“It’s a great honor to meet you, Your Excellency the Governor.” Alois hurriedly bowed to the man on the floating carpet, who raised his palm to indicate that the formality was unnecessary.
“The honor is mine.” Nolin Titian’s voice was gentle yet carried an undeniable force. He looked at Alois with interest, as if admiring a piece of art, yet with the discernment of a merchant assessing value. Alois noticed that his irises were silver, shining with a captivating, sword-like cold light.
The Governor turned to David and said, “Is this the esteemed guest whom Giorgione’s cabinet sent the Socrates to find?”
David clasped his hands inside his sleeves and bowed slightly. “He is one of them. The other is currently discussing with Giorgione in the third greenhouse.”
“Is that so.” Nolin Titian’s lips curled up slightly as he looked towards the distant hemispherical greenhouse, taking his time before his gaze settled back on Alois. “I heard that both of you ‘were’ under Joanna Begrel’s command?”
He emphasized “were” as if to underscore Joanna’s passing, which ignited an unnamed anger in Alois. “Even now, I’m still her subordinate.” His voice hardened. “Joanna lives on even in death.”
“Where does she exist?” the Governor asked maliciously.
Alois pressed his hand to his chest.
Nolin Titian’s mocking smile faded, and he spoke with unexpected respect. “I also regret Joanna’s death. Years ago, before I was elected Governor, I met her once when she came to Neo Athens to take the ‘Lady of the Night’ we had built for her.”
He gazed at the sky. “I still clearly remember her valiant figure. It’s unfortunate that years later, she would fall at the hands of lesser men.”
Alois didn’t respond.
Titian didn’t seem to expect a reply, continuing, “I still remember the scene when the ‘Lady of the Night’ launched. She was like a noble lady in black, also resembling a witch adorned with night and stars. You know, we not only hired first-rate designers to craft her appearance but also applied our top technology. Even the three aircraft carriers of Neo Athens couldn’t match her beauty, intricacy, advancement, or lethality. What we invested was far beyond what Joanna Begrel paid.”
He lowered his eyes. “Do you know why?”
“Why?” Alois asked.
“Because she was to carry the universe’s most powerful artificial intelligence. In order to reclaim what was once lost to us and later returned, Leonard.”
“So you mean, Leonard was created to rule the Yasha?”
“That’s right.”
“But Leonard was later loaded onto the Dante, along with the third batch of Earth refugees who came to the colony,” Joshua said. “He didn’t stay to rule the Yasha. Why is that?”
“Because something unexpected happened.” The old man leaned back in his recliner. His voice became weary. “Leonard was too intelligent, possessing all human traits—logic, wisdom, creativity—except a physical body, he was no different from humans—perhaps even a superior existence. He even developed emotions, learning love and hate, which is very dangerous for an AI, especially one meant to rule the Yasha. He could act on these emotions and potentially destroy humanity.”
Joshua remained silent. What would Leonard think if he heard their conversation? Would he calmly admit his own impulses, or laugh off Giorgione’s words as nonsense?
“Back then, opinions within our ranks varied. Some thought it better to have Leonard rule the Yasha than let that monster roam free, while others believed combining the strongest AI with the ultimate killing machine could overturn the entire cosmic order. Leonard might betray his creators, becoming a tyrant enslaving mankind. Humanity must not be led by machines. I don’t know what Kester thought, but I advised him to give up on Leo and instead create a new AI loyal to humanity, devoid of excess emotion.”
“Ultimately, Kester took my advice. Moreover, the circumstances at the time forced him to do so. Earth was on the brink. With resources depleted and natural disasters frequent, the mother planet was no longer suitable for her children. Thus, Kester loaded Leo onto the Dante to navigate, taking us, the ‘third batch of Earth refugees’, to the colony, while Kester remained on Earth to continue his research. What happened after that, I do not know.”
The old man looked at Joshua, who had left Earth later, perhaps knowing some secrets he didn’t. But Joshua only shook his head, indicating he knew no more.
“It’s strange,” he said. “If the Yasha is as powerful as you say, able to traverse all time and space, why didn’t it come to the colony? Why did it obediently stay on Earth?”
“Kester created a ‘field’ that bound its range of activity to the laboratory,” Giorgione answered. “Within the ‘field’, Yasha is the master of time and space, yet it cannot leave the ‘field’.”
“What if one day the ‘field’ disappears?”
“The ‘field’ is generated by a special device, sustained by solar energy. I think the generator is still operating well. Otherwise, the Yasha would have escaped long ago.” The old man joked, trying to lighten the serious mood, but to no avail.
He coughed awkwardly, continuing his narration. “After arriving at the colony, we found that the technology we brought was ahead of the current level. It seems the post-war decline really set back human civilization. We were all scientists, not good at much else, so we established an academy to spread the technology we brought, trying to help our fellow humans… our descendants’ children. Using Leonard as a model, we created three more high-end AIs—Beatrice, David, and Mona Lisa. Leo requested to self-destruct. But for the galaxy’s most advanced AI, he couldn’t destroy himself, nor could we destroy him, so we let him hibernate. Then I stored all his data on a chip, kept in the academy’s most secret chamber. However, you’ve also discovered…”
He paused, allowing Joshua to continue. His student complied smoothly. “Leo isn’t lying there sleeping. Not only did he escape from the secret chamber, but he also boarded the Lady of the Night with Joanna. How did this happen, Teacher?”
“You mean, Leo… the AI Leonard was once the property of Neo Athens?” Alois asked incredulously.
Nolin Titian nodded, then shook his head. “Saying ‘property’ might not be quite appropriate. Although Leonard is an AI, he is different from typical AIs. He has his own personality and emotions, almost indistinguishable from humans. We didn’t treat him as ‘property’, but as an independent ‘person’. He was a service program for humanity, but also a friend to humans. We would command him, but also respect his will—as we did for all high-end AIs.”
“Why did Leo leave Neo Athens?”
“For some reason, Leonard was sealed in a storage chip. But over twenty years ago, this chip was stolen.”
“Are you suggesting Joanna stole the chip?”
“How could that be?” The Governor laughed, spreading his hands to show he had no such thought. “How old was Joanna Begrel at that time? How could she have stolen it? It’s impossible she could have instigated others to do it either.”
Alois blushed. Although he didn’t know Joanna’s exact age (asking her would certainly have caused an uproar), over twenty years ago, she must have been just a little girl, likely not even knowing what an AI was. How could she have stolen the chip from Neo Athens?
“So you’re saying… someone else stole Leo?”
“That seems to be the case.” Nolin Titian withdrew his hands into his sleeves. “Leonard was stolen by a master thief, and after years of drifting and perhaps unspeakable black market dealings, eventually ended up in the hands of the female pirate Joanna. About nine years ago, Joanna came to Neo Athens, asking us to build a ship capable of carrying high-end AI. We originally dismissed her, but unexpectedly…”
“She brought back Leonard.” Giorgione picked up a teacup from the cat-footed table, sipped the red tea. “If it were for building a ship to carry Leonard, all the technicians of Neo Athens would agree. Beatrice and others fanned the flames, even threatening to strike against the then Dean and Governor.” The old man smiled warmly, lost in memories. “Moreover, it was a challenging task. Before, AIs were carried on giant aircraft carriers like the Socrates. How to condense a carrier into a tiny spaceship really troubled the technicians for a while. But in the end, everyone overcame the difficulties. Not only that, we spent the best manpower, creating the most beautiful, most advanced spaceship in the entire galaxy. The ‘Lady of the Night’ is a true work of art, Joshua.”
“I know. I’ve seen her,” Joshua said. “She’s indeed beautiful.”
“Not only that!” The old man’s tone was passionate and wistful. “She embodies the essence of technology from Old Earth to Neo Athens over a thousand years. She’s the most perfect, unrivaled for at least a hundred years.”
The old man put down the teacup. “Perhaps only someone like Joanna Begrel is worthy of her, to be her rightful owner.”
“And Leo?” Joshua asked. “Did you really load Leo onto the spaceship? I thought you would have tried every means to take Leo back.”
“If Leo wished to return, no one could stop him. But he didn’t want to stay in Neo Athens. He wanted to adventure in the universe, voluntarily following Joanna. What could we do?” The old man seemed quite helpless. “We could only let him go.”
Joshua couldn’t help but laugh. Leo, although diligently serving the Lady of the Night and the people of Milantu, had an inherent rebelliousness and exuberance that time couldn’t change. For an AI, was this luck or misfortune?
“Joanna Begrel and Kester are quite similar, aren’t they? I mean their personalities.” The old man also laughed. “Both are crazy, stubborn, willing to do anything for their ideals, yet sometimes hesitate over small things. Am I right?”
At that moment, something stirred in Joshua’s heart—a spark of intuition. He sat up straight, cautiously saying, “Teacher, there’s something I’ve suspected for a long time but never dared to confirm. Leo, like a human, has emotions. Could it be…” Joshua hesitated for a while before asking the question that had troubled him for a long time. “Could it be that he… that he likes Kester?”
The old man’s gaze was tender. “Shouldn’t you ask Leo that?”
Emerging from the cobblestone path shaded by bushes, Alois glanced up to see Secretary Lina casually leaning against a tree, fiddling with her communication device. Upon seeing him, she quickly put away the device, fast as a high-energy particle beam.
“Mr. Lagrange,” she greeted him warmly, “Have you finished your discussion with Mr. Giorgione?”
“No,” Alois quipped, a slight smirk on his lips. “Apparently, the two inside are having a heart-to-heart, and they’ve sent me out.”
Lina smiled understandingly. “Then may I have the pleasure of showing you around the Neo Athens Academy?”
“Wouldn’t that be a bother?” Alois waved his hand dismissively. “I mean, who knows, maybe Joshua and Mr. Giorgione will be done soon, and he’ll need you.”
Lina pondered for a moment. “Ah, you do have a point.” The secretary raised her delicate hand and swept it through the air. “Then allow me to call a guide to show you around.” As her sleeves fluttered, a shadowy figure appeared beside her. Alois was used to Leo’s sudden appearances on the Lady of the Night, so he wasn’t particularly surprised when a holographic image of an AI in a black robe was summoned by Lina.
The AI was a head taller than Lina, with golden-brown curls perfectly set atop his head, and a facial structure as chiseled as a sculpture. Even through the robe, Alois could discern the AI’s robust physique. He was a classically handsome man, exuding a familiar aura—when the AI bowed to him, Alois finally remembered who he resembled.
“It is an honor to serve you, Mr. Lagrange,” the AI said. The youthful hero of Israel was revived in Neo Athens through miraculous technology and served humanity across time and space.
Caught in his admiration for Neo Athens’s technology, Alois paused for a few seconds, which seemed to confuse David. “Are you alright?”
“…No. I think I’m more used to seeing you without clothes.”
“If you prefer, I can remove them.”
“…Let’s not.”
……
“Are you saying that a Yasha appeared on the small island of Neo Venice?” Giorgione asked. His fingers were interlaced, resting on his lap, and his gray eyes shone with an unusual light. “And that the Empire Duke was willing to spend a fortune on a data chip containing records of the Yasha, even willing to commit treason for it?”
“That’s correct,” Joshua nodded. “The chip was switched by Captain Joanna beforehand, and although Leo destroyed it, I suspect he had already copied the data inside.”
“Where is Leo now?”
“He’s installed on the Socrates.”
The old man closed his eyes, his brow furrowed. “I had thought Earth had become a wasteland, but centuries ago, someone risked their life to return there and brought back these data records…” He paused for a moment, then continued, “It’s fortunate that the chip didn’t fall into the wrong hands. However, that thing on the island of Neo Venice…”
Joshua interrupted, “Besides Jacob Yutz and the Duke, there must be others who know about the Yasha’s existence. Not only do they know, but they’re also trying to create it. Although what they’ve made is just a crude imitation of the real Yasha, getting even the basic direction wrong, who knows when something close to the real Yasha might actually emerge.”
The old man was silent. If the Yasha truly appeared outside Old Earth, the future would be overwhelmingly cruel for them. “We must think of a strategy.” The old man tapped his knee. “To halt all research on the Yasha. Kester predicted this day long ago, thus he preferred to seal his research forever rather than expose it to the world. He knew it was a thing more terrifying than the atomic bomb, capable of taking more lives and even destroying human civilization…”
“But, Teacher, before that, there’s something I need to understand,” Joshua said. “Something that has troubled me for a long time. I must know the truth.”
The old Giorgione looked up tiredly. “My child, what do you want to know?”
“The Yasha,” Joshua said solemnly. “What exactly is it?”
“This is the second greenhouse, where the temperature simulates the tropical climate of Old Earth, housing many rare plants. It can be described as a living gene bank of Old Earth plants.”
Passing through an arcade, AI David pointed to a hemispherical building and explained to Alois, “Apart from the third greenhouse, all other greenhouses are open to the public for free on holidays, though few people come to visit.” The AI shrugged. “Nowadays, everyone is used to experiencing holographic journeys on their terminals. Who would bother to come see a bunch of stationary plants?”
“That’s true.”
David then gestured towards another direction. “See that hill over there? That’s the ‘Hill of Wisdom’. It was there that the Dante, carrying the third batch of Earth’s survivors, landed. Later, ‘Utopia’ was built on the Hill of Wisdom. Despite its grand name, it is actually a library.”
As he finished speaking, an anti-gravity floating carpet drifted out of the grand doors of the library, seeming almost ready to fall to the ground at any moment, and flew towards them. As the carpet drew nearer, Alois could see a person seated on it, legs crossed and hands resting on his knees, much like a wizard.
“Good day, David.” The carpet quickly flew above their heads and descended to eye level with Alois. The person on the carpet greeted them. “Good day, distant traveler.”
Alois took a step back, easing the discomfort of being looked down upon from the carpet. “Hello,” he replied briefly.
David, however, bowed respectfully. “Your Excellency, Titian.”
The young man named Titian appeared younger than Alois, but his serious expression and accustomed air of superiority told Alois that he held an extraordinary status in Neo Athens. Seeing David’s reverent demeanor, it was clear he was a significant figure.
Indeed, after bowing, David immediately introduced him to Alois. “This is the current Governor of Neo Athens, His Excellency Nolin Titian.”
“Yasha, as defined by Kester, is a humanoid weapon created by humans, which gained immense power surpassing all existing technology, due to an experimental accident. It is mechanical yet also a life form, an existence beyond our understanding. It lives in higher dimensions, transcending all space and time, capable of traveling freely to any place in the past or future, making it an invincible weapon of slaughter. However, it has a fatal weakness.”
Giorgione paused for a few seconds, letting Joshua digest what he had just said.
“Its weakness is—” Seeing Joshua’s expression shift from confusion to shock, the old man continued, “It lacks wisdom, living solely by instinct like an animal. Its instincts are to kill and destroy. Without control, it cannot even distinguish friend from foe, killing every living being it encounters except for its master and creator—Kester. Hence, we named it ‘Yasha’, a fearsome monster in Old Earth’s religious myths.”
“What about when it is controlled?” Joshua asked.
“There is a way. When Kester discovered the Yasha’s weakness, he tried to dominate its body with his own mind, but he failed.” Giorgione held out his hand, fingers spread, then clenched it into a fist. “A human’s thoughts, will, soul—however you choose to call it—can only exist within a body. Kester couldn’t control another body while maintaining his own self. So, he made another attempt. He created an intelligence with thoughts and self-awareness, capable of freely transferring among suitable hosts, thus enabling it to control the Yasha.” With a mysterious smile, the old man added, “And so he created the first advanced artificial intelligence in human history with its own thoughts. Its name is…”
A beam of heavenly light broke through the gloomy clouds and fell, illuminating a bright halo.
As Zhou Qian walked step by step toward that halo together with Bai Zhou, he heard He Xiaowei’s question and felt him tug his arm. Stopping in his tracks, he turned around and gave him a rather baffling look.
He Xiaowei’s face went pale. “Oh no, do you think he turned into a skeleton? He’s trapped in the ‘past’!”
Zhou Qian said solemnly, “If that really happened, and you’re only remembering him now, then it’s too late.”
