The Black Tower’s Plight

“I only‍​​⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍​​​​​​‍‍​‌‌ want to save one person.”

This world is too vast. Wind, frost, rain, snow, endless crowds. A few seeds can grow into towering foliage in the blink of an eye. The deep sea harbors bloody hunts, not to mention the omnipresent, insidious aberrants.

An Yu thought, perhaps he was no longer that blade of grass. Corner Bakery and “Corner”’s identity had unknowingly placed him at the pinnacle of humanity. But even so, the world remained a boundless dark sea to him. He had never thought of stopping the surging tides.

He only wanted to hold onto that one person.

Although in front of that person, he had always been just a small, isolated, and soft existence.

The Poet didn’t seem to hear his last sentence clearly, only sneering softly behind An Yu, “I thought so too. But whether you have the heart to save the world or not, the world will still head towards its destined end. Your own changes seem insufficient to influence the future.”

An Yu continued downstairs. The sound of the wheelchair turning came from behind him as the Poet came to the railing, watching him leave.

He stopped at the doorway, looking back up at the figure hidden in the gloom.

“I seem to hear a hint of subtext,” An Yu frowned. “Do you mean I can’t do it, but someone else might be able to influence the future?”

The Poet indifferently denied, “No. In my vision, all paths lead to endless chaos. The future will not change for anything. But I agreed with Codex’s view; things unseen aren’t necessarily things that won’t happen. So think whatever you want.”

An Yu turned and left. The instant the cathedral’s solid door was pushed open, light streamed in.

The Poet murmured behind him, “This should be our last meeting.”

“He isn’t going to kill himself again, is he?” Zhu Tao lay on the sofa reading manga. “Whoever he asks this time, just don’t ask me to save him. I don’t want to be locked up again. The world is a mess; if he wants to die so badly, just let him.”

An Yu shook his head while scrolling through the Spire forum. “Didn’t ask. Anyway, I wouldn’t understand whatever he answered.”

“Codex!” Zhu Tao turned his head to ask, “Did you have a premonition? How does he want to die this time?”

The surroundings were quiet for a moment. An Yu scrolled to the bottom of a gossip thread but didn’t hear Codex’s reply. He looked up and saw Codex staring thoughtfully out the window, seeming somewhat troubled. After a long while, he said softly, “He probably doesn’t want to die.”

“I thought so too,” An Yu muttered. “The Poet hasn’t been quite the same since he was rescued.”

Before, Eye had always carried a certain air of pessimism. But now, pessimism had turned dangerous. Even the cathedral, which hadn’t been lit for a long time, felt oppressive like a tomb.

Zhu Tao wasn’t interested in the Poet. He carefully observed Codex’s expression. “You’ve been daydreaming these past two days. Is it because of those discussions on the forum?”

Codex turned his head back, stunned. “Huh?”

The Spire forum was lively recently.

The surge in aberrant tides over the past few months had worn out the Protectors. Those with stronger abilities had fuller mission schedules. After all the turmoil, the data for the high-ranking Protectors on the Ladder had exploded. Several had even unlocked triple or quadruple genetic distortions during the tide, making their genetic entropy and combat points reach terrifying heights.

An anonymous post compared the data of the top ten on the Ladder with the high-level officers. Although no conclusions were drawn, the data disparity was indeed stark.

“We are fine, relatively speaking. After all, the selection criteria for junior higher-ups is talent-based. Low combat points are just a matter of time. But…” Zhu Tao looked worriedly at Codex. “They are targeting you, probably because you are a real high-level officer.”

Codex had parachuted into the Spire’s high-level ranks several months ago. He had barely gone on any missions, and his ability type was vague. Someone on the forum had pointedly remarked, “A certain high-level member still hasn’t awakened any useful abilities. His genetic entropy is within the range of ordinary humans. They’re said to be a book-type aberrant, but have neither physical signs nor abilities, so it’s hard to evaluate.”

Some even compared him to An Yu. After all, both had human genes. An Yu had completed the Spire-shaking District 53 mission right after joining, not to mention now—Corner’s prestige in the Spire was already comparable to Qin Zhilu’s.

Zhu Tao didn’t voice his worries, but Codex instantly read his thoughts.

“Oh, I saw those posts,” Codex smiled somewhat helplessly. “But there’s nothing I can do. I really didn’t awaken any useful abilities. That’s the truth. It doesn’t matter if the higher-ups don’t let me be a high-level officer.”

As he spoke, he casually flipped through the manuscript. Countless pieces of information flickered across the pages. He quickly flipped to the last page, then closed it.

An Yu reached out, turned to the last page again, and pointed to the wild, small script in the corner. “I wanted to ask last time at the dining hall, who wrote this?”

“‘The book contains ten thousand things. Everything in the world is in my heart.'” Zhu Tao read curiously. “This writing looks scary. It’s not yours, is it?”

Codex nodded. “It was already there.”

“Is it a revelation about your ability?”

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“I’m not taking it hard,” Codex quirked his lips, his gaze returning to the window. “I just feel my mind’s getting more and more chaotic. It feel like I’m seeing more things, yet I can’t see anything clearly.”

