After returning this time, Meieruita devoted most of his time to dissecting that wizard’s corpse. It was hard to have it both ways, but he had prepared in advance and handed An Luo a bracelet. “This can make those who harbor ill will toward you temporarily forget their malice.”
“You possess the Authority of the Creator, so most mid-level apprentices won’t feel any animosity toward you. It’s just that small portion whose malice has reached a certain level, breaking through the restrictions of that authority, so you need some protection.”
An Luo nodded. “I get it, I get it. I’ll definitely wear it when I go out.”
He felt there was no issue with this. He had always thought the so-called “Authority of the Creator” was just a kind of affinity at best—enough to give people a slight initial favorable impression and make him a bit more likable, but that was it. If he encroached on someone else’s interests, they’d still hate him just the same.
Otherwise, it would be far too overpowered, and it didn’t sound realistic at all.
Meieruita’s experiment results this time also put An Luo somewhat at ease.
An Luo figured he probably just had a naturally petty, commoner mindset. He couldn’t be some Long Aotian protagonist. If a divine artifact dropped from the sky, he wouldn’t be able to seize it like a story hero, make good use of it, and climb to the peak of life.
He reckoned he’d just end up anxious and on edge, unable to eat or sleep well, waffling between “I want to use this divine artifact to reach the peak of life” and “An innocent man with a treasure invites trouble—what if using this thing brings disaster instead?” He wouldn’t be able to make a decision for the longest time.
In the end, with no other choice, he’d quietly dispose of the thing—maybe send it anonymously to the police, or find a place to toss it—then return to his normal life.
Now proven, he didn’t have any extraordinary power. Affinity was just affinity, at most making him a little more popular with people. That actually made him feel grounded. Otherwise, he’d always feel like he was floating in the air, all ethereal and unreal.
Meieruita glanced up at An Luo’s expression and let out a quick, silent laugh.
What kind of lie was the hardest to see through?
Seven parts true, three parts false.
And that three parts false was exactly what the other person wanted to hear, matching their expectations.
The necklace around his neck had long been removed. An Luo had said he wasn’t used to wearing jewelry, and he hadn’t lied—from childhood to now, the only thing that could count as jewelry he’d ever worn was a watch, and only for those three years in high school. He’d taken it off after the college entrance exams.
Meieruita didn’t push it. He put the necklace away, saying only that he’d decide when to put it back on An Luo.
The bracelet was a delicate silver chain strung with a ruby. Meieruita lowered his head to fasten it on An Luo. The red gem pressed against An Luo’s pale wrist like a freshly spilled drop of blood, trembling with the movement of his wrist, on the verge of falling but not quite, starkly vivid in contrast.
With a “click,” Meieruita secured the clasp.
An Luo asked curiously, “How do you feel right now?”
Meieruita smiled faintly. “A witch tool I made myself—of course it has no effect on me.”
“Wear it,” Meieruita said, his voice mild. “That way, you’ll be safe when you go out.”
With that, he turned and left, his steps a bit hurried. An Luo knew he was heading to the underground laboratory to dissect that wizard’s corpse.
Meieruita had once asked if An Luo was interested, but An Luo had quickly shaken his head. He had no desire to share a space with a gruesome, shriveled corpse. Meieruita had tried to persuade him a few more times, but An Luo still refused.
Now alone in the dormitory, it was the perfect time for him to copy things down.
An Luo took out the ordinary notebook he’d gotten from the noble’s butler, flipped it open, and began copying the handwriting from the diary bit by bit.
Halfway through, he wondered if he was going a bit overboard, but after thinking it over, he decided to play it safe. Meieruita was too smart. They’d only chatted a little before, and Meieruita had already guessed the basic structure of An Luo’s living environment.
Meieruita had even keenly spotted the contradictions in An Luo’s words and cut straight to the chase. “Your living place sounds so good. In your world, those in power are willing to shoulder the dark side for ordinary people and protect you as best they can. But why are they so ruthless with money, plucking every feather like geese passing by, to the point where it drastically reduces your will to find partners and have children?”
Those gray-green eyes stared straight at him. “Is it really that good, enough to make you want to go back so badly?”
“Pastured lambs suddenly thrown into the wild do face many dangers, but is the sheepfold really such a great place? Yes, there’s food, there’s safety—it seems much better than the wilderness. But what’s the price of staying in the sheepfold?”
“The price of safety is surrendering your wool, your flesh, everything you have.”
“Lying flat? In the end, it’s just losing hope for the future, recognizing your place, deciding to contribute a little less to preserve yourself, gaining a bit of present comfort at the cost of giving up the future and reproduction, isn’t it?”
To be honest, An Luo had been utterly shocked at the time.
Sure, An Luo himself had plenty of dissatisfaction with the status quo—being exploited by capital wasn’t pleasant, and society had its dark sides. But it was a country, not some legendary paradise or mythical heaven on earth. Achieving that level was already incredibly difficult.
