Chapter 171: The Coming Storm
Things seemed quite serious.
So serious, in fact, that the Narrator couldn’t even give Xu Zhi a hint — it could only tell her bluntly that this was a secret so extreme that speaking it aloud would bring death.
“When will I be able to know, then?”
Xu Zhi refused to give up.
This wasn’t something she could just ignore. Until she uncovered the truth, her transcendence level would never advance.
[When His purpose becomes clear — when the moment arrives that you learn the truth — you’ll understand.]
[For now, just be ready to face that day.]
[Ah, right—]
The Narrator suddenly remembered something.
[If — if — you succeed, you’ll know what you must do next. When that time comes, remember to take the cloak with you.]
[It’s made of special human skin. It can shield you from some of the thunder.]
“Alright.”
Xu Zhi didn’t quite understand why “thunder” would appear after success, but she silently committed the words to memory.
Then, she told the Narrator about her discovery — that the believers of the [Cup] attribute, under the Federation’s watch, seemed to have another purpose in the array they were constructing.
The Narrator didn’t seem surprised at all. It clearly already knew the true function of that ritual formation.
[Everything depends on whether His ritual succeeds.]
[Whether you can grasp His purpose, learn why the path was severed, or uncover more mysteries — all of it hinges on whether that formation fulfills its intended role.]
Xu Zhi frowned slightly. “So, I shouldn’t stop it?”
Otherwise, wouldn’t that mean she’d never have a chance to see the truth and pierce through illusion?
[…If it were only my personal view, I’d say — stop it if you can. Surviving is more important than chasing truth.]
[Survival is life’s first and foremost task.]
[But given how things stand now… stopping it won’t be easy.]
“Mm.”
Xu Zhi nodded in agreement. “I suppose that’s fine too. Since it can’t be stopped, seeing the truth at the brink of ruin isn’t so bad either.”
“Who knows? Maybe it’ll even turn the tide.”
“Still, living peacefully one’s whole life, blind to everything, doesn’t sound so bad either — but unfortunately, we don’t get to choose that.”
If she could, Xu Zhi wouldn’t bother chasing after the truth so hard.
Not because she was stingy about risking her life for it — but simply because she wasn’t interested in troublesome or dangerous things unless they caught her curiosity… or left her no other choice.
After wrapping up that topic, Xu Zhi wasn’t done questioning the Narrator.
“Is ‘Midnight’ something special to the [Cup]?” she asked.
“Why are there so many Cup-aligned entities in there? And even He was able to make arrangements within it?”
“Also — what about the supreme beings of other attributes? Why are they so quiet? Why is He the only one stirring up trouble?”
It wasn’t as though she hadn’t noticed these inconsistencies before — she had. But until now, she’d never voiced them.
The situation, however, had grown too dire. No other supreme entities — at least, none like Him — had appeared to intervene, or even act at all.
It was as if the world held only one ‘God.’
Of course, “God” was just a label. Xu Zhi didn’t believe He truly qualified as one.
[You really know how to ask the impossible, huh?] the Narrator grumbled.
[All of your questions are the kind that are pointless to ask — because I can’t answer them.]
[Unfortunately, these also fall under the unspeakable secrets. But since you already know the truth about Midnight, and you know He’s the only one making waves, you can make a few guesses.]
[What you can infer is the part that isn’t too secret. As for the real reason… it’s tied to the severing of the path.]
[Or rather — it is the same reason, wrapped within the unspeakable secret.]
Xu Zhi sighed. Fair enough.
If the Narrator had never once mentioned something so obvious, it could only mean it wasn’t allowed to. So her questions really were a waste.
Still, thinking it through — Midnight was known as a graveyard, a place where high-level Transcendents were buried. He, and many of His [Cup] followers, were among them.
And the [Cup] attribute dominated that place.
Since it was a graveyard, it could only hold the dead. With so many “Cups” buried there, they couldn’t all have died by their own hands.
Were they slaughtered by the other attributes working together?
Was that why the world’s Transcendents vanished?
And now, His attempt at resurrection — or something even beyond resurrection — was it all connected to that event?
Revenge?
But if it was just revenge, that seemed too simple. It couldn’t explain why the path itself had been severed.
Could it be that the other attributes killed [Cup] at a great cost, causing their own paths to shatter as a result?
That didn’t quite make sense either. No matter how she turned it, something didn’t fit.
“Forget it,” Xu Zhi murmured. “Secrets like these aren’t something you can just guess your way into.”
Better to wait for more clues.
She turned to glance at the black cat. The immense energy it had swallowed was only half-digested after half a month, and even the relic bone seemed to be waiting for its turn to be absorbed.
Judging by the pace, it’d probably need another three or four days of lying still.
Over the past half-month, Zhong Lingfan had sent over more than a dozen new fragments of the ritual array — as if the believers were constantly inscribing new formations every single day.
The more fragments arrived, the clearer it became how vast and complex the array truly was.
It almost felt like a kind of progress. The more fragments they found, the more complete the overall array must be becoming.
No one believed the current discoveries were the whole picture — in fact, finding more only confirmed how much had already been carved.
A sense of impending storm hung over the entire Federation, especially after Zhong Lingfan hinted that an “apocalypse” might be approaching.
The Federation’s response was… mixed. Half doubt, half belief.
After all, talk was just talk. They didn’t have the blind faith in Zhong Lingfan that Zhong Lingfan had in Xu Zhi.
Still, the Federation’s higher-ups took her warnings seriously — mainly because of the countless ritual diagrams that seemed to appear everywhere, even secretly etched into the city’s sewer systems.
Even without Zhong Lingfan’s reminder, they had already realized how dangerously fanatical these believers had become — to a degree that might truly threaten the Federation’s survival.
So even though Zhong Lingfan’s message sounded like doomsday paranoia, the Federation granted her full support: top-tier labs, elite researchers, abundant funding.
Of course, Zhong Lingfan wasn’t the only one involved — most of the research team consisted of Federation personnel.
And this wasn’t just “precautionary planning.”
If it were, the Federation wouldn’t have invested so heavily.
In truth, they had their own reason: a [Lamp]-attribute prophet raised in the capital had also delivered a prophecy of the world’s end.
However, unlike Zhong Lingfan, that prophet’s message was vague — so vague it amounted to nothing more than: “The world will end someday in the future.”
So when Zhong Lingfan’s prophecy came, clearer and more detailed, she naturally earned far greater attention — and importance.
