Chapter 448 – Gods (19): Who Rides a Thousand Li into the City

Xiang City, downtown.

The first governor’s statue towered above the square; from below, the up-thrust right hand gripping a banner seemed to brush the sky. It had been hollowed out during construction and fitted with a spiral staircase. At the top waited a cubicle of less than five square metres; two windows aligned with the statue’s eyes, and from them one could survey all Xiang City and even glimpse the winding coastline at its edge.

White Crow pushed the window open, letting the bitter five-hundred-metre wind flood in. White hair and coat whipped and cracked like flags, flapping with a rasping whoosh.

Behind the mask veined with golden vines, brown eyes slowly bled into distant silver. Calmly, indifferently, White Crow gazed down. The city plan flattened beneath the gaze; humans, beasts, birds, insects and fish all stood out, and in a heartbeat their forms were logged into a billion-year archive, droplets in an endless ocean of data.

Federal officials had long since fled before the Balance Church’s furious offensive. The battered city regained order under religious propaganda and military rule; after the first panic the people rediscovered their precious numbness and went on living their slow death as always. Whoever sat on top changed nothing—life could hardly get worse.

Yet had they seen the fate of cities outside the Balance Church’s reach they would have thanked the gods for their present peace. Supplies had been scarce under Federal blockade, but they were still alive, spared the torment of anomalies. For most, being alive is a blessing, is it not?

‘I need more pain, sorrow, fear and despair. This place could have been a grand stage for a Grand Performance, but you’ve made it boring with order and rules. I’m starting to regret working with you.’ Beside White Crow, a man in a pale mask and black tail-coat spread his arms in dissatisfaction, limbs jerking like a clumsy marionette on a stage.

He was the holder of the title Despair Playwright, an important NPC in the Grand Performance instance. By exploiting loopholes in the rules to create a loop that milked players for decades, he had amassed huge amounts of sin and, though still an NPC, earned the right to compete in the Final Dungeon.

Charlie stared at the back of White Crow’s head and cackled, ‘I care nothing for who becomes a god; I care only how many spectators my new play can gather. Yet here I find no audience, no flowers, no applause—no decent stage at all.’

White Crow turned to him, expressionless. ‘I see an unprecedented stage rising in River City; the madmen take their places one by one, and Zhou Ke you know well is among them. As playwright, will you join that performance?’

Charlie’s masked face tilted, suspicion colouring his voice. ‘You may tell me straight what you want me to do and what you will promise in return. You know I have dealt with gods before.’

White Crow gazed into the dark sockets of his mask. ‘Bring Zhou Ke back. The Crimson High Priest should not fall into the hands of the Dictator Who Closes His Eyes.’

…17 May, 9:00 a.m., River City outskirts.

Guns, ammunition and supplies were ferried piecemeal by private cars like ants shifting crumbs. One after another, coordinates arrived on Si Qi’s phone. The Soul Contract issued orders, and the three members of Tingfeng Guild split up, soon moving every crate into the studio.

Si Qi had never fired a gun. In twenty-two years he had seldom solved problems by force; when violence was unavoidable he preferred cold steel that let his fingers feel the warmth of blood.

Fortunately, memories belonging to gods and their devotees held plenty of theory about firearms. A post he had put on the Forum a week earlier had caused a sensation; his three-line divine name spread among players and even ordinary folk. Many, hedging their bets, outwardly stayed neutral while silently chanting his name.

More and more souls came under his sway; scarlet vines thrived deep in the Hall of Thought, and dense Soul Leaves fed him knowledge and power, strengthening his body bit by bit for the coming battle.

‘Jin Yusheng, you once dug a tunnel between Lower Town and the outskirts of River City, didn’t you?’ Si Qi hefted a Glock 17, slid it into his waistband and glanced at Yu Jinsheng. ‘I don’t want the Bureau of Anomaly Affairs hounds on me the moment I enter the city.’

Yu Jinsheng muttered, As expected.