He Xiaowei: “…”
Zhou Qian narrowed his eyes, then suddenly broke into a rather pleased smile. “Still, I’m quite happy. This means your master isn’t so important in your heart. Now if it were me and—”
He Xiaowei: “…………”
After a few seconds of silence, a flash of insight struck He Xiaowei. He immediately said, “If both you and my master fell into the water at the same time, the two of us would definitely rescue you together! So, Qian’er, what’s really going on with him?”
Zhou Qian sized him up and asked, “Remember that person who was taken away by the police in our last instance?”
“I do!” He Xiaowei’s eyes went wide. “He managed to cling to life! His completion rate was just limited, so he missed out on the later rewards… but he survived!”
“Exactly. This game loves toying with players, but it never says you’re forced to die. A lot of people just keep doing instance runs, and once they do enough, they can still reach S-level. If you want rare achievements or rewards and want to gradually get closer to the truth of the game, that’s when you need to risk your life.
“The game’s designers give players options. Those who don’t want to take risks are given a way to leave the instance safely, which is the standard method of clearing it.” Zhou Qian glanced at him. “When we triggered the clearance condition near the Red God’s inn, do you still remember what the system said?”
He Xiaowei smacked his forehead. “I got it! The system said that if we didn’t step into the red circle, we’d trigger the standard clearance mode. If those players withstood Amei’s attack and found a way back to the timeline with the deserters, they’d be able to clear the instance. We chose to step into the red circle, and that’s how we triggered the hidden storyline!”
“Right,” Zhou Qian said. “So if you were Ke Yuxiao, and you saw that message, would you stay in the instance, run off to the temple to curse the other players, or would you take the standard route out right away?”
He Xiaowei let out a breath. “I get it. Going to the temple to curse us might work, but after all, Difu’s intention is to incite everyone’s mutual hatred. If Ke Yuxiao really tried that, he’d be in danger too. Nobody knows what the price would be if you curse so many people to death…
“Not to mention how many villagers are guarding that place, so going to the temple itself would be a huge hassle! He wouldn’t make such a reckless move!
“If he had time, maybe he’d slowly think of a way, but if he learned he could leave the instance, there’d be no need to waste any more time!”
The more He Xiaowei thought about it, the more confident he became. “Besides, he killed Xiao Qi—he absolutely wouldn’t come see us. He won’t come to this timeline. The hidden mission is bound to fail. He’ll definitely escape as soon as possible via the standard clearance method!”
“Right. As for Hidden Blade, on the one hand he probably didn’t have time to get to where the red circle was and then follow us into this timeline; on the other hand, he might be trying to pursue Ke Yuxiao.
“Your master is still a god-level player, so there’s no way he wouldn’t be able to leave by the standard method. That means he and Ke Yuxiao must both be out of the instance by now. But once you leave an instance, the other forces of the Peach Blossom Legion can get involved. So, tsk—”
Zhou Qian looked at He Xiaowei. “What we need to do now is hurry and get out ourselves. The real danger for him isn’t inside the instance; it’s outside.”
He Xiaowei: !!!
“I’m going first!”
With that shout, He Xiaowei quickly sidestepped Zhou Qian and charged into the halo ahead of him.
Zhou Qian watched him run off, smiling, then looked at Qi Liuxing behind him.
In that instant, the smile on Zhou Qian’s face disappeared.
Right now, Qi Liuxing had his head bowed in silence.
From the moment he’d been revived, it seemed he’d been holding something in. He couldn’t allow himself to be overwhelmed by emotions or pain, because he had to look at the bigger picture—everyone being in such a dangerous place was partly his fault, so of course he couldn’t drag them down and compromise their clearance.
Now that the danger had been resolved and they were about to clear the instance—his concerns for his teammates’ safety also fading—he’d inevitably returned to that same feeling of agony at being betrayed by someone he had deeply trusted.
Zhou Qian asked him, “After you get out, do you want to take care of him yourself?”
After a brief silence, Qi Liuxing looked at him and answered, “I do. But there’s more to this… there’s something behind all of it that I want to figure out before I kill him.
“For example, back in Flower of Evil, why did his thinking end up the way it did…
“I definitely want revenge, but I’m worried there’s more to all of this.”
Hearing that, Zhou Qian suddenly laughed.
Qi Liuxing asked him, “Why… are you laughing?”
Zhou Qian replied, “It’s a gratified smile. I think you’ve grown a lot. Today, you and Xiaowei Ge both make me feel very gratified.”
Qi Liuxing: “…”
Frowning slightly, Qi Liuxing glanced off to the side, then glanced at Bai Zhou out of reflex.
Looking back at him, Bai Zhou must have understood what was on his mind, because he reached over and took Zhou Qian’s hand, leading him onward. “Zhou Qian, let’s go.”
Zhou Qian withdrew his gaze and looked at Bai Zhou, blinking once. “Oh, okay.”
A moment later, Zhou Qian, Bai Zhou, He Xiaowei, Qi Liuxing, Yun Xiangrong, and Yin Jiujiu all stepped into the halo, waiting to be sent back to Blue Harbor City.
During that process, Qi Liuxing suddenly thought of something, straightened, and turned to look at Zhou Qian. “I just remembered—before Ke Yuxiao killed me, he said Blue Harbor City would be wiped out together with someone named Shao Chuan. Under those circumstances… might we be walking into an ambush once we leave?”
Zhou Qian replied, “Yes, they’ll definitely make a move. Things got weird starting from that bounty in ‘Murder Exhibition’. Also don’t forget, there’s still plenty of unexplored info left in that instance.”
Qi Liuxing said, “You mean… the way that exhibition hall displayed corpses from different times all in one space—there’s more to it than meets the eye?”
“Right. Fortunately, Blue Harbor City is a semi-open instance like the real world, so once we’re back, we can fully recover HP and MP. At that point…” Zhou Qian paused briefly, then said, “If we run into ghosts, we’ll kill ghosts.”
……
On the other side.
In the “past” timeline, not long ago.
After temporarily shaking off the villagers who were hunting him, Ke Yuxiao hid in a tree on the mid-slope of a hill.
He had no clue how to clear the instance right now.
It felt like only the tip of the iceberg had been shown to the players, and he had zero knowledge of the real story underneath.
He came here for one purpose: to kill Qi Liuxing. He didn’t care about any hidden achievements; all he was waiting for was for Priest on his side to give him the method for standard clearance.
If the situation got too dire, Priest should still have a special item that could take him away.
Since he currently had no leads on how to clear the instance, Ke Yuxiao set his sights on the Goddess’s temple, thinking about first diverting the villagers’ attention, then sneaking in somehow.
—If he could curse the other players to death there, that would naturally be best.
At that moment, he spotted Hidden Blade not far away.
Unexpectedly, Hidden Blade was dressed like a villager and was even following Alayne’s mother. It looked like that group had already earned Alayne’s full trust.
As for Hidden Blade, his five senses were sharp, and his sixth sense was extremely keen.
Following a gut feeling, he looked toward the slope and sensed someone’s presence. With Alayne’s mother covering for him, he immediately dashed toward that slope. By the time he got in front of Ke Yuxiao, he’d already summoned a curved blade.
Faced with Hidden Blade’s approach, Ke Yuxiao backed away step by step.
“There’s no need, really no need. We god-level players are already so few—why do we have to kill each other? It’s not right.”
His words sounded fearful and placating, but on his face there was only limitless mockery and malice.
Hidden Blade kept silent, simply raising the blade and pointing it at him.
“You see… it’s really unnecessary. Because—” Ke Yuxiao continued to smirk, his voice suddenly turning menacing. “I don’t even take you seriously at all!”
Faced with such open scorn, Hidden Blade didn’t show a hint of anger.
He continued advancing toward Ke Yuxiao, studying him carefully up and down, trying to gauge his fighting capacity.
Noting Hidden Blade’s scrutinizing gaze, Ke Yuxiao added, “And why don’t I take you seriously? Because someone like you—another god-level player—could just about be considered a failed product! Everything you’re doing right now is just giving them more experimental data… You’re both pitiful and laughable.
“Look at yourself and compare: after you were successfully created, I followed my master, and Bai Zhou ended up chosen by Shao Chuan… But you?
“None of the top legions even gave you a second thought. What does that tell you?
“Hidden Blade, I actually know you well. You’ve been pursuing the way of the blade for a long time. You started playing this game even earlier than Bai Zhou. But so what? Talent is everything—”
“I just realized something. I never noticed how talkative you are,” Hidden Blade finally cut him off. “When Zhou Qian is about to kill someone, he likes chatting with his enemies. It’s his little hobby—he doesn’t just want his opponents dead; he wants them to die with full comprehension and deep regret. He wants to savor toying with people, watching them die of sheer frustration.
“But you’re different. You never expected me to show up, so there was no way you had a trap ready for me. So all your talking now is just bluffing.
“Your talent might have something to do with identity concealment or hiding your intentions, but either way, you’ve just exposed one thing… you can’t fight.”
Ke Yuxiao still had plenty of mysteries about him—like how he avoided everyone’s notice back in Flower of Evil despite the shared thoughts, preventing Zhou Qian and the others from discovering his real motive. That was crucial.
So Hidden Blade wouldn’t kill him so easily.
He’d just come over to keep Ke Yuxiao from heading to the temple. Now that he’d found him, and while there was still time, Hidden Blade’s only goal was to test Ke Yuxiao’s true abilities and see what skills he had.
Once he finished speaking, Hidden Blade’s body vanished from its spot and reappeared right in front of Ke Yuxiao, attacking with lightning speed.
In a flash, his curved blade swept through the air, its arc forming a ring of light that slammed down at Ke Yuxiao.
Ke Yuxiao made no attempt to counterattack, only pulled out a small pearl and squeezed it. Instantly, he retreated precisely 112 meters away, narrowly avoiding that strike.
When he landed, stray hairs fell across his forehead. Ke Yuxiao looked at Hidden Blade and smiled. “See? You can’t kill me.”
“Hmm, a Ground Shield Pearl with a range of 112 meters—exactly the distance of my attack. So you were prepared for all of us in advance.”
Hidden Blade recalled that once, after leaving an instance with Bai Zhou, Bai Zhou had offered him a heads-up: There’s an item called a Ground Shield Pearl that lets you dodge attacks within 112 meters. That’s the same max range as your move. You’d better train that move again. Otherwise, at a critical moment, a little pearl could cost you your life.
Ground Shield Pearls weren’t exactly common.
Clearly, Ke Yuxiao brought one specifically for this, ready to counter Hidden Blade’s move.
Right after he spoke, Hidden Blade darted close to Ke Yuxiao again. This time, he dispensed with flashy long-range attacks and simply relied on his most direct blade technique—each strike fierce and ruthless.
Though Ke Yuxiao was a god-level player, he was extremely quick at evading rather than meeting force with force.
Seeing this, Hidden Blade changed his blade work again and again, chasing Ke Yuxiao in a close-quarters fight while watching for how he dodged, continuing the conversation. “To counter my attacks, you prepared the Ground Shield Pearl. So it’s not entirely true that you don’t take me seriously. Obviously you do.”
Hidden Blade’s comeback took Ke Yuxiao a bit by surprise, but after a moment, he sidestepped another flash of the blade and sneered, “You’ve lived in someone else’s shadow this whole time—can you really be okay with that?”
“Not everyone wants to rule the world. If someone appears with better skill at the blade than me, and I can follow him to improve further, why not? Besides, I could throw the same question back at you—aren’t you all listening to Priest? So do you really want to be controlled by him, living under his shadow?”
When the last word fell, Hidden Blade, in an unbelievably quick burst of movement, stepped on multiple points around Ke Yuxiao.
In a split second, a giant net of blade light surrounded Ke Yuxiao.
At that very same moment, a system prompt about clearing the instance appeared—that was triggered because Zhou Qian’s group activated both the standard and non-standard clearance conditions simultaneously.
A set of wings abruptly flew out and draped over Ke Yuxiao, blocking most of the damage for him. However, part of the blade light got through and stabbed directly into his body. As several wounds appeared, Ke Yuxiao coughed up a huge mouthful of blood, and his HP instantly dropped by 40%.
“40% in exchange for blocking your finishing move. That’ll do.” Ke Yuxiao said this to Hidden Blade, then gazed into the distance. “But really, instead of the two of us fighting pointlessly here, we might as well conserve our strength and clear the instance.
“Clearly we can’t get into that red circle now, so our only choice is the standard way out… Next, we’ll have to fight Amei and a bunch of ghosts from another world, then figure out how to return to the timeline that’s ‘normal’ for us.”
After that brief probe, Hidden Blade didn’t keep pressing the attack.
Amei was formidable, and those otherworldly ghosts felt no fear. Hidden Blade needed to save his mana to face her.
Plus, Ke Yuxiao had clearly planned all kinds of highly targeted items for this trip, whereas Hidden Blade’s own inventory was more limited.
As for why Ke Yuxiao wanted to kill Qi Liuxing, that motive was worth investigating—maybe the real fight would only begin once they left the instance. If Hidden Blade could save items, he would.
Thus, what followed was simple: Hidden Blade stuck to Ke Yuxiao, preventing him from going to the temple to cast a curse, while keeping an eye on what he did.
In mutual vigilance, they moved to lie in wait around the area near the Tarar Inn.
Amei, after all, was the inn’s proprietor. The ghosts from another world traveled to various timelines through her artifact. Before Samhain ended, she needed to bring them all back, returning everyone to the underworld.
But that small artifact Amei had used to travel between different timelines was already in Zhou Qian’s possession. If she wanted to move between timelines, the only thing she could rely on now was the three-headed statue in front of the inn.
The system’s explanation for the standard clearance condition was: [You must survive and find a way to return to the timeline of the deserters, which is your true timeline.]
Regarding the full storyline, in truth, there were no “deserters”.
In that sense, it might look like there’s a bug in the game design—yet actually, it was a deliberate loophole, allowing players who chose the standard clearance route a way to leave.
Because Hidden Blade and Ke Yuxiao hadn’t triggered the hidden storyline, nor activated the doomsday or Trinity or Heaven’s Mandate segments, as far as they were concerned, they were still “deserters”.
To avoid capture by the villagers, they had to lie in wait for Amei, find a way to defeat her, and force her to take them back to the real world. This was what both Hidden Blade and Ke Yuxiao had in mind.
Even though this Amei was still stuck in the “past” and, with her memory lost, believed that timeline to be the real one, it was still treated as a valid “clear” in the system’s eyes.
Around daybreak, Hidden Blade and Ke Yuxiao finally cleared the instance.
Upon seeing the evaluation that they only reached 25% completion, the pitifully meager rewards, and the negligible experience, Hidden Blade didn’t care in the slightest.
He was only curious about one thing—whether it was during his own probing attacks or their final battle with Amei, Ke Yuxiao had never once used his flute. Why had he never played it?
At first glance, that detail meant nothing. But if he thought about it deeper, there might be more to it.
The instant he left Banquet of the Red God, Hidden Blade had a strong intuition that things were about to go south. His heart, rarely so uneasy, pounded violently, and the veins at his temples throbbed so hard it almost hurt.
A rare sense of danger made him grip his blade tightly.
But the enemy lurking in the shadows was impossible to guard against—someone had set a trap right outside the instance portal.
The moment Hidden Blade was transported out of Banquet of the Red God, the surface of a mirror beneath his feet flashed. The next moment, he found himself in a room resembling a study.
Ahead of him sat a man in a suit, quietly writing at a desk.
Hidden Blade frowned. “You’re Priest?”
Finishing a line of text, Priest finally raised his head to look at him. “Nice to meet you.”
……
Real world. Unit 1007, Building 17 at Yuanlai Complex.
This was Wu Ren’s home.
While Zhou Qian and the others were in Banquet of the Red God, Wu Ren had gone off to solo a trial instance, choosing a difficulty level he could handle this time.
He cleared it successfully, and after leaving the instance, he got to work on forming Zhou Qian’s legion.
Before Zhou Qian left, he hadn’t decided on a legion name, so Wu Ren decided to exercise his power as the “king” by naming it himself.
He was the nominal head of the legion but, in truth, was just a puppet under Zhou Qian’s control. He couldn’t make any major decisions, and he was well aware of that—but he figured naming the legion was something he could do.
