Chapter 454: A Brave New World (Happy Ending: The Dawn of Civilization) |
In the conference room of the Jiang City Weird Investigation Bureau, satellite imagery of the Shangri-La Snow Mountain was projected onto a large screen.
The eternal glaciers stood in silent stillness, devoid of human figures or ghostly apparitions, as solitary as they had been since the dawn of time. Then, in an instant, the image on the screen vanished without warning, replaced by a vast, blinding whiteness. Everyone knew then that the final gambit had begun.
From that point on, no one could know what was happening on the snow mountain. All they could do was wait, their hearts heavy with anxiety, for the outcome to reveal itself.
No one spoke, for any words would feel inadequate for the gravity of the moment. They all remained silent; even if humanity was on the verge of annihilation, it was not for them to utter its last words.
“Tick, tock, tick, tock...” The mechanical clock, installed at the turn of the century, ticked at a maddening rhythm, yet no one rose to stop it. Under the immense pressure, even the simple act of movement was forgotten. The people sat like statues, their eyes fixed motionlessly on the screen.
An unknown amount of time passed before the sound of rain began to patter against the windows. It started as a sparse drizzle but, within seconds, transformed into a torrential downpour, crashing down from the heavens.
The gray-black sky was blanketed by thousands of miles of dense clouds. A heavy curtain of water cascaded down like a waterfall, as if the ocean itself had been suspended in the air and overturned upon the land. A fierce wind howled, whipping up monstrous waves as colossal raindrops swirled through the air. The great flood of myth that had once submerged the world must have begun with such a prelude, an unrestrained outpouring of divine wrath.
The silver eye at the zenith of the sky wept tears of blood, then squeezed shut the very next second, transforming into a white line that slashed across the horizon. The mysterious and bizarre aura dissipated at a palpable rate, like the white contrail left by a passing airplane, diluted and faded by the rain until it dissolved into the gray canopy above.
The drumming of the rain drowned out all other sounds, becoming the sole requiem between heaven and earth. The spiritual rain fell upon every corner of the world, striking the white glass of churches, the gray smokestacks of factories, and the black rooftops of towns...
“Is the Ancestral God dead?” a council member asked, his voice choked with emotion. “This rain... it’s just like the one in Jiang City half a month ago...”
No one knew the definitive answer. Electronic devices began to malfunction catastrophically in the storm. The lights flickered twice, as if from a bad connection, and then the conference room was plunged into complete darkness. The projection screen went black, the air conditioning and ventilation systems ceased to function, and the mechanical clock continued its monotonous ticking, as if it would go on that way until the end of time.
Every surveillance satellite had failed simultaneously. Not only could they no longer observe the situation in Shangri-La, but they had also lost sight of what was happening in other cities. Yet, everyone could feel the extraordinary nature of the rain now descending upon the world.
They held their breath, silent and still like corpses in a coffin awaiting burial, continuing their placid wait for judgment to be delivered. They waited and waited, until lines of silver text suddenly materialized in the darkness before them, accompanied by a solemn and majestic voice:
[In the place where a god has fallen, all that is weird, mysterious, and grotesque—past and future—shall perish alongside it.]
The declaration of the rule was as cold and detached as ever, but it was the final verdict on the ultimate gamble. The people finally knew the outcome. It was far from disappointing; on the contrary, it signified immense surprise and hope.
The council members, casting aside their usual composure, leaped to their feet and embraced one another. The sight of their faces, streaked with tears from the aftershocks of the god's fall, was not out of place in this moment.
They stammered to one another, their words a jumble of relief: “The Ancestral God is really dead. Lin Jue won. Humanity is victorious... It’s like a dream.”
Yes, it was like a dream. Although they had placed their final hopes in Lin Jue, they had never truly believed he could accomplish this near-impossible feat. After all, this was the Ancestral God, different from the Sea God or Qi.
How did he do it? What price did he pay? Will he come back? And how should they face him now?
On any other day, upon hearing that Lin Jue had achieved yet another great deed, certain council members who held grievances against him would have inevitably begun scheming of political maneuvers to diminish his gains.
But now, under the downpour brought by the death of a god, all personal desires, no matter how beautifully embellished, seemed dark and contemptible. The pettiness of an individual was so small and insignificant before an event of absolute, cosmic scale.
It was like how people might complain that a lighthouse on the sea wasn't bright enough and presume to dictate its dismantling and modification, but they would never dare to question the sun itself. Because the sun is simply the sun.
The council members reflected on their past actions, and all felt a deep sense of shame. They thought that when Lin Jue returned, whether he was a calculating schemer or a selfless rationalist, they would willingly let him take the highest position, to steer the future course of the great ship named "Humanity."
Of course, by then, the matter would likely be out of their hands. They weren't people who clung to power, either. If Lin Jue wished it, they would be willing to resign in disgrace.
