"And that’s how I became a wanted man," Martin said helplessly. "If I had just surrendered back then, I probably wouldn’t have a bounty on my head. But my mind was a complete blur; I’d lost all reason."

Mo Ling was stunned by his story.

"What was that button you used to escape? Something that can transport a person that far has to be a powerful relic, right? Why would they just leave it lying around in a relic warehouse?"

Martin thought for a moment, then answered, "That thing is called the ’Earth Emergency Stop Button.’ For the price of a small blood scab, it lets you experience the sensation of Earth’s rotation coming to a halt."

"Earth’s rotation stopping?" Mo Ling was even more confused.

"Yes, but its actual function is to make the user stationary relative to Earth, effectively detaching you from its rotation. By the time the planet spun around, I was already in Bangkok," Martin explained.

Mo Ling instantly understood. The device didn’t stop Earth’s rotation at all—it stopped the user.

"I found out later there are actually two of those buttons. The other one lets you experience the sensation of Earth’s *revolution* stopping. It just flings the user straight into space. Almost no one survives that."

"Both relics are pretty much traps. The destination for the rotation-stop button is extremely unpredictable. I was just very lucky to land somewhere safe." Martin shrugged. "That’s why they were just gathering dust in a warehouse."

’What a coincidence. It’s as if his escape route was planned out by some unseen force.’

"After that, I followed the formula that ’Martin’ gave me and completed the blood transfusion. Then, three years later, I fulfilled our agreement and passed the torch. Of course, none of that has anything to do with why I’m a wanted man," Martin said, glossing over the details.

But Mo Ling was curious.

"What does that formula do?"

Martin didn’t seem to mind telling him. He pulled back his hood, and his blank, featureless head suddenly refreshed, revealing a pickle jar where his head should be.

Not only that, but pickles were constantly materializing inside the jar, as if it were a machine for perpetual pickle production.

Slender, colorful tentacles would materialize out of thin air within the jar, snatching away some of the pickles and pulling them into the void each time they appeared.

Upon noticing the hood had been removed and a Block had appeared outside the glass jar, the colorful tentacles pressed against the glass to observe him curiously.

They wiggled a few times at Mo Ling, as if saying hello, before going back to snatching pickles.

"That blood transfusion turned my head into a pickle-powered perpetual motion machine. It gave me the ability to travel between different layers of the dream realm, as well as the power to become intangible in reality," Martin explained, pointing at his head.

"And that’s not all. The transfusion also reset my ability. Originally, I could only use my power on each transfusion subject once, but that time, I added material from my own body to the mix."

"I only figured it out later, but as long as I include some of my own material in each transfusion, I can keep using the ability on myself, and it resets every time."

Mo Ling was stunned. Martin was a true genius; he had developed his own ability to an unimaginable degree.

"So why did you bring me into the dream realm?" Mo Ling asked seriously.

Hearing this, Martin repeated the question he had asked at the very beginning:

"Can you trust me?"

This time, Mo Ling didn’t hesitate. Martin had told him so much without holding anything back. He answered decisively:

"I can."

Upon hearing Mo Ling’s answer, a happy laugh echoed from within Martin’s glass jar head.

"I need you to do me a favor. Help me save someone."

"Who?"

"Martin."

...

"Hold on to me! The Black Tower’s lockdown is over. I can finally let loose!"

Martin grabbed Mo Ling’s hand, speaking with excitement.

As he spoke, the pickles inside his glass jar head began to multiply at an accelerated rate, expanding like foam. The colorful tentacles grew more active as well.

They writhed and squirmed, snatching the pickles at a furious pace. The rapidly expanding pickles had just filled the entire jar when the tentacles swept them all away in an instant.

Colorful, pixelated points of light emerged from the glass jar, falling like raindrops through the bottom of the container and sprinkling onto Martin’s body.

Each pixel of light that touched Martin’s body slowly began to diffuse and spread, and his figure gradually grew blurry.

"Here it comes!"

Suddenly, Martin’s figure snapped back into focus, while the environment around them seemed to invert, taking on the colors that had just been on Martin’s body.

The colors swapped.

It was only for an instant. When the surrounding colors returned to normal, Martin had already brought Mo Ling inside a plain room. The colors on his own body were slowly receding, flowing back into the glass jar.

"Where are we?" Mo Ling asked in a low voice.

But Martin simply put a finger to his lips, shushing him.

"Wait for me here. You’re not needed just yet."

With that, he pushed open the door and walked out. Mo Ling stood behind the door, curious to see what Martin was planning to do.

It was a room that looked like an office, piled high with all sorts of electronic equipment and documents.

A young, unshaven man in a white lab coat was lying in a chair. Behind his head rested a completely empty glass jar. A black hole flyer from the Dream Realm Sect lay nearby, and his fingers were still dripping blood.

It was Martin!

Mo Ling had a sudden realization. This was a research lab in some unknown layer of the dream realm, and the Martin here had only just entered the dream.

’Could this be a layer even higher than reality?’

Doing the math, fifty years had passed since the Cataclysm, yet the young Martin here had only just entered the dream.

’What layer is this, exactly?’ Mo Ling didn’t understand how time worked in the dream realm, so he could only keep watching.

The young man in the chair slowly opened his eyes, but his gaze was vacant. He didn’t get up, but simply continued to lie there quietly.

’What is he doing?’

’This doesn’t seem to match what Martin said earlier.’

As Mo Ling watched in confusion, the young man finally stood up unsteadily. He paid no attention to the other Martin standing nearby; it seemed this Martin had hidden his presence.

The young man raised his hands, examining them in confusion, as if he didn’t understand his own situation.

The blood dripping from his fingertips also caught his attention, but he only looked more puzzled, seemingly unaware of where the wound had come from.

He didn’t speak, just stared blankly at his fingers.

Then he began to look around, his expression growing more bewildered.

After a moment, he ambled over to a mirror.

’Shouldn’t he be looking up information? What is he doing?’ Mo Ling realized something was very wrong with the "Martin" of this layer.

The young man stood before the mirror, stroking his stubble with a deep frown.

He kept turning his head, studying his own face as if he’d never seen it before.

His expression shifted from confusion to surprise, then to a hint of disbelief.

Then, the young man’s words to himself struck like a clap of thunder:

"Did I... transmigrate?"