Ever since learning the Bureau planned to move against Qi Si, he had racked his brain for a way to keep both sides happy. In the end he had used grey-zone contacts to pay a fortune for a secret tunnel from Lower Town to the countryside, ready to smuggle Qi Si out when the Bureau closed in.

He had told no one about the passage; Si Qi knew of it only because he had rifled through Yu Jinsheng’s memories while steering his soul.

He had thought Si Qi’s coldness meant the man was unaware of his hidden ace. Clearly there had never been any misunderstanding: Si Qi was simply someone who, if you were not absolutely loyal to him, might as well be dead.

‘That tunnel was meant for escaping the city; I never thought it would one day be used to sneak in.’ Yu Jinsheng glanced at Si Qi’s half-smile, his own smile bitter. ‘Lao Qi, I can take you, but the passage was rushed—no vehicles. We’ll have to abandon the car and walk.’

Jiang Junjue, listening nearby, raised a hand. ‘Since it’s a secret tunnel, shouldn’t we keep a low profile? Brother Si Qi, our guild leader is responsible for his own actions and makes a hostage heavy enough—Shuomeng and I won’t burden you…’

Si Qi smiled. ‘No burden. Everyone comes.’

Shuomeng’s face puckered. ‘Problem is, Old Jiang and I are useless—dead weight. To the likes of Jiuzhou and Fu Jue, our guild leader counts as a dish; I’m at best a garnish. One shell and we’re all stewed together…’

Si Qi’s smile stayed bright. ‘If I must die, I like company in the grave.’

‘Damn it!’

Under the three Tingfeng Guild members’ resentful stares, Si Qi tapped his chin. ‘You’ve reminded me: since Lin Jue dares lure me into the city, he must have a way to deal with me and my anomalies. Suddenly the Soul Contract doesn’t feel so reliable.’

The trio stared at the black-haired, red-eyed youth as his slender white fingers sorted through the supplies Bob had delivered, finally settling on several bottles of semi-transparent liquid.

After a pause, he watched the three grow more terrified and suddenly laughed. “Just kidding. Let’s move.”

Yu Jinsheng held his breath; only after a long moment did he quietly exhale, his back already soaked in cold sweat.

He understood Si Qi’s concern: if Fu Jue had found a way to suppress anomalies, the three hostages bound by the Soul Contract might slip free once inside the city. The gray zone had plenty of methods to make people obey; Si Qi had never used them before, but given his moral baseline, slipping the hostages a little something was hardly a big deal.

He’d already told Bob to prepare the materials and had meant to do it—so why stop at the last step? Yu Jinsheng knew Qi Si well; he refused to believe a sudden attack of conscience was the reason.

Nor had Si Qi grown a conscience; he simply decided it wasn’t necessary.

From Lin Jue’s attitude, the Bureau of Anomaly Affairs clearly wouldn’t care about the hostages’ lives; Yu Jinsheng and the others were little more than expendable ballast.

Once inside Jiangcheng the four of them were grasshoppers on the same string; sowing discord beforehand would be stupid. Besides following orders, there was always the option of torture to obtain the antidote.

Balancing risk against gain, better to stay put and see how the Tingfeng Guild responded.

What’s more, Si Qi was curious: what leverage and Chips did Lin Jue rely on to invite him into this trap?

At ten-thirty their gear was packed and slung over their shoulders. Led by Yu Jinsheng, the group headed for the tunnel entrance.

The passage Yu Jinsheng had prepared looked like a newly built air-raid shelter: a squat iron shack roofed over the black maw, a steel ladder hugging the rock wall into the depths. Once the lights came on the interior proved spacious—bedroom, study, storage, even a washroom with a flush toilet, a decent little doomsday bunker.

Yu Jinsheng walked straight to the washroom and pressed the flush button three times. After three gushes the toilet lifted automatically, revealing stairs descending into darkness.

Hidden enough? No one would expect a passage under a toilet,” he said proudly, stepping onto the damp treads. “Didn’t expect the water pipe to burst and leak this much.”