Three consecutive hours of torrential rain created massive pools of standing water. The frigid rainwater poured into the Weird Investigation Bureau building, leaving the first-floor ground slick and wet.
As time passed, the electronic equipment gradually came back online. The council members, soaked in the damp air, operated the surveillance satellites with trembling hands.
Images from every province and city were transmitted back; it was raining all over the world. The death of the Ancestral God had a far greater impact than that of the Sea God. Centered on the Shangri-La Snow Mountain, the land of Godfall expanded infinitely in all directions, eventually blanketing the entire globe.
Leaves that had fallen into the dust flew back to withered branches. An old locust tree that had been chopped down trembled, its gnarled branches slowly straightening as it reconnected with its uneven stump. A skeleton lying in a fetid ditch sprouted fine tendrils of flesh, which wove together layer by layer into living tissue, until a whole and complete man pulled himself up using a telephone pole, looking around in a daze.
“Why is it raining? How did I end up lying here?” All over the world, countless men, women, and children, newly resurrected from the dead, asked variations of the same question.
“I could’ve sworn I was still in class at school...”
“Yeah, I remember being tucked safely in bed. Did I sleepwalk?”
Countless monsters reverted to their human forms, and countless corpses were brought back to life. They exchanged confused glances, found no answers, and dazedly began to walk toward their respective homes.
“What a downpour. Let’s go home. Go home, get some sleep, get some rest...”
“See you tomorrow, see you tomorrow...”
In the Magic City of the Dragon Province, an old man with a hunched back pushed his tricycle against the flow of the crowd in the rain. He had lost his shoes at some point and was now stepping barefoot into puddles, stopping one hurried pedestrian after another.
“Have you seen my granddaughter? She’s about this tall, up to my waist, with a little braid...” he asked over and over, his face creased with worry.
After asking the tenth person, he suddenly heard a crisp, childish voice behind him. “Grandpa, why aren’t you wearing any shoes?”
A little girl in a floral dress reached out and tugged at the corner of the old man’s shirt, her expression puzzled. The old man turned, and when he saw the girl's face, his already wrinkled features crinkled even more. He grinned from ear to ear and swept her into his arms as if he held the entire world. “My sweet girl, where did you run off to? Grandpa was so worried...”
“Grandpa, I had a really strange dream. In my dream, there was a very tall, very big snow mountain!”
“What’s a snow mountain like? Grandpa has never seen one in his life.”
“A snow mountain is... um, I forgot! But I remember you promised to catch butterflies for me!” “Alright, when the rain stops, Grandpa will take you to catch butterflies!”
...
One year later, in the break room of the Shangri-La branch of the Weird Investigation Bureau.
Lin Chen sat on the sofa, holding his phone to his ear, his tone light and cheerful. “Mom, everything’s fine here. My colleagues are all great, and the food in the cafeteria is really good. I just became a full-time employee not long ago, signed a ninety-nine-year contract, so it’s basically a job for life...
“Don’t worry, Mom, it’s definitely a legitimate organization. It’s a higher level than any other department. Every time we have an operation, we have the police and armed forces cooperating with us...
“You’re asking about Qi Si? After college, everyone gets busy with their own things. Why would he have time for me? And I wouldn't want to bother him. Besides, our work has confidentiality requirements...
“A girlfriend? Not yet. My work and life haven’t stabilized, and the organization has its rules. There’s no rush for that kind of thing...”
After appeasing his parents’ concerns, Lin Chen hung up and chuckled self-deprecatingly.
His parents were simple, down-to-earth people, out of the loop. They didn’t know the connection between Qi Si and the god Qi, nor did they know the weight of the sins their own son carried.
So he let their misunderstanding continue, reporting only the good news and hiding the bad. In this pretense of a peaceful life, he had unknowingly learned to lie without batting an eye.
A year ago, the sharp pain of his heart being pierced had yet to fade when Lin Chen opened his eyes again to find himself standing in a downpour, completely unharmed.
He could no longer feel the presence of his identity card. He stared blankly as the bizarre scenes around him twisted and faded under the cleansing rain, gradually returning to normal. Only then did he belatedly realize:
The Final Instance was well and truly over. The Weird Game had vanished completely from this world.
It was, without a doubt, a good ending. Lin Chen felt a genuine sense of joy. He hitchhiked, worked odd jobs, and borrowed money, finally crossing the ocean from North America back to Jiang City. There, he encountered the Weird Investigation Bureau, which was in the process of mobilizing former players for post-war recovery efforts.
Indeed, although the people and things affected by the weird had been restored, the long period of chaos had still created many nests of sin and filth. Numerous lawless opportunists had emerged, and buildings destroyed by conflict needed to be repaired.
Furthermore, while the weird had vanished from nearly every region of the world, a barrier of wind and snow had appeared in Shangri-La, enclosing the entire mountain and isolating it from the outside world. People nearby found it impossible to pass through the storm, but they often had nightmares of demons and ghosts. Occasionally, when they looked toward the mountain, they would see phantom legions of corpses and flickering shadows.
