the cultural customs of the northern barbarians about these."

Xiren nodded, but his body didn't relax: "Red Dragon? You mean..."

“Another strange phenomenon appeared in the sky: a great red dragon with seven heads and ten horns, seven crowns on its head, and its tail dragged a third of the stars in the sky, which crashed to the ground,” Cynthia said.

"It's related to demons?!" Siron's heart tightened. As a spiritual disciple of the cardinal, he knew that demons were not just people's imaginations. Many confidential documents recorded those creatures, and even the location of Florence's city was related to them.

“It has nothing to do with it; it’s just that a bunch of clowns found the book,” Cynthia said calmly. “If you have the chance, I suggest you take a look.”

Xilun didn't speak, but just looked at Cynthia, countless memories flooding his mind.

How does she know so much? Who is she? A Gypsy... Are there any famous Gypsies?

“As for Death… everyone in this city except you is Death,” she said, her eyes like an ancient well. “Go for it, Your Excellency Bishop. If your destiny is the history you write, then please write a glorious chapter and a new beginning for us.”

Xiren clenched his fist: "Was it done by that 'Snowfield House'?"

She did not answer, but instead uttered the words that Siron knew well: "The moon is thus guided by angels, and the sky draws near to Libra."

His heart skipped a beat.

“Your Excellency, please investigate Nostradamus’s life. The angel he speaks of is not our angel,” she said.

(End of this chapter)