Thus, once he finished gathering a few members and even paid out of his own pocket to purchase a virtual base, Wu Ren left Zhou Qian a message and returned to the real world.
He wanted to check on his younger sister, Wu Nianrou.
Leaving Blue Harbor City in the game, Wu Ren returned to the recliner in his real-world apartment.
The moment he came back, all color left his vision, replaced by darkness.
He was so addicted to the game world because there he could see color, and he had extraordinary eyesight for throwing hidden weapons as an assassin. Even so, he had to return to reality for the sake of his family.
Not long after he returned, he heard Wu Nianrou’s voice.
“Brother, is there something weird about your room? Every time I come in, it feels like I get dizzy for a long, long time. But when I check the clock… it really only shows a few minutes passing…”
The reason Wu Nianrou experienced this phenomenon was, of course, the game’s system at work.
In order to keep outsiders from noticing anything unusual while a player was logged in, the system would, as needed, apply various measures to anyone who entered the player’s space—so that the game proceeded quietly, without attracting attention.
“What’s going on? Could you have low blood sugar?” Wu Ren, who couldn’t see his sister, turned his face generally in her direction. “Come on, I’ll take you out for a bite.”
“Sure, but wow, Brother, you’ve been acting like a big spender lately. What’s up with that?” Wu Nianrou walked over to help Wu Ren stand and guided him to the living room.
Wu Nianrou had been tall and strong since she was a kid, so helping Wu Ren was never difficult. Wu Ren was used to it and let her lead.
Faced with Wu Nianrou’s question, Wu Ren of course couldn’t say the money came from his gaming.
He simply smiled. “I’m blind—where would I earn money? That’s the dowry Mom and Dad left for you. I was afraid you might get tricked by some guy, so I never gave it to you.
“Listen, a man can seem great, but you can’t tell for sure until after you’re actually married. If he treats you well even after marriage, I’ll hand over all that money to you both!”
“Mm, my brother’s the best.” Wu Nianrou smiled, letting him rest on the sofa, then headed toward her own room. “Just wait a minute while I do my makeup, then we’ll head out.”
“Alright, you go ahead.” Wu Ren leaned back on the sofa with a smile.
He very much hoped to meet a true god in the game soon, someone who could cure his blindness.
Out of Wu Ren’s sight, Wu Nianrou went into her bedroom and stood before her vanity.
Reflected in the mirror was clearly a man’s chiseled face—he even had a bit of stubble on his chin.
Yet the expression was soft, and there was a gentle affection in his eyes. He picked up an eyebrow pencil with casual ease, an action oddly captivating in contrast to his masculine features.
This was yet another personality of Ke Yuxiao.
The author has something to say:
Wu Ren: I thought I had a younger sister, but it turns out I have a younger brother. He can even do a fake voice.
The old man stared with wide eyes, seemingly bewildered, as if everything before him was as ephemeral as a dream. He scrutinized the young man before him meticulously, from head to toe, from each strand of hair to every fold in his clothing, almost wishing he could transform into an orbital scanner to analyze the young man inside and out.
It felt like centuries had passed before the old man hesitantly, unconfidently, voiced his conclusion. “You are… Joshua?”
Joshua nodded, a smile spreading across his face.
The old man was even more astonished. He trembled as he patted the top of Joshua’s head to ensure that he was indeed a real person and not a holographic illusion. “My God, my Lord, it really is you, child. It really is you…”
“Yes, it’s really me.”
“Child, you… you’ve grown up.” The old man lowered his head, wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You look so much like Kester now, exactly alike…” he said, emotionally embracing Joshua like a father reuniting with his long-lost son. “The last time I saw you, you were just a kid, and now you’ve… grown so much…” His shoulders shook as if he were sobbing. “It’s been too long… Far too long…”
“Yes. It really has been too long,” Joshua said softly. “But I’m here now, Teacher. If it weren’t for the ship from Neo Athens, I would have thought you were already…”
“I’ve always been waiting,” the old man replied. “I believed in Kester—believed that you would one day leave Earth and come to the colonies. I wasn’t ready to meet the Lord just yet,” he said with a mischievous laugh. “Is it just you? Didn’t Kester come?”
Joshua’s expression dimmed momentarily. “He didn’t come. He stayed on Earth.”
“Is that so…” The old man’s eyes fell. If Kester hadn’t come to the colonies and had stayed on the mother planet, then he likely had passed away long ago, his ashes scattered in the seas of Old Earth, mingling with the planet he loved, never to be separated again.
“And you, my child,” the old man continued. “When did you arrive at the colonies?”
“Some ten or so years ago. I can’t quite remember…” Joshua’s response was vague. “Because I was in cryosleep for so long, my memories are all jumbled.”
“Why didn’t you come to Neo Athens?”
“I was over two hundred years late,” Joshua explained. “I thought there would be no one I knew left in Neo Athens. Coming here seemed meaningless. It would just add to the sadness.”
The old man nodded understandingly. “I’ve spent most of these years in cryosleep myself, waking occasionally to hear reports from my secretary. It seems that much has changed outside without my knowing. Every time I wake, it feels like everything has changed.” He shook his head as if to dispel the melancholy air. “Let’s not dwell on that. Joshua, how have you been these years?”
“Pretty good, I guess.” Joshua blinked and then said somewhat shyly, “By the way, teacher, there’s someone I want to introduce to you…”
He stood up, gestured for Alois to come forward. Alois had been hiding behind a cluster of wisteria, peering suspiciously at the reunion of the old man and Joshua. From their conversation, he gathered that Joshua was of extraordinary origin, coming from the long-perished Old Earth, and was an old acquaintance of the former governor of Neo Athens, Giorgione, as well as that mysterious Kester. What was Kester’s relationship with Joshua? These questions hovered in his mind like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over Alois’s heart. He felt uncomfortable, as if an invisible wall was excluding him. Although he believed that lovers need not disclose everything, the sheer amount of things Joshua hid from him showed a lack of trust. This disappointed Alois.
Now he was being called over. Well, well, he was used to being at beck and call, to being ordered around. He managed a smile, attempting to show respect to the former leader of Neo Athens, and quickly walked to Joshua’s side.
“Alois, let me introduce you—this is—” Joshua took his hand, solemnly presenting him to the old man. “The first governor of Neo Athens, and my teacher, Giorgione.”
Alois bowed, feeling his smile stiffen.
“This is…” Joshua paused, turned his head to look at the ground, his voice dropping to a whisper. “His name is Alois Lagrange, he’s my… my…” The next words were so faint they were like the buzzing of a mosquito, inaudible to Alois and certainly to the elderly Giorgione.
Alois found it both frustrating and amusing. Why could Joshua assert “he is my family” in front of Joanna and Beatrice, but become so hesitant in front of Giorgione?
But some things in the world didn’t need words to be expressed. When Giorgione saw the tightly held hands and Joshua’s unusually hesitant behavior, the worldly-wise old man immediately understood everything. A myriad of emotions surged in his heart; his student had finally returned after many years, not only maturing from a raw youth into a handsome young man but also bringing a lover with him, which was both joyous and somewhat sad for the old man.
He waved his hand, signaling Joshua not to strain himself, that he understood everything. It’s good to be young, he thought. Young people had enough time to love, to chase dreams—nothing was unattainable, nothing was irreversible. Unlike him, who had missed too much and only learned to regret and lament in his later years.
“If you’ve found someone you love, cherish them,” he told Joshua. “Ah, should I perhaps give you a gift?”
“No need!” Joshua and Alois exclaimed together. The two exchanged glances, then both looked down, their cheeks flushing.
Giorgione smiled helplessly.
Joshua cleared his throat, letting go of Alois’s hand awkwardly. “Actually, Alois, I have some things I need to discuss with Teacher alone. Could you please…”
Alois rolled his eyes. Was there still something he shouldn’t know? Fine, he would leave. “I’ll go find Miss Lina.” Without another word, he turned and left, quickly disappearing among the flowers and trees.
“Is it really okay to send him away like that?” the perceptive former governor asked. “You’re keeping secrets from him, and he’s upset.”
“It’s something between us. I’ll handle it myself,” Joshua stubbornly replied. “Besides, what I need to discuss with you isn’t something he, Miss Lina, or anyone else should know.”
“Dear distinguished guests, welcome to Neo Athens.”
As Beatrice’s clear voice echoed, the walls of the spacecraft suddenly turned transparent, revealing the majestic scenery of the city-state of Neo Athens. The architecture, varying in height and made of stone, appeared like stars encircling the moon, guarding the heart of the city-state—the Neo Athens Academy. Built against a mountain, the academy resembled a wave rising from the earth, and a giant holographic clock suspended in the sky enveloped it, shining like a radiant crown.
Alois stared in amazement at the ground below—the transparent floor offered an unobstructed view of the city-state. He saw thousands of schools and research institutes, draped in a silvery glow and quietly standing among lush greenery. This place was the technological hub of the entire galaxy, possessing advanced technologies unmatched by other planets. It also served as a sacred site constructed by the third batch of Earth’s remnants, replicating their homeland. Whether it was the blue ocean at the edge of the land or the houses blending various architectural styles from Old Earth, every detail reflected the remnants’ nostalgia for their home.
Alois couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Joshua. His face was expressionless, as if Neo Athens had nothing to do with him. He was so composed that even the sight of the grand academy didn’t elicit any surprise—an act of feigned calmness. Throughout the journey, Alois had been silently speculating about Joshua’s connection to Neo Athens that necessitated the academy deploying a starship to find him. His theories ranged from the absurd, such as Joshua having killed some high-ranking official of Neo Athens, to more plausible ones. Numerous times, he wanted to directly ask Joshua for the truth but hesitated.
If Joshua wanted him to know, he would have told him. His silence indicated he didn’t want Alois to know the secrets. Therefore, Alois decided not to ask. Some things might be better left unknown.
However, human curiosity was endless. The more secretive something is, the more it invites suspicion. This curiosity reached its peak as they stepped onto New Athenian soil.
The Neo Athens spaceport consisted of two towering high-rise towers, with platforms of various lengths protruding out, serving as docking stations for spaceships. The Socrates, like a giant, hovered above the highest platform. The sun’s rays hit its light gray surface, casting a faint glow that made it resemble a bizarre and magnificent relic from prehistoric times. It cast a heavy shadow on the ground, drawing gasps from the crowd below.
The Socrates received a grand welcome upon its return. Even the dark outer walls of the spaceport towers were replaced with vibrant colors to celebrate the ship’s return. However, Beatrice obviously didn’t want the two special guests to attract too much attention. While other crew members disembarked through the regular exit to reunite with their families, the female AI led Joshua and Alois through a special escape route inside the tower. They were greeted by a young lady in a dark green robe wearing half-frame glasses, appearing to be a secretary.
“Good day, Beatrice.” The young lady nodded slightly to the AI and performed a courteous gesture.
“Allow me to introduce.” Beatrice turned back, gesturing towards Joshua. “This is the person Mr. Giorgione has been looking for—Mr. Joshua Plank.”
The lady in green smiled as she shook hands with Joshua. “Lina Antonina.” Then she turned to Alois. “And this must be Mr. Alois Lagrange?”
Alois raised an eyebrow. When had he become so famous? “Yes, that’s me.” He also shook hands politely with Lina. “You know of me?”
“Of course, I’ve long heard of your great reputation,” Lina replied, not elaborating further but spreading her hands. “Given the confidentiality of your visit to Neo Athens, we couldn’t greet you through the regular channels. I’m really sorry about that.”
“No worries.” Joshua lifted his chin. “I just want to see Mr. Giorgione as soon as possible.”
“Of course. He is also eagerly looking forward to meeting with you.” After speaking, Lina signaled Beatrice with a look, and the AI tactfully disappeared while Lina took over as their guide. She led Joshua and Alois to the other end of the tower to a docking platform where a small Gondola was waiting.
“Please.” Lina lifted the hem of her robe and jumped into the driver’s seat. “I haven’t introduced myself properly yet. I serve as the secretary to the dean of Neo Athens Academy and also work for Mr. Giorgione.”
Joshua jumped into the back seat, pulling Alois up with him.
“How is Teacher doing now?” he asked.
“You’ll see for yourself soon.” Lina started the Gondola, which shot out of the docking platform at high speed.
The sudden loss of gravity startled Alois. He hadn’t expected such an assertive driving style from the demure secretary.
The cool wind filled the cabin, making Alois, who was dressed in a thin robe, shiver. He moved back slightly, only to be embraced in a warm hug. Joshua wrapped his arms around his shoulders, drawing him close and whispering in his ear, “If this weren’t Neo Athens, I’d really think I’d been tricked into some kind of trap.”
His gentle breath tickled Alois’s ear. “Can I take that to mean you’re scared?”
“With you here, I’m not,” Joshua replied, holding Alois’s fingers.
Lina saw the two nestled together in the rearview mirror and smiled knowingly.
The Gondola landed in the center of Neo Athens Academy, near the third greenhouse.
Lina led them into the greenhouse. Unlike the cooler outside temperatures, the greenhouse was maintained year-round at a comfortable twenty-three degrees Celsius. As soon as they entered, the chill on Alois was instantly dispelled, as if he had walked from deep autumn into warm spring. He stretched his limbs and turned to compliment the secretary on the greenhouse’s environment, only to be startled by a giant butterfly that suddenly flew out from the bushes.
The butterfly flapped its wings, sweeping over Joshua’s head and circling a few times before landing on his shoulder.
“Mr. Giorgione is just ahead.” Lina clasped her hands inside her sleeves and bowed slightly, indicating she would wait there.
Joshua gently brushed off the butterfly and took Alois’s hand, leading him into the lush grove. The path underfoot was paved with cobblestones, flanked by hanging white flowers. The forest ahead was lush and verdant, with the faint sound of birds chirping and water murmuring.
In such a dense forest, Alois felt completely lost, unsure of where to go, and let Joshua lead the way. Joshua moved confidently, as if he had walked this path countless times, familiar with every tree, every flower, every stone.
They passed through a cluster of blooming flowers, and the path opened into a small square where sunlight poured through the diamond-shaped windows of the greenhouse, dappling the ground. Just off the square stood a large oak tree, providing just enough shade to temper the intense sunlight. Under the tree was a lounge chair and a cat-foot table, on which sat a fine set of tea utensils, and on the chair lay an elderly man with white hair and beard.
The old man’s eyes were closed, as if he were deep in sleep. Hearing footsteps approaching, he suddenly opened his eyes, as if he had been waiting there for centuries, and now, at this moment, the person he was waiting for had finally arrived.
The old man watched Joshua approach, initially motionless, and upon recognizing the familiar face, he opened his mouth in amazement, his throat trembling, unable to make a sound. He shakily extended a hand. The veins on the back of his hand was prominent, his loose skin hanging from his aged bones like a rock weathered by sand.
“Kest… Kest…” The old man struggled to utter a discordant syllable, his voice choked with immense pain and joy.
Joshua approached, knelt down, and took the old man’s hand, greeting him with the reverence of a devout believer greeting a priest.
“Kester… is it you?” The old man’s voice was hoarse. His gray eyes brimmed with emotional tears. “I’ve finally… finally…”
“No,” Joshua softly said, “I’m not Kester. Teacher, Teacher Giorgione. Please look closely. Look closely—who I am?”
“Protection from all evil” could keep malicious spirits at bay but not living humans. Shan Hunzi never expected that Fang Xiu would strike without warning.
The moment he relaxed and turned away, Fang Xiu thrusted forward with all his strength, and that Luoyang shovel pierced straight through Shan Hunzi’s chest.
The newcomer hadn’t hesitated in the slightest, and there was even a faint, weary smile on his face.
Shan Hunzi couldn’t understand.
Just a moment ago, Fang Xiu had gone wild beating up Old Man Fu, and he seemed so exhausted that a single poke could topple him. If Fang Xiu wanted to ambush him, he should have saved his energy beforehand.
The ritual was already over, and Fang Xiu had offered plenty of reasonable grounds for negotiation, so Shan Hunzi had let his guard down just a bit.
Even when he hit the ground, shock was still written on Shan Hunzi’s face. He was so stunned that he couldn’t make a sound.
