Chapter 70: The Heart Voice Incident

Actually, Luo Shang could have handled this in a far more discreet manner. He could have stayed hidden in the shadows, granting supernatural ability to one of the people on site at random and letting that person take down the cultists. The effect would have been the same.

As for Su Mingyao’s suicide attempt, a simple infusion of spiritual power would have kept him from dying, or they could have just kept him breathing long enough for an ambulance to arrive.

But instead, he had strode out into plain view. That was tantamount to telling them outright: I, Luo Shang, am the Apocalypse Element.

There was nothing wrong with letting them know.

Even cockroaches knew to flee from a human raising a slipper. In the face of a being who could crush them effortlessly, anyone with a functioning brain knew exactly what to do.

Once they knew he was the Apocalypse Element—and without any power of their own to match his—they would have only one attitude toward Luo Shang: do everything in their power to satisfy his every whim.

Luo Shang was so certain of this because, ever since becoming a senior player, every race and every world he had encountered had reacted the same way.

That said, Luo Shang wasn’t asking them to do anything particularly flattering. Over these past few centuries, he had enjoyed the fawning and flattery of countless races across countless planes; he had long since grown numb to it.

Besides, this was his Native Plane—a backwater place with nothing of value he might covet. It was all about nostalgia for his childhood, nothing more.

One more or one less made no difference. That danmei novel never delved into national-level affairs anyway; it was all about Su Mingyao and Shen Changqing’s lovey-dovey romance. Even Shen Changqing’s expansion of his business empire was glossed over, serving merely as backstory to provide Su Mingyao with a comfortable life.

As long as they didn’t interfere, nothing major would happen.

All Luo Shang wanted was for them to turn a blind eye whenever he used supernatural ability to resolve certain matters and to handle the aftermath for him—like damage to public infrastructure or media fallout.

In short, let him maintain his current lifestyle for the time being. That was enough.

Wen Yanjun was delighted by Luo Shang’s attitude, while Jiang Jingwu felt dejected by his handling of the situation. Su Mingyao, meanwhile, was gripped by terror.

Once the initial rush of excitement faded and the hot blood had sprayed out of his neck in ample quantities, the fervor in Su Mingyao’s mind ebbed away with the blood loss. He began to contemplate the consequences of his actions.

First and foremost—

Did Luo Shang mind that he knew about his supernatural abilities?

Even the short-haired woman who had treated him had seen through his lies. As her superior, surely Luo Shang had noticed as well.

Though Su Mingyao had used the excuse that his suicide was meant to stop the ritual, he still felt it was a flimsy pretext.

The Lady of Life Church excelled at healing. Forget a severed carotid artery—even if only a head remained, they had ways to bring someone back. Hadn’t the High Priest been a living example of that?

…So how was he supposed to handle this now?

But then Su Mingyao had another thought: Luo Shang didn’t seem to be hiding it from them at all. He had cast the Fixation Spell on Shen Changqing right then and there, startling even Su Mingyao.

Luo Shang apparently hadn’t given a second thought to what might happen if the spell frightened Shen Changqing into deviating from the plot—yelling, screaming, refusing to follow the script…

Oh, right. If Shen Changqing hadn’t stuck to the plot back then, Luo Shang could have just killed him on the spot, as he had intended. Remembering Luo Shang’s thoughts from that moment, Su Mingyao broke out in a sweat.

Wait—Su Mingyao suddenly realized something.

At that time, Shen Changqing had been terrified of Luo Shang and had no intention of proceeding with the plot. That was a fact. Logically speaking, Shen Changqing couldn’t follow the plot and was doomed to be killed by Luo Shang.

But the terrified Shen Changqing, who should have been too scared to handle the Appraisal Certificate, had gone ahead and done it anyway. That was abnormal!

Luo Shang had expected Shen Changqing to cower in fear of his power, refuse to follow the plot, and get himself killed.

Instead, because Shen Changqing could hear Luo Shang’s heart voice, he had obediently stuck to the original plot and escaped death.

The outcome was good—it aligned with Luo Shang’s desire to follow the plot.

But it didn’t match Luo Shang’s intention to intimidate Shen Changqing into getting himself killed!

From Luo Shang’s perspective, it must have seemed highly irregular—something was clearly wrong!

How had they overlooked this before?!

At this realization, cold sweat beaded on Su Mingyao’s forehead.

He had thought their disguise was flawless, but this analysis changed everything.

In truth, Luo Shang had known something was off from the very start!

It felt like having a bucket of ice water dumped over him in the dead of winter—from head to toe. Su Mingyao shuddered involuntarily.

“Don’t be so afraid. I’m not going to eat you all.”

Luo Shang drawled lazily.

“I’m not Ke Yanjin. When something comes up, he loves digging to the very bottom of it, and sometimes he even eats people. My personality’s more like a programmer’s—if there’s a bug but the system’s still running, I won’t bother figuring out which line of code caused it or patching it up.”

Eating people… Su Mingyao’s mind flashed with Hannibal’s face.

“So, you already have a boyfriend? His name’s Ke Yanjin?”

