AP CH2
The day before returning to school, Zhan Yan received a delivery. He went to a tea restaurant where he had pre-booked a private room to open the package.
He had agreed to meet Gu Jiancheng here. Since he arrived early, he wanted to check the package first, so he could slap one straight onto Gu Jiancheng when he arrived.
The package was flat, containing only a poker-sized card. This was Fang Pai’s sealing talisman.
Fang Pai had given him a password—like unlocking a phone—that required connecting the symbols on the card’s back in a particular order to activate. Inside were six groups of seals; each time he slapped the card onto someone, one group would be applied.
Foolproof operation! Definitely worth the points he spent on Fang Pai!
Zhan Yan tested it on himself first.
A strand of hair on top of his head, the silver locket on his neck, the elastic band with a charm on his wrist, and the charm on his phone all flashed. Within the card, the Danxiang Seal split into six parts let out an inaudible cracking sound. The sealed power burst out like water surging from a gate, instantly dividing into four streams that were absorbed cleanly as if sucked in by great whales.
Faint, illusionary burping noises seemed to echo in the air.
Come on, whatever anomaly dares appear—my little guys will smash it to dust!
Zhan Yan was totally unaware of this. All he saw was a notification in his Gossip System feed: [You have successfully used the Danxiang Seal Talisman Card.]
All good!
His system feed continued to update:
[Danxiang Seal Talisman Card energy depleted.]
Just then, Gu Jiancheng arrived. Zhan Yan shut the system without noticing the latest message.
Gu Jiancheng handed him a small gift box.
“What’s this?” Zhan Yan asked curiously as he opened it to find a fitness tracker.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to work out? This can monitor your daily activity and physical condition. It’s waterproof—you don’t even have to take it off when showering,” Gu Jiancheng explained.
Of course, the real point was the modification he had arranged afterward. Hidden inside the tracker was a small sealing array that contained a sliver of his own shadow. If the device detected Zhan Yan’s physical condition reaching danger levels, the seal would automatically break open. Normally, the seal stayed dormant and harmless.
Holding it, Zhan Yan felt something odd about the back’s texture. He flipped it over and saw their initials carved into the case.
He looked up at Gu Jiancheng.
Gu Jiancheng’s eyes were bright, the tips of his ears red.
Zhan Yan smiled as he held out his wrist.
Gu Jiancheng lowered his head to put the tracker on him. Zhan Yan’s wrist was pale and dazzling under the light, the dark blue veins under the skin clearly visible. With his eyes lowered, his expression was unreadable; his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly.
Zhan Yan grinned, watching him adjust the strap’s tightness.
Ah, now even the tips of his ears were red.
Gu Jiancheng really had been unusually clingy lately. Zhan Yan hadn’t had time all day to check his Gossip System. Before they parted, Zhan Yan slipped the talisman card into his phone case. While hugging Gu Jiancheng, he casually pressed his phone against him—one done!
That evening after getting home, Zhan Yan gave his sister Zhan Suiru a big hug in the living room.
Zhan Sui’s eyes were sharp. While gently stroking her brother’s head during the hug, as soon as she let go, she stared at his wrist and asked, “What are you wearing on your wrist?”
What kind of thing dared to share wrist space with the hair tie she gave him?!
“Bought a fitness tracker,” Zhan Yan replied smoothly, omitting who gave it to him.
Oh—he bought it himself. Fine, then.
Zhan Yan then went to hug his mom and dad one by one. His brother stood in the stairwell’s shadow, watching with dark, unreadable eyes.
“What’s up with Yan Yan today?” Ji Yueming smiled, enjoying her youngest son’s rare affection.
Zhan Yan opened his arms wide to Zhan Jinli and said deliberately, “I’m going back to school tomorrow! You won’t see me for days! Aren’t you going to give me a hug?”
He’d annoyed his brother the other day and was trying to make it up now!
Zhan Yan blinked his big, bright eyes at Zhan Jinli.
Zhan Jinli stood with folded arms, saying nothing.
Zhan Suiru lightly kicked his calf.
Ji Yueming smiled at him. “Jinli—”
Zhan Jinli finally stepped forward and opened his arms, letting Zhan Yan throw himself into a full embrace.