He suddenly thought of Fourth Master. Fourth Master had died just as quickly, not even having time to use his magic weapons.
…So now he himself had been tricked, and Fang Xiu was going to kill him for his treasure?
…But Fang Xiu was in terrible shape, and the ghost he raised was restrained by the “protection from evil”. Shan Hunzi hadn’t revealed anything like the jade Buddha. Why would Fang Xiu take such a risk?
Fang Xiu crouched beside Shan Hunzi, still carrying Brother Scar’s bloody head strapped to his back.
“Your real name is Cui Dakun, fifty-six years old, from Hai Province. As of twenty-two years ago, you committed six crimes and killed eight people, still at large.”
Fang Xiu lowered his head to look at him, speaking as if they were just chatting casually. “So you went off to the mountains to become a Taoist priest. No wonder the police couldn’t find you. I knew there was definitely something wrong with you because I recognized your face.”
“You… You’re here for… revenge…?”
Shan Hunzi couldn’t think of another reason. Fang Xiu knew him in such detail and had orchestrated his downfall.
It had been more than twenty years, and his appearance had aged a lot. How the hell had this guy recognized him?!
“No, I don’t have any personal grudge against you. It’s just that my life plan happens to require the death of people like you.”
Fang Xiu said solemnly, “Besides, I’m just a cleaner. Aren’t you basically filth yourself?”
Shan Hunzi: “…”
Even in excruciating pain, he wanted to spit blood right into this man’s face.
Fang Xiu began drawing a circle around Shan Hunzi, speaking earnestly as he worked, “That’s why you shouldn’t trust deals that seem too good to be true. As the saying goes, while you’re eyeing the interest, someone else is eyeing your principal*…”
*It means while you’re looking at your small gains, someone else is focused on your original investment.
Naturally, Shan Hunzi wasn’t listening. He was glaring at Fang Xiu.
Fang Xiu’s steps were feeble beyond belief; it didn’t look like an act. That made sense: this kid didn’t so much hide his strength as he excelled at pushing himself far beyond his limits.
When normal people reach their physical limit, pain or fatigue would make them stop, but Fang Xiu would just keep going.
How unlucky he was to encounter such a weirdo. Shan Hunzi struggled to breathe, feeling dizzy from blood loss.
He knew he was about to die here.
“Return… Return… Return…”
Shan Hunzi parted his lips, muttering in broken fragments.
“May… merit… be complete… may all… rejoice…”
At those words, Fang Xiu stopped drawing his circle.
He gazed down at Shan Hunzi in silence. Beneath his disheveled hair, his eyes were like empty holes devoid of any light.
……
When Bai Shuangying finished devouring Old Man Fu, Fang Xiu had just completed his own work. Seeing the man in front of him, so exhausted that he could scarcely stand upright, Bai Shuangying slowly arched an eyebrow.
Fang Xiu was covered in blood and gore from head to toe, his left shoulder grossly swollen, and his complexion a ghastly blue. He was swaying on his feet, his eyes unfocused, looking like he might collapse at any moment.
Behind Fang Xiu was a circle drawn on the ground, within which lay a mass of mangled flesh. Blood had sprayed outward from that circle in all directions, far and wide.
It looked like a crimson peony in full bloom.
Shan Hunzi’s living soul was firmly bound within that circle, with no way to escape.
Bai Shuangying glanced at his own paper flower, then at that “blood flower”. “What’s… this?”
Using the back of his hand, Fang Xiu wiped some blood off his face, his voice slurred. “Shan Hunzi broke a death taboo.”
“But you already shattered the E,” Bai Shuangying pointed out mercilessly.
Several seconds passed before Fang Xiu said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to trick you… I’m just too tired and can’t think straight right now.”
He really was exhausted. Fang Xiu had never been fond of heavy physical labor.
At the moment, his Luoyang shovel was dented and bent, and his T-shirt was drenched in blood, making it impossible to hide anything… Good thing. He almost forgot that Bai Shuangying had witnessed everything…
But Bai Shuangying wasn’t human and didn’t care about such details. Fortunately, Fang Xiu had no need to deceive his ghost.
Fang Xiu shook his head a couple of times, leaning on the shovel for support and catching his breath. “Initially, I didn’t intend to go this far. But he started mumbling obscenities right before he died.”
“So the ‘something good you wanted to show me’ is Shan Hunzi’s soul.”
Bai Shuangying approached the blood flower. “…And this flower?”
“Keep guessing?” Fang Xiu grinned.
Bai Shuangying simply shook his head. The man’s line of thought was too out of the ordinary. There was no point in guessing.
“It’s me,” Fang Xiu said, his tone weak but strangely cheerful. “…That ‘something good’ is me.”
“You mentioned that the larger someone’s karma, the more delicious their soul tastes. If that’s accurate, my soul is definitely very, very tasty, probably the best you’ve ever had.”
Bai Shuangying stared at Fang Xiu and suddenly realized a fact:
This was only the first ritual, yet Fang Xiu had orchestrated the deaths of Brother Scar, Fourth Master, and Shan Hunzi.
It wasn’t merely using taboos to kill; normal people would hesitate before killing anyone themselves. They would be nervous, not as calm as Fang Xiu. Only one kind of person would react like that; someone who’s already done too much killing, committed so many sins that they’d become accustomed to it.
So Fang Xiu hadn’t lied. Such a person’s living soul would indeed be the most delicious.
“I get injured easily, and whenever I push myself, you worry I’m acting suicidal, which doesn’t make you too happy.”
Fang Xiu coughed a few times, continuing, “But now you know: even if I die and drag you down somehow, you can still feast on my five-star gourmet living soul.”
“That way, it won’t matter if I’m alive or dead. You’ll have something to look forward to. We can talk with less tension.”
Fang Xiu tugged at Bai Shuangying’s sleeve. “Well, you’ve seen the final good thing this temple fair had to offer. What do you think?”
Bai Shuangying took hold of Shan Hunzi’s soul, looking down at the corpse beneath it, and then turned his gaze to Fang Xiu, sizing him up from head to toe.
Fang Xiu wasn’t asking for Bai Shuangying’s power, nor did he need his concern. He was effectively using his own living soul as a bargaining chip, just to have a bit of companionship.
Right after telling Shan Hunzi, “Don’t trust deals that seem too good,” he then dangled prime bait in front of Bai Shuangying’s eyes. Bai Shuangying had a sneaking feeling he himself was being duped.
He couldn’t help freeing his right hand to rest it on Fang Xiu’s neck. Fang Xiu’s body was at its limit. His skin was scaldingly hot, and his pulse was too erratic to gauge his emotions.
Fang Xiu let him touch as much as he liked, even tilting his head slightly to better feel that coolness.
What’s going on in this human’s mind?
Bai Shuangying felt genuinely curious.
…Click.
A faint noise made Bai Shuangying’s eyes widen. He quickly moved his sleeve, checking his wrist.
On his right wrist, one of his invisible chains had broken apart.
That was just one of countless seals, but in all these centuries, nothing like that had ever happened. It wasn’t a physical chain; it was forged from layer upon layer of karma, impossibly sturdy.
Bai Shuangying had tried countless methods to break free, but he had never managed to remove even one link.
Yet it snapped at this moment, with no warning.
Bai Shuangying thought back carefully to what had just happened. Expressionless, he reached out with both hands and started vigorously rubbing Fang Xiu’s head.
“Ahhh! What are you doing?! Stop! Stop—!” Fang Xiu yelled.
It wasn’t caused by mere contact. Somewhat disappointed, Bai Shuangying pulled his hands away.
He had touched Fang Xiu before, so it obviously couldn’t be that simple. But since it involved the nature of his seal, Bai Shuangying wasn’t going to let it drop, not even if it turned out to be a coincidence.
He pondered a moment, then smiled.
“This temple fair has been very entertaining,” he said. “You put on quite a show.”
Therefore, Bai Shuangying decided to let Fang Xiu see something even more interesting.
If Fang Xiu wanted his companionship, then Bai Shuangying would drag him in deeper. This was, in Bai Shuangying’s view, the most binding form of “companionship”.
Until he figured out how his seal had been altered, he wouldn’t let go, even if Fang Xiu himself wanted to die, it wouldn’t be allowed.
In that sense, they were even more like friends now. Fang Xiu would be thrilled.
……
It wasn’t until they entered the Weishan Shrine that Fang Xiu snapped out of the daze caused by that smile.
What a beautiful sight… Bai Shuangying really should smile more often. It was the best smile his ghost had ever shown. Fang Xiu wasn’t sure if it was because Bai Shuangying realized that living souls would be available to him from now on, or that Fang Xiu’s own soul looked like a tasty meal.
In fact, Bai Shuangying didn’t need to show him anything beyond that. Fang Xiu felt that smile alone was enough to lift his spirits. But for the sake of “’give and take’ between friends,” Bai Shuangying ended up half-carrying, half-dragging him to the Weishan Shrine.
…At least he kept his word.
With the E gone, the evil spirits haunting Weishan scattered like startled birds and beasts. The stage opposite the shrine was deserted. Those still alive had been led away by the paper man. Only four corpses remained in their seats.
The bodies were silent now, no longer singing opera, and the only sound in the village was the patter of rain against the ground.
Inside Weishan Shrine, the offerings on the table remained as they had been when they left, with no evil force replenishing them. The statue of the God of Weishan wore a faint smile, giving off the smell of cheap paint.
“Doesn’t seem so special.” Fang Xiu was trembling from exhaustion.
Bai Shuangying took hold of his head, turning his face toward the god statue. “Look again.”
Fang Xiu squinted and saw a small cluster of mist in front of the statue. It barely resembled a human shape, faint and white, as though it might disperse at any moment.
Now Fang Xiu was the one who didn’t understand. “That’s…?”
“It’s a remnant soul on the verge of vanishing,” Bai Shuangying said. “Its unresolved attachment made it stay with the E. The E’s Yin energy nourished it, allowing it to cling to existence until now.”
Fang Xiu frowned. “But the E is gone.”
“That’s why it came here to the shrine. It can eke out a little more time by relying on the incense and offerings.” Bai Shuangying gave Fang Xiu a sideways glance. “It crawled out of that coffin barrel. You seemed pretty fond of the God of Weishan, so here’s the real ‘God of Weishan’s remnant soul.”
Fang Xiu gaped, hesitant. “You specifically brought me here to watch how the God of Weishan’s soul scatters…?”
Apparently it was hard to say which of them was more heartless.
Bai Shuangying gave him a stern look for a few seconds, then walked over to the remnant soul.
“It seems you’re also unlucky,” he said to it.
“To become an immortal, a person needs both merit and destiny. You still haven’t found your destiny, and you’re just half a step short of sufficient merit… In another two hours, your merit would be complete, but you won’t last that long.”
The remnant soul stared in confusion, making no reply.
“But this temple fair is enjoyable, so I’m happy to offer you a bit of destiny.”
Bai Shuangying raised his hand, evidently in a good mood as he pointed to the remnant soul.
“…I acknowledge you.”
Even though Fang Xiu was exhausted to the point of delirium, he still sensed the abrupt shift in atmosphere. The moment Bai Shuangying spoke, the very air in the shrine changed; the pressure was suffocating.
Within the shadows, the remnant soul pulled itself together, faintly taking a more distinct human form. It was no longer dissolving. Rather, it glowed with a faint golden light.
Bai Shuangying lowered his hand. “Go stay in Weishan. In two hours, you’ll be able to complete your merit.”
The remnant soul dipped slightly, as if bowing, and then drifted out of the shrine.
Fang Xiu watched it go, somewhat more awake now. “So you just saved her?”
“Mm,” Bai Shuangying replied, prepared for one of Fang Xiu’s warped misunderstandings.
“Thank you,” Fang Xiu said, his tone truly sincere and extraordinarily solemn.
“Saving people is far harder than harming them. You really are remarkable.”
Bai Shuangying didn’t detect any false note in his voice, and he blinked in mild surprise.
“I never expected…” Fang Xiu went on dizzily, “never expected you to be so powerful, and yet still forced to work for the Underworld.”
Bai Shuangying: “…” I’m not, and it’s all your fault.
That mouth of his was still irritating, so Bai Shuangying decided to ignore him again.
By now, the appointed time with the paper man was almost up. Bai Shuangying took hold of Fang Xiu, who was about to keel over, intending to head back to the Disaster Relief Tower. But Fang Xiu shook his head, saying he had one more thing to do.
After leaving the shrine, he slowly climbed onto the stage, making his way to Mai Zi’s corpse.
It was hot and humid, and after two or three days, Mai Zi’s body bad become bloated. The stench of decay spread over the stage. Without changing expression, Fang Xiu stepped forward, stopping a single step away from the corpse.
Lao Mian and Mai Zi died so quickly and quietly that nobody else had time to interfere. Later on, the play dedicated to the gods served as proof. After discovering Mai Zi had mutated, Lao Mian killed him instantly in self-defense.
“It’s a pity. If Lao Mian hadn’t killed you right away, this ritual would’ve been a lot easier.”
Fang Xiu said to the corpse, “But also, because you died so early and did so little, I was able to confirm the conditions for ‘mutation’ and figure out the third taboo… Thanks.”
From the cloth bag he carried, he took out Brother Scar’s head and placed it neatly in front of Mai Zi’s body. “In ancient times, people used steamed buns as a substitute for real human heads in offerings. I don’t have steamed buns right now, so let’s go back to the original source. Hope you don’t mind.”
Bai Shuangying eyed the gore-smeared head, feeling that “going back to the original source” was an extreme way of putting it.
“When did you realize that the ‘God of Weishan’ wasn’t a malevolent god?” Bai Shuangying asked, prodding Brother Scar’s empty eye socket, sounding casually curious.
“The second night, when we found the shrine,” Fang Xiu replied.
Bai Shuangying: “…?” That was awfully early.
“During the day, there were plenty of clues. The village had traces of propaganda banners, indicating it had normal contact with the outside world. The villagers moved out in an orderly fashion, not like they were fleeing disaster. This doesn’t align with a place plagued by an evil god or struck by tragedy.”
“Then we found the shrine… There were so many offerings there, all very modern, piled up to the brim. Some drinks weren’t even unpacked.”
Fang Xiu lowered his gaze. “Rather than a proper offering to a god, it felt more like elders stuffing food into a youngster’s hands.”
“And this village has been abandoned for so many years, yet people still remembered to come back and pay respects. From the production dates on those offerings, they definitely came back last year.”
“So I believe the people of Weishan Village are very fond of the God of Weishan.”
Bai Shuangying watched Fang Xiu quietly. Fang Xiu kept his eyes down; it was unclear whether he was explaining things to his own ghost or talking to Mai Zi.
As long as one assumed there was no evil god at work, it wasn’t too complicated.
“The graveyard is overflowing with tombstones. Even if life got better later, the villagers still had short lifespans. Something’s definitely off about this place.”
“The ‘E’ arises from clear-cut obsessions. Taboos never conflict with each other. The taboo of ‘protecting the villagers’ is very direct, so there must be another reason behind the ‘drinking water mustn’t be consumed’ taboo, like forcing the villagers to leave, or problems with the water itself, or maybe both.”
The evil spirits destroyed newspapers carrying reports of contamination, slipped lies into the opera lines, and imitated the villagers at their worst. They worked hard to make the God of Weishan appear inscrutable and evil, but in the end, they couldn’t hide the taboos themselves.
The E of Weishan was clumsily protecting villagers who had long since departed.
Because the “E” was born of human obsessions, Fang Xiu knew all he had to do was find the one whose obsession had given rise to it, someone the villagers still remembered after so many years, someone they treated with the care reserved for a younger family member, a so-called “god”.
Before leaving, Fang Xiu once more looked out over the empty Weishan Village.
It was daytime, and rain kept pouring, just like on the day they arrived.
Fang Xiu cast one last glance at the stage, softly humming a tune:
“Too puzzling, too unclear, no comment to give,
Can’t get out, can’t get in~ Like a bird in the cage~”
In the end, the reason they couldn’t “get out” was because the ritual restricted their range, and it had nothing to do with the E.
