Chapter 164: Immortals Stand Like Hemp in Rows

"Old sir, why not give it a try? Saint Doraemon is incredibly effective!" Lag said to Zhou Yun with sincere expression.

Zhou Yun's lip twitched uncontrollably.

Did he himself not know whether it was effective? How could he possibly make someone give birth to eight children at once?

Noticing Zhou Yun's expression, Lag quickly added:

"Truly, Brother Zhou Yun, if you pray to Saint Doraemon, the efficiency of many machines doubles—even broken ones temporarily resume operation. A six-shot pistol can fire seven rounds. Saint Doraemon is truly sacred!"

"Shut up. I'll judge for myself whether it's divine or not!"

Zhou Yun waved him off, cutting short his preaching; every inch of his skin prickled at Lag's words.

For a moment, he felt a strange kinship with the Emperor—no wonder the old man had been so stubborn, refusing outright to admit he was a god.

But the Emperor truly was a god, while Zhou Yun knew he was not.

How could a man from the twenty-first century be the god of the fortieth millennium?

Look at the gods of 40k: delusional, schizophrenic psychopaths; supernatural trash and toilets; hyperactive, antisocial maniacs; drug-addicted sex addicts; paralyzed, failed fathers; obese, alien versions of Guilliman; two hyperactive mushrooms; corpses gutted by medieval knights; galaxy-scale autists; sprout versions of hyperactive antisocial maniacs; divine toilets that are toilets; reclusive clowns; multi-species stitched-together weaklings.

Truly, immortals stand like hemp in rows,

and if Zhou Yun had to stand beside them, he'd rather climb to the top of the Terra Imperial Palace and leap to end all his sorrows.

Zhou Yun took a deep breath and looked at Lag. "Tell me about yourself."

"Brother Zhou Yun, do you remember that flask of Aksema wine?"

Lag fell silent, a bitter smile creasing his wrinkled face:

"That wine was fucking awful—the worst I've ever tasted in my life."

"About thirty or forty years ago, I was a greenhorn just joining the gang. The old brother who trained me spent his whole life dreaming of taking one sip of Aksema wine."

"He told me every day how delicious Aksema was—how smooth and silky on the tongue, how sweet, ha ha—but he'd never tasted it himself. He'd only heard stories."

"But he told it so well, I got infected—I wanted to taste Aksema too."

"He later fought desperately to seize a new territory for the gang, using his reward and savings to have someone buy a flask of Aksema from the Upper Hive. But before he could drink it, he was ambushed and shot to death. The flask was shattered by bullets."

Lag scratched his old face, embarrassed by recounting his past:

"I stared at his bullet-riddled corpse, at the shattered wine flask, and I was terrified—I feared that by the time I died, I'd never even tasted a drop of Aksema."

"So I fought with every ounce of will, used every bit of my brain, just to survive—I had to live long enough to drink one sip of Aksema."

"And then you let me taste it—and I realized I'd spent my whole life doing terrible things, just to drink this awful shit."

Lag pressed his chest, gasping for breath:

"I felt sick—never in my life had I felt this sick. I felt like my whole body had collapsed. Soon I fell ill, nearly died aboard the ship."

Zhou Yun studied Lag's face—there were clear traces of illness upon it.

"When I told Lady Leina about this, she said this was the absurdity of life—that all earthly pursuits might turn meaningless, and only faith in the Emperor could endure forever."

"But I'm old now. Even if I believed in the Emperor, he wouldn't let my soul return to the Golden Throne."

"And people like Lady Leina, like you, Brother Zhou Yun—you have power, you have ability. You can do so much for the Emperor. I can only survive—I know nothing else."

"Then Sister Dichi appeared, preaching faith in Saint Doraemon. I was nearly dead then, didn't care about worshipping dead gods anymore—I clung to her like a lifeline and converted to Saint Doraemon. And then—I got better."

Lag's face glowed with devotion as he cupped his hands into a circle over his chest:

"At that moment, I finally understood—Saint Doraemon possessed true divinity. I recalled everything that had happened in Asford, and realized an invisible circular hand had guided it all—it must have been Saint Doraemon protecting us!"

Hearing this, Zhou Yun's face twisted sharply—he suddenly understood.

Because of Leina's psychological conditioning, Lag could never connect Lehn Russ, Doraemon, or any of Zhou Yun's aliases to Zhou Yun himself.

This left certain events inexplicable in Lag's mind, so he naturally attributed them to the invisible circular hand of Saint Doraemon.

Add to that his mysterious recovery, and his faith became unshakable—he truly believed Saint Doraemon was divine.

"And then?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow. "How did you get to this point?"

