You are not permitted to intentionally create conditions to test this ability

Beneath the‌‌‍⁠‍‌​⁠‌⁠​‍​​‌‌‍‌‌​⁠‌‍​ corpse’s hair and skin, human flesh and large clumps of stone were fused so unnaturally that the boundary between them had become indistinguishable.

Jiang Xiao felt it should be impossible for human fat and muscle tissue to blend with lime, yet despite his great effort, he could not tear the flesh away from the plaster.

Qin Zhilu stared at the now-empty pillar, then bent down to pick up the remaining manuscripts before stepping off the platform.

Nothing happened.

“An aberrant-distortion between human and statue,” he thoughtfully remarked. “It’s a pity the subject is dead; it’s impossible to tell if this specific painting is unique, or if all the manuscripts are forbidden from leaving the platform.”

Jiang Xiao took photos of the body and the manuscripts to send back to the Main City. “I’m inclined to believe only this one is special. But it’s just a gut feeling…”

A sudden gasp erupted from the doorway. Kaos, who had just stepped back inside after hanging up a call, turned deathly pale at the sight.

Jiang Xiao beckoned him over. “Look at the body. Do you recognize him?”

Kaos walked forward trembling, nodding after a quick glance from several meters away. “Mr. Wendt. He’s a very famous hunter in District 99. A large, brave, and steady man who leads a hunting team of over thirty people.”

As he tremblingly explained, he lowered his head to send a message. A reply came quickly. “His team says he came down with a severe flu ten days ago after a hunt and has been recovering at home. That hunt was a massive success, enough to last them through the coming off-season, so the members haven’t disturbed him these past few days.”

Jiang Xiao asked, “Do the residents of District 99 admire his hunting luck to the point of worship?”

Kaos was surprised. “Not to that extent. Why do you ask?”

“Because while he was still alive, his image had already been carved into that pillar.”

Kaos looked confused, staring at the empty pillar behind Jiang Xiao. “Where?”

An Yu, who had been sitting silently in the corner with his head down, suddenly looked up. “Did this pillar have a pattern before?” he asked softly.

“No,” Kaos said blankly. “It was just an ordinary pillar supporting the divination room above. It never had any carvings.”

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以朴素的方式杀死神明

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The snowy roads were difficult to traverse, and the car jolted violently. Jiang Xiao sat in the passenger seat, continuing to probe the relationship between the two killers, while An Yu stared blankly at the frost on the window.

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And the only things reset were the time between him and the aberrant; Qin Zhilu and Jiang Xiao were unaffected.

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In that moment of near-death, he had indeed been swallowed by terror. Only then did he realize that true death is entirely different from being threatened with it. A survival state of 0.1% is fundamentally different from a controlled limit of 1%. At that moment, he had felt his organs stop, and deep in his consciousness, his own death was an established fact.

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His golden eyes glazed over for a moment. “Ling Qiu once said that he hoped, throughout his life, he could teach me four things…”

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An Yu lowered his eyes. “I didn’t expect you to remember.”

Ling Qiu was just an ordinary human, yet he seemed able to predict An Yu’s life. Even before he died, he gave An Yu one final revelation: those who bet on the last chance of survival won’t lose. Although Ling Qiu was drifting in and out of consciousness at the time, he insisted it was An Yu who had told him to remind himself of that.

Jiang Xiao suddenly looked back at An Yu with concern. “Are you alright? Even I’m feeling the aftershocks.”

“I’m fine,” An Yu said calmly. “Luckily, I reacted in time.”

He didn’t mention the time reset to Jiang Xiao; only Qin Zhilu knew the truth of his narrow escape. Qin Zhilu had demanded he kept all time-reversal abilities strictly confidential. Neither the previous memory regressions nor the current time reset could be known by the Black Tower.

“In the moment it happened, could you feel the way time was being compiled?” Qin Zhilu asked in a volume only they could hear.

An Yu shook his head. “It was too fast. It just felt like being torn apart… No, it wasn’t just ‘like’ that. It was a very real sensation of being shredded, as real as death itself.”

A gloved hand covered the back of his hand, patting it gently in comfort.

For some reason, it was only when he was being comforted that An Yu finally felt a flicker of late-arriving fear. He was stunned for a moment, and when he came to, he had gripped the Commander’s hand back, squeezing it through the leather glove over and over.

He felt a slight pang of regret. If only I could actually touch the hand inside the glove, to feel another person’s fingers with my own… perhaps I would feel even more at peace.

Qin Zhilu paused but did not pull away. “So, the trigger condition is a near-death experience?” he asked in a low voice.

“Maybe…” An Yu bit his lip, shaking his head uncertainly. “I don’t know if there will be a chance to try again.”

As soon as he said it, Qin Zhilu’s voice turned stern. “You are not permitted to intentionally create conditions to test this ability.”

“Huh?” An Yu looked up. “Why—”

“Absolutely not permitted.” Qin Zhilu’s expression was unusually severe. “This is different from the infection awakening in District 53. The consequences are irreversible. You must obey.”

“I understand, Commander,” An Yu nodded obediently. “Please don’t worry. You know me, I wouldn’t dare actually go looking for death…”

Qin Zhilu gave a cold snort. “I hope so.”