Si Qi, a neat freak: “…”

Once inside you just keep straight to reach the far end. The tunnel is only a kilometer long, Yu Jinsheng explained; after surfacing they’d still have to walk a stretch above ground to reach Riverside Estate.

Yu Jinsheng switched on lights as he went. Most of the fixtures, soaked in cold dampness, flickered; the pale glow couldn’t drive away the dark, only made the air feel colder.

Jiang Junjue had lit a cigarette at some point; silver-white smoke drifted with his sigh, blurring the light into a hazy swirl.

He clicked his tongue. “Boss, you sure you’re the only one who knows about this place? You never mentioned it to Fu Jue when you were drunk?”

I rarely drink, let alone when dining with Fu Jue,” Yu Jinsheng answered without slowing. “Spit it out, Old Jiang.”

My eyelid keeps twitching—feels like something bad’s coming. If Fu Jue knows about this tunnel he’ll plant a bomb at the exit and vaporize us,” Jiang Junjue said with a bitter smile. “I’ve got a wife and kid; dying in this god-forsaken hole would be a joke.”

Now that you mention it, I’m worried too. The air here’s dead; toss in a bomb and we’re fish in a barrel,” Shuomeng sighed, looking at Si Qi. “Little Brother Si Qi, my girl’s waiting at home. I only borrowed your lighter once—how can you bear to let me die young…”

Si Qi walked on in silence, sinking his mind to the bottom of his thoughts to sense the Rose Monsters, briefly gaining a partial view of lower Jiangcheng.

As expected, Bureau of Anomaly Affairs personnel had surrounded Riverside Estate; they’d clearly deduced his destination. The remaining Rose Monsters mindlessly attacked anything alive. Investigators died, yet replacements quickly stepped into the breach and pushed forward.

According to the memories the rule had given Si Qi, ever since Qi Si agreed to plant roses in reality he had ignored the Rose Monsters; their actions were aimless, driven only by instinct as anomalies.

Now Si Qi could seize control at any time and mount an organized assault on the Bureau, tilting the scales of victory once more.

But every card lay too obviously on the table, as though every condition in the problem had been circled in red ink, guiding him toward the model answer.

Lin Jue had invited him openly into the trap—empty bluff or net of heaven, impossible to tell until the troops reached the walls.

It was a gamble; Si Qi once again staked his life on the table.

Seeing Si Qi had no intention of responding, Yu Jinsheng glanced back at Jiang Junjue and Shuomeng. “Old Jiang, you’ve got nerve—your wife already thinks you’re dead; she’s collected the pension and set up your cenotaph. And Shuomeng, Xiao Xin died in an instance a year ago; if you die now it’ll be called ‘following her’… You two are qualified for the Final Dungeon—don’t disgrace Tingfeng.”

Jiang Junjue stared at Yu Jinsheng’s face, took another drag, and said nothing.

Shuomeng muttered, “I haven’t finished the perfume Xiao Xin made—dying now would waste it…”

Better than letting you squander it every day…”

Listening to their endless banter, Si Qi found their Soul Leaves among the red foliage in his Hall of Thought and issued a gag order.

The world went quiet; only breathing and the slap of soles on concrete remained.

Gradually finer sounds became clear: wheels skimming asphalt, low indistinct voices, tiny rootlets threading through soil… The underground and the human world were separated by mere meters, a realm claimed by plants and insects. Ahead a seamless iron door barred the way; the floor began to rise, announcing the junction of the two worlds.

He walked on, walked on—until suddenly every alarm in his mind shrieked.

BOOM!

A deafening blast split the air; his ears rang, then fell into temporary silence as the world was yanked into a hushed void.

The gray iron door was ripped apart by crimson flame; a gold explosion gnawed the edges of sheet metal and concrete. A scorching heat rolled out, trailing silver-white tails that unfurled into endless daylight.

Silence, silence, long silence… drip.

Something cold landed on his arm.

Si Qi lifted a finger, touched the spot, wiped it gently, and held it before his eyes.

On the pale tip rested a bead of scarlet liquid, amber-like, within which faint gold swam—sacred yet eerie.

It was his blood—demigod blood.