Painter of Myriad Worlds
Originally, I intended to write a purely interstellar story. However, perhaps out of habit from writing quick-transmigration tales, I found myself incorporating certain elements from that genre. Still, this is not a typical quick-transmigration novel. Mu Yin was reborn from the ashes of the apocalypse. Determined to change the fate of Blue Star and prevent its destruction, she carries within her a power of creation—a supernatural ability that allows her to bring to life anything she draws, much like the legendary brush of Ma Liang, but even more formidable. Yet, this extraordinary gift requires her to grow and upgrade gradually. In her previous life, she believed that aliens were humanity’s sole enemies. But upon her rebirth, subtle clues began to surface, hinting that the truth was far more complex than she had ever imagined. Aliens were only the beginning.
Painter of Myriad Worlds
This was a scene that would evoke terror and despair in anyone who witnessed it. The world was shrouded in darkness, the sun hanging high in the sky yet casting only a cold, yellow light devoid of warmth. The ground was riddled with cracks, with sections that had caved in and collapsed.
Amidst this apocalyptic landscape, a solitary figure stood resolutely upon a patch of earth that seemed somewhat intact. In her hand she held a pen, and she waved it through the air, sketching with swift, deliberate strokes. Miraculously, images began to appear in the air—what emerged resembled a clock composed of countless interlocking gears.
Amid the rumbling sound of collapsing earth, one sound stood out: the gentle patter of water droplets falling onto the ground—drip, drip. Upon closer inspection, it was blood dripping from the wrist of the woman’s other hand.
After some time, the woman pressed the pen to her bleeding wrist and continued her drawing. When even the ground beneath her feet began to tremble, she finally set down her pen. Gazing at the enormous phantom clock before her, she smiled, her face pale and bloodless, her body wavering unsteadily.
“As your creator, I, Mu Yin, give you your name: Temporal Gear,” she declared. “I grant you power—to twist time and space.”
Placing her hand upon the clock, she paid no heed to the widening fissures at her feet. She channeled her strength into the clock, her pallor growing ever more pronounced. At last, just as she was about to collapse, the gears burst forth with dazzling light, solidifying into tangible
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