Chapter 1327: I'm the Bait? |
Cheng Shi's mind went completely blank.
What did you just say?
An Shenxuan's death handed the Fun God a thread of [Origin]'s power — and then the Fun God used that thread to lay a trap, with Cheng Shi himself as the bait?!
No wonder he'd said that when the world-ending tide came, he could steal a thread of [Origin]'s power from [Origin] itself. Apparently the so-called "world-ending tide" was the fiction, while stealing the [Origin] power was the reality.
He was bait?
All that desperate, defiant resistance — and in the end it had only served the Fun God's schemes?!
Cheng Shi fell silent for a long time. Then he burst into wild laughter.
Oh sure, sure, sure — he was the bait, the binding agent, the goddamn Fixed Destiny. Everything except himself.
Wonderful. Just look at how red that clown's nose is up on the stage!
"This. Is merely. My speculation.
To resist. [Origin]. With the world's power. Alone — holds no hope.
The only option. Is to seize. [Origin]'s power. But one for one. Is not favorable. And even carries. The risk. Of [Origin] noticing.
I likewise. Do not know. [Deceit]'s full plan. I can only. Speculate as much.
But you. May truly be. The world's key."
I have absolutely no desire to be any world's key.
Though all of this was just [Death]'s guesses, Cheng Shi felt this theory wasn't impossible. After all, the world had been reset once before — which meant the Fun God's thread of [Origin] power had already been spent at least once.
Trading old for new was something even he himself would do. A sharp operator like the Fun God would do no less.
Followers reflect their patron. Cheng Shi knew the Fun God's nature all too well.
Looking at him was practically like looking in a mirror.
But all of this speculation rested on one premise — the Fun God could not be an Outer God.
After living through that nightmare, Cheng Shi had developed what you might call Outer God PTSD.
"So this suffocating, desperate false Era Curtain Call — it was actually the Fun God using [Origin] power to ignite the stolen Change Authority of [Fate], producing a doomsday simulation of his own imagination?
But the thing is, [Fate]'s Variation Authority has already been..."
Cheng Shi thought of the Flame of Hope — but considered more carefully, the Flame of Hope was only the part of [Fate]'s Variation that [Fate] had willingly cast away as unacceptable. [Fate] itself still retained the Change Authority.
"Precisely. So it is.
All the details. Of that script. Were fabricated. By [Deceit]'s pen.
Do not let. The script. Mislead you. Into confusing. The true wills. Of the other gods.
[Birth] may speak. For [Birth]. But [Silence]. Would never express. Doubt. In such a way."
"Hm?" Cheng Shi's attention snapped up. "[Silence] is also part of the Fear Faction, right? My lord?"
"Fear Faction...
Apt. Description.
Yes. [Silence] also. Fears.
Perhaps [Silence]'s fear. Is different. From mine. But [Silence]. Has always. Walked. Alongside [Deceit].
[Silence] would never. Doubt [Deceit]. Nor would [Silence]. Violate its own will. To break its silence."
Ha.
So the distorted wills and disfigured postures of the gods were simply the Fun God's most vicious smear campaign against his own allies.
This was no [Deceit]. This was pure Zhen Yi-level scheming.
Hearing this, Cheng Shi finally felt a weight lift from his chest.
Even if he still didn't know how the Fun God planned to resist [Origin] — at least he had confirmed one thing: the Fear Faction was still standing.
That was enough. Enough to let him catch a single breath in the gap between despairs.
Bad news had come in such waves that he'd forgotten how to receive good news. He only wanted to gather information from the Fear Faction gods as quickly as possible, map out the Fun God's layout, and never again be as powerless as he had been in that trial.
But [Death] could only offer commentary on the false Curtain Call. As for what [Deceit] actually intended to do — no one could guess.
"I understand. Your urgency. I will also. Go speak. With the other gods. To verify. A few things.
But before that. The whereabouts. Of my follower..."
Cheng Shi paused, his voice carrying a slight heaviness. "He's no longer in this world."
"BOOM—"
World-scorching flames nearly consumed the entire void in an instant. The great skull stared directly at Cheng Shi, asking each word with deliberate weight:
"Where. Did he. Go?"
"To save one clown — he went behind the curtain of another clown's stage.
But my lord, please don't worry. He will return.
Trust your follower not to yield so easily to another [Death]'s throne.
And trust the clown standing before you — to bring a miracle to this world.
I'll go retrieve him myself.
I'll win it back myself."
...
Meanwhile, elsewhere.
The Jokers had finally dispersed. Li Jingming — who had promised to recover the lost memories for everyone — once again made his way to the [Memory] Collection Hall.
He was here for his patron.
Whether or not [Memory] possessed the memories Cheng Shi had described, Li Jingming was confident he could learn something from his patron's words. He knew his patron — if [Memory] hadn't known, his offering would be enough to pique its curiosity, drawing a god who governed memory into the excavation of those very memories. If [Memory] did know, then what Li Jingming already understood would become "conversation currency," allowing him to learn more details in return.
Li Jingming's plan was sound. There was only one thing he hadn't accounted for.
[Memory] wasn't here.
The entire [Memory] Collection Hall was utterly still. The artifacts that were always faintly blurred in the past had, strangely, become sharp and vivid today. Li Jingming stood before one of the walls, cast a single sweeping glance — and found over a hundred years of vivid, winding stories from some long-past era on the Land of Hope flooding into his mind at once.
He hadn't "read" these memories. They had surged toward him.
The deep blue light was like a tidal wave from the Sea of Memory, swallowing Li Jingming whole and drowning him in the churning currents of memory. Every breath he drew was no longer air — it was pure, unfiltered memory.
Memories that didn't belong to him crashed into his mind in waves, and within moments, they threatened to overwhelm his sense of self.
Li Jingming realized that if this continued, he would cease to be himself. He had to struggle free — but how could he climb out from the torrential Sea of Memory...
The answer was simple enough, in retrospect. As he sank, he spotted a gleam of light. That pinpoint of brightness was the only guide in the black depths of the sea, drawing him toward the light.
Li Jingming forced himself to endure the overwhelming discomfort of memory flooding his mind and fought forward desperately. The memories of the Cloud Field Temple were shrinking, disappearing in the deluge of countless others. The silhouette of his master was blurring beneath the weight of tens of thousands of remembered faces. Li Jingming couldn't accept this — he loved to record, but never by erasing what came before.
All of his memories had meaning. But now, true "memory" was slowly eroding that meaning.
Fortunately, the struggle was worth it. He reached the gleam of light just before his sense of self was extinguished — and then he simply blacked out.
In the final moment before his consciousness dissolved, he felt all awareness returning to him at once. And in his hand, there was now something crystalline and radiant.
What... was this?