Zhan Yan sneakily pressed his phone against him mid-hug—second one done!—and even clung on for a while longer, tangling and pestering until Zhan Jinli gave in with a helpless pat on the shoulder. Who could stay mad at him like this? Especially when he hadn’t really been angry to begin with.
Zhan Suiru texted Zhan Jinli furiously: [Yan Yan’s being so sweet—what are you still sulking for?]
Zhan Jinli wanted to scoff.
Sweet? Sure, to her! To Mom and Dad, too! But when it came to him—completely different story.
Zhan Yan had loved teasing him since they were kids. With his sister, he’d pull her along on adventures. With him—always poking and bothering.
Zhan Suiru kept typing: [With your terrible temper, you should be thrilled Yan Yan even likes sticking to you!]
When Zhan Yan was little, he’d been afraid of his brother. But after falling sick once and being carried on Zhan Jinli’s back, he’d suddenly wanted to get close. Unfortunately, Zhan Jinli had always been withdrawn and antisocial—silent even when spoken to—which left Zhan Yan frustrated time and time again.
Back then, he hadn’t even been ten years old. He’d been discouraged countless times, but each time he picked himself up and tried again, thinking of new ways to make his brother respond, until teasing him became a habit.
Even Zhan Suiru wondered how he’d managed to stick with it. But Zhan Yan had never given up.
Isn’t it lonely being an older brother all by yourself?
Ji Yueming smiled gently as she watched them separate and ruffled Zhan Yan’s hair. “Stop bullying your brother.”
Zhan Yan let out a cheeky laugh. No way his brother would really get mad at him!
He opened the Gossip System:
[The Danxiang Seal Card’s energy has been depleted.]
Good, all done!
Back in his room, he logged onto the forum and started counting his points.
The six sets of Danxiang Seals had cost him quite a bit—his points were down by more than half.
Ouch… but also satisfying!
Tonight he’d do a few more tasks and earn enough charms for everyone!
Zhan Yan picked a few invitation tasks from his messages. These private commissions usually paid more than the general ones posted in the mission hall. Not just points—connections mattered too! He’d only been able to redeem real-world goods this time because of Fang Pai’s help.
He wasn’t worried about people knowing he was in Yunjin City. When he had the Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau handle the No. 1 Code Anomaly, they’d already figured out he was somewhere nearby. Yunjin City was huge, and the surrounding area was packed with various supernatural forces. Plus, with his Gossip System’s info protection, no one could trace him any further.
What he did fear was the Bureau sneaking tracking spells into the package. Even if the Gossip System noticed, he had no way to deal with them. After all, he was a total mundane who couldn’t even open his Yin-Yang Eye =_=
Thankfully, Fang Pai’s sealing technique took care of it.
The Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau felt so wronged. Ning Xi hadn’t let anyone track him at all.
They were trying to make friends, not offend him to death, okay?
Besides, it was nearly impossible to sneakily track an information-type supernatural without getting caught.
Zhan Yan finished a few tasks and checked his points again.
Ugh… not restoring these spent points was making him uncomfortable!
But these small tasks wouldn’t be enough to make up what he’d spent anytime soon.
Zhan Yan browsed the forum’s Top Ten Unsolved Mysteries prize pool. He’d solved one already—only nine left. But the rest were either completely untraceable or things he couldn’t talk about even if he knew.
Like “What does the Grandmaster look like under the mask?”—that was one he couldn’t reveal unless he wanted to offend someone big.
Zhan Yan had actually searched the Gossip System for this out of curiosity but found nothing. The system didn’t show images, and he couldn’t even find a text description. But he did see a few gossip threads where someone who had seen the Grandmaster’s face had ended up blushing and breathless!
No matter how much the forum speculated, the Grandmaster didn’t seem to care. Zhan Yan had discovered during his searches that the Grandmaster was too busy to even register an account. He’d borrowed an admin’s access once or twice to peek but quickly lost interest.
Another unsolved mystery that made him drool: “How many points does The Craftsman have?”
