o— “Additionally, the Amber Era, which the Interastral Peace Corporation actively promotes throughout the universe and is also used here at the Herta Space Station, uses the presumed birth of the Amber Lord Qlipoth as its epoch.
Each strike of His hammer marks the beginning of a new era.
Hence, 1 Amber Era.” Hua Yi turned his head, unsurprised that Meyer was standing behind him, as if he had sensed her arrival long ago.
“However, according to another timekeeping system brought by the Aeon of The Trailblaze and also used by many planets, the Trailblaze Calendar, the time between the Preservation Aeon’s hammer strikes is not fixed—it varies from 76 to 240 years.
This means the actual length of each Amber Era is different.” “For some reason, people from the other departments have been asking about you these past few days.
It’s not just simple gossip; it has a bit of a recruitment angle to it.
I was originally thinking you…” …thinking you had lost interest in the Department of Lumina Archives and were preparing to transfer elsewhere.
As a veteran of the department, Meyer certainly understood what it meant for Hua Yi to recall these various Aeon secrets so effortlessly.
It meant that this newcomer, who had only been at the station for a few days, was genuinely interested in the Aeons and had invested significant effort into understanding them, systematically mastering the relevant knowledge framework.
Otherwise, even if Hua Yi possessed an eidetic memory and could organize the complex and scattered secrets of the Aeons in his mind, he wouldn’t be able to answer all sorts of questions about them so fluently without sufficient passion to back it up.
Members of the Department of Lumina Archives had a deep understanding of the Aeons of [Erudition] and [Preservation], but if you were to ask them to state the shortest and longest spans of an Amber Era without a moment’s hesitation, only a small fraction of them would likely be able to do so.
So then, how to explain the people from the Department of Star-Field Species saying Hua Yi’s simplified database index was excellent, the Department of Galactic Jurisprudence claiming he was born to join them, the project from the Department of Cosmic Geography getting an external push forward, and that young researcher from the Department of Universal Things asking around about the newcomer’s preferences?
He had only been at the Herta Space Station for a few days!
“I am full of curiosity for sentient celestial bodies like the Aeons and yearn for more information about them.
My interests align with the research direction of the Department of Lumina Archives.
I will not be transferring to another department.” “Mm—well, I didn’t come over just to test you.
I was organizing the database just now and noticed that in your file, the entry for your home planet has turned into a string of garbled code.
I couldn’t restore it even by retrieving past data.
If you have time, please fill it out again.” “Do I have to?” “It’s not strictly necessary.
You’re an excellent newcomer, so the department head won’t make things difficult for you over something like this, and Ms.
Herta couldn’t care less about a researcher’s file.
It’s just that if you want to take a vacation and go home in the future, without a clear interstellar destination, the Corporation might not be able to fully reimburse your travel expenses.” “I understand.” If there was a problem with a researcher’s already-entered file information, the responsibility would fall on the relevant station staff if it were to be investigated.
Meyer didn’t intend to press Hua Yi too hard on fixing it.
What she didn’t know was that the garbled code was no accident.
“And then there’s my suggestion.
For your ‘Personal Specialty,’ you wrote ‘some experience in fields like Imaginary Energy.’ It’s a bit broad and general.
Would you like to change it?” “Change it to ‘Imaginary Affinity’?” “Eh, isn’t that even more vague?
Although many of the station’s research projects involve the Imaginary field, and Imaginary Energy is what surges along the Paths of the Aeons, even a Pathstrider wouldn’t say they have an ‘affinity’ for the Imaginary.
They would say they walk a certain Path.” Even as she mentioned Pathstriders, Meyer still didn’t consider Hua Yi to be someone who was already walking a specific Path.
Would a figure who wielded such great power really need to go through the standard selection process to become an ordinary researcher in the Department of Lumina Archives at the Herta Space Station?
Though, he could no longer be considered “ordinary.” “You should write something like ‘eidetic memory, capable of systematic knowledge integration and flexible application,’ or even add ‘possesses excellent social skills, has enthusiastically helped multiple station colleagues.'” “Intentionally expanding on my specialty, wouldn’t that sound a bit like bragging?
I think it’s better to be humble.” “…Never mind.” Meyer shook her head.
In the end, a file could only do so much.
Hua Yi’s own abilities were already on display; she didn’t need to get hung up on the details.
In the files of others at the station, it wasn’t uncommon for people to lavish praise on themselves in the personal specialty and self-evaluation sections, which had made those fields increasingly worthless as references.
“If you like literature related to the Aeons, you could check out the Lost Gods series and A Brief History of Galactic Mythology.
Aside from being quite long, the content is pretty good.” “Is that so?
I’ll be sure to remember that.
Thank you for the recommendation.” “Alright then…
you can get back to work.
I won’t disturb you.” —o— As a transmigrator who has arrived in the universe of Honkai: Star Rail, it’s only natural to have some special abilities or different aptitudes.
And I do, in fact, have a certain talent when it comes to Imaginary Energy.
After repeated verification, I’ve found that I can use it with great ease.
That should be more special than conventional interpersonal skills or an eidetic memory.
In the end, Hua Yi didn’t bother to explain that he had filled out the “Personal Specialty” section of his file quite seriously, and not just at random.
But to say he had stepped onto a certain Path and become a Pathstrider…
that wasn’t quite right either.
The Department of Lumina Archives recorded a vast amount of Aeon secrets, and it had no shortage of data related to the Paths.
If a mortal receiving an Aeon’s notice and grasping the power of a Path could be seen as stirring up a single, shattered droplet, then the grand feat of an Aeon driving their great power to command a Path was like unleashing a tsunami that crested over mountains.
A few mortals favored by an Aeon could, with the Aeon’s permission, draw upon the energy of a Path and command a colossal wave that erodes the coastline.
Such beings are known as Emanators.
And since an Aeon can grant permission, they can also refuse it.
Even between Aeons, if their concepts overlap and their powers are similar, a narrow Path can be subsumed by a broader one.
Rather than trying to step onto one of the Paths commanded by the Aeons, Hua Yi hoped to follow the laws of the universe, using his specialty in Imaginary Energy to progressively explore the Paths and the Aeons.
Under high temperature and pressure, coal can become a diamond because they are both essentially composed of carbon atoms.
Since the Paths surge with Imaginary Energy, all the exceptionally talented Hua Yi needed to do was find some of the limiting conditions.
He hadn’t told a single lie, neither about the personal specialty in his file nor about his understanding of Imaginary Energy as he’d mentioned to Emily.
And his preference for the Department of Lumina Archives was also the truth.
—o—