Chapter 1365: The Assembly of Gods Convention — The Circus

Foolish Game of the Gods

"I heard the Chosen One gets different treatment from the rest of the top ten — a private divine audience. Zhen Xin is probably already in a one-on-one with the Fun God as we speak. Want to impersonate Zhen Yi and stir up chaos? I'd advise a certain someone to be careful not to turn themselves into the entertainment while trying to create it."

[Deceit] believers would not necessarily resort to violence — but they would absolutely resort to sarcasm.

After a few scattered "heh"s landed, the silent stage felt like someone had yanked away a curtain, and things suddenly came alive.

"Ha. You think I'm Long Jing?"

The scoffing voice came from the male [Deceit] believer standing at the highest occupied position. He was completely unclothed — with only a mask positioned below him, covering critical areas, preserving the story's tonal integrity.

With the top three absent, he was the highest-scoring person on stage. Though this fraudster had often aligned his Ladder of Ascent remarks with President Gong's stated positions, he clearly wasn't very satisfied with Long Jing being ranked above him.

He let out a snort of contempt toward those below him, leaped nimbly, and landed on the platform that belonged to Long Jing — looking around briefly, then frowning and muttering:

"Really not here? Strange. Long Wang and the Zhen girl — fine, they're Chosen Ones, their absence is their business. But him, the eternally second-place guy — where did he run off to join the excitement?"

"?"

Long Jing, who had already been feeling that people were talking about him, had been on the verge of stepping out and reasserting his presence — to give these crowd a little taste of his bearing. But upon hearing those words, President Gong's eyes swiveled — and he quietly retracted the hand he'd been using to grip the mask's edge, slipping back to the shadowed side of the mask where no one could see him.

In the darkness, a pair of wickedly amused eyes gleamed with quiet light — the look of a predator waiting for prey to expose a weakness.

Let's see just how you end up embarrassing yourself.

The gathered fraudsters below watched as the unclothed fourth-place player jumped to the third-place mask platform without any visible "rule punishment," everyone's expressions making a show of their own — and then the jibes started flying.

"You really are something. Can't beat President Gong on the Ladder of Ascent, but at the Convention you just jump up and take his spot. I'd say you look less like an Acrobat and more like a clown.

Strange world we live in — the Acrobat acts like a clown, the Victim acts like an Acrobat. So who's left to act like a Victim?"

Before the voice had even finished, an arrow screamed through the air and exploded that mocking-smiled skull. The arrow was swift beyond measure — but drew no blood, since it had only punctured an illusion. The real Master of Trickery had already taken cover elsewhere.

The crowd saw this coming. Not a flicker of surprise — just a collective chorus of "what a pity."

The archer on the ninth mask platform raised their bow in a display of dominance, scoffing: "Sorry — I thought you were angling to be the Victim."

A cold voice came from the shadows of the eighth mask platform.

"Gutsy, Du Qiyu. You dare throw punches at the Convention? Keeping that sharp a mind means you've done plenty of beast-taming. If you didn't bring all your beasts in with you, watch yourself — don't end up dying here."

The bandaged man touched his bow, unbothered, and scoffed again.

"I just shot an arrow at the air. By what definition is that 'throwing punches'? Are you hurt? Are you dead? No? Well then, ha — what exactly are you barking about? Even if you know I'm a Beast Tamer and you're trying to act like a good dog to earn my favor, there's no need to be so desperate."

"Your mom's dead."

That wasn't an insult. It was a statement.

No one who made it this far was a simple character. No one here would lose composure over a war of words — but before deciding to actually act, talking cost nothing.

The Master of Trickery hiding in the shadow of a mask spoke with deep disdain. "How did a freak like you end up in a fraudster's crowd?"

"Me, a freak? I can't possibly be more of a freak than the one who came here without any clothes."

"?" The unclothed man on the third platform took issue with that. He clarified with great seriousness: "I am being strategically preemptive. I stripped off my underwear in advance, so there's nothing left for anyone to trick away."