The forum’s points leaderboard only showed ranks, not actual numbers. Because points could be traded, the rankings shifted a lot—top players could drop dozens of spots after buying something.
But The Craftsman was different. Ever since climbing to the number one spot, he’d never fallen.
Some suspected The Craftsman never spent points, but this was quickly disproved—people had completed tasks for The Craftsman and were paid in points, often generous amounts.
So The Craftsman just earned points at an insane rate—far outpacing second place by who knows how much!
Zhan Yan searched the gossip threads but couldn’t find The Craftsman’s exact point total—just like how the system wouldn’t give him forum URLs, the data was vague.
But he did find out how The Craftsman earned so much!
Recently, The Craftsman had completed a huge contract for the Abnormal Affairs Management Bureau and received a mountain of rewards—points included!
Zhan Yan drooled with envy. Crafting exclusives really was a money-making business!
If only he could get his hands on some of The Craftsman’s points…
Sadly, none of the gossip threads gave him anything he could sell as intel. The most common gossip was about The Craftsman maintaining his doll-like housekeeper…
Zhan Yan opened his DMs with “Just Save The World!”—no big jobs lately, but even small ones would do.
But for the past two days, “Just Save The World!” hadn’t invited him to any collab missions. Slacking off?
Approaching Science: “Want to do a collab mission?”
Normally, “Just Save The World!” picked the mission—they called the shots, and Zhan Yan just did the legwork.
Just Save The World!: “Taking a break lately. No missions.”
“You could finish my personal task instead.”
Zhan Yan winced. Just thinking about that task gave him a headache. Every day he combed through Yunjin City’s gossip threads using various keyword combos for efficiency. At first, he’d dug up plenty of minor supernatural groups. But it got harder and harder—he’d tried every combo he could think of. Now he was stuck going through posts one by one.
He really needed to unlock the “fuzzy search” feature!
What a bottomless pit of a task…
Approaching Science: “What exactly are you looking for? Give me something more specific. This is such a pain right now.”
Just Save The World!: “No can do. Can’t handle it?”
Zhan Yan: grinding teeth
He’d long realized this guy was arrogant and annoying—just look at that username. Plus the time they tested everyone’s skill by tossing out their own wanted poster—that was not normal behavior!
Approaching Science: “Your points, spend them however you like.”
“[File]”
Zhan Yan sent over the intel he’d compiled over the past two days.
Someday, I’ll earn all your points back!
Gu Jiancheng accepted the file and casually transferred points to him.
Hmph. Collaboration? Tomorrow they’d take the train back to school together—where was the time for missions?
Approaching Science could just keep finishing his posted task.
Checking the time—yep, time for the daily goodnight kiss.
Gu Jiancheng logged out of the forum and called Zhan Yan.
Zhan Yan sounded off. Was something wrong?
Zhan Yan took a deep breath, calming himself. “It’s nothing. Just ran into a chuuni online!”
Gu Jiancheng instantly got fired up. “Want me to curse him out for you?”
“Yes, but aren’t humans inherently such cruel creatures?” the President countered. “If eating is the only way to survive, then they will eat. This is the simplest truth—evil rooted deep in human nature.
It started with devouring thunder and fire, burning the wilderness, digging coal mines, then extracting oil. When oil was no longer enough, they coveted nuclear fission… and now, even as this world approaches its end, they refuse to let go.
Ever since our ancestors added Neanderthals to their menu, there was no turning back.”
The assistant turned his head to look at the man reclining in the chair, but the brim of his hat obscured his face. It was impossible to tell whether the expression beneath was one of pity—or the familiar mockery and ridicule he once knew.
In the long silence that followed, the sky grew ever darker. What was once pure white gradually turned gloomy, until finally the phantom light behind the clouds shrank and dissipated…
“Is the sun about to burn out as well?”
“Yes. The power of the Source Pillar is beginning to retract.”
“The storms are rising again.”
“Mm.”
“Will they stop this time?”
“Who knows?” The President slowly stood up, adjusting the hat on his head. “No matter how things change, this land is no longer fit for human survival… Haven’t you already seen it? Apart from these wounds, it has nothing left.”
He paused briefly and softly murmured, “This is our last supper.”