The E’s only purpose was to enforce that “no entry”. …By the way, since he personally broke the E, what sort of reward would the Underworld give him?
After the two of them left, Weishan Village lay deserted, not even a ghostly shape remaining.
The knocking lasted just over ten seconds before the village sank back into silence.
As though nothing had ever happened.
……
Two hours later, a dozen or so miles away.
A man rolled down his car window and said in a helpless tone, “It’s been days, and we’re still not allowed through!”
A local police officer sighed. “I’m not picking on you specifically. The road there is really dangerous right now. No cars are allowed to pass.”
Driver: “Don’t fool me, brother. It was just fine a couple of years ago. We’re all from Weishan Village. We just want to go back to pay our respects…”
“If I say no, it’s no. Head back. That road is about to collapse. You’ve got seniors in your car. Think about them.”
“Haa, it’s the seniors at home who want to go back.”
“Don’t go. That place is strange,” an auntie who was onlooking interjected. “There’s clearly nobody living there, yet at night it’s all lit up. Scares a person half to death…”
The driver was annoyed. “Who says? Every time we go back, nothing happens. Our village is just fine.”
Seeing that an argument was brewing, the officer hurried between them.
At that moment, the rear window of the car rolled down, and a teenage girl poked her head out. “Great-Grandma said, don’t make things hard for the officer. If we really can’t get in, we’ll find a high place and pay our respects from far away.”
“…Officer, how about that?” The driver scratched his head.
The policeman agreed.
Given the complex terrain, continuous rain these past days, and the elderly passengers, he didn’t dare let a whole carload of people wander around. He specifically showed them to a safe hilltop.
The road there was sturdily built, and from that vantage they could see Weishan in the distance, and, right beside it, Weishan Village.
Another two hours later, the group arrived at the designated spot without incident. From afar, Weishan Village looked gray and still as ever.
Great-Grandma had said the god they were worshipping wasn’t particular about ceremony. So they simply laid a sheet of waterproof fabric on the ground as a makeshift altar.
The offerings were the same as always: meat, sweets, plus newly produced drinks and canned goods. The younger generation liked to keep up with trends, so they even added a cup of milk tea.
They stacked the offerings neatly, all facing the direction of Weishan.
“God descends from Weishan—guests arrive with bitter rain—
Immortals come year after year—the shrine opens day by day—
At sunrise we greet our guests with joy—at moonset we bid them farewell in sorrow—
Good guests share the deity’s name—peace reigns for a decade’s time—”
Ninety-eight-year-old Sun Ruyi closed her eyes, listening to the familiar sacrificial song.
Another year was about to pass, and she was still alive.
Ten years ago, Sun Ruyi moved from Weishan Village to the capital. She kept her promise: each year, at the time of the temple fair, she had her family take her back to Weishan Village in person, so she could leave offerings at the Weishan Shrine.
They’d been able to manage it in the past, but this year the rain had lasted far too long. The road was closed off by the local township, and she could only pay her respects from this distance.
That child was carefree and easygoing; she probably wouldn’t blame her.
Suddenly, Sun Ruyi heard a loud rumble.
It wasn’t thunder. It boomed on and on, causing the worshippers to cry out in alarm. Sun Ruyi opened her eyes and asked her great-granddaughter, “Ni’er, what’s going on out there?”
The girl pulled out her phone, filming enthusiastically. “Great-Grandma, it’s a mudslide!”
“Thank goodness nobody lives there. It’s so terrifying. The village rooftops are buried…”
Sun Ruyi was silent for a long time.
“I’d like to get out and take a look,” she said, several minutes later.
“Huh? It’s raining out there. It’s cold, and you should really…”
“I’d like to get out and look,” Sun Ruyi repeated.
Her great-granddaughter couldn’t refuse, so she opened the umbrella and helped the old woman out of the car.
Sun Ruyi walked over to the simple altar. She felt around in her pocket, taking out a red candy.
Nowadays the wrapper was that slick plastic film, and the candy itself was shaped like a small cushion. The words for “Double Happiness Hard Candy” were gone, replaced by a neat, stylized “囍*” character.
*Happy.
In a daze, she heard the drone of cicadas in mid-summer.
The last time she handed out candy, her hand was so small and grimy. Now her hand was larger, very clean, but covered in wrinkles.
Year after year, Sun Ruyi had forgotten many things. Sometimes she couldn’t remember which block her apartment complex was on, or she’d mix up her grandchildren’s names. She could hardly recall any lines from the poetry she once loved.
“If someone dwells in the mountain, clad in creeping fig and trailing ivy… I can’t recall the rest.”
She sighed. “Guess I’ve gotten old.”
But she still remembered that summer day, the moment she handed over the candy.
That deformed child didn’t understand her words, but his eyes lit up. She never forgot that sight, even to this day.
Ninety years later, Sun Ruyi once again offered up a piece of candy. She placed it gently on the altar.
Then, with difficulty, she bowed her head toward Weishan.
At the same time, on Weishan.
The clouds seethed, and heavy rain poured down. Unlike before, the cloud edges glowed with gold.
The great disaster had arrived, yet no one was harmed. The merit grew further, and the sacrificial song resounded in the distance.
In the curtain of rain, a figure gradually became clearer.
This figure had three arms and four legs, and she was, unmistakably, a young woman. She wore a dark robe, her features were fine and delicate, and her lips were strikingly red.
In the downpour, her confusion gave way to clarity.
Besides her old memories, she now possessed knowledge of the Heavenly Way and its deities. She knew she had become the God of Weishan, and how that transformation came about.
She also understood what that small bit of “destiny” she’d just received actually meant.
The newly born God of Weishan looked toward the Weishan Shrine. Though she knew that person was no longer there, she straightened and offered a solemn bow.
“Thank you, High God…”
Right after that, the God of Weishan turned toward the simple altar far away. She gazed at Sun Ruyi and beamed.
This time, she was going to devour every last bit of those offerings.
……
Disaster Relief Tower.
After returning, Fang Xiu collapsed into sleep. Bai Shuangying lay on the ceiling, quietly spacing out.
Suddenly, Bai Shuangying tilted his head. He faintly heard someone giving thanks. Judging by the time, he could guess who it was.
It was that newly born little god.
Yes, she didn’t even know his name, so nobody would suspect him.
Bai Shuangying ran his fingers over the invisible chain, then decided to go on watching Fang Xiu’s sleeping face.
He was still wearing that red paper flower on his lapel. On Bai Shuangying’s own right wrist, the broken link of his chain dangled, clinking softly.
In front of Fang Xiu was still the graveyard west of the village.
It was clearly a different point in time. There was no rain, and the weeds between the graves were lush and green. The setting sun was like fire, and the entirety of Weishan looked as though it was ablaze.
“If someone dwells in the mountain, clad in creeping fig and trailing ivy… I forget the rest after that.”
A little girl with pigtails walked through the graveyard, reciting poetry under her breath, carrying a small grasshopper cage in her hand.
She looked to be about seven or eight years old. Beside her were two boys. One appeared to be the oldest, and the other was younger than she was, sniffling with a runny nose.
Their clothes were old and heavily patched, looking like styles from decades prior.
There weren’t many insects in the graveyard, so the three children headed toward the grove at the foot of Weishan. A few minutes later, they heard the little girl let out a shrill scream.
“Ghost—!”
Immediately, the oldest boy moved protectively in front of them. All three kids could see clearly what that “ghost” really was.
It was a deformed boy.
He had two extra arms, and his spine was curved. His facial features were misaligned, making him look rather frightening.
He wore only a few ragged scraps of cloth, and his skin was covered in bloodstains and bruises. He seemed to have just been beaten. Curled up on the ground, his body occasionally twitched, like a particularly ugly worm made of flesh.
The older boy breathed a sigh of relief. “Ni’er*, it’s okay. It’s just the child nobody in the village wants. He must have been seen by someone who thought he was unlucky and gave him a beating.”
*It’s an affectionate way to address a young girl/daughter. Kind of like calling her sweetheart or honey (but not in a romantic context).
“The child nobody wants?” The little girl asked curiously. “Brother, what do you mean by ‘the child nobody wants’?”
The brother scratched the back of his head. “Remember how the auntie next door was crying? She had a baby last month. Our village has children like this every year. Most of them are born dead.”
“In years with a lot of rain, there are even more of these deformed babies. Grandpa says it’s because too much rain brings heavy yin energy to the village.”
“Then why don’t they want this one? He’s still alive, isn’t he?” The girl pointed at the deformed boy in the bushes.
“They can’t afford to raise him.” The older brother mimicked the adults’ tone. “Grandpa says that even if someone’s reluctant to throw the baby away, most of them only live to their early twenties; a lot die in their teens.”
“They look scary, and they don’t live long. Everyone thinks it’s bad luck. Plus, our village isn’t well-off. Who has the means to provide for him? Better to put him in a vat and leave him outside, letting fate decide.”
“Oh, I remember now.” The girl made a gesture with her hands. “I saw that big vat at Auntie’s place. She even put some food in it.”
Her older brother nodded seriously. “Right, exactly that one.”
But I bet her child is gone by now. I saw that vat in the woods a few days ago, and the smell was awful.”
At this, the three children fell silent for a moment.
The girl looked at the boy curled on the ground, who couldn’t speak and whose shoulders shook as though he were sobbing.
After thinking it over, she said, “If each family in the village gave him a little food, wouldn’t that be enough to keep him alive? He got thrown away by his parents and then beaten up. He’s so pitiful.”
“That auntie next door was really sad. She cried for days,” she added.
“But there’s no real reason to feed him, right? Why would everyone give him food?” The older brother scratched his head hard. “Still, now that you mention it, he really is pretty pitiful…”
“Food, food,” the younger brother repeated with his unclear speech.
The three children squatted silently in the bushes for a while longer.
“I’ve got an idea.” The girl’s face tightened with resolve. “Everyone says he’s unlucky, so let’s claim he’s actually an auspicious sign… That’s it! Like an omen of good fortune! We’ll all say that we saw him fly!”
Older Brother: “……”
Older Brother: “Saying he can fly is too far-fetched. Let’s say he glows.”
Younger Brother: “Glows! Glows!”
“He both flies and glows.” The girl felt she was quite clever. “All those grandpas and grandmas really believe in that stuff. They’ll definitely be willing to give him food.”
The older brother was more realistic, though only a bit. “Then we should take him to the village chief and ask him to speak for us. That would be best.”
“Yes, yes—and we need evidence.” The girl searched all her pockets and finally found a piece of candy.
It was wrapped in bright red paper labeled “Double Happiness Hard Candy”. This was a rare treat. Their parents had brought back a few pieces when they attended a wedding banquet in town.
It was a round candy with a transparent, vivid red hue. She had looked at it many times, unwilling to eat it.
In the end, the girl reluctantly unwrapped the candy and placed it in the deformed boy’s hand.
“Hold it tight. This is your magic core*,” she said in a serious tone, not caring whether he could understand or not.
*Neidan or internal alchemy. It’s an array of esoteric doctrines and physical, mental, and spiritual practices that Taoist initiates use to prolong life and create an immortal spiritual body that would survive after death (also known as Jindan (golden elixir)). Its reference is often used in cultivation.
The deformed boy clutched the candy, neither letting go nor making a sound, as if he did sort of understand.
……
The village chief of Weishan Village was a kind middle-aged man, short in stature. All the children knew he was the only teacher in the village.
At first, hearing the three children’s outlandish story, he couldn’t help but laugh. But seeing the wounds on the deformed boy, his smile gradually faded.
He fetched a basin of water to gently clean the boy’s body, then brought out a bottle of red medicinal liquid to treat his wounds. The child was covered in injuries, so skinny his bones showed and his ribs protruded sharply.
Seeing this, the village chief frowned deeply, letting out a constant string of sighs.
“The village chief believes us. He definitely believes us,” the little girl said, clenching her fist as she spoke to her older brother. “We’re really good at this.”
The younger brother whispered, “All three of us, all three.”
“You kids have an interesting idea… I should’ve done something about this long ago.”
After settling the boy down, the village chief patted their heads. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone in the village that these children are the children of the mountain spirit.”
“Children of the mountain spirit aren’t unlucky. All they need is a bit of offering, and they’ll bring good fortune.”
“‘Mountain spirit’ sounds scary,” the girl mumbled. “Chief, didn’t you just teach us that the mountain spirit is really a mountain god…”
The village chief finally smiled, deep wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.
“You’re right. Then let’s call them the children of the mountain god.” His tone was gentle. “They’re all children of the Mountain God.”
The girl was satisfied. “He even has a magic core! That’s a real treasure. Chief, make sure you don’t lose it.”
“I understand. Now go on home and memorize your poetry.”
Early the next morning, the village chief really did announce the news to the entire village and brought up the fact that the boy had been beaten.
Some villagers immediately jumped out to say it was nonsense. After all, for more than two hundred years, people had quarried stone from Weishan to make inkstones, and they hadn’t seen even half a mountain god during that entire time.
Others found it hard to accept, since everyone had always believed these deformed babies were unlucky. How could the story suddenly change?
But more people stayed silent and offered to provide a bit of food. Among them was even that auntie from next door. The little girl stared at her in shock.
“Auntie never believed in ghosts or gods, right? She even argued with Grandpa about this.” The girl tugged on her older brother’s sleeve with one hand while holding onto her younger brother’s hand with the other.
Her older brother thought for a long time. “Maybe she just can’t bear to see it anymore.”
He didn’t say what exactly she couldn’t bear to see.
The boy ended up living at the village chief’s home. He grew up on communal offerings, got taller and stronger, and learned to speak and write.
Even so, he still didn’t have a name. People jokingly called him “the God of Weishan”. Some meant it kindly, some maliciously.
He knew, of course, that he wasn’t actually a mountain god. He also knew the villagers knew that, too.
As for that piece of candy, he kept it in a little wooden box, hidden in the deepest corner under his bed, as though it really were some kind of immortal’s core.
Everything was just a crude little lie.
Another deformed baby was born. This time, the child had four legs but only one eye. Before the village chief could even respond, he stepped forward.
“I can help write letters and read,” he said. “I can earn money. I’ll take care of her.
She can share my offerings. Don’t throw her away.”
And so it went, from the time he left the foot of Weishan to the time he passed away peacefully, a total of ten years.
Before he died, he took the box from under his bed and handed it to the seven-year-old deformed girl. Behind her stood two other deformed children, about three or four years old.
He’d been teaching her to read and write all these years; she was in a much better state than he’d been back then.
“You are the next God of Weishan. Inside the box is the Mountain God’s core. Take good care of it,” he said.
The girl blinked her single eye, staring at him in confusion.
The dying God of Weishan smiled. “But remember, you’re actually not the God of Weishan. That thing isn’t a true core, either.”
Live well. Don’t let down the villagers.”
“And don’t cry.” He turned to another girl by the bedside.
That girl, who had given him the candy all those years ago, was now eighteen. Her name was Sun Ruyi, his benefactor.
In the ten years since, he and the three siblings had grown very close. He was happy now, because he knew she had a long life ahead of her… She was going to leave the village to study.
But Sun Ruyi was still crying, and her brothers tried to comfort her without success. Their own eyes were red, so how could they console her?
[You know the mountain spirit is also a god; at the foot of Weishan, the trees stand dense and tall.]
…..
The second God of Weishan took up her post at the age of seven.
Year after year, besides those two younger children the first god left behind, she took in three more deformed kids.
With so many people, it was no longer suitable to stay in the village chief’s house. The villagers decided that each family would contribute a bit more to build an extra dwelling.
“It’s the God of Weishan’s home. It’s practically a shrine!”
The old village chief laughed. His hair was now mostly white. “How strange and wonderful that our Weishan Village finally has its own shrine.”
From then on, the God of Weishan moved into that shrine. During the day, she helped villagers write letters and taught the deformed children to read. At night, they all slept together on a large communal bed in the shrine.
By then, the village had a younger teacher, so the old village chief no longer taught classes. In his spare time, though, he would come by to teach poetry to the children.
Before long, the God of Weishan faced a new challenge.
Some of the older deformed children had begun their studies earlier, so they were more advanced. The eldest among them knew his life would be short and started to resent the healthy villagers.