"Who wants your underwear?"

"None of your business."

"..."

"...You two are both equally ridiculous. But the one at the top is a real fraudster — what are you, exactly? You really think you're a Beast Tamer? Pah — go back to your Sea of Desire."

At those words, the smile on the bandaged man's face slowly froze. His voice went cold. "You've investigated me? Where did you get that from?"

"From your mom's mouth," the Master of Trickery continued cheerfully. "Satisfied? She also asked me to pass you a message: she found you a stepdad down below, and gave birth to a little brother for you. Happy?"

The bandaged man's entire body trembled — then seized his bow and fired three arrows in rapid succession into the shadows of the platform above, while bursting into unhinged laughter.

"Satisfied, absolutely satisfied — thank you for helping me find my biological parents. Now if you'd be so kind as to pass them a message in return — tell them I met a very fine dog today, nice coat, and I'm sending it down to keep them company."

"Whoosh whoosh whoosh —"

Three arrows followed by three more — the bandaged man moved with terrifying speed. Before anyone could react, the mask platform above had been turned into a porcupine. He kept firing and snarled: "Don't worry. I'll personally send you down there."

"That's all right. I have no interest in replacing your father."

The Master of Trickery scoffed and struck back without hesitation. At this point, any residual concern about the Convention's rules had evaporated — there was something far more important than rules happening here. Specifically: these fraudsters could not be allowed to go around saying he'd lost his nerve.

And so — the fight broke out at the Assembly of Gods Convention.

By any measure, this was an absolutely detonating development. Other believers had waited an entire year, desperately hoping for the chance to stand before their god — while this gang of fraudsters started throwing down before the audience even began, right in full "view" of their god.

But among the fraudsters, no one found this particularly problematic. If anything, they felt it wasn't abstract enough yet.

Because the more abstract thing was happening above them. The [Deceit] believers on the fifth and sixth platforms put their heads together — and right there on the spot, opened a betting pool.

The seventh-place player wanted to get in on it, opted to bet on the Master of Trickery winning — then jumped over, looked at the odds, and immediately jumped back.

Because the bet had nothing to do with who won or lost the fight. These two were betting on whether the fourth-place player had underwear under his mask, and if he did — what color it was.

Solid color: 1 for 5. Pattern: 1 for 17. None at all: 1 for 10,001.

Any sane person would pick option three for the house to lose money — but someone on that stage who was very much not sane picked option one.

The fifth-place bookmaker was curious. He asked: "What makes you dare pick one?" The sixth-place player gave a cryptic smile. "I've seen him wearing them."

"..."

The scene went instantly quiet.

Even the two fighters stopped. Five pairs of eyes turned simultaneously toward the third mask platform — to find the unclothed mask-wearer standing with complete solemn dignity at the edge of the mask, addressing the crowd below:

"I'm betting on none."

He then lifted the mask from beneath him in front of everyone.

He won.

The bookmaker folded the pool and prepared to skip payment. The sixth-place player raised a middle finger and swore freely.

The only quiet one was seventh, sitting on his own mask platform, face expressionless, unsurprised by any of it.

This was a [Deceit] believer's Assembly of Gods Convention. This was the abstract circus these fraudsters offered their patron.

Cheng Shi, who had witnessed the whole spectacle from behind the transparent curtain, stood with his mouth open — and let out an impressed exclamation inside. He had never imagined that even his understanding of [Void] was still too orthodox. These people — they were the true reflection of this era.

Though that aside — that Xiao Qi... what was going on with him?

His gaze settled on the bandaged man at the ninth platform who had stopped fighting, and his brow furrowed slightly. The bandaged man's wrapping was indeed at the same spot where Xiao Qi had once been injured on his face. But why was he still alive?

Had the Flaying Bone Knife failed to take effect?

It shouldn't have. Unless someone had impersonated Xiao Qi's identity — but who would that be?

Cheng Shi didn't make a move yet. He decided to keep watching for a while longer.