"Choices, huh."
Annant murmured softly, falling silent for a mont.
He vaguely realized sothing.
"Ingrid’s side... probably is indeed the other facet of the Book of the Celestial Chariot."
"That’s correct. She indeed has the potential to ascend and beco the Celestial Chariot."
The Paper Princess nodded, "But the one who actually has the initiative right now is actually you.
"If you gave up on the Book of the Celestial Chariot, or you ascended slower than her, ’Odes to the Celestial Chariot’ would really beco a book of prophecy—because Ingrid would have truly fulfilled the prophecies within it. She shall ’ascend through love,’ becoming the genuine Celestial Chariot.
"But if you ascended before her, then from the very beginning, ’Odes to the Celestial Chariot’ would never beco a book of prophecy, and there would not be any necessity for the things inside to co true..."
"Because, fate is but the track of the Celestial Chariot."
Annant muttered to himself.
Only now did he fully understand the "absolute correctness" and the "correctness of choice" of this phrase.
This phrase was recorded in ’Odes to the Celestial Chariot.’
If Ingrid were victorious, then this phrase would an that "the Celestial Chariot always rides above fate."
And if Annant were victorious, this phrase would beco "only the Celestial Chariot can determine fate."
Two entirely different interpretations, which would bring about completely different powers.
Is this the ritual of consecration completed after the collection of the Book of Truth?
Annant couldn’t help but ask, "Does every Book of Truth require such a choice?"
"Ha, how can that be possible?"
Yawen snorted, with a smile that wasn’t quite a smile, "When all the Fragnts of Truth are gathered by one person, where would there still be so many suitable candidates in the world?
"Elisa’s child encountered this because the Book of Truth from the beginning had chosen ’both of them.’ Or rather, said ’Pygmalion, who fell in love with Elisa.’
"As for Ingrid’s child, she started preparing for the ritual more than a hundred years ago. ’Odes to the Celestial Chariot’ was even prior to that... Before you heeded the call of the ’Book of the Celestial Chariot’ and ca to this world, Ingrid had already adapted to the Celestial Chariot to a certain extent and even saw the dawn of success several tis. Strictly speaking, she was the one who ca first."
Having said this, Yawen extended a finger, pointing at Annant.
"And you? After that little rascal full of mischief reset his own head, in less than a year’s ti, you gathered the ’Book of the Celestial Chariot.’ For Ingrid, this is tantamount to a complete denial of her hard work and the aning of her existence.
"What Ingrid feels now, what kind of actions she will take, I’m very much looking forward to it."
Yawen revealed a wide smile, chuckling lightly.
He made no attempt to hide his malice.
It was joy that ca from the depths of his heart.
It wasn’t that he had any particular grievance or enmity towards Ingrid. It was a simple, strange expectation of "I just want to see that expression on your face."
Annant wasn’t particularly surprised by this.
After all, Yawen was once the teacher of the tragedy writer, as well as the god worshiped by him in those days.
Just from looking at the pleasure-seeking nature of the tragedy writer’s character, Annant had already guessed what kind of disposition the Yawen he wholeheartedly admired would have...
Moreover, even within the domain of pleasure-seekers, Yawen was undoubtedly the ntor of the tragedy writer.
One reason the tragedy writer was disliked and feared was that he would personally direct a tragedy.
For example, whispering to a child the secret of their father’s affair, allowing the wife to discover it incidentally, or telling an orphan that their foster father is the murderer of their biological father, or telling a criminal that they are actually the illegitimate child of so important figure...
Every word he uttered was, without exception, the truth.
But these were also words that others wished he would not speak, and they were words that would bring lant and misfortune. In this respect, he was sowhat similar to the Faceless Poet, except that the Faceless Poet acted as a confidant, "not wishing for certain secrets to be buried" and thus trying to pass them on to another person—for a relatively positive reason.
It was for this reason that people called the tragedian a "lesser devil" and the Faceless Poet a "greater devil."
Completely different from the motives of the Faceless Poet,
the tragedian delighted in piercing the veil of hypocrisy that people treasured, revealing the most cruel and dark truths to the public; he led baffled and diocre souls to strive for higher things, but whether they walked the Righteous Path or deviated, he simply stood by and watched with pleasure.
"—That’s because lampus believed in the inherent evil of human nature."
Yawen simply glanced at Annan and guessed what he was thinking.
Of course, Yawen did not have the ability to read minds—or rather, even if he did, he disdained to use it.
It was his exceptional Wisdom that allowed Yawen to realize in an instant why Annan had suddenly beco silent for a mont and what he was contemplating.
Yawen bluntly stated, "This is where lampus is immature, and it is also where he is closest to madness.
"The so-called art is pursuing the ’extre clarity within madness.’ But he is too mad, too lacking in clarity; rather than pursuing art, he is more like a fan addicted to drama.
"He only looks forward to the victory or failure of conspiracies—whether it confirms his expectations, telling him ’this is what humans are like,’ or shatters his predictions, telling him ’there is another possibility in this world,’ either outco thrills him.
"That’s fine, but it’s not enough. He lacks the eyes to find beauty, which is why though he is nad a ’tragedian,’ he can only beco the ’god of murder and conspiracy.’"
Annan knew what Yawen was saying.
Compared to the tragedian, who personally guided one tragedy after another, experiencing that suffering, and expecting the rare stars who might break free from a destiny of hardship—Yawen’s works were undoubtedly superior.
Paper Princess was Yawen’s creation.
The entangling, passionate, and desperate love that occurred between Elisa and Pygmalion... Yawen did not intervene at all.
He simply watched over them in silence, ensuring the story unfolded normally... and focused on awaiting the final outco.
Though both were willing to Sacrifice for the other, they were also willing to accept the sacrifices the other made for them;
Though their love could not be properly answered nor ever reciprocated, both believed that the other, sohow, could feel their love;
Though their hearts were so, so close to one another, they could never break through that thin canvas to truly touch each other...
It was but a step away.
Yet it was A Hair’s Breadth From the Ends of the Earth.
—But until the end, neither had any regrets.
Their love was too intense and pure to harbor any curses or resentnt.
Annan suddenly understood.
The "Elisa" that Yawen constantly ntioned was not the na he gave to the dragon in the painting... but the na Pygmalion had given to it.
What beca Yawen’s "child," his favorite "creation," was not the painting itself.
It was the "miracle of love" that intertwined between the painting and the dragon.
"..pared to you, the tragedian’s skill is indeed far inferior."
Annan reflected from his heart.
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