He lashed out at the people who brought offerings, tore up his younger siblings’ books, and even stole someone’s hatchet. Finally, when he tried to attack the old village chief with the knife, the second God of Weishan flew into a fury.
She gave him a brutal beating, then banished him from the village.
“Isn’t that repaying kindness with enmity?” she snapped angrily.
“Calm down now, it’s not good for your health to be angry.” The old village chief was wrapped up in bandages from his injury but still spoke gently. “No place can guarantee that everyone will be good.”
After thinking it over, the God of Weishan said, “This isn’t going to work in the long run. I need to come up with a plan.”
A few days later, the second God of Weishan sought out the old village chief.
“I’ve got it. Like you said before, we’ll claim that we’re all children of the Mountain God.
We’re deformed because the children of the Mountain God don’t fit mortal bodies. Dying young means returning to the celestial realm as immortal attendants… I’m the God of Weishan, so they’ll believe what I say.”
“I’ll choose the kindest, most sensible child to be the next God of Weishan. I’ll only tell the truth to that one.”
She wove a new lie.
The deformed children continued to live short lives, but at least they could be happier, without falling into despair and doing harmful things.
The old village chief smiled, though with a hint of bitterness.
Before him stood the “God of Weishan”, who was really just a sixteen-year-old girl.
“All right,” He patted her on the shoulder. “That’s a good story. You should write it down.”
Immediately, the God of Weishan fetched pen and paper and wrote carefully, word by word…
[The God of Weishan is the deity of Weishan, worshiped by the villagers of Weishan Village.]
[Any who are born deformed are the children of the Mountain God, guests in Weishan Village.]
[The children of the Mountain God must train in the human realm. When their time is up, they will return to the mountain. Those of upright conduct will naturally be possessed by the God of Weishan, becoming the next God of Weishan.]
It looked rather terse, so she recalled something from her books and added two lines the old village chief had taught her:
[Do not commit even a small evil; do not neglect even a small good*.]
*This comes from an edict by Liu Bei, which basically means don’t do bad things even if you think it’s small and do good things even if you think it’s trivial.
“Words alone may not be enough. We need clear rewards and punishments.”
The old village chief smiled as he watched her. “If one of them does something bad, how will you punish them?”
The God of Weishan’s eyes lit up. “I can hide some bitter mountain yams.”
“They’re wild plants from Weishan. If you rub them on yourself, they itch like crazy but aren’t harmful. If anyone tries anything wicked again, I’ll rub some on them and say it’s the God of Weishan’s curse… oh, right.”
She picked up her brush and wrote another line:
[Do not offend the God of Weishan. Any who do shall suffer misfortune.]
“I have to scare them,” she said angrily.
And with that, she finished writing the story of the God of Weishan.
She died at seventeen, an ordinary lifespan for a deformed child. In her final moments, she really didn’t pick the oldest child but rather the one with the best character. She gave him the wooden box containing the candy and told him everything.
“You are the next God of Weishan. The box holds the Mountain God’s core. Make sure you keep it safe,” she said.
“But remember, you are not actually the God of Weishan.”
On the day she was buried, twenty‑eight‑year‑old Sun Ruyi returned from afar, bringing with her two beautiful tombstones.
Ever since the “Mountain God” legend began, villagers had liked to bury deformed children at the westernmost edge of the graveyard. Weishan Village didn’t lack stonemasons; they made many simple stone plaques to serve as tombstones for these children. Many of the children were stillborn and had no names. The stonemasons considered it inauspicious to engrave them, so they simply left the stone unmarked.
The two tombstones Sun Ruyi brought likewise bore no inscriptions.
“I understand not engraving the god’s name, but why not carve the birth and death dates?” her younger brother asked.
“Because the God of Weishan is immortal,” Sun Ruyi replied.
[You know the mountain spirit is also a god; At the foot of Weishan’s cliff, the trees stand dense.]
[Pitiful abandoned children, discarded like an old shoe; Ascends to immortality, dressed in blue robes.]
……
The third God of Weishan took office at age twelve, and he now had six children under his care.
He dutifully taught them to read and write and told them the story of the God of Weishan. The old village chief passed away, but the new one was a decent person who strongly supported his work.
A few years later, torrential rains fell on Weishan Village, causing flooding.
The God of Weishan faced an unprecedented problem…
Some people in the village began bullying the deformed children; mostly other youngsters without disabilities.
They would deliberately knock them over, hide nails around the shrine, or pretend it was an accident to brush past them with blades, leaving bloody cuts in their wake.
Some of the deformed children became depressed, staying inside the shrine day after day, saying nothing and never venturing out. Others turned aggressive and got into brawls with the village kids, coming close to causing serious casualties.
In order to calm the villagers, the God of Weishan discussed matters with the village chief. Publicly, the chief announced that they would be driven out; secretly, he sent the deformed children who bore grudges against the village up onto Weishan. There were a few abandoned quarry huts there where they could barely get by.
But that was not a lasting solution.
The third God of Weishan decided to consult the Sun family. The second God of Weishan had told him that the three Sun siblings were very dependable. Once the eldest Sun sibling heard the whole story, he directly grabbed one of the bullies and made him explain himself in person.
Confronted with the frightening appearance of the God of Weishan, the child burst into tears on the spot.
“What gives them the right?”
“Every day I’m up before dawn gathering fodder for the pigs and don’t get to sleep until nightfall. They were born short-lived and pitiful, but I’m pitiful, too!”
“All they do is read a few books and nothing else! Mom and Dad insist on feeding them while I don’t even have enough to eat!”
Feeling awkward, the eldest Sun sibling said, “That’s not true. They’ve earned some money, too…”
“You dare say they haven’t been freeloading? You dare say that?” the child shouted tearfully.
The third God of Weishan fell into deep thought.
Because of the village’s frequent rains, disaster years were common, and they couldn’t live off the villagers’ compassion forever. If the deformed children couldn’t do physical labor, then they would have to use their minds.
He began writing more letters for the villagers and asked someone to buy more books from the town. He wanted the children to learn more so they could help the village in other ways. Unfortunately, by the time these preparations were complete, he himself was on the verge of death.
“You need to read more, read books that are truly useful.” Bending his arm tremblingly, he took the hand of the future, the fourth God of Weishan.
“We have no parents or personal attachments. That makes us best suited to uphold fairness… The village doesn’t have enough teachers, so you must also help teach the children of the village…”
He gave him the wooden box with the candy, imploring, “Remember, you are not the God of Weishan. But you must be a competent God of Weishan…”
He, too, died at seventeen. That year, Sun Ruyi was thirty‑three.
She had been doing business outside and made a decent amount of money. Returning home for the funeral, she donated a large sum to her family and once again commissioned wordless tombstones.
“From now on, my family will provide the tombstones for the God of Weishan. Think of it as our good deed,” she said.
[You know the mountain spirit is also a god; At the foot of Weishan’s cliff, the trees stand dense.]
[Pitiful abandoned children, discarded like an old shoe; Ascends to immortality, dressed in blue robes.]
[The village’s boys and girls are its guests; Honored ones inside and outside the shrine.]
……
The fourth God of Weishan took up the position at fourteen, never betraying the previous one’s trust.
Weishan Village was remote, and villagers were used to settling disputes themselves. Petty conflicts broke out constantly; once tempers flared, injuries easily resulted.
After the God of Weishan stepped in, matters improved a great deal. This God of Weishan was quick-witted. He had studied law from a young age. He could argue any case in an orderly way that convinced people. Now, villagers brought disagreements to the shrine to reason things out instead of coming to blows.
During busy farming seasons, families would leave their children at the shrine, where the deformed children taught them. The “children of the Mountain God” taught reading and also arithmetic.
When the God of Weishan was twenty‑three, the village produced its very first college student. The entire village lit fireworks and banged drums. As one of the student’s former teachers, the God of Weishan was overjoyed.
The old village chief was positively beaming. He picked an auspicious day and called everyone together.
“Why don’t we hold a temple fair for the Mountain God?” he suggested excitedly, gesturing with his hands.
“We can do it every year, seven days and seven nights!”
Now that the village was better off, everyone readily agreed.
However, on the sixth day of the fair, the God of Weishan fell ill, so ill he couldn’t leave his bed. He listened to the lively festival music with a smile. That same day, he summoned his successor and handed her the small wooden box that contained the candy.
So much time had passed that the candy had begun to deteriorate. Afraid it would melt, he had wrapped it layer by layer in moisture‑absorbing paper, replacing it each year. Aside from being a bit dulled in color, it looked much as it had before.
“Remember, you are not the God of Weishan,” he told the next successor. “Weishan Village has never had a real god. It was only people.”
On the seventh day of the fair, the villagers commissioned a plaque, made a pair of couplets, and carved a wooden statue of the God of Weishan.
Within the shrine, a gleaming couplet in gold lettering was hung high on the wall, personally composed by the old village chief.
[Do no evil, heaven’s blessings are far-reaching; Practice all virtue, and the rain that nurtures all things brings deep fellowship.]
In the center, an unfinished wooden idol stood. The villagers had faithfully carved the deformed limbs, for the old village chief said that the God of Weishan had always looked unusual and there was nothing to hide. If the statue looked deformed, it would comfort the children who saw themselves in it.
But each God of Weishan had been different—different gender, different features—so no one knew which face to carve. In the end, they left only a faint smile.
They only needed to wait for the paint to dry before giving it a thorough polish.
…What shrine doesn’t have its own image of the deity?
…A small gap in the legend of the God of Weishan, one the villagers happily filled.
The villagers had always known the God of Weishan was not actually divine.
But so what? As long as the God of Weishan didn’t tear the lie apart, neither would they, and thus the God of Weishan remained a god.
On the day that God of Weishan was laid to rest, forty‑two‑year‑old Sun Ruyi returned home. This time, she kept vigil for the first seven days of mourning and never left again. That same year, she became the new village chief of Weishan.
When the statue of the God of Weishan was finally completed, the villagers brought many gifts. Sun Ruyi prepared a poem, not to honor the statue, but to remember her friends.
[You know the mountain spirit is also a god; At the foot of Weishan’s cliff, the trees stand dense.]
[Pitiful abandoned children, discarded like an old shoe; Ascends to immortality, dressed in blue robes.]
[The village’s boys and girls are its guests; Honored ones inside and outside the shrine.]
[Upholding virtue and punishing evil with clear judgment, and henceforth, justice is seen in the hearts of men.]
……
Time flew by, and so did the succession of the God of Weishan; from the fifth, to the sixth, the seventh… all the way to the tenth.
The tenth God of Weishan assumed the position at age twelve. She had three arms, four legs, and a small, undeveloped head at her neck.
She did not adopt any deformed children. The reason was simple: she was the last deformed child of Weishan Village.
Weishan Village was remote and had poor climate conditions. The land was infertile. The only specialty was the Weishan inkstone, which never sold well. Recently, muddy water often ran down the mountain, destroying crops if people weren’t careful.
All the young folks had left for the town, saying there were more jobs there, plus better schools, and indeed, over the years, Weishan Village had produced many college students, so everyone knew the importance of an education.
Many elders followed their children and grandchildren to live in town, only returning on holidays to let the kids pay respects to their ancestors. They said life was better outside, and that people lived noticeably longer there.
Strangely, after the young people departed, fewer and fewer deformed children were born. By the time of the tenth God of Weishan, not a single one had appeared.
Now, only about half the original villagers remained in Weishan. You could hardly see any young people; most who stayed were older folks attached to their home, such as Sun Ruyi.
Sun Ruyi’s older and younger brothers had passed on, yet she herself survived to the ripe old age of seventy‑eight. This was nearly unheard of in the village. She was no longer the village chief but still often visited the young God of Weishan.
With no children in need of teaching and no disputes in need of judging, the tenth God of Weishan had plenty of free time. Carrying her small wooden box, she simply moved into Sun Ruyi’s home.
One old and one young, with nothing particular to do, they read books and newspapers every day, living as though they were grandmother and granddaughter.
A few years later, something new happened in the village.
Officials from the town arrived, hanging banners and setting up a desk at the entrance for public announcements. Their main points were twofold: first, that Weishan Village’s environment contained natural mineral pollution; and second, that its location was poor and prone to disaster if the rains got any worse. In short, they were urging the villagers to relocate.
“Granny, you should leave. Don’t both your children live in the capital? You can go and enjoy your old age.” The tenth God of Weishan said anxiously, “They’re right. There’s a problem with Weishan Village’s water and soil.”
“Our village clearly isn’t poor anymore, yet the elders still die young. Meanwhile, those who left are doing so much better.”
“We can’t sell our Weishan inkstones because they smell fishy once they get wet, right? There must be something dirty in the soil dissolving in the water, and people end up drinking it… The heavier the rain, the worse the pollution, and that’s why there used to be so many kids were born deformed.”
She held the book and analyze it solemnly. “People used to just accept it because they didn’t understand, but now we have a scientific explanation. Everyone should move away.”
Sun Ruyi said nothing.
“They’re not just trying to scare us about potential disasters. Lately the rains have been getting heavier, and the soil on the mountain is unstable. A mudslide could happen. I heard the town can help people apply for free housing…”
“Ni’er, I understand,” Sun Ruyi said. “Weishan Village is already how it is. There’s no need.”
The God of Weishan was taken aback.
“All the young people have already gone, so no children will suffer anymore. It’s just us old folks left; we live each day as it comes. Why make it harder on ourselves?”
“My parents and my brothers are buried here. Why would I leave alone?”
“But… the mudslides…”
“That’s only a ‘maybe’.” Sun Ruyi sighed. “It’s been raining like this for centuries, and we’ve never had a mudslide. None of us have many years left, so what are the odds we’d be that unlucky?”
She patted the God of Weishan’s head and smiled. “You’re still young. You wouldn’t understand.”
The God of Weishan knew that Sun Ruyi had been there when the first God of Weishan came into the world, and she had also sent off the previous nine. Sun Ruyi had read many books, conducted large business ventures, served as village chief, and written poetry for the God of Weishan.
But the tenth God of Weishan still could not agree with her thinking.
She, too, had read many books. She knew that the climate of Weishan Village was shifting and the ground in the mountain was in terrible condition. They were only one prolonged downpour—a truly relentless rain—away from disaster.
So the young God of Weishan gathered scientific articles and newspaper clippings, going door to door to persuade the villagers.
The town officials couldn’t stay in the village every day, but the God of Weishan could. Thanks to her persistent efforts, another half of the villagers left.
As for the remaining elders, they were stubborn as oxen, dismissing her worries as groundless. Irritated by her pleas, they simply refused to see her. They knew she wasn’t truly divine, and she knew it, too.
The final God of Weishan died at twenty‑two.
The day before her death, she was still trying to convince Sun Ruyi to leave. But come the next morning, the old was left burying the young.
In her last moments, the God of Weishan opened the wooden box and took out that candy. There was no one to succeed her; there was no more need to wrap it up. Everyone knew Weishan Village would have no more Gods of Weishan.
In the end, the last God of Weishan clutched the candy tightly and pressed it to her chest.
She still didn’t want to die; she hated her own short life. Never before had she felt such reluctance. After all, the God of Weishan’s mission wasn’t over. At the very end, she hadn’t even managed to persuade Sun Ruyi to leave; how could she feel at ease departing like this?
She knew she wasn’t actually a god. She knew Weishan Village had no god. And yet…
“If the God of Weishan was real, that would be wonderful.”
She murmured these words and took her final breath.
Even in her last moments, her eyes remained slightly open.
When an object carries lingering attachment, and the ties of karma converge, it becomes an “E”.
Eighty years of time, ten generations of karmic bonds, plus one pure yet overwhelming wish. In the corpse’s hand, that piece of candy exuded a dense, chilling aura, gradually turning dull and lightless.
The following day, eighty‑eight‑year‑old Sun Ruyi paused before a new tombstone. Her hands trembled as she set down two pastries and a bottle of drink.
“Now I really can’t go.” Sun Ruyi smiled wryly. “If I left, who would bring offerings to the shrine?”
It was as if something responded to her words. The moment Sun Ruyi left the graveyard, a sudden gust of eerie wind rose from the new grave’s center.