The final cigarette was lit.
The flickering flame danced, a thin wisp of blue smoke spiraling into the air.
On the computer screen, all satellite signal indicators gradually dimmed, replaced by strange emblems—running across the pitch-black monitor like gods traversing the abyss, emanating a chilling, indescribable majesty.
The Republic of Ideals — Online.
The Continuance Institute — Online.
The Directorate — Online.
The Stone Cauldron Society, the Bronze Hand, the Nameless Graveyard…
From beyond the dark screen, from the depths of their own symbols, it felt as if countless eyes gazed upon this last land—awaiting the final moment.
All the guests had arrived, seated, waiting for the curtain to rise.
They stared at the broken chessboard.
The assistant swallowed nervously, watching the pocket watch in his hand. The moment the hour and minute hands overlapped, he snapped his head up as if shocked by electricity and reported: “The God-Spine Pillar is fully charged.”
“…Wait!”
The President suddenly frowned, as if straining to hear something.
Not only the assistant—even the emblems on the screen seemed to tense, grave and alert as if facing a mortal threat.
And then, that man suddenly reached out and yanked—his fishing rod pulled something out of the sea. Something truly came up. Furry, like a cat, but with a fish’s tail. Indescribably strange.
“Aha! Two hours of waiting finally paid off. And they say the Millenniumpedia is unreliable?” The President grinned ear to ear, examining his ‘catch.’ “Fate brings us together, little one. But no matter how I look at you, you don’t seem much like a fish. Are you edible?”
“…”
Everyone fell silent.
No one bothered to reply.
The creature hooked by the rod opened its mouth in protest, mewling twice. It reached out tiny front paws to scratch his face but was casually stuffed into the fish basket.
Once returned to the seawater, it quieted down, lazily flipping over, unwilling to move.
“Alright.” The President shoved the rod and bucket into the assistant’s arms and hoisted his own chair. “Let’s get going.”
He reached out and removed the white rook from the chessboard.
As he moved, it seemed that the last light was extinguished.
The sun, suspended high beyond the firmament, vanished.
All of existence was swallowed by darkness.
With the light gone, even the wind could no longer be heard—for aside from them, everything abruptly ceased, as if time itself had frozen.
First to depart was the cosmos itself—a slender, delicate hand appearing from nowhere plucked away the black queen. The Republic of Ideals withdrew the foundation of stardust—and so the darkness faded, countless stars dissolved into nothingness, leaving only meaningless void.
Next to vanish were the remnants of the oceans. The Continuance Institute removed the proof of existence; the black bishop disappeared without trace. No matter how towering the tsunamis, how boiling the crimson seas, all living waters of this world swiftly receded, collapsed, until only the pitch-black seabed remained.
Then, like a mirage, the white bishop dissolved. The Directorate shut off the brilliant light, and thus, all fell silent—the thundering crust stilled, magma gushing from the rifts solidified and cooled into stone, drained of all heat…
Now, Asia, Europe, Africa, South America, North America; barren lands, raging oceans, cold or scorching hurricanes, even the skies above… everything met its orderly end.
All that remained was the low, mournful groan of the world’s collapse.
Like harp strings snapping one by one, until only hollow echoes lingered.
Amidst this grand and solitary destruction, old Gaia—Earth VIII—met its conclusion.
When the last cigarette burned out, this battered and scarred world retained only its final outline—and the President standing beside the last door left ajar.
“The fourteenth abandoned Eden and Promised Land…”
The President quietly gazed at the empty chessboard before him, drew from his coat a bouquet of pure white flowers, petals still beaded with dew from some unknown place.
Like tears, they dripped into the cracks of the board.
“Thank you for sheltering us, and enduring us, for these past three hundred years. You have suffered greatly.”
He removed his hat, bidding a gentle farewell to all that was:
“—One day, may we meet again in another hell.”
Finally, the door closed.
In the eternal darkness and silence, space itself shrank inward, dragging the dying spectrum into a futile blueshift. As the four fundamental forces crumbled, the chessboard and the flowers were erased into nothingness.
Earth VIII—annihilated, complete.
