Weapon System 60: Farewell to Time (1)
The world around him remained bizarre and dazzling, yet nothing external could shake his concentration at that moment—not even the collapse of heaven and earth. His focus finally allowed him to forget everything, including the fact that he was polishing the Stone of Persona, though his awareness was exceptionally lucid.
Suddenly, a voice within his consciousness asked, “Are you polishing the Stone of Persona with intention or without?” The voice was in fact a strand of his own awareness; in other words, he was questioning himself.
Upon being asked, Zhang Mingjing immediately remembered he was polishing the stone, then replied, “What difference does it make if I am intentional or unintentional?” The voice—himself—answered, “If you are intentional, you should always be aware that you are polishing the Stone of Persona; if unintentional, it is like you just now, polishing but having forgotten it entirely.”
“I forgot! ...Where did my thoughts wander?” “I don’t know, but as soon as I called you, you returned.” “What if you hadn’t called me?” “How would I know?” “Then try not calling me!” “Alright.”
Zhang Mingjing buried himself once more in polishing the stone, quickly returning to the state where he forgot everything, though his consciousness remained clear. In that moment, he slipped into a realm of chaotic awareness; his mind grew hazy and suddenly, one, two, three, four...until countless versions of himself appeared around him—young and old, in every stage of life, increasing in number as if to fill the entire space.
Surprised, Zhang Mingjing exclaimed, “What is happening now?! Who are you all?”
“We are Zhang Mingjing,” they replied in unison.
He laughed, knowing this was likely another illusion, and finding himself calm, he asked with curiosity, “Then tell me, which Zhang Mingjing are you?”
“I am Zhang Mingjing from eighteen years ago.”
...
“I am Zhang Mingjing from a second ago.”
...
“I am Zhang Mingjing from five minutes ago.”
...
“I am Zhang Mingjing from an hour ago.”
...
“I am Zhang Mingjing from a month ago.”
...
“I am Zhang Mingjing from a year ago.”
...
“I am Zhang Mingjing from two years in the future.”
“I am Zhang Mingjing from three years in the future.”
“I am Zhang Mingjing from five years in the future.”
...
“I am Zhang Mingjing from twenty years in the future.”
...
“I am Zhang Mingjing from a hundred years in the future.”
...
“Hahaha...isn’t this a mistake? Even future versions of myself have appeared—this is going too far!” Hearing this, Zhang Mingjing was a little taken aback and finally asked, “Then which Zhang Mingjing am I?”
They replied in unison, “You are the Zhang Mingjing of the present, but not the true Zhang Mingjing.”
“Hahaha...Are you trying to drive me mad? But you don’t have the skill!” Zhang Mingjing scoffed.
They laughed in unison, “Hahaha...ignorant child! Unable to fathom yourself, how can you speak of enlightenment? Don’t even dream of obtaining higher-dimensional information or energy.”
Zhang Mingjing responded with disdain, “Stop trying to fool me! Step aside, I’ve already seen through you.”
“What have you seen through?” asked the Zhang Mingjing thirty years older.
“You are all illusions.”
“Then what are you?” asked the Zhang Mingjing from when he was three.
“Oh! So young and already asking such sharp questions!” Zhang Mingjing retorted.
“Unable to answer, huh? If you can’t, go back! Don’t hope for higher-dimensional energy or information,” shouted a teenaged Zhang Mingjing.
“Yes, if you can’t answer, go back!” countless Zhang Mingjings shouted together, their voices deafening.
“Fine, fine, you win! I’ll drive you all away right now.” With that, Zhang Mingjing closed his eyes and calmed his mind.
A moment later, he felt utterly tranquil and focused, confident he would no longer be disturbed by illusions. He opened his eyes.
Yet, upon opening them, he saw that the countless Zhang Mingjings had not disappeared; their numbers were still increasing.
“Damn!” Zhang Mingjing grumbled, “I refuse to believe I can’t deal with you.”
He crossed his legs, preparing to meditate—entering a deeper state of concentration. As the layers of focus grew subtler, three minutes later, he realized that the countless versions of himself were not necessarily illusions; perhaps they were holographic projections of his memory. But how could future versions exist?
He continued searching for answers in meditation, delving deeper. After several more minutes, he seemed to understand: those future selves might be fantasies in his heart—humans always, consciously or unconsciously, imagine their future selves, though they may be unaware of it. Such imaginings are stored in memory.
When he grasped this, it was as if a bolt of lightning flashed through his mind, instantly granting awareness that he had broken through the illusion.
