Back to the Future 1999: Raining at the Same Time

"It really surprises me, Mr. Chenxi, that you have such a deep understanding of the cultural trends of our time!"

Kacania flicked a vine hanging from the eaves with her fingertip, her eyebrows raised in a playful manner, her voice laced with undisguised mockery of the Foundation.

“I thought the foundation was full of either corrupt bureaucrats or cold-blooded idiots… Oh, you’ve been to the Secession House? Did you like it there? It’s a pity that book wasn’t there…”

She reached into the inside pocket of her coat and fumbled around for a while before finally finding the key.

With a soft "click," the old door hinges creaked under the strain. She pushed the door open, turned around, and her cheerful smile, as if swept up by the wind, rushed straight to Chenxi.

"Please come in! I hope you don't mind the mess here. Compared to the Empire's administrative system, it's still quite tidy..."

"You really like to joke."

Chenxi made a casual remark, which could be considered a compliment to her teasing of the foundation. Before she finished speaking, she had already stepped over the threshold, her gaze sweeping over everything in the room with an open and generous air.

It's more like a studio than a clinic.

An unfinished painting leans against the corner of the wall, the smell of turpentine and oil paint fills the air, wooden frames of stage scenery are piled up by the window, and posters with curled edges hang from the shelves, their ink still glossy from the undried paint.

However, what takes up the most space and is the most eye-catching are the mirrors.

Mirrors of all sizes are placed throughout the room, some round, some square, some with carved frames, and one even has a cracked spiderweb pattern.

The mirror reflected the mess in the room, as well as the three people who pushed the door open and entered. The interplay of light and shadow revealed an indescribable eeriness.

Noticing Chenxi's gaze, Kacania reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, her tone carrying a hint of lighthearted smugness.

“Oh! These stage props were placed here by Heinrich. He really learned a lot in Berlin! Please make yourself at home. I'll get you a cup of tea and help you find that book…”

Her words filled the room, but she didn't utter a single word for the person behind Chenxi. Marcus lowered his eyes, his fingertips gently twisting the hem of his clothes, his presence as faint as a wisp of smoke about to be blown away by the wind, almost melting into the stacked shadows of the canvases.

Just then, Chenxi suddenly turned around.

His movements were very gentle; when his palm landed on Marcus's head, it carried a subtle, reassuring force. His voice was low as he spoke softly.

"Close your eyes."

Marcus didn't ask why. Trusting Chenxi completely, his long eyelashes trembled, and he obediently closed his eyes.

The clinic's curtains were already drawn tightly, blocking out all the sunlight. Just as Marcus closed his eyes, all the mirrors in the room suddenly flickered.

"Oh! Look at you, relax, okay?"

Kacania's voice came from beside the tea cabinet. She turned around, holding two white porcelain teacups, her smile undiminished, her tone as if she were coaxing a sulking child.

"This is a harmless security measure; I even charge for it normally."

She handed one of the teacups to Chenxi, and casually placed the other on the wooden table covered with sketches. Her gaze fell on Marcus, who had his eyes closed behind him, before turning back to Chenxi's face, her smile deepening.

“Look at this mirror; it will reflect the state of your heart.”

These words are light and casual, like a joke—the same old tricks of the mystics, passed down from the time of the Roman Empire to the present day.

"Speaking of this, Mr. Chenxi—"

"Why did you come with me to save that poor lady at that time? Do you also have your own unique insights into psychotherapy?"

It shouldn't be psychological; Chenxi felt the mirrors around him were gradually getting brighter.

He sensed a test, a test into the darkest, most twisted part of his being.

Fortunately, Uld had done a very good job of calming and cleansing his mind beforehand, so he didn't lose control because of this little disturbance.

However, the brief surge and dissipation of the chaos and stench from deep within her memories still caused Chenxi to unconsciously adopt a defensive posture.

However, Kacania's tone remained gentle, as if he were comforting his patient with post-traumatic stress disorder.

"I'm very interested in this, please rest assured—I will control my strength."

Little did they know that they had become tightrope walkers, and one wrong step would lead to an abyss.

Fortunately, it was just another ordinary meeting, and Kacania did not use the hypnotic tricks she had always scorned.

Therefore, Chenxi's deepest, indescribable feelings did not overflow at this moment, giving everyone a jump scare.

When Chenxi opened her eyes again, she found herself still in the clinic, with Miss Kacania sitting in front of her with a polite smile.

But he stood up abruptly, walked to her side, touched her forehead with his finger, and controlled the tiny specks of scarlet power seeping from his fingertips.

Cracks snaked down from the top of his head, quickly spreading to his entire body. Before Kacania's expression could even freeze, he shattered like glass and fell to the ground.

"The reflection in the mirror has no shadow, no trembling breath, and most importantly—no noisy enthusiasm or excessive little movements from you."

The moment the words fell, the surrounding space shattered with a deafening roar, and glass-like shards fell in a flurry, reflecting in Chen Xi's calm and unwavering eyes.

His gaze fell on Kacania, who stood speechless in front of him. He gently brushed a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek with his fingertips, tucking it behind her ear. His voice was as soft as a feather.

“Miss Kacania, the test is over. You should go to sleep now.”

The moment his fingertips left her ear, Kacania's body went limp like a puppet with its strings cut. Chenxi gently and slowly wrapped his arm around her waist, helping her sit steadily on the sofa.

Marcus, standing nearby, felt a pang of anxiety. She wanted to speak up and remind him that this was a key figure who might be related to the reshaping, but the scenes at the Separatist House made her hesitant to comment on anything Chenxi had done to others.