"I never expected it," Lag said with a bitter grin. "It wasn't intentional."

"After arriving on Baal three months ago, I started noticing something off about Dichi's teachings—they were fucking terrifying, always talking about dying."

"Honestly, I'm not afraid of death anymore. We all barely escaped the Asford swarms. Every extra day is a gift. None of us fear death—but we fear dying meaninglessly, without even a chance to reach the Golden Throne."

"Many began to doubt: could Dichi's teachings really lead us to the Golden Throne? We'd rather regroup and fight the swarm again—get some bloody revenge."

Zhou Yun nodded slightly. Dichi's dogma was indeed abstract and absurd—most people couldn't endure it.

Lag continued: "So Old One-Eye stepped forward. He gathered former members of the Ark Gang—including me—and founded a new sect, splitting from Dichi's group."

"I still can't believe it—in the Ark Gang, I actually had some influence."

"Brother Zhou Yun, do you remember when Lady Leina had me teach the brothers how to survive? Many Ark Gang members thought I taught well—they said they lived through the swarms thanks to me."

"Plus, when we first arrived on Baal, survival was the top priority—and I knew how to survive. Old One-Eye trusted me, and over time, I rose to this position."

Lag looked at Zhou Yun, paused, then said:

"I'm old, Brother Zhou Yun. I won't live much longer. In what little time I have left, I want to do something for the Emperor—and for Saint Doraemon."

"But Brother Zhou Yun, I know I have no talent. Right now, the people of Asford need you."

"On the main planet of Baal, we found those bastards—the Jerks. We fought. Many died. But when the Angels arrived, the Jerks vanished into the desert, gone without a trace."

"We need you."

"I have something more important to do, Lag." Zhou Yun said softly.

He had to reach Angel's Keep, find Saint Guilliman's remains, and use that absurdly expensive artifact to resurrect him.

!. ead

Lag blinked, then nodded heavily.

"I understand. I remember what you said in Asford—that in this galaxy, everyone has their own duty."

"Just as Lady Leina must go to Cadia, you too have your own task."

"... s there anything old Lag can help with? I'm doing well now—I can actually help you." Lag grinned.

"I need a map—precisely marking the location of Baal's main planet and Angel's Keep," Zhou Yun said, nodding slightly—he hadn't forgotten his purpose.

Lag's ugly face twitched. He rose unsteadily, walking slowly toward the cabinet behind him.

Zhou Yun observed Lag's gait—his steps were labored.

It seemed age had finally caught up with this old Asford veteran.

Lag pulled a scroll of parchment from the cabinet and handed it to Zhou Yun.

"There's no map of Angel's Keep—we've been here too short a time, and Angel's Keep is the most important place on Baal. How could we possibly get its map?"

Lag shook his head.

Zhou Yun unrolled the parchment—it detailed the relative positions of Baal's three planets and the locations of Old One-Eye's and Dichi's bases.

The map was detailed enough for the Gate to use.

"Old One-Eye drew it—he was once one of the best PDFs," Lag told Zhou Yun.

Zhou Yun nodded slightly, then reached into his fourth-dimensional pocket and pulled out the Gate.

Lag's eyes went blank and dull.

Seeing the Gate would make him suspect Zhou Yun was Doraemon; suspecting Zhou Yun was Doraemon would lead him to realize Zhou Yun was Lehn Russ;

Leina's psychological conditioning kicked in again, locking Lag's mind into a daze.

Zhou Yun watched this, his eye twitching—but Leina was far away on Cadia, likely already in the trenches by now. He couldn't count on her to undo the conditioning.

And Zhou Yun himself didn't understand psychic phenomena; the winged figure in Bai Guang could no longer offer advice.

"Just... make do for now," Zhou Yun sighed, shrugging at the dazed Lag.

Then he opened the Gate, stepped through, and vanished.

Lag's gaze regained its light after Zhou Yun left. He stared blankly at the empty room, scratching his head.

"Where'd he go? How did Brother Zhou Yun suddenly disappear?"

This morning, GW released new 40k products: Krieg and Craftworld Eldar. Krieg came as a big box with cool miniatures, including a horse. Eldar got a huge update—models looked great, but the most interesting thing was the new Eldar Codex cover: a sprout stepping on the Emperor's Son (the Emperor's Son looks furious), with the Webway gate in the background—suggesting a connection to Wa Banxian's storyline.

Then I glanced at AoS—they updated Goblins. The miniatures looked decent too. I play AoS miniatures, but I'm not familiar with the lore. I heard these Goblins believe Sigmar is the incarnation of the legendary Glorious-Face Fairy—something like... I think the Emperor is the God-Selected Master of the Great Hair?

(End of Chapter)