He opened his eyes again; indeed, all the Zhang Mingjings had vanished. But where they had stood, countless numbers remained, still filling the space, increasing in number.
“What is this now?!” Zhang Mingjing was baffled and began to interpret the numbers; after a moment, he understood and sighed, “These numbers represent the ages of all those Zhang Mingjings! But what does this signify? Every second of age is recorded—what meaning is there in that?”
Naturally, Zhang Mingjing connected the numbers and discovered they formed a timeline of his life.
But as he pondered, he felt the idea was foolish and complained, “Timeline? Isn’t this simply the span from birth to death? Listing every second separately—what’s the point? And just now, there was a holographic projection of myself for each second; what is this intended to illustrate?”
As he vented, all the numbers in the space suddenly surged toward him; in an instant, countless numbers entered his body.
At this moment, he found himself transformed into a round, plump clock, ticking away.
“This illusion is impressive!” Zhang Mingjing mused, contemplating how to break it.
...
With his rotund, clock-shaped body, Zhang Mingjing walked and thought, but found no clue. Looking at his current form, he smiled wryly.
Utterly helpless, he listened to the ticking of his own body and complained, “When will you stop?”
No sooner had he spoken than the clock stopped.
Curious, he said, “Then start again!”
Sure enough, the clock resumed ticking.
After repeating this two or three times, Zhang Mingjing suddenly understood and exclaimed in delight, “So time is me, and I am time. Without me, time cannot exist.”
But he immediately doubted himself, “Wait! If time is me, does that mean other people’s time is also me...oh!”
Finally, Zhang Mingjing comprehended, “There is no such thing as time, or rather, everyone has their own time, and that time is themselves. Without themselves, their time does not exist.”
At this point, his clock-body was still ticking. He laughed, “Humans invented clocks, defined time, but true time is humanity itself. When life ends, so does time. For the universe, there is no time—only change. Humans see the changes of birth, aging, sickness, and death as time, yet change itself is eternal. It needs no time; the void needs no time. Thus, the universe has no need for time. Time is merely a human necessity; it is not truth.”
With this realization, his plump clock-body began to disintegrate and instantly reverted to his original form.
A holographic projection appeared within the illusion—a three-year-old Zhang Mingjing, who asked in a childish voice, “Do you still need time now?”
“Me?!” Zhang Mingjing was stunned, then retorted, “Little imp, where did you come from? Asking such an annoying question, aren’t you deliberately making things difficult for me?”
“Less nonsense! Tell me, do you still need time?”
“Yes, of course I do, because I still want to live! Besides, time is already written into my genetic code, isn’t it?”
After answering, the young Zhang Mingjing suddenly vanished.
Immediately, an elderly Zhang Mingjing in his seventies or eighties appeared and asked, “Do you still need time now?”
Zhang Mingjing swallowed, then complained, “Why ask this again?”
“Because you haven’t answered correctly.”
“Why?”
“Because you haven’t answered correctly,” the three-year-old Zhang Mingjing appeared again.
“Because you haven’t answered correctly,” countless Zhang Mingjings of various ages appeared.
“Damn!” Zhang Mingjing was speechless, but he quickly sat down, preparing to meditate once more—his third time, a deeper entry into concentration.
He soon entered meditation, surrounded by countless versions of himself at different ages.
About half an hour later, he opened his eyes, slowly stood, and asked, “Who among you still wants to ask that question?”
In that moment, all the Zhang Mingjings vanished without a trace, leaving only a young Zhang Mingjing.
“You want to know?” Zhang Mingjing asked.
“Yes! Speak, let me hear.”
“Heh! I don’t need time anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because you are me, I am you, we are all Zhang Mingjing, but Zhang Mingjing is not us.”
“Don’t go all profound on me—explain it simply.”
“Heh! You and I are both changes of Zhang Mingjing, but Zhang Mingjing is unchanging. The three-year-old you, the eighteen-year-old me, the fifty-year-old Zhang Mingjing, the hundred-year-old Zhang Mingjing—our core never changes, always that heart. That heart is Zhang Mingjing; we are merely different projections of it.”
...
Regardless of whether Zhang Mingjing’s insight was correct, he would never again be obsessed with time. Yet, even so, he had not truly broken the curse of time.
At this moment, deep within his consciousness, bursts of thunder echoed—the heart was singing. These echoes resonated with his frequency, making him feel a powerful sense of entanglement.