Chapter 341: Listening to the Waves

A biting chill crawled up his spine from his lower back—a emotion called fear; the last time Ning Zhe had felt this afraid was the last time.

But fear won’t help; what’s coming will come regardless.

“The situation in Taoyuan City is the result of Fenwu and Yu Zi’s collaboration. I stole Yu Zi’s own self-perception—I possess all his memories, yet I have no memories of Fenwu whatsoever.”

“This means his memories were altered by Fenwu too—Yu Zi’s brain is also parasitized by a ‘Tai Chong’ worm.”

“There’s probably one in my head too.”

The Rule of Jue Yuan operates through ‘thought’ as its medium; it can only intensify ideas already present in a person’s mind, never implant new ones. Over two months ago, in Taoyuan City, where time and space had been severed by Tu Yu, Yu Zi had stamped Ning Zhe with the thought: “I must kill Ning Zhe.”

“Without a corresponding thought as a medium, Jue Yuan’s Rule cannot activate. Yu Zi could imprint that thought on me, compelling me to kill myself—meaning I must have harbored the desire to die already.”

But why would anyone randomly turn against themselves? Ning Zhe was certain he had never entertained suicidal thoughts—it wasn’t his own idea, but something imposed from outside.

Now it seemed clear: that outsider was almost certainly Fenwu. His brain had been seeded with a ‘Tai Chong’ worm three months ago.

…Damn.

Ning Zhe tore his gaze from the gambling table, steadied his ragged breathing, and turned to see Fenwu push aside the curtain and step inside. Their eyes met for a moment, then parted.

Mei Lin stole a glance at the two of them; from the subtle tension between them, she sensed that no matter what they’d discussed outside, they’d failed to reach an agreement.

“Alright, alright, let’s all calm down first.” Ning Zhe closed his eyes for two seconds, then opened them again, sorting through his tangled thoughts and focusing on the present: “Since I rejected Fenwu’s ‘kindness,’ I’ll now have to face the wrath of this elusive Ascended one.”

Though that wasn’t really ‘kindness’—more like a trap disguised as retreat.

No one gives out goodwill without cause, especially not enemies. Fenwu didn’t suddenly show willingness to compromise because, as he claimed, “We have no core conflict.” He did it simply because I, Ning Zhe, is too hard a bone to chew.

“From what I saw in Chenyu Valley Prison, Fenwu doesn’t just alter memories on a small scale—he can completely erase a person’s memories, turning them into an empty shell devoid of thought or consciousness, then implant entirely new memories to fabricate a living person with a completely different personality. Such power is godlike.”

“But ghosts are still ghosts—not omniscient, omnipotent gods. Fenwu planted a Tai Chong worm in my brain three months ago, and I remained unaware for months. Logically, he could’ve erased my memories, stolen everything from me, and had ample motive to do so—but he hasn’t. Is it because he doesn’t want to?”

…No. He can’t.

“Ghosts’ abilities have limits. Every anomaly I know of operates under specific rules and requires a medium of contact. Even a godlike ‘Tai Chong’ must have its own constraints—it cannot act with absolute freedom or unrestrained abandon.”

“Fenwu doesn’t want to erase my memories—he can’t. Some hidden condition I don’t yet understand restricts him. I need to know exactly what that hidden condition is—what ‘limit’ prevents him from truly acting against me…”

If I can understand his inherent ‘limit,’ then I’m not far from cracking the core Rule of the ‘Tai Chong.’

Ding—

A crisp sound pulled Ning Zhe from his brief reverie. Bei Dang dropped the second coin into the glass; the trembling liquid held, refusing to spill.

Ning Zhe glanced around. Fenwu sat back on the sofa, legs crossed, eyes closed, appearing utterly calm.

Bei Dang, who had just dropped the coin, shifted his gaze between Mei Lin and the gambler, seemingly deciding who should be next to place a coin.

Mei Lin’s expression didn’t change much, but her slightly unfocused eyes and subtle body language betrayed her anxiety. Clearly, Ning Zhe’s earlier warning had taken effect—she was now weighing whether to keep playing or to deliberately lose, sacrificing a Shou Ge artifact to escape the game and check on her Young Lady’s condition.

The gambler remained seated, silent.

It was just a ghost.

Watching the others, each lost in their own thoughts, a terrifying idea suddenly surged uncontrollably through Ning Zhe’s mind:

“All my reasoning so far has been based on the premise of my own memories—drawing guesses and tentative conclusions from them. But my memories were almost certainly altered by Fenwu…”

Can information suspected of being tampered with be trusted?

And if the premise itself is unreliable, how can the conclusions drawn from it be correct?

“Calm down. Fenwu didn’t erase my memories and turn me into a mindless corpse—so the ‘Tai Chong’s’ power must have limits. My memories were probably only partially altered—not entirely false.”

“...No, wrong. Who’s to say the very thought ‘my memories weren’t massively altered’ isn’t itself a deception planted by Fenwu, meant to lull me into complacency?”

“Or even more extreme—am I really Ning Zhe?”

“Could I have been nothing but an empty shell from the start, my memories implanted by Fenwu, tricking me into believing I am Ning Zhe, mistaking someone else’s life as my own?”

Is that possible?

Yes, brother. Yes, it is.

It’s an unfalsifiable question. No one can prove how much of their memory is real or false, nor prove they’re a living person rather than a brain floating in a nutrient tank.

No one can answer this question.

But a ghost can.

The instant Ning Zhe thought, “Am I really Ning Zhe?”, something changed.

“Hm?”

“This…”

Bei Dang, hesitating over who to choose next; Mei Lin, worrying about her Young Lady’s safety; Fenwu, eyes closed in meditation; the gambler, seated at the dealer’s chair—all of them turned their gazes toward Ning Zhe at once.

On the sofa, the beautiful, gentle woman had vanished. In her place sat a slender, delicate youth, head bowed, dark hair falling over his face, making the skin above his collarbones appear even paler. His refined bone structure carried a faint scholarly air—it was Ning Zhe’s true appearance.

He lifted his head. Two mismatched eyes gleamed through the disheveled strands.

“I am Ning Zhe,” he said to himself inside his mind: “Not anything else.”

No proof needed. No reason required. He unconditionally believed—he was, and always had been, Ning Zhe.

—

Having a meal. One more chapter before twelve.

(End of Chapter)