Su Mingyao had actually been dying to ask about Luo Shang’s boyfriend for a while now. Luo Shang just hadn’t put it out there openly before.

You picked a player who eats people as your boyfriend. Aren’t you scared yourself?

“Actually, ‘boyfriend’ isn’t quite the right term. He’s my partner for this lifetime,” Luo Shang said. “In your world’s lingo, that makes him my husband.”

“Unlike the simple engagements humans make, our bond’s been certified by the Void Notary Office and verified by the River Styx—the river from Greek mythology where the gods swear their oaths.”

It was an oath not even the gods of Greece would dare break, a pact engraved into the soul itself.

“With all the remaining years of this life, I swear we forge an eternal bond, linking our souls together, inseparable even in death.”

Su Mingyao listened in a daze, a flicker of envy stirring within him.

Ke Yanjin might be a terrifying figure, but to Luo Shang, he must be wonderful.

This kind of love that endured through life and death was something Su Mingyao had never known. Even in his previous life with Shen Changqing, theirs had been a natural blossoming into deep mutual affection, nothing more.

Shen Changqing had always approached him from a place of superiority, as if no problem was beyond his grasp. Even when Su Shang had sent assassins after Su Mingyao in that past life, Shen Changqing had swooped in like a hero saving the beauty. They’d never faced a trial that demanded they cling to each other through life and death.

Luo Shang and Ke Yanjin, though—they shared something different. In the Reincarnation Space, they had supported one another through endless, grueling nights, each becoming the light in the other’s life.

“That’s why I’m telling you, those two are both crazy.”

β-62 muttered quietly to Chen Guyi beside her.

“Fine, get it notarized or whatever. But swearing on the River Styx? No take-backs. Break it, and your career as a player is over.”

What was that if not the same as promising double suicide after a breakup?

Even β-62, a die-hard member of the Luo Shang Party who blindly backed every one of his choices, couldn’t stomach this.

She figured Ke Yanjin should stay far away. Let Luo Shang date whoever he pleased, split up whenever he wanted. Freedom was what Luo Shang chased—true freedom, not getting micromanaged, not even having to watch what he said to a male friend.

Didn’t that just feel suffocating?

But those were her thoughts, not Luo Shang’s.

For the sake of love, Luo Shang willingly surrendered part of the freedom he’d once prized, content to let Ke Yanjin take the reins. Even β-62 had to concede it was the real deal.

The white tree branch rooted in the High Priest’s head overheard and nearly freaked out. What? Dating meant swearing on the River Styx?! These sex-obsessed creatures were terrifying!

If it had known it’d be dealing with such emotionally unhinged maniacs, it never would’ve shown up to take a beating. Getting chomped now was just its own damn fault.

My experience is too shallow. If I can make it back alive this time, I’ll hole up till the stars burn out… the Life Branch thought to itself.

“That’s love,” Chen Guyi said.

“I get where the Captain’s coming from.” He let out a sigh.

After being on the receiving end of Ke Yanjin’s targeting for a stretch, Chen Guyi could at least understand the man’s insecurities, if nothing else.

No, β-62 refused to understand—or even try to understand—a single one of Ke Yanjin’s ideas. She’d joined the team solely because Luo Shang had invited her, thinking he was the Captain and thrilled at the prospect. Finding out it was Ke Yanjin instead had left her fuming.

“…Didn’t you used to cultivate the Emotionless Path?” β-62 asked.

How was he so damn empathetic?

“That was then,” Chen Guyi replied coolly.

Luo Shang rubbed his forehead helplessly and tilted his head toward them. “Keep it down—I can hear you, you know.”

β-62 pursed her lips and pointedly looked away from Luo Shang.

Chen Guyi flashed Luo Shang a smile and resumed the interrogation.

“But if a bug gets way out of hand, I will step in. You get that, right?” Luo Shang turned back to Su Mingyao.

“I do,” Su Mingyao murmured, dropping his gaze.

Ever since Luo Shang had shown up, Su Mingyao hadn’t caught much of his back-and-forth with the System.

Come to think of it, it seemed like ever since Shen Changqing had played out the plot properly at the Recognition Banquet, Luo Shang’s inner leanings had shifted.

The back-and-forth with the System, once casual and off-the-cuff, had morphed into something laced with heavy implications—warnings of dire consequences if they didn’t toe a certain line.

In this way, they would end up carrying out exactly what Luo Shang wanted, all on their own steam, without him even needing to spell it out again.

Su Mingyao fell silent for a moment, turning over his suspicions in his mind.

He didn’t dare ask Luo Shang outright now if he knew they could overhear his conversations with the System. Keeping quiet might let him bluff his way through, but asking would make it impossible to backpedal.

It wasn’t that Luo Shang couldn’t handle the truth—it was Su Mingyao himself who couldn’t bear the weight of it.

He had thought they held the advantage, able to eavesdrop on Luo Shang’s heart voice. But now it dawned on him that Luo Shang might be deliberately feeding them selective thoughts, manipulating them by tweaking his own inner monologue. The reversal was downright chilling.