Chapter 34: Dawn Piercing the Night

Dawn Piercing the Night

Reality, an apartment in an unknown city and province.

Bai Ling woke up in bed, feeling sunlight streaming through the window onto her cheeks, slightly warm.

She raised her hand, touched her face, then pinched it hard.

Ouch!

I’m not dead.

The Final Gate is real.

I’ve survived again!

Her eyebrows and eyes first brightened with joy, and she laughed—but then her smile froze, slowly fading.

She stared blankly at the white ceiling.

“Why choose Him?”

Cheng Shi’s question kept circling in her mind; she still remembered her answer.

“Isn’t it because I liked him?”

Yes, isn’t it because I liked him?

But what exactly... did I like?

She slowly rose, just as she had after every trial, stripped off her clothes, stood naked before the mirror, turning in circles to examine the marks left by [Defilement].

Embracing desire isn’t unpleasant—but do I truly like it?

Maybe.

Bai Ling smiled bitterly, stepped toward the bathroom.

This was an old, poorly maintained apartment, but thanks to the collective prayers of nearby players, hot water remained plentiful.

She turned the shower to its maximum flow and highest temperature, letting scalding water pour over her skin until it turned red.

She scrubbed her body relentlessly, even though no dirt came off the reddened skin—still, she pressed harder.

Only when she collapsed exhausted inside the bathroom, falling into weary sleep, did this “torture” end.

In her dream, she seemed to return to the day the [Gods] descended, staring at the only choice before her, Bai Ling asked naively:

“If I worship you, what should I do?”

That alluring voice, she still remembered clearly.

【The body, power, money, selfishness, greed, laziness... all are desires you may pursue】

“But I... don’t want to hurt others.”

【Then bring them joy】

Joy?

From that day on, a sensory hunter pursuing “physical debauchery” was born.

She never harmed others—only brought them...

Joy.

Hours passed before Bai Ling slowly awoke.

Her face lit up with a smile again; she rose, dried her body, selected a brand-new suit from the changing room, and dressed slowly.

For players, old clothes had only one fate: the trash bin.

But Bai Ling never threw away her clothes—each dress was like a recording, letting her recall every detail of every trial.

She carefully hung the dress, smoothed it out, and quietly recalled every moment that had just passed.

Yet as she smoothed the hem, she suddenly noticed a letter tucked in the seam.

A letter written on parchment.

Bai Ling gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth; she pulled the letter out, trembling as she unfolded it.

The elegant handwriting on the page slowly filled her vision.

“Invitation... from the... Bearer... of the Flame?”

Reality, an unknown city and province, a classroom.

Fang Shiqing picked up chalk and skillfully drew a symbol on the blackboard.

The instant her pen touched the board, the blackboard twisted into a pure black door; without hesitation, she walked through it with firm eyes.

Beyond the door lay endless void.

The moment she stepped in, invisible steps rose beneath her feet, guiding her to her destination.

After only a few dozen steps, Fang Shiqing saw a “person” seated across from her—a figure outlined by flickering candle flames, floating high above, gazing down at her.

Feeling the gaze of this “person,” Fang Shiqing shook her head with a wry smile:

“Must you be so flamboyant?”

“Qingqing, this is what I deserve—I’ve opened this path, invisible even to the [Gods], to connect you all. Shouldn’t you praise me every time we meet?”

“Stop, stop, stop—praise you, praise the great [Flame of Hope], but please stop calling me Qingqing. It’s nauseating.”

“Alright, Qingqing.”

“...” Fang Shiqing rubbed her temple helplessly. “Has he arrived?”

“He’s here. Right ahead.”

Fang Shiqing nodded to leave, but after two steps, she stopped, turned back, and asked with confusion:

“By the way, why don’t you call him ‘Xin Xin’?”

“...”

The candle-man hesitated, then replied awkwardly:

“I’m afraid he’ll beat me up...”

“Pfft.” Fang Shiqing couldn’t help laughing; even her steps grew lighter afterward.

Soon, she entered a bright hall and saw that towering man.

“You’re so cheerful—what’s the good news?”

“You’re injured?” Fang Shiqing frowned slightly.

“Minor wound, nothing serious. Ran into a [Defilement] Chosen. Fought twice.”

The man spoke lightly, but any thought of the danger revealed how terrifying it must have been.

The difficulty of that trial segment nearly exceeded ordinary players’ imagination.

