Chapter 94: The Gambler

Yang Yi flew around the barren planet at top speed—there was nothing here.

No animals, no plants, nothing alive.

Her heart grew increasingly anxious—what had happened to Earth? What had happened to the British people? What had happened to those sixty-seven million people?

And her colleagues—what had happened to them?

She had never imagined one day she would worry about people utterly unrelated to her, people she had never met. Why should she care? What did their lives or deaths have to do with her?

But then she pictured sixty-seven million—how many people was that? How tall would they stack up? Higher than the Himalayas?—each one capable of crying, laughing, speaking, communicating, loving, hating; some might be scrambling for a few pounds, just as she once scrambled for a few thousand yuan; some might be gathering with family, eating fish and chips or Mom’s baked pie, complaining about office nonsense and daily frustrations to their parents; some might be strolling with their children on park lawns, others cradling newborns and gently kissing their soft little cheeks…

They were all living people, flesh-and-blood people just like her…

Yang Yi’s breathing quickened—yes, she had hated humanity, cursed the entire world in her darkest nights, even in her most desperate moments wished to drag the whole world down with her—but she had also longed for the beauty she had never known, had wished for everyone to find happiness…

She avoided people and let no one get close to her, yet she could never wish them all gone—just let them stay there, live their own lives well… She was human, and only among her own kind did she feel safe…

Suddenly, she spotted a familiar structure on the ground—she snapped awake and landed swiftly.

This appeared to be the ruins of a city, once perhaps prosperous, once perhaps with buildings of unshakable strength—but over the long passage of time, all had rotted away; even the strongest steel rusted and crumbled in endless time.

At the center of the vast ruined city stood a short, circular structure, many parts already collapsed, its carvings long worn away—had it not been for its familiar outline, Yang Yi would never have recognized it.

The altar of the demon god—a dreadfully ancient altar of the demon god.

Compared to the utterly decayed ruins, this altar was the only one still relatively intact.

Had humanity, after recognizing the demonic god’s overwhelming power, once again submitted to Him?

Was this the final plea of this planet’s intelligent race, on the brink of extinction?

Yang Yi reached out and touched the altar—but her finger passed straight through—it had rotted as soft as tofu.

After a long while, Yang Yi straightened up and gazed at the city, corroded by time.

She said: “I know you’re entangled with the demonic god in countless ways. Why are you inside my body? What do you want from me? What conditions? Say them out loud—just let me return to Earth.”

He remained silent.

Yang Yi sneered: “What do you want? My body? My abilities? What else on me could possibly interest a being tied to the demonic god? What an honor, what incredible luck—you’ve taken notice! Take whatever you want!” She suddenly screamed hoarsely: “Take it!”

Only the dead silence of this world answered her.

Yang Yi lowered her head and laughed silently—a laugh laced with self-mockery, growing wider until her whole body trembled.

“Ah—” she sighed, voice cold and venomous: “How could I forget? You fear the demonic god. You’ve been hiding from Him all along. You even dare not let the Cultivators utter His name—you fear drawing His gaze, you fear exposing yourself before Him—so why would you help me? Why would you help me disrupt the sacrifice…?”

Yang Yi’s tone was sarcastic and biting, yet He remained silent, as if he hadn’t heard her.

But she knew—he had heard every word.

“Good. Very good.” Her voice was calm, but her face twitched suddenly, darkening her expression: “My original self inside my mind-sea… that black hole vortex… isn’t it really mine, is it?”

He spoke at last: “What are you planning?”

“Nothing…” Yang Yi’s smile was dark, her tone leisurely: “Suppose… I say suppose… I fully unleash this vortex inside this planet—would it draw the attention of some being? Would it cause serious consequences? I’m so curious… heh…”

“If you do that,” He paused a moment, “you will die.”

“But you’ll die too—even if you don’t die, you’ll be severely wounded, won’t you?” Yang Yi’s smile widened. “How about a deal?”

She looked up at the twin blood moons, their crimson light casting across her face like dried, congealed blood.

“Help me stop the sacrifice, and I won’t reveal your location. How’s that?” Her smile was faint, her voice light: “Or else, we die together. After all… I’ve long grown tired of living… this would be a kind of release…”

Silence stretched on—so long she thought He would never accept her threat—she smiled soundlessly, and inside her mind-sea, the black hole vortex began to slowly spin…

“They’re in another world, using ninety thousand life sources as power to project the altar onto Earth. To stop the sacrifice, returning to Earth won’t work—you must go to that world.” His voice was icy, utterly detached.

Yang Yi shuddered—not from joy at learning her people might be saved, but from a thrill, a perverse pleasure drawn from His coldness!

Yes, how cold his tone—yet she seemed to hear a trace of anger in it. That “seem” thrilled her to her core, her blood surging, even more than when she had made love to Ai!

Ah—he—this enigmatic being, this constant threat looming over her heart, this silent shadow that had enveloped her for so long—could he truly feel anger? Could he truly be enraged? This being tied to the demonic god—today, he had been threatened by her! She had seized his weakness—even at the cost of her own life!

What was life? She had won! This gambler on the brink of ruin had staked her final chip—and won a return a thousandfold!

At this moment, she laughed—wildly, hysterically, trembling with laughter, her face flushed, tears welling—unleashing every smile she had never dared show since childhood. Only in this empty world could she let her true self out for a moment, let the wild beast locked inside for twenty years breathe free…

Back on Earth, she’d have to don the mask of calm composure again, slip back into that shy, introverted facade, and become the god among mortals once more.

“Then let’s begin. What are we waiting for?” She finally stopped laughing, tears still glistening at the corners of her eyes.

Inside her mind-sea, He appeared silently—an even vaster black hole vortex. When He manifested, Yang Yi was instinctively crushed into a corner by His presence.

Her body lost all control—she shuddered violently, feeling countless tendrils extend from Him, slithering into her organs, her limbs, her meridians, seizing command of her body.

“She” moved her limbs, as if unfamiliar with this vessel, then raised her right hand and casually slashed the air—a clean-edged rift appeared before “her,” and “she” stepped through, as if strolling through a garden.