The Bureau suspected that a portion of the weird was hiding on the mountain, ready to reignite at any moment. Moreover, Lin Jue had never emerged since entering the mountain. No one knew if he was alive or dead, and it felt as if a sword of Damocles hung over everyone's heads, its threat unresolved.
They intended to recruit a group of courageous players to venture into the mountain and investigate. Lin Chen volunteered, and upon being recognized, was immediately made to sign a ninety-nine-year contract that all but signed his life away.
The salary and benefits were quite good, but the daily work was rather dangerous. Lin Chen treated it as a form of atonement for his past actions.
Someone had once expressed sympathy for Lin Chen, saying he had been deceived by Qi Si from the very beginning and shouldn't still be entangled in his affairs.
But Lin Chen had earnestly refuted this: that wasn’t it at all. Even if he could do it all over again, he would still make the same choice. Qi Si had saved him three times; his three lives belonged to Qi Si, and he absolutely had to repay that debt.
He didn’t agree with Qi Si’s actions, but he had been unable to change them. So let it be that a portion of his atonement was for Qi Si’s sake.
“Lin Chen, are you ready over there? We’re about to set out!” Li Yunyang, dressed in a thick protective suit, yelled through her comms unit.
Lin Chen put away his phone, pulled the protective mask over his face, zipped up his suit, and replied, “I’m ready. On my way to assemble.”
The expedition team crossed the boundary of the mountaineering base camp and entered the snow mountain. The barrier of wind and snow, seemingly insurmountable, was only a deterrent for ordinary people. The men and women who were once players passed through this natural chasm with ease, setting foot on the steep slopes at the mountain’s base.
The ice and snow had preserved time itself. The footprints of past climbers were embedded in the mountain path, their scattered imprints clearly visible.
With Li Yunyang in the lead and Lin Chen and the others following behind, they pressed onward, trudging against the wind blowing down from the summit, stepping in the footprints of those who had come before.
In the distance, the ice walls took on a strange, splayed formation, as if they had been violently split apart from the center by some force, or perhaps had deliberately parted to reveal a path. Tiny icicles grew upon the glaciers, inserting new sheets of ice into the original walls, making the cluster of glaciers resemble a blossoming ice flower encircling a central clearing.
Standing on the flat ground was a translucent ice sculpture. It was clearly a corpse, covered by snow and ice, that had rapidly frozen solid in the sub-zero temperatures, becoming a rigid statue. It was forever fixed in the pose it held at the moment of death, unchanged by the passage of sun, moon, and years.
The team approached in silence and saw that it was the body of a man, kneeling on one knee. His hands were clasped tightly around the hilt of an ancient bronze sword, which he had precisely driven through his own heart. The blood had frozen the instant it flowed, and through the translucent shell of ice, one could faintly discern its gilded hue.
It was the blood of a god.
Fear of a corpse is a human instinct, but no one who saw this body felt any repulsion. Instead, they instinctively fell silent, as if they were present at a funeral, paying their most sincere tribute to the sacrificed.
After a year of settling, little remained of the godfall’s aftershock. Only the cold wind, carrying shards of ice, swirled around the frozen body, etching irregular patterns on the surface of the ice below.
Li Yunyang stared at the body. After a full fifteen minutes of silence, she said softly, “It’s Senior Lin Jue. He became the Ancestral God and then killed himself, transforming the entire world into a land of Godfall, insulated from the weird.”
Lin Chen was silent as well. He thought back to his few, rare interactions with Lin Jue. His initial reverence had been too vague, and their later confrontations had always been filled with hostility and suspicion. For a long time, he had been unable to truly understand Lin Jue, swayed instead by his own emotions.
Over the past year, with Lin Jue’s whereabouts unknown, humanity, freshly rescued from the brink of extinction, had rediscovered its tradition of conspiracy theories. Many troublemakers speculated maliciously that a person of Lin Jue’s caliber must have had greater ambitions. How could he possibly have devoted himself so wholeheartedly to humanity?
But now, the truth was proof enough that humans did not understand Lin Jue as well as they thought they did. Perhaps very few could comprehend why Lin Jue, who possessed the right to become the Ancestral God and create a new world, chose death for the sake of humanity.
Lin Chen couldn't help but think that if he were in that position, he probably would have made the same choice. Because he wanted his parents to live, and he wanted the teachers and classmates who had been kind to him to live. So even if the world was filled with ugliness and filth, he would never wish for its destruction.
The howling wind and snow seemed to subside. A ray of pure white light pierced through the gray, misty snow, illuminating a small patch of the world. The latecomers and the ice sculpture were bathed in the same luster, their expressions blurred in the shifting light and shadows.
Someone faced the ice sculpture and raised a hand in salute. Soon, everyone else followed suit, raising their hands one by one in a spontaneous, unified gesture of respect.