Fang Shiqing didn’t press further—only nodded.

“Speak. Time is precious.”

“Yes. I sent out two new invitations—one to the Forgotten Doctor, one to the Sensory Hunter.”

The man raised an eyebrow, surprised: “A [Defilement] believer?”

“Yes. A [Defilement] believer.”

“And then?”

“The doctor refused. The hunter... probably won’t.”

“Oh?” The man’s interest sparked; he smiled. “Why?”

“Because her heart’s melody, like yours and mine, is composed entirely of compassion, pulsing with the rhythm of hope.”

“Are you certain this is a [Defilement] believer?”

“I’m certain.”

“Hmm... you’re the Seeker of the Flame. Your word stands. Shall I prepare a welcome ceremony for our new companion?”

Fang Shiqing seemed to recall someone—but she shook off the thought and smiled, nodding:

“She will come.”

Reality, an unknown city and province, a bedroom.

Xu Lu jolted awake with a scream, leaping up from her desk and knocking over the crystal ball and cards.

She struggled as if strangled, until her back hit the wall and she snapped back to awareness—realizing she was no longer in the trial.

This is...

The rest zone?

When the [Gods] assigned all players fragmented activity zones, the term “home” had largely vanished from people’s minds.

Most players called their living space the rest zone; some called it a foothold, or a place to barely survive.

Xu Lu stared in disbelief at her hands, then frantically patted herself down.

But when she confirmed she was unharmed and alive, her fear grew even more intense.

Why!?

Why did that Cheng guy drag me into the wrong Final Gate—and yet I’m still alive?

Why, when he had the chance, didn’t he kill me?

Why did [Fate] show me the vision not to trust the [Time] believer—yet the outcome proves the [Time] believer was right!?

Why is this?

Does [Fate]’s will mean I’m meant to die!?

Why!?

Since I began worshipping [Fate], not one day passed without reverence, without praise, without obedience.

Yet in the end, you—guided me to die?

Why should I?!

Is this really my fate?!

I refuse to accept this!

Xu Lu’s eyes swam with fear and fury, her resentment and hatred growing; she clenched the Dice of Fate in her hand, her face dark and shifting, her expression flickering wildly.

Xie Yang on the rooftop seemed to hear the commotion below; he leaned over the edge, crouching down, and asked anxiously:

“Lu Lu, Lu Lu? Are you alright? What happened?”

Xie Yang’s call pulled Xu Lu’s reason back a little; she retracted her hand, about to throw the dice, and fell silent with bitter resentment.

Then, she quickly reverted to her earlier voice, soft and trembling, replying:

“Brother Xie, I’m fine, just bumped into the table.”

Yet from start to finish, she took not a single step toward the balcony where Xie Yang could see her.

“Good, good, you’re unharmed, right? No injuries in the trial?”

“Thanks to your potion, I’m fine, but the potion… seems to be used up.”

“Huh? Oh! No problem, I’ll ask Cheng Shi for another bottle—he might still have some.”

Cheng Shi!!

Again, Cheng Shi!!

Xu Lu’s thoughts churned unseen; hatred flashed across her eyes several times, yet finally she spoke in a frail, gentle voice:

“Then… won’t it trouble you, Brother?”

“Hey, no trouble at all!”

Reality, an unknown suburb.

A Ming lay on the ground, gazing up at the blazing sun, his mind boiling.

After receiving the Order’s decree to erase the Chaotic cultists and being countered by Huang Bo, he knew he was going to die.

Bound to the wall by enemies, subjected to inhuman torture, feeling his life ebb away, he had once even despaired enough to give up.

But then, just as he believed his consciousness would vanish, a snap from the depths of nothingness pulled his awareness back into reality.

He woke up, unharmed, from the wall.

Just as he had when first entering the trial.

A Ming stared at his fully restored self, stunned beyond words.

He tore out the blood nails, struggled down from the wall, glanced at the time—two hours remained.

Time?

A Ming suddenly understood.

The Forgotten Doctor’s trick—the Art of Time, state reversal.

That doctor, Cheng Shi, had saved him.

Praise the Time, which had granted him one more reprieve.

Afterward, he searched for the Memory Gates and his teammates’ traces, only to find his teammates had already left the trial.

Worse still, at every Memory Gate, they had left him clues to the answers.

He had dreamed a dream: of abuse, of death looming.

But when he awoke, the trial had automatically cleared.

“Cheng Shi… thank you…”