A sense of unease and anxiety surged within her chest. Her fingers, gripping the hem of her clothes, tightened further until a hardcover book gently tapped her forehead.

Marcus winced in pain, clutching his forehead as he snapped back to reality, only to meet Chen Xi's helpless gaze, which held a half-smile.

"Mr. Chenxi?"

She blinked, her eyes filled with innocent confusion.

What were you thinking about again?

Chenxi spread the book in her hand in front of her and sighed helplessly.

"Is this the book you were looking for?"

Marcus's attention was drawn to the book, her fingertips tracing the yellowed pages, an aura of mysticism leaping from them, illuminating her chubby cheeks in the dim room.

"Hmm... the first volume published in 1930..."

"This is a Christmas tree-shaped bookmark with a spruce base. Did Miss Kacania make it by hand? And... oh dear!"

Another sharp flick landed on the same spot, making her wince in pain. This time, the little seagull finally realized she'd fallen into her old habit again. She scratched the back of her head sheepishly, her voice soft.

"Mr. Chenxi...did I do something wrong again?"

Looking at her simple and honest appearance, a faint smile flashed across Chenxi's eyes. It was the kind of helplessness and indulgence that one would feel when facing their own child who was easy to take care of but not very bright.

He raised his hand and pinched Marcus's cheek, gently pulling it upwards with his fingertips, his tone carrying a hint of admonition and a touch of reluctance.

"Focus, Marcus. Look more, think more."

"Although it is cruel to force you to grow into a boring adult—after all, it will stifle your most adorable nature."

He paused, then placed his other hand over hers, cupping her face in his hands and forcing her to look directly into his eyes. The warmth of his palms seeped through her thin skin, but his tone was unusually solemn.

"But... living in such a world, if we are too dull, we will suffer a lot."

Chenxi's gaze was as deep as a still pool, and Marcus saw his own uneasy reflection in that pool. After a long while, he finally just sighed deeply and slowly released his grip.

"Never mind, you go find Ms. Hoffman first."

He turned around, his back to her, and tidied up the things he had made a little mess while looking for the books, his voice so soft it seemed to melt into the air.

"I reckon the message you sent her before was enough to put her on edge."

"Um……"

Marcus responded, but his heart felt heavy, as if something was blocking it. Chenxi's unfinished words were like a tiny thorn stuck in his heart. He couldn't quite describe the feeling, but he vaguely sensed that Chenxi was probably disappointed in him.

She pushed open the door and went out. The biting cold wind instantly rushed into her collar, and the piercing chill seeped into her bones through her skin.

The streets were deserted, with only the sound of the wind whistling past. An indescribable sense of desolation and loss, like a fine net, tightly wrapped around her, lingering there.

However, inside the room, Kacania, who was fast asleep on the sofa, still looked unwell, her expression troubled as she seemed to be murmuring a agonizing dream:

A shoeshine boy, his face flushed red, buried his head deeply, deeply.

Kacania, or rather, back then her name was Clara, stared at his exposed neck and the inside of his collar, stained black by the dirt that had accumulated on his skin.

She didn't want him to serve her, so she took her feet off the stool several times, prompting her father to question her.

"What's wrong, Clara? Is he not satisfying you?"

The moment those words fell, the child's expression turned frightened, and he spoke anxiously and obsequiously.

"Please let me shine your shoes, miss. Your shoes are so beautiful."

She looked at her father with a mixture of helplessness and anger, but he was looking at the child with an indifferent and impatient gaze, as if he had never spoken to him or gently ruffled his fluffy head.

He so readily accepted his services as someone in a high position.

As he said, after leaving that old, noisy house, it was time to say goodbye to everything from the past. The surname "Wengler" had been completely renewed, and we had to sever all ties with our past as a street vendor.

But Clara couldn't do it. She remembered running with him through the alleyways in his shoes with the soles falling off, remembered how his nose would spit out snot when he laughed so hard he was doubled over, and remembered saying goodbye to him just a few days before.

But now, all memories have turned into a head bowing to him, and the distance between the two can no longer be measured by a ruler.

But how could a child dare to defy his father's authority? He endured it, and after he finished his work, he took the coins his father handed him, secretly folded up some of his own pocket money, and gave it all to the other child.

"My father will thank you."

The child spoke, but Clara's father simply turned away.

"I don't know your father."

He turned to look at his daughter beside him, his voice brimming with pride and a desire to show off.

"Clara, the banquet is about to begin."

And so, her former friend became a passing shoeshine boy. His name choked in her throat, sealed away along with those "disgraceful" years, just as her father had wished, and Clara never uttered it again.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

I'm back, I'm back. Although it was written following the plot, some of the changes were still quite mentally taxing.

For example, Kacania in the original work is a fighter who has been working hard for all mystics, but she lacks the means and power to fight back, and she does not dare to bear the cost of achieving the goal of truly liberating mystics.

Her limited perspective, coupled with her meager strength, constituted her weakness.

I wanted to change that, so I wanted Chenxi to enter her dreams to strengthen her motivation and enhance her psychological strength.

To be honest, it's no different from writing about a person starting a revolution from scratch, so I couldn't quite figure out what to include in this dream to meet my expectations. That's why it took a few days.

Even this dream story is actually adapted from Kacania's own character profile, but it is indeed a good start. What follows is about Chenxi talking to Kacania and Isolde.

Yes, I'll serve it as soon as possible, please look forward to it!