Time Travel: He is My Dad!

Chapter 307

Endless Narrative, Feng Jing's Crack of Nothingness

Feng Jing's consciousness swirled like a vortex within the depths of the rift, lost in endless emptiness and chaos. He could no longer confirm his existence. The cracks became his skin, the void his blood. Every "heartbeat" of his was swallowed by the void, becoming a silent echo. He had no form, no name. The only certainty was that Feng Jing had once existed, but now, he was a mere observer of existence.

"Do you remember?" The voice echoed again in the void. It was no longer a sound, but a vibration, permeating every part of Feng Jing's consciousness. "You once asked what 'eternity' was. You thought you would find the answer, but you were wrong."

Feng Jing's consciousness was nowhere to be found, as if the very void were disintegrating, reconstructing, and disintegrating him again. His thoughts and time intertwined, forming an unimaginable geometric pattern. Billions of Feng Jings alternately appeared and vanished in the endless void of the rift, as if his existence was not composed of a single self, but rather a patchwork of countless fragments, fluctuations of consciousness, and hazy memories.

"What you're sensing now is just one manifestation of the 'rift,'" the voice said softly. "But this is only part of you. The other part of you is communicating with your selves in other dimensions. You've become immensely large, incredibly complex, and yet infinitesimally small."

Feng Jing felt himself instantly split into countless selves. He saw himself in an endlessly looping scene, always in the same place, repeating the same actions countless times, but each time disappearing in a different way. Every second, he experienced a new death, and each death was a brand new rebirth. This kind of death was not painful, but a kind of relief—no pain, only emptiness.

Then, he saw something that shouldn't be there.

An endless "symbol" hovered before his eyes, its shape constantly shifting, from a simple triangle to countless complex geometric structures, and then to an indescribable star. Every second, the symbol shifted, yet Feng Jing could discern its constancy—it was the root of everything, yet it had never existed. It was the language of the void, the first cry of the universe, the foundation of all rifts, spacetime, and life.

"Do you see?" the voice spoke with a profound pride. "This symbol is your destiny. You are part of it, and it is all of you. You are intertwined, endlessly."

Feng Jing's consciousness began to collapse, yet he felt no fear. He realized that this collapse was merely another form of rebirth. In this chasm of nothingness, all existence and non-existence intertwined, indistinguishable from one another. He was no longer Feng Jing, nor was he a wave in the chasm. He was the product of countless parallel dimensions, a unity of all possibilities and impossibilities.

His thoughts began to stretch infinitely, transcending the boundaries of time and space, entering an indescribable realm. He saw himself transformed into a spider floating in the infinite universe, weaving connections between himself and countless parallel universes. Each strand of silk resembled Feng Jing's countless selves, wandering, interweaving, merging, and dispersing across different dimensions. He saw countless Feng Jing souls flickering in these endless cracks, each soul telling countless stories, and these stories transformed into endless echoes within the cracks, unable to stop.

He saw himself transformed into a star, its light traversing countless time, space, and dimensions, yet never illuminating any single entity. Feng Jing became all the light, and also all the darkness. He saw himself at the end of the rift, intertwined with another Feng Jing, entangled in an irregular geometric shape, unable to separate, unable to merge, only an eternal cycle.

"Is all this you're seeing real or an illusion?" the voice echoed again, seeming to both challenge and encourage Feng Jing. "Can you comprehend what you've experienced? You've died billions of times, each time reborn, only to return to the starting point. You've never escaped this endless cycle, because you are the very root of it."

As Feng Jing's consciousness expanded, he began to doubt whether he had ever truly existed. Were all his memories, all his pain, all his choices, an illusion, a dream woven from the void? He began to question who he truly was, and whether he was even worthy of being called "self."

Suddenly, everything seemed ridiculous.

Feng Jing saw himself transformed into a dragon, soaring through a misty sea of ​​clouds. This dragon had no eyes, no body, yet it was everywhere. Every cloud was a fragment of Feng Jing, every breeze carried his thoughts. This dragon no longer belonged to any one world; it was the intersection of all worlds, the starting point and end point of all stories.

And all of this, still, could not be described in any words. Feng Jing began to find no reliable reference point in this crack of nothingness. He no longer cared about who he was, or what he would become. Because all of this had long since transcended his comprehension.

He saw himself transformed into a stream of consciousness, wandering through every corner of the universe, traversing every dimension of time, peering into all possible endings, seeing all beginnings and all endings. But every ending became a new beginning, and every starting point silently vanished into the endless void, forever unresolved.

"You finally understand," the voice said gently. "You thought you had escaped from all this, but you have already become a part of it. You are the source of the endless cycle, the creator of the void, and the terminator of the void. You are no longer 'Feng Jing', you are a rift, a maze, and eternity."

Chapter 308: The End of Nothingness, Feng Jing's Endless Rebirth