In an instant, dark clouds blotted out the sun, shredded grass swirled in the air, and midday became as dark as night. The yin energy was so immense that countless evil spirits emerged in broad daylight.
…And thus, the “E” of Weishan descended upon the world.
Very soon, the villagers discovered something was wrong with the crops in their fields and the water they drank.
Day by day, the strange smell intensified, making everything inedible. Even food brought from outside quickly took on a foul reek.
Strangely enough, the offerings at the Weishan Shrine remained perfectly fine.
The older folks looked at one another. “It must be the God of Weishan causing mischief”. This phrase hovered on everyone’s lips, yet no one said it out loud. In the end, they sighed and gave in. In under half a month, all the villagers had moved away.
Sun Ruyi was no exception.
On the day she left, she lingered for a long time in front of the God of Weishan’s grave.
“You silly child. Why are you so stubborn?” Her eyes were red. “I’ll come back each year for the temple fair to bring you something to eat.”
“…And wherever you are, make sure you still eat well.”
From the next day onward, Weishan Village lay officially deserted.
Until this very day, ten years later.
……
Gulp.
Fang Xiu swallowed the fragments of candy, and countless threads of karma fell silent.
Amid the howling yin wind, a paper figure from the Underworld drifted down like a savior descending from the sky.
Only then did Fang Xiu notice that he, Cheng Songyun, and Shan Hunzi were all cloaked in a faint layer of golden light. Cheng Songyun stood as if in a daze, seemingly not comprehending what had happened. Shan Hunzi glared openly, making no attempt to hide his displeasure.
The surrounding evil spirits continued to encircle them but didn’t charge closer; they seemed quite wary the paper figure form the Underworld.
Ignoring the host of evil spirits around them, the paper figure turned to Fang Xiu with a broad grin.
“Dispersing calamity, dispelling the E—protection from all evil. The ritual is complete. I shall now escort you all back to the Tower—”
“Give it back! Give it back!”
Old Man Fu roared at the paper figure. Unlike the other evil spirits, he charged straight at the group.
“Ten years of cultivation brought me this far! Another ten and I’d become an immortal ghost! How dare the Underworld—ugh!”
The paper figure, Shan Hunzi, Cheng Songyun: “……”
Bai Shuangying: “?”
Fang Xiu, in one swift motion, rush forward and slam his shoulder into the lanky Old Man Fu, pressing his knee against him. With the Underworld’s protection behind him, Fang Xiu swung his right arm, pummeling Old Man Fu’s face with heavy blows.
Though Fang Xiu wasn’t especially brawny, his punches were ruthless. Each fist landed squarely on Old Man Fu’s distorted face. Its gaping mouth-like cavity clamped shut and turned into a narrow slit; that stark-white face was already becoming misshapen.
Old Man Fu’s real form was thin and frail. He wasn’t an evil spirit suited for close combat, and now that with his evil magic nullified, he was reduced to a literal punching bag.
The surrounding evil spirits that had been poised to attack all froze in place, terrified into silence.
For a moment, the graveyard grew deathly still, broken only by the thud of fist meeting flesh.
The paper figure: “…”
Unable to hold back, it asked, “What are you doing?”
“Testing the performance of your ‘protection from all evil’.”
Without lifting his head, Fang Xiu replied, “After all, force is mutual. He’s smashing my hand with his face.”
The paper figure was at a loss for words.
“Protection from all evil” was meant to shield the ritual participants so they wouldn’t be attacked by vengeful spirits after destroying the E. In all the time it had served, the paper figure had never seen anyone use the protection this way.
And yet, it couldn’t exactly scold Fang Xiu to “show some mercy.”
The ritual was clearly over, and yet Fang Xiu was engaging in this “hurt the enemy by a thousand, hurt yourself by a thousand” brawl. Just what was Fang Xiu… Wait… Perhaps there was a point.
No way. The paper figure slowly turned its head.
Sure enough, its bad feeling proved correct. When Fang Xiu finally tired of beating his Old Man Fu, he hefted the barely recognizable Old Man Fu in one hand, panting as he called out to Bai Shuangying.
“How’s this? Can you eat it?”
Bai Shuangying strolled over, the corners of his mouth lifting high. “Yes.”
As he approached, Fang Xiu grabbed Bai Shuangying’s sleeve to help himself stand. Once he was finally upright, he leaned weakly against his ghost.
“Was the temple fair fun?” Fang Xiu asked in a low voice.
Bai Shuangying pondered a moment. “The food was good. The ending felt… a bit underwhelming.”
Not that he was surprised. After all, from Fang Xiu’s perspective, destroying the E as soon as possible was clearly the best choice.
Hearing this, Fang Xiu muffled a laugh against Bai Shuangying’s shoulder. Bai Shuangying could feel the vibration of his chest and the racing of his heart.
“Who says the temple fair is over?” Fang Xiu covered his mouth as he whispered, “I have something better to show you.”
Bai Shuangying tilted his head, idly toying with the paper flower he wore. Finally, he seemed to have thought of something.
“All right. If your performance is interesting enough, I’ll give you something in return. Among friends, there should be give and take.”
Watching this pair—one in red, one in white—so blatantly whispering to each other, the paper figure’s mouth twitched.
It couldn’t stand it any longer. Clearly, someone here was bewitched by a seductive ghost!
Remaining strictly businesslike, the paper figure repeated, “The ritual is complete. I shall now escort you to the Tower…”
“May I leave a bit later? Just give me one more hour. I still have something to settle.” Fang Xiu wipe sweat from his forehead as he finally released his “Bai Shuangying crutch”.
Knowing Fang Xiu was a key figure in destroying the E, the paper figure remained patient.
“Ah, by all means, take your time. This ‘protection from all evil’ will last for another hour.”
Luckily for the paper figure, nobody else had so many requests.
After all that trouble, Cheng Songyun was exhausted both physically and mentally. Confirming that the unconscious companions had been teleported back to the Tower, she immediately asked to return herself. With a wave of its hand, the paper figure transformed Cheng Songyun’s body into golden light, and she vanished on the spot.
Shan Hunzi rolled his eyes. Now that it was clear there would be no reward for destroying the E, he couldn’t be bothered to argue any further.
…He was just about to request to return to the Tower when Fang Xiu blocked his path.
“There’s something you still haven’t asked me.”
Fang Xiu picked up the Luoyang shovel from the ground and leaned on it like a cane. He looked exhausted, his lips nearly bloodless.
It took Shan Hunzi a moment to realize what Fang Xiu meant: back when Fang Xiu had revealed that Shan Hunzi was only pretending to be mad, Fang Xiu had mentioned he knew exactly how he had been exposed, and that the answer would require payment.
“Stay with me for an hour, and I’ll tell you. That hour will be your fee.”
Fang Xiu winked. “An hour in exchange for learning how you slipped up. Quite the deal, no?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a rare opportunity, and I have questions for you as well. Besides, who knows, we might run into each other again someday. I don’t want us at each other’s throats.”
Shan Hunzi hesitated for two seconds. “All right.”
It was hard to refuse an offer like that. He would still need to keep faking madness in the future, and if someone else noticed, it would be a problem.
Seeing that the two had come to an agreement, the paper figure forced a smile. “Then I’ll return in about the time it takes for two sticks of incense to burn.”
With that, its form flickered and dissolved into a wisp of green smoke.
Freed from the E, the surrounding spirits began to disperse. Bai Shuangying took a seat in a leisurely manner on top of Old Man Fu, casually ripping off an arm to eat.
With Bai Shuangying no longer concealing himself, Shan Hunzi could see the seductive ghost sitting there and looked even more disdainful.
Fang Xiu was still trembling on his feet, as if his strength were spent to the very limit and he was about to collapse.
Yet, to be safe, Shan Hunzi kept a magic weapon clutched in his hand.
“Speak,” he said, clearing his throat and looking at Fang Xiu. “How exactly did you—”
Splurt.
Before Shan Hunzi could finish, hot blood spattered across his face.
A sharp Luoyang shovel had pierced straight into his chest.
The author has something to say:
The truth behind the God of Weishan is revealed! Xiao Fang’s mask has fallen off… halfway. (…In the next chapter, the other half will fall off, then Xiao Bai’s will too, and that’ll just about wrap up this volume—
As for the real story, Fang Xiu only guessed the main idea—no way he could’ve guessed all these specifics, lol. I’ll explain the rest in upcoming chapters!)
“Should someone appear on the mountainside, Clad in creeping vines and girded with trailing ivy.” —Quoted from Qu Yuan’s “Nine Songs: The Mountain Spirit.”
Furth passed through the heavy drapes of the Queen’s chamber and, as expected, found Her Majesty in the sun-drenched courtyard.
Queen Noia I was sitting on a bench under an elm tree, holding her communication device, but her gaze was fixed on the grass a short distance away. A breeze stirred, gently swaying the branches, and the spots of sunlight filtering through the leaves danced ceaselessly on her black gown.
Furth, the Queen’s personal maid, had served her for over thirty years. She knew that the Queen was once again lost in her memories. When the princess and prince were young, they often played on that patch of grass, and the Queen would sit where she was now, watching them with a smile. Years had passed, the children had grown up and no longer played before their mother, but to her, they would always remain children. Even Furth sometimes had the illusion, as if the young prince and princess were still playing on the grass.
She blinked, assuring herself that the figures of the children were merely an illusion caused by the dazzling sunlight, then quickly approached Queen Noia I and curtsied.
“Your Majesty, your gown is prepared. Please return to your chamber to dress.”
The Queen remained silent, still staring at the sunlit grass. Thinking she hadn’t heard, Furth repeated, “Prince Annot’s wedding begins in three hours, Your Majesty. We must dress you soon.”
Only then did the Queen look away from the grass, her eyes flitting over Furth’s face before returning to her communication device. Furth knew without asking that the Queen had been reading old messages again. Just a glance at the beginning, and she recognized it—a letter from Duchess Madonna. They were cousins, and after the Duchess moved far away, they could only correspond by letter. This particular letter was written about twenty years ago when Princess Alveira had just been born, and the Queen had suffered a serious car accident. Duchess Madonna had written to express her concern.
The letter began:
Dear Noia,
You had a car accident! Oh, how could this happen! I heard about your accident on the news and couldn’t believe it! I wish I could fly to your side right now! Could it really just be an accident? Was someone trying to harm you? Oh, if only I had been there…
The tone was unusually intense. Duchess Madonna was a brave and straightforward woman, usually more cautious and polite in her letters, but she must have been truly distraught when she wrote this. Her alarm was justified; the Queen had nearly lost her life in that accident. Thankfully, by divine grace, she survived. But since then, the Queen’s personality had changed—once a diligent and caring ruler, a gentle wife, and a loving mother; she became reclusive and melancholic, neglecting her duties, which she left to the Chancellor and her ministers. Her relationship with her husband deteriorated day by day. Even when Prince Sorey was unfaithful, the Queen ignored it, retreating further into the seclusion of the palace and avoiding any contact with him. Only after the deaths of Madonna and her husband did she briefly return to her old self, taking in their son Darius, an orphan, and caring for him with great affection.
As Darius and the princes grew, however, the Queen reverted to her previous reclusive state. Furth didn’t understand what had happened to her and didn’t dare speculate. She could only do her best to take care of the Queen’s daily needs and ensure her comfort.
Today was supposed to be a joyous occasion, with Prince Annot getting married. His bride was the granddaughter of the Chancellor—a girl of plain appearance but gentle disposition, well-educated, and a match suitable for the royal family. Furth understood that marrying into the Greenwald family would give the Chancellor even more control over the government, but she had watched Prince Annot grow from a boy into a dashing and elegant young man. Now he was marrying a fine lady, and Furth sincerely hoped this happy marriage would help him overcome past sorrows, regain confidence, and become a worthy heir to the empire.
Queen Noia I seemed less pleased, though she rarely seemed happy about anything.
“The gown is ready?” she asked, her voice soft and listless, as if she hadn’t recovered from the car accident twenty years ago.
“Yes,” Furth replied. “Mr. Howard designed it specifically for today’s wedding. It will suit you perfectly.” Mr. Howard was the royal family’s exclusive fashion designer.
The Queen nodded, thought for a moment, then asked, “Is it black, like always?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The Queen had always favored wearing black, and when she went out, she often wore a black hat, which might make one think she was in mourning or perhaps a widow. Furth didn’t understand the Queen’s preference but would never contradict her choices, even if she decided to wear a swimsuit in public.
Queen Noia I frowned slightly, seemingly dissatisfied with the answer.
“Attending Annot’s wedding in black? That doesn’t seem right.” It seemed the Queen had only just realized her preference might not be appropriate for celebratory occasions. “I remember having a champagne-colored gown that I wore at Madonna’s wedding. Is it still around?”
Furth remembered that gown. Lord, Madonna’s wedding had been almost thirty years ago. Was that gown still to be found?
“Uh, it should be…” she hesitated, “but I’m not sure where it is…”
“Then find it quickly,” the Queen ordered. “I want to wear it to the wedding. Hurry, or we’ll be late.”
“At once, Your Majesty.” Furth quickly curtsied and hurried back to the chamber, instructing her subordinates to search through storage for the old gown. It turned out to be much easier than anticipated. The gown was quickly located. The Queen’s former garments were carefully preserved in a special cabinet, regularly taken out for cleaning. The champagne-colored gown was still in good condition, albeit a bit old, but its style was so elegant and sumptuous that it remained fashionable even after decades. A matching shawl could cover any signs of wear.
Furth had the gown placed in a wooden box and carried it back to the courtyard.
“Your Majesty, the gown has been found.”
The Queen raised a hand, gently caressing the fabric as if touching a child. “I can’t believe it’s been so many years…” she murmured.
“Please dress now, Your Majesty,” Furth urged again.
This time, the Queen didn’t refuse and followed her back to the dressing room of her chamber. Many maids were already there, waiting to help her dress. As soon as the Queen entered, a maid took her coat and began arranging her hair and manicuring her nails. Furth personally helped her into the champagne-colored gown. Surprisingly, after all these years, the gown still fit perfectly. The Queen’s figure hadn’t changed much. Once dressed, Queen Noia I seemed ten years younger. The mirror reflected her regal and elegant demeanor, her youthful beauty polished by time into a mature, restrained allure, still radiantly charming.
Furth then brought a matching shawl. The Queen, seeing the shawl, gasped in surprise. “My goodness, I’d almost forgotten about it.” She held the shawl, hands trembling. “Isn’t this the one Madonna knitted for me?”
“Indeed, Your Majesty.”
The Queen clutched the shawl to her chest, eyes closed, seemingly lost in the joy of rediscovering something precious, yet also possibly recalling her sister’s departure and feeling sorrow.
“No…” After a long pause, she finally uttered a word. “No, this is an omen.”
“What?” Furth asked, “What kind of omen?”
“I remember just after receiving the shawl Madonna sent, I got the news that her husband had died in battle.” The Queen took a deep breath. “I remember the first time I wore this shawl for a walk, and when I came back, you told me Madonna had killed herself.”
“Your Majesty…”
“This is an omen…” The Queen shook her head vigorously. “Take it away! No, burn it! Burn it and let me never see it again!”
Furth didn’t understand why the Queen suddenly became so angry. To her, these were merely coincidences, but the Queen, superstitiously, believed they were omens. Presumably, the years of misfortune had made her suspicious.
“Very well, Your Majesty, then let’s choose another shawl…”
Before Furth could finish, the dressing room door was flung open with a bang, and a flustered servant rushed in, panting. “Your Majesty… it’s terrible! Something terrible has happened!”
The maids screamed and pulled the curtains to shield the Queen. Furth stepped forward, scolding, “Her Majesty is dressing. How dare you barge in like this! You deserve to die for this!”
The servant bowed his head. “I’m… I’m terribly sorry, Furth, but it’s urgent…”
The Queen’s voice came from behind the curtain. “Let him speak, Furth. What has happened?”
With the Queen’s permission, the servant spoke fearfully. “It’s Prince Annot! The Prince… he’s killed himself!”
“What?!”
