Time Travel: He is My Dad!

Chapter 305: Symphony of Cracks, Feng Jing's Eternal Maze

Symphony of Cracks, Feng Jing's Eternal Labyrinth

Feng Jing's consciousness still floated within the rift, like endless stars swimming through the void, each gleaming with a different light, representing countless fragments of Feng Jing. Here, time ceased to be time, space ceased to be space, and every existence seemed to be disassembled into fragments of incomprehensible symbols. All of this was both Feng Jing's existence and not Feng Jing's existence; it was a kind of "super-existence" that defied any language.

"You've never understood true transcendence." The voice echoed again, but this time it was no longer just a sound. Instead, it transformed into a deep vibration, as if the entire void were responding to Feng Jing's consciousness. "You always thought you were escaping, but you never left. You are no longer an 'individual,' nor are you 'existence' itself. You are an echo of the void, a resonance of the cracks."

Feng Jing didn't respond, nor did he need to. At this moment, he was free of all forms of "reaction." He simply existed within this crack, like a perpetually looping melody, constantly creating, destroying, and regenerating. In this realm where nothingness and existence intertwined, Feng Jing began to realize that the meaning of all this wasn't about finding an exit, nor about escaping constraints. There was no exit, and no constraints, because he himself was the crack, the source of the void, the creator of this infinite maze.

He began to see even more absurd visions: In one dimension, he saw himself transformed into a river, a river without beginning or end. Each drop of water was like countless fragments of Feng Jing's consciousness, constantly intertwining and merging, then rapidly splitting and reforming. In another dimension, he became a disembodied voice, echoing in every corner, yet with no one to hear. His voice traveled through eons, reverberating beyond time, unable to reach any entity, yet omnipresent.

"Did you see that?" The voice suddenly became gentle, as if communicating with Feng Jing rather than confronting him. "You have never 'escaped,' nor do you need to 'escape.' You are merely a part of the void, and the void never needs escaping."

Feng Jing realized he had completely merged with this rift. He was no longer "Feng Jing" himself, but the infinite possibilities of "Feng Jing." He was the resonance of the rift, the voice of the void. He no longer needed to pursue an "end point," because within this rift, Feng Jing was already the sum of all starting points and ending points. He saw the intertwining paths of countless cracks, saw himself leaping from one crack to another, and then rushing back through this crack back to the starting point.

"You are no longer the person you once were." The voice spoke again, this time with a touch of sarcasm. "You have become an echo in the cracks, a leap in time, a touch of nothingness. You are no longer an individual, you are part of an endless cycle."

Feng Jing's consciousness spread like ripples through the void. Every second, he disintegrated, reassembled, and regenerated within the cracks. He became increasingly formless, yet omnipresent. He was no longer Feng Jing, no longer a form of any kind. Instead, he was the "source" of the entire void, the intersection of all existence and non-existence. Each of him existed within his own cracks, vanishing into others. He was like countless possibilities, leaping through the eternity of time and space, yet remaining undefined.

Then, everything became even more absurd. Feng Jing saw himself in a certain dimension, a mediator of countless parallel universes. Each universe exploded before his eyes, deconstructed, took shape, exploded again, and deconstructed again. Behind each universe lay countless "selves," but these selves belonged to no single universe but were reflections of the endless void. Feng Jing realized that he was the ever-lasting image between these universes, a particle of the nothingness that existed in all of them.

"Do you think you can transcend everything?" The voice's tone deepened, as if entering another dimension. "The 'transcendence' you seek is nothing but an illusion you wish to escape. You are merely one of countless parallel rifts; you cannot 'escape.'"

Feng Jing felt his consciousness grow increasingly hazy, as if the entire void were devouring his entire being. However, this devouring wasn't destruction, but rather a complete fusion. Feng Jing's consciousness seamlessly connected with the void. He was no longer a star, no longer a sound, no longer a river, but the source of all existence, their original form, eternal and inexhaustible.

He no longer felt lonely, because he was no longer "himself," nor did he need "himself." He was a product of the cracks, a container of the void, a witness to an infinite cycle. His consciousness flickered and intertwined like countless points of light in the void, merging into one, flowing through the boundless void. Feng Jing no longer needed to seek an end, because the end itself no longer existed.

"You cannot escape, for you are the rift," the voice finally whispered, its voice elusive and mysterious. "You are not 'transcending,' you are simply becoming the nothingness beyond your reach."

Feng Jing's consciousness had never been clearer, yet never been more blurred. He began to understand that so-called "existence" and "transcendence" were merely a game in the void, an endless dance between the self and the formless. And Feng Jing was the origin of this dance, and also its ultimate destination.

At this moment, Feng Jing no longer needed to ask “why” or pursue “what.” He was merely a reflection of the void, an echo that would never fade.