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An Yu nodded.

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Qin Zhilu suddenly smiled. “You seem to have developed a habit.”

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An Yu looked stiffly at the chocolate he had just unwrapped. After hesitating, he still popped it into his mouth. Sucking on the rich sweetness, he said, “Eye said he can’t see a turning point, nor does he believe in one. Codex said he can’t see a turning point yet, but is willing to remain hopeful. And you—” He remembered the Commander’s weak answers during the hypnosis interrogation and unconsciously lowered his voice. “A voice told you a turning point will appear. You’ve been waiting.”

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Qin Zhilu shook his head. “I really don’t know. I was in a very bad state during that period. The side effects of the genetic experiments were also particularly severe because of it. I was blind for several days and couldn’t see the owner of the voice.”

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An Yu immediately asked, “Did it sound like Codex? Or like the Poet?”

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“Male voice.” Qin Zhilu smiled. “What are you thinking? It couldn’t have been Zhan Xue. In 2138, she had already been secretly executed for sixteen years.”

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An Yu asked softly, “You said before that 21 will strive to survive with all its might for humanity. That prerequisite was added arbitrarily by you. What about the turning point? Does the turning point’s survival have prerequisites?”

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This time, Qin Zhilu didn’t answer right away.

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Qin Zhilu looked up at him again. “Black Tower is pressing me for a reply. How can I have time to dwell on baseless matters?”

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An Yu was stunned for a good while. “How did you reply?”

“Haven’t replied yet. I want to ask your opinion first.”

“Me?” An Yu was baffled. “What do you think?”

Qin Zhilu smiled. “You need to have your own thoughts. Anyone, whether Ling Qiu or me, can’t provide directions for you forever.”

“I don’t have any thoughts,” An Yu paused. “I’ll listen to you.”

Qin Zhilu raised an eyebrow. “After becoming an independent high-level officer, the weight of combat point division will increase. You will have better benefits. Black Tower also promised you will still have absolute freedom, can refuse any mission, even take no missions at all. If you supervise Codex, you will also receive a fixed remuneration, and—”

An Yu interrupted him. “Do you really want me to become independent?”

Qin Zhilu didn’t answer. An Yu pressed his lips together. “When I first joined the Protectors, one reason was to repay your money, and the second was because you can protect me.”

“The bakery’s profits are long enough to repay the debt. And you no longer need any protection now. In fact, you yourself can already protect many people, including Codex.” Qin Zhilu paused. “Rationally, becoming an independent high-level officer has countless benefits and no downsides for you. The benefits I mentioned earlier aren’t important. The biggest benefit of being an independent high-level officer is giving you more say in the Spire. The Protectors will follow you more legitimately. You will even, to some extent, have the ability to contend with Black Tower. And emotionally, even if you become independent, I will still protect you—if you need it.”

Qin Zhilu’s voice was calm, even gentle.

But An Yu suddenly felt angry. He rarely got angry. He remembered only being angry at Ling Qiu once, many years ago, when Ling Qiu first told him he wanted to enlist. But he had accepted it later, because that was indeed Ling Qiu’s dream.

But the Commander subtly persuading him to become an independent high-level officer… seemed very difficult to accept.

“An Yu?” Qin Zhilu looked at him questioningly. “Will you agree?”

“No.” An Yu turned his head away.

He realized his tone was harsh, which was extremely impolite to the Commander. He wanted to smooth things over, but pressed his lips together instead.

Qin Zhilu continued to ask, “The reason?”

“No reason.”

“But you just won’t agree?”

“Mhm.”

A certain stalemate seemed to settle between the two, and the tension could cut through the air.

An Yu didn’t turn around. Annoyance mixed with a guilty conscience made it hard for him to make amends. But even if the Commander got angry, the words were already spoken, and he could only await his punishment.

Suddenly, Qin Zhilu’s low chuckle rang out from behind.

“Aren’t you full of ideas? Yet you always pretend to be so docile.” Qin Zhilu pressed the keyboard as he spoke, letting out a long, light breath, as he whispered, “Then… just stay by my side.”

That decision carried a sigh, yet also sounded like a relief.

An Yu’s pupils trembled slightly. He turned to look at the screen, only to see the notification that the email had been sent successfully.

“Declined it for you,” Qin Zhilu closed the laptop and said very smoothly, “This suggestion triggered severe anxiety in Corner. He immediately refused and locked himself in his room to binge eat bread and chocolate. Suggesting Black Tower to never reconsider.”

An Yu’s eyes widened. “How can you lie without even blinking?”

“Is that so? Did I not blink when I lied?”

Qin Zhilu paused for a full half-minute, staring unblinkingly at An Yu. “Actually, I still really hope you become independent.”

An Yu was stunned. “Huh?”

Qin Zhilu curled his lips again, “Did I blink?”

“……”

Ling Qiu was right; one must be wary of anyone who lies without blinking.

Usually, they aren’t good people. Even if they don’t do evil, they love to tease others.