The dressing room erupted in shock, and Furth, disbelieving, covered her mouth. “That’s impossible!” she exclaimed loudly, “Absurd! Today is his wedding day. How could he… Where did you hear such news?”
“It’s coming from the wedding venue. Everything’s in chaos outside!” The servant was nearly crying. “The prince shot himself, and by the time the doctors arrived, he was already… already…”
Furth gasped, her vision darkened, and she fainted. The last sound she heard before she fainted was the Queen’s sigh behind the curtain.
“Really?” The Queen’s tone didn’t seem at all surprised. “Annot… He’s braver than me.”
The circular door split in the middle, sliding open to both sides. Behind the door was a spherical room, perhaps designed to maintain the balance of the ship in a weightless space.
A man paced anxiously inside the room like a caged animal, his silver hair slipping onto his shoulders, which he irritably swept back behind his ears. Hearing the door open, he turned his head in surprise, froze for a few seconds, then rushed over.
“Alois!” He embraced the convalescing young man tightly, almost crushing him in his arms. “You’re alive… Thank goodness, you’re okay…”
“I’m okay…” Alois murmured. He felt the strength and warmth of Joshua’s arms, which gradually warmed his icy body, melting the winter ice in his veins, making his blood surge once again.
Only at that moment did he truly realize that he had survived.
He hugged Joshua’s back and lifted his head to kiss his lips. The assassin responded passionately, sucking on his tongue nonstop, dominatingly stealing his breath until Alois was almost out of air before letting him go.
“Leo told me you were badly injured.” The kiss slid from his lips to his cheek, then to his neck. “Do you know how worried I was?”
“It’s all healed…” Alois tilted his head back, exposing his throat to him like prey to a predator.
“Really?” Joshua murmured ambiguously in his ear. “We need to check that properly sometime…”
Just as the two were about to become even more entangled, Leo deliberately coughed loudly. “You guys, mind the occasion.” He awkwardly looked away. “There are many people in the reception room waiting to see Alois. Keep it together.”
Only then did Joshua reluctantly let go.
“Many people?” Alois blinked. “Is everyone on the Socrates?”
“Yes.” Joshua nodded. “We were almost intercepted by the Duke’s rebels halfway. Luckily the Socrates was nearby.” He frowned as he spoke, as if being rescued was not a cause for celebration but rather a misfortune.
“What’s wrong?” Alois sensed his discomfort. “You don’t seem happy?”
Leo stepped between them. “Neo Athens is a hundred thousand light-years away,” he explained. “That’s far. Their carriers never leave their home planet. That they sent the Socrates all this way…” The AI paused, giving the silver-haired assassin a meaningful look. “They came specifically for Joshua.”
“Why?” Alois blurted out.
“…Who knows.” Joshua’s answer was evasive. Alois felt he was hiding something, but before he could press further, the assassin was pulling him towards another door on the opposite side of the spherical room. Leo silently followed.
The door led to a much larger spherical chamber, much more spacious than the previous room, decorated luxuriously. It resembled more of a lavish salon than a reception room. As soon as they entered, Alois heard the high laughter of the AI Beatrice, who was vividly speaking to a group of people like a skilled orator, and her audience were the surviving crew of the ship Dream of a Cold Night.
Their arrival coincided with the end of Beatrice’s speech (Alois suspected she knew they were coming and timed it accordingly), she gracefully bowed and turned toward them, prompting the audience to look their way.
“My God, Alois!” The first to shout was the cook, Celia, “You’re alright!”
The people snapped out of their reverie, realizing their companion had miraculously survived and now stood before them. Ibb was the first to step forward, giving Alois a bear hug, nearly knocking him down with his enthusiastic embrace.
“Thank God, you’re safe!” the mechanic choked up.
Then, one by one, the rest came forward to hug Alois, the girls kissing his cheeks and playfully making faces at Joshua, who pretended not to see while he pouted.
Everyone tacitly avoided mentioning Joanna, as if the captain hadn’t had an accident and was still alive somewhere in the world. This thought intensified Alois’s sorrow. The people before him had spent more time with Joanna, some even from the beginning. They must be even more heartbroken. Yet everyone feigned joy, burying their grief deep within.
They never mourned the past; they only praised the future.
After embracing each person, Joshua quietly grabbed Alois’s hand and pulled him slightly back, guarding him like a greedy dragon hoarding his treasured possession.
Leonard managed a reluctant smile. “Now that everyone’s happily reunited, let’s discuss serious matters. What are your plans going forward?”
His words cast a shadow of dismay across everyone’s faces. They had been avoiding this question, delaying day by day as if by doing so they could forever forget Joanna’s demise. But someday they would have to face this cruel reality.
“I’ve already notified Milantu.” Beatrice spoke with a clear voice. “No response yet. I think they need some time to adjust to this… bad news.” She took a deep breath, trying to speak calmly. “I think the Leonard on that side should be able to calm everyone’s emotions well.”
“…That’s not necessarily the case,” Leo muttered.
“The Socrates can spare a small ship to take you back to Milantu,” Beatrice added. “Rest assured, even the most ruthless rebels wouldn’t dare attack a ship from Neo Athens.”
A low murmur of discussion arose in the reception room. Everyone looked at each other, undecided, and finally turned helplessly to Leo. When Joanna was alive, she was the undisputed master of the ship Lady of the Night, and Leonard, conveying her orders and advising as a consultant, was more like the embodiment of the Lady of the Night itself; he was also a servant of Milantu, exercising leadership in Joanna’s absence.
When Joanna left, Leo became their mainstay. He sighed resignedly. A machine designed to serve humans was now forced to make decisions for them.
“We return to Milantu,” he said. “The rest… We’ll discuss after we get back.”
This was undoubtedly the best decision they could make at the moment. No one objected.
“I’ll notify the crew to prepare the ship,” Beatrice said, “But there’s one thing you must know.” She elegantly turned to Joshua. “Mr. Joshua Plank must accompany the Socrates to Neo Athens. We came all this way just to find you. We cannot return without achieving our purpose.”
Joshua turned his head, squeezing Alois’s hand tightly.
“There’s no one I know there anymore,” he said sternly. “I have nothing to do with Neo Athens.”
“It truly saddens me to hear you say that.” Beatrice covered her mouth. “It was your teacher—former Governor Giorgione who ordered us to find you.”
The assassin looked surprised. “Impossible! He’s not…”
“Governor Giorgione has managed to live till today through genetic modification and cryo-preservation,” the blonde girl said softly. “He has always dreamed of welcoming the late Kester or you. Don’t you want to see Governor Giorgione?”
Joshua was silent, his expression dark. He held Alois’s hand tightly, letting him feel the intense struggle within. Although Alois didn’t know who Giorgione was or what he meant to Joshua, intuition told him their relationship was profound, worth crossing a hundred thousand light-years and deploying Neo Athens’s carrier.
He leaned close to Joshua’s ear, whispering, “Joshua, I’ll go with you.”
Joshua seemed even less pleased. “This has nothing to do with you,” he grumbled.
“That’s right.” Beatrice tilted her head. “We’re looking for Joshua Plank. Not anyone else.”
The assassin glared at her, his black-gold eyes blazing like flames from hell, startling the AI into stepping back, her crisis logic calculator nearly issuing an alert.
“He’s not ‘anyone else’,” Joshua declared coldly. “He’s my family.”
The blonde girl trembled, turning away in anger. “We can… take an extra person…”
Joshua then proudly compromised, “I’ll go to Neo Athens, with Alois.”
Ibb Descartes timidly intervened, “Aren’t you returning to Milantu?”
“Of course, we are. Just… taking a slight detour.”
“That’s a really big detour ‘accidentally’,” Beatrice said sarcastically. Joshua glared, and she sheepishly shrank her neck.
In October 1416 by the standard calendar, a month infuriating for students because their history exams always revolved around this special period. In October 1416, Duke Winnet raised the banner of rebellion, “Mad Queen” Joanna Begrel fell like a shooting star, ending the “Mythic Era” of the galaxy, and a ship from Neo Athens mysteriously appeared at the Empire’s border, speeding back to its home planet. At that moment, no one knew the purpose of its appearance. Thousands of years later, historians might open the documents, guessing its mission from its voyage log and jump trajectory. They would be surprised to find a few familiar names on the passenger list—names that shone with unparalleled immortal brilliance in the history books.
Alois’s vision darkened, and a large amount of blood gushed from his mouth, staining the inside of his helmet, blurring his view. His organs spasmed continuously, each convulsion pushing out more blood. He felt cold all over, his fingers gripping the control stick stiff as ice. He knew this was a normal reaction to being hit by infrasound waves, and he comforted himself by thinking that as long as he kept breathing and called for help soon, he would survive. But the severe pain and cold repeatedly dashed his optimism.
A sudden, nameless fear surged in his heart. He was going to die here, in the vast, empty space of the universe, alone, without a living soul beside him.
‘No, that won’t do,’ he thought. He hadn’t completed the mission given by the captain; he needed to ensure his companions escaped safely; he needed to return to Joshua…
If he were the protagonist in some novel, now would be the time for a miraculous weapon to descend from the heavens to rescue him from peril.
He refilled the cockpit with air, then removed his helmet, finally clearing his vision.
Then, the radar indicated that an immeasurably large object had appeared ahead—through the optical screen, space seemed to warp, and a massive gray-white spaceship emerged from a jump state, slowly transforming from a sphere, its struts and outer layers unfolding like a flower blooming in the starry sky.
Alois’s lips moved. He recognized this spaceship; he had seen it countless times on television—it was one of the three carriers Neo Athens prided itself on, the Socrates.
He loosened his grip on the control stick, allowing himself to fall into darkness.
Alois was groggy and dreamt a lot. Sometimes he was vaguely aware that he was dreaming, and at other times he couldn’t tell whether he was in a dream or reality. His dreams were noisy and chaotic, with many people talking, but the noise made it impossible for him to hear anything clearly.
He had a vague vision of Darius swinging his fists at him. Darius, still a teenager then, was the unrivaled top student at school, always carrying an arrogant demeanor. Then Darius turned into Annot. The Prince had a faint smile with Alveira silently standing behind him. Soon, the siblings transformed into the three pirate siblings, chirping about something he couldn’t make out.
After a long while, the three’s figures also vanished. Alois wandered aimlessly in the dark, feeling helpless like a child, walking endlessly until a silvery light appeared before him. At first, he thought it was the Bard’s graceful, white figure, but it turned out to be the silver-haired Joshua.
He opened his mouth to call Joshua’s name, but all that came out was blood. The blood dripped to the ground, soaking a large patch of darkness, the intense smell of blood permeating the surroundings. Then the blood transformed into a fluttering red flag, then into Joanna’s red hair.
The female pirate looked at him under the starry sky, silent, just staring quietly. Alois stood face to face with her, seemingly close enough to touch, yet separated by an entire galaxy.
It felt like centuries had passed, yet it seemed just a moment. Joanna gave him a comforting smile, turned, and stepped into the endless dark.
Alois opened his eyes, unsure if he was still dreaming or truly awake. He tried moving his arms; sensation gradually returned to his body, and the lingering pain told him he was still alive.
So he began to look around. He lay on a hard platform, covered by a transparent lid. He tried to lift his arm but found it obstructed by something like water, hampering his movement. This must be a medical pod, he thought. Am I saved? Where am I?
He mustered all his strength and tapped on the transparent lid, making a “clang” sound.
“It’s good to see you awake,” a crisp female voice came through. It was a stranger’s voice, one Alois had never heard before. He turned his sore neck and saw a young girl standing outside the medical pod. She looked to be about eighteen or nineteen years old, her dazzling golden hair shining brightly. She wore a black, elaborate gown, somewhat similar to Leo’s but more ornate, like a custom-made evening dress.
“Who… are you?” Alois rasped, his voice echoing weirdly in the healing fluid, making it unclear whether the girl could understand him.
The girl smiled faintly. “I am Beatrice, the artificial intelligence serving this ship—” She gestured to indicate her location. “The Socrates.”
It took several minutes for Alois’s sluggish brain cells to search his memory for “Beatrice”. Yes, she was one of the three AIs of Neo Athens, named after the beautiful angel in Dante’s “Divine Comedy” who guided the poet into heaven.
She said this was the Socrates? One of Neo Athens’s three carriers?
“How… did I end up here?”
“You were severely injured in battle,” the AI explained, “and just as the Socrates was passing nearby, it rescued you.”
Alois faintly remembered the giant spaceship he saw before he passed out. “What about my companions? The captain? What about Joanna? Was she saved too? How is she?”
A trace of sadness flickered across Beatrice’s face. “You were very badly injured.” She sidestepped the question about Joanna, giving Alois an ominous feeling. “You need to rest. Once you recover, I will tell you everything.”
“No! I want to know now!” he roared, pounding on the transparent lid, which remained immovable. The projection of the girl AI suddenly vanished. Alois smelled a sweet scent, then his limbs grew incredibly heavy, strength draining from his body, eyelids weighed down as if bearing immense weight. He thought, I’m lying in healing fluid. They must have mixed some sedative in it. He couldn’t even resist as he drifted back into sleep.
This time, he didn’t dream.
When he woke up again, nearly all the pain had disappeared, but he felt extremely listless, unwilling to move. The healing fluid still surrounded him. It seemed the doctors on the Socrates had no intention of letting him out of the pod yet.
“Beatrice?” Alois tried calling the AI’s name.
Instead, a familiar figure appeared before him—purple long hair, ornate scholar’s robe—it was Leonard.
“You’re awake.” Leonard’s face showed no joy, as if Alois’s survival was something not worth celebrating.
“Leo?” Alois was very surprised. “Why are you here?”
“They found a chip on you,” Leo replied dully. “I’m now loaded onto this ship.” He irritably waved his hand. “Stuck with a nagging woman!”
He was probably referring to Beatrice.
“Leo, how is everyone else?” Alois asked the question that had been lingering in his mind. “What about Joshua? The Captain?”
“Joshua is fine.” Leo was more forthcoming than Beatrice. “Everyone’s fine… except for the Captain.”
Alois shuddered. “The Captain… What happened to her? Is she injured? Or…”
“Don’t ask,” Leonard interrupted him. “Stop talking. Don’t say anything.”
Alois took a deep breath, feeling the healing fluid fill his lungs. He wanted to cry out but couldn’t even make a sound.
This can’t be. The Captain couldn’t possibly be dead. She’s Joanna Begrel, the invincible legend of the galaxy. How could she die!
Alois hoped this was just another of his many nightmares. He stared at Leo, hoping to see a hint of deception on the latter’s face, hoping Leo would suddenly burst out laughing and say, “Ha, you believe that?” hoping Joanna would suddenly appear from somewhere, mercilessly mocking his naivety…
But there was nothing.
With his head throbbing, he fell asleep again in the sedative-laden healing fluid. He woke up a few times, vaguely hearing voices around him, but he was too weak to ascertain who they were and what they were saying.
Days passed in a daze, and when Alois awoke from a dream for the umpteenth time, he found the lid of the healing pod open, lying stiffly on the platform, dressed in a sleeveless hospital gown. Next to the pillow, neatly folded, was a set of clothes, not his own.
He cautiously sat up, moved his spine, and realized he felt no pain at all.
Leonard, hands tucked in his sleeves, appeared beside him, startling him.
“I was just about to wake you up,” the AI said expressionlessly. “Since you’re awake, come down and walk around.”
Alois stepped onto the cold floor barefoot. After standing up, he felt dizzy and nearly fell back onto the platform. It took a while to stabilize. Leo looked helpless. “Be careful,” he said. “You’re still a bit anemic.”
“Okay.” Alois steadied himself, waited for the dizziness to subside, then picked up the neatly folded clothes next to him, compared them against his body—they fit perfectly, clearly specially prepared for him by the Socrates. After dressing, he discovered that the clothes were actually a robe, similar to Leo’s but much simpler in style.
“Come with me. Someone is waiting for you.”
Following Leo out of the medical room, they faced a circular corridor leading to a large circular door. Leo walked to the door, glanced back at Alois as if urging him to hurry up.
“Who is waiting for me?” Alois approached him nervously.
Leonard showed the first smile since their reunion. “Of course, it’s the person you want to see the most.”
Kinky Translations 