"Why do they all seem so happy?"

"I don't know."

In the corner of the dining room, Huai Shi gazed at a face brimming with happiness and slowly shook his head.

Was this the prospect of freedom or the joy of reaching a new world?

It felt like something out of a TVB drama: complete this job, and we're off to Canada. No one there knows us; we can start anew.

As the new continent drew near, everything from the past was thrown to the back of their minds.

And thus, they were reborn.

This long, arduous journey was nearing its end, and so the final revelry commenced.

The once-cluttered dining room had been tidied and, through their combined efforts, redecorated. An air of joy filled the space; festivity was everywhere, with lanterns and colorful streamers hung all around.

The purified food, having been carefully re-prepared, was laid out on the tables for guests to help themselves. Drinks from the storehouse flowed freely, piled into several high Champagne Towers that reflected the shimmering light.

The survivors, now in decent clothes, toasted each other and exchanged polite greetings.

A small band had even formed on the stage, playing tunes that were neither unpleasant nor particularly melodious. Huai Shi had been invited to join, but he declined, citing ill health.

He just sat in the corner of the dining room, watching all this, feeling an acute sense of absurdity.

Only a short twenty-some hours had passed since the chaotic onslaught of the wolf disaster, yet all the suffering and unease seemed to be forgotten.

It was as if some invisible force was subtly orchestrating everything, guiding everyone's fate back onto its prescribed course.

"You could call it the gravity of the plot," Ai Qing said. "These events are simply records preserved within the fragments of the Philosopher's Stone. Like a calendar with all appointments set, no matter what catastrophic events occurred in the preceding days, the scheduled items wouldn't change."

Ai Qing's words made Huai Shi's heart sink once again.

Though she hadn't said it outright, her meaning was clear: despite the great degree of freedom, this place was still, after all, a record extracted by KP from the Philosopher's Stone.

Past history.

Just as history doesn't change, the events that occurred on this ship wouldn't change either—such as the identities of those on board and this very banquet.

And, ultimately, the outcome.

Historically, who on this ship had actually reached America?

No one knew.

Flying the Mayflower's flag, thousands of ships must have set out for America from all over the world, but how many of the Alien Species had actually arrived?

The merrier and more harmonious the atmosphere became, the more unsettling Huai Shi found it.

It was like sitting atop a silent volcano, feeling the heat rising from below. It seemed tranquil for the moment, but he never knew when erupting magma might blast him, skin and bones, into the stratosphere.

But Lily seemed to be having a great time.

After all, she had never seen anything like this. Since Parasussell created her, she had led a life of constant upheaval, always on the move, let alone having the chance to attend any kind of banquet.

All of this was a new experience for her.

She even seemed to enjoy the grating cello music from the stage, which sounded to Huai Shi like someone sawing wood. He felt an urge to rush over and give the player a good thrashing.

It was torture.

"...Your right hand is weak, your mastery of the score is poor, your technique is sloppy, and your rhythm is sluggish. Not a single movement is decent!"

When Huai Shi could no longer bear it, he was already on stage, looking down at the cellist with a frown. "Who was your teacher? How could they let you perform on stage playing like this?"

The cellist, who had been playing with oblivious joy, stared blankly at Huai Shi. After a long pause, he obediently handed the cello to him.

"Watch closely and learn!"

Huai Shi took up the bow and replayed the Beethoven Sonata No. 5 for him. Then, he looked up and asked, "Did you learn anything?"

The person beside him shook his head in a daze.

Below the stage, only Lily was clapping excitedly. She couldn't tell good from bad; to her, it all sounded quite nice. Huai Shi suddenly felt a wave of helplessness. He shoved the bow back into the cellist's hands. "Forget it. Pretend I didn't say anything. You continue."

Seeing his dejected look, Lily kindly consoled him, "Don't be down. Even though you were just a tiny bit worse than him, it was still very good."

"..."

Huai Shi almost choked.

It was only now that he realized... Lily was tone-deaf?

"Alright, whatever you say."

Huai Shi was speechless. He lifted his glass and continued to sip the tomato and apple-flavored synthetic plasma Lily had made for him. Seriously, this stuff is disgustingly hard to swallow, he thought. Couldn't she make something normal?

Unfortunately, she was averse to any alcohol not intended for experimental use, so Huai Shi's rare chance to sample some foreign liquor was gone.

As the two were talking, he noticed a crisp sound from a distance.

It sounded like a slap.

He looked up and saw Yin Yan, whom he hadn't seen for a long time, and the bright red palm print on his face. Baba Yaga, who had been coldly observing this group of passengers reveling in their naive joy, was angrily berating him about something. Soon, she stormed off, heading straight for the terrace outside the dining room.

Now one-armed, Yin Yan looked particularly wretched. Noticing Huai Shi's gaze, he shot him a cold look and turned away.

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