Chapter 176: A Falling Leaf
When the Narrator suddenly brought this up, Xu Zhi felt something was off. The faint trace of amusement on her face faded, replaced by seriousness. “I remember very clearly. Why?”
That feeling of helplessness back then—the despair as death loomed—and then, the sudden appearance of the game console behind her. She had thought she was seeing a ghost.
[At that moment, just before I appeared… what were you thinking?]
Xu Zhi’s memory of that instant was sharp. She lifted her chin slightly, her tone shifting from her usual casual one.
What had she been thinking? The answer was simple.
“I wanted to live.”
Her entire mind was consumed by the thought of how to keep living. A fierce will to survive filled the weak girl she once was.
[Yes. But that wasn’t all.]
The Narrator added quietly.
[You were resentful, bitter, and full of hatred. In that instant, no matter the cost, you chose to live.]
In that moment, the object of Xu Zhi’s hatred wasn’t the world or anyone else—it was her own powerless, weak self.
And because of that—it appeared.
[In that instant, you made a choice even you didn’t realize.]
“…What?”
Xu Zhi frowned slightly. She couldn’t quite understand—she’d thought about it carefully, but didn’t recall making any kind of choice.
What choice could she possibly have made back then?
“Are you saying… my choice to pick you up?”
That was the only thing that made sense to her.
[No.]
For the first time, the Narrator told Xu Zhi this truth:
[It was because you made that choice that I appeared.]
[In that extreme moment, you chose to cast away every emotion and moral belief that could become a ‘burden’—your weakness, your kindness, the few positive feelings and moral values you’d formed in peaceful times.]
[Though negative emotions always outweighed the positive throughout your life, they weren’t entirely absent.]
[But in that moment, you believed that to survive in that city, such things were useless.]
[I can’t predict what things would look like if you’d chosen differently, but ever since that moment, you’ve seemed much happier. That means your choice to abandon those emotions wasn’t wrong.]
[And now, to merge the Authority with the Fragment, you must reclaim the things you once discarded.]
Xu Zhi frowned at the words glowing on the screen. “Did I really do that?”
She couldn’t remember ever making such a choice. And she didn’t feel like anything was missing from her emotions.
The Narrator seemed to sigh.
[Sigh.]
[Those things were rare and insignificant to you to begin with. You didn’t care, so naturally, you didn’t notice their absence.]
[But cutting them away is easy—getting them back is not.]
“How do I do that?”
Xu Zhi wasn’t particularly concerned about those “positive emotions” the Narrator spoke of. Even after hearing this explanation, she only thought—if she had truly made that decision back then, it must’ve been the right one.
To her, reclaiming what she’d once discarded was no different from picking up a fallen leaf.
[Starting today, eat one high-grade core of the Light attribute every day. Let your body gradually adapt to the extraordinary energy of Light.]
[It might make you uncomfortable, but you’ll have to endure it.]
[The Light attribute holds the purest, most positive emotions.]
“That’s it?”
Xu Zhi was a little surprised. She’d half expected to be told to do good deeds or something. She could force herself to do that if necessary.
[Of course not.]
[That’s only the preliminary step.]
The Narrator seemed to foresee what Xu Zhi was thinking, and couldn’t help but retort:
[Don’t tell me you thought just doing a few good deeds would be enough to get them back?]
Xu Zhi scratched her head. “Huh? It doesn’t work like that?”
[…?]
[Do you think they’re like trash on the street?! You can’t just pick them up that easily!]
“I heard the Federation’s sanitation is excellent. You don’t really see trash lying around,” Xu Zhi said sincerely.
“And doing good deeds isn’t easy either.”
[……]
[Enough. Go do your thing—I’ve got work to do too.]
If it talked any longer, it feared it might short-circuit from anger.
“So when can I get them back?” Xu Zhi pressed quickly.
She hadn’t forgotten her goal of merging the Authority with the Fragment.
But the Narrator only left her with a single line: [When the time comes.]
“‘When the time comes,’ again!”
The girl grumbled softly, but didn’t press further.
The rift had been quiet since its last surge, and so far, only one red light had flared in the Federation. Xu Zhi knew this was only the beginning—there was no way the Federation could truly stop those fanatics. At best, they could delay the inevitable.
Several days later, Zhong Lingfan messaged her, saying he’d finished modifying her blade and she could come pick it up.
Xu Zhi was intrigued. The game console’s forge was reliable, but its templates were fixed; human-forged weapons, by contrast, had individuality. She was curious what Zhong Lingfan had changed.
Inside the Yun City laboratory—
A black horizontal blade lay quietly on the test bench. Its surface didn’t seem particularly sharp, looking almost as if it were made of some special kind of wood. Yet now, as if stimulated by something, the once golden patterns along the blade faintly glowed with red, as though blood flowed through them—or as if the charcoal-black blade itself had caught fire.
It looked like an art piece, something fragile enough to snap easily—but anyone who had seen or touched it knew that the seemingly dull edge was sharper and tougher than any weapon they had ever encountered.
Zhong Lingfan stood gazing quietly at the blade before turning to the girl beside him—the same girl Xu Zhi had brought back, the one with a devout believer for a brother.
“The contract is complete.”
The words sounded like a sentence. The girl’s body trembled slightly. She covered her left wrist, wrapped in bandages—beneath them were faint scars, the result of repeated cuts healed over and over by Heart-type transcendents.
Her face was pale, likely from blood loss. Hearing Zhong Lingfan’s words, she only nodded faintly in acknowledgment.
“I’ll ask you one last time—are you sure?”
“This must be done voluntarily. I hope you won’t regret it.”
The girl pressed her lips together. Despite her pallor, determination shone in her expression.
Zhong Lingfan knew her well. He’d investigated her background, and in their days of “cooperation,” he’d learned much more through conversation.
It was obvious—she was a good kid. Before the apocalypse, she studied hard, went home whenever she could to keep her elders company, even learned outdated hunting methods just to make them happy. After awakening her power, she bore the burden of protecting her family. Even after moving into the settlement, she never grew complacent—instead, she worked harder, all to help her devout brother.
Smart, loyal, steadfast, and true to her word—many virtues could be seen in her.
And now, Zhong Lingfan was asking her to walk willingly toward death.