As long as there were people, there would be struggles over interests. People had to face reality—this world was material, and celestial dragons did exist. But in truth, Flower Country had already done its utmost to protect ordinary folks like him.
Anyone who disagreed could go take a look at the zombies wandering Amerika’s streets and experience the charm of a biochemical crisis up close.
Or Seattle’s Halloween night in the icy rain—that was a real-life version of “wine and meat rot behind gilded doors while frozen bones lie by the road.”
So An Luo complained now and then, but that was all it was.
Deep down, he knew very well that for over seventy percent of the world’s people, his complaints were nothing but “sweet troubles.”
Lying flat?
Meieruita hadn’t minced words, but as an ordinary person, only in Flower Country could he even dream of lying flat. In Amerika, he’d have to work three jobs a day just to scrape by, and any mishap could land him on the streets as a homeless bum. No fantasies of lying flat there—what pipe dream was that?
He’d been left speechless for a good while, staring blankly at Meieruita. Meieruita thought An Luo was just stumped by the question, so he smiled and said no more.
Meieruita didn’t think his deductions were wrong. A heaven on earth was too unrealistic. But add in the suspicious plundering of wealth and the unknown dark conspiracies lurking behind it all, and everything became logical. The beautiful illusion was just anesthetic smeared on the butcher’s blade, leaving people oblivious as their flesh was carved away.
Just like this world he lived in, which had become nothing more than a breeding ground for the ancient wizards—and the people living in it remained blissfully unaware.
An Luo let the misunderstanding stand. Of course, he couldn’t give Meieruita a detailed explanation of the reasons behind it all, nor correct him by saying the world and the country were different—not like here, where an entire world was controlled by ancient wizards.
Meieruita was just too smart—scary smart.
Even with zero knowledge of An Luo’s modern life, and An Luo being careful to reveal as little as possible, he could analyze it to this extent. Any more info, and he might figure everything out.
So, even though copying his entire diary verbatim seemed like overkill, An Luo did it anyway.
He couldn’t take anything Meieruita had touched with him when he left.
Not even if Meieruita had just written a few lines or brushed against it.
An Luo looked at the blank page with the map Meieruita had drawn and copied it exactly, one-to-one. Of course, it wasn’t as neat and precise as Meieruita’s version, but for a map’s purpose, it was sufficient.
He replicated the abstract drawing on the first page as well, though it was so abstract he couldn’t recreate it perfectly. It was a shame, but that was that.
An Luo put on the bracelet and headed out. He had been a bit uneasy at first, but with the clasp secure on his left wrist, its presence was strikingly vivid. Trusting Meieruita’s abilities, An Luo’s heartbeat gradually steadied.
But luck wasn’t on his side—he ran into that cannon-fodder villain head-on. An Luo nervously touched the chain on his left wrist, trying his best to pass by casually, but the other called out to him.
“Your puppet isn’t with you?” His tone was a bit nitpicky, but it didn’t seem malicious. “I suggest you find a few more. One puppet is far from enough.”
An Luo: “…Uh? Oh, yeah, got it.”
The cannon-fodder villain lifted his chin. “Good that you know. The middle layer’s different from the lower layer—don’t go dying.”
Then he strode off with his entourage in tow, their wizard robes billowing behind them.
An Luo watched their retreating backs and silently added “Outlaw Star” BGM in his mind.
He glanced at their fading figures, then down at the ruby bracelet on his wrist.
Impressive!
Confirming the bracelet really worked—even encountering those veteran apprentices who’d come up together, no issues in the middle layer—An Luo fully relaxed.
The middle layer’s layout was mostly the same as the lower layer, just with an added place to post tasks. For instance, a mid-level apprentice wanting thorns from a thorn beast but not wanting to fetch them personally could post a task, specify the reward, and have someone else do it.
These tasks came in two types: one for mid-level apprentices, more like commissions. The other posted to the lower layer for junior apprentices. The second type cost more to post but still netted a profit overall.
In short, becoming a mid-level apprentice meant no longer being at the bottom of the food chain.
An Luo wandered around a bit, and when he returned to the dormitory, he pushed open the door to find Meieruita already seated at the desk. The moment the door opened, he turned to look.
At the same time, the air was thick with the stench of blood. An Luo jumped in fright, then saw that Meieruita’s turned face was exceptionally pale—ghastly white like a wall freshly plastered with putty, devoid of any color. Yet his lips were very red, vividly sickly.
“Meieruita, what’s wrong?”
An Luo quickly locked the door and hurried to Meieruita’s side, asking anxiously.
The closer he got to Meieruita, the stronger the bloody smell became. Clearly, he was badly injured, but his back was straight, his movements no different from before. Without the heavy blood scent and his deathly pallor, An Luo wouldn’t have noticed at all.