The Fourteenth Apocalypse Plan of the International Astronomical Society—fulfilled.
In the final instant, a sliver of light rose from the chessboard, outlining the pure white queen amid the weeping flowers—like a shooting star flying toward the distant void.
The old world had died once again, as it had countless times before.
And then, the new world arrived.
All things turned once more.
This was the remnant record from ninety years ago—the final afterglow of a glorious age.
Since then, such splendor was never seen again.
As he spoke, the man flamboyantly raised a hand to smooth a few strands of his golden hair, making Huai Shi feel disgusted inside. Annoyed, Huai Shi retorted, “Sorry, Big Bro, but I’m not becoming a host!”
“Oh, they’re called ‘male companions’ now. Same thing.”
The “Big Bro” nodded knowingly, magnanimously waving his hand. “No problem. Since you called me Big Bro, I’ll look after you from now on.”
As he spoke, he pulled out a small bottle from his bag and stuffed it into Huai Shi’s arms. Patting his shoulder meaningfully, he said, “Even a host needs to be professional. Go home and do something about that greasy face of yours. Your skincare game is terrible—what a waste of that pretty face. Use this sparingly, okay? This is high-end European stuff.”
Before Huai Shi could even ‘thank him for the favor,’ the man tilted his chin up and turned away, swaggering off.
“……”
Huai Shi stood dumbfounded at the door, looking down at the cosmetic bottle in his hand, unsure if he should throw it down at the doorstep and shout something like ‘Thirty years on the east side of the river, thirty years on the west; don’t look down on a poor youth!’
After a long moment, he glanced at the delicate little bottle, gritted his teeth, and stuffed it into his pocket.
Forget it. I came all the way here anyway. Looks expensive too. What a waste to throw it away… still unopened. I’ll have Old Yang sell it later.
Poverty makes me humble.
Why the hell do I have a cheat ability and I’m still this broke?
He pulled out the notebook from his backpack, flipped through half-heartedly, sighed deeply, and shoved it back into his pocket.
Thinking of Old Yang made him grind his teeth in anger again. He pulled out his phone and dialed the number, yelling, “Old Yang, are you nuts? You sent me to interview for a host club?! You so desperate for a middleman fee you’ve lost your mind?!”
“Hey, I just didn’t ask enough questions, that’s all. They said they wanted someone young, good-looking, experienced, and talented… Bro, you’re broke, I was only thinking of you! Don’t be mad, how about I treat you to dinner the day after tomorrow? Celebrate my wife getting discharged? Oh, and bring some leeks…”
“Leeks my ass—eat them yourself!”
Huai Shi hung up angrily. That bastard definitely did this on purpose—waiting for him to get tricked and sign so he could pocket the damn referral fee.
But then he thought of Old Yang’s situation and couldn’t stay mad.
That guy was doing everything he could to scrape together money for his cancer-stricken wife’s treatment. He’d hustle anything, even small side gigs like Huai Shi’s, just to earn a few dozen bucks in commission… Still, aside from the non-negotiable agency fee, he wasn’t a cheat. Never squeezed extra money from him.
Hardship brothers.
Forget it… forget it…
Huai Shi sighed deeply and heard the rumble of thunder.
Dark clouds drifted in from afar above the gloomy sky. Under the dim sunlight, you could faintly see coral clusters growing between the clouds, and the flickering shadows of fish swimming by…
The faint blue sea gently rippled, casting shimmering waves down onto the earth.
Rain was coming.
They said that seventy or eighty years ago, these “coral clouds” were rare—still in the oceans instead of floating freely around the world.
Some scientists said it was due to rare elements or atmospheric pollution, but no one really believed it.
At first, everyone panicked, thinking the end was near. But decades passed, and no zombies or apocalyptic creatures ever came.
Time dulled the fear.
Now it was normal. So what if there was something extra floating in the sky? Just meant more rain. Planes took different routes and life went on.
Money still had to be made, debts still had to be paid, life still had to be lived.
After a few days of chaos, everything returned to normal.
Just like before.
The thunder rumbled again.
Huai Shi hadn’t brought an umbrella and didn’t want to waste time. He turned and ran for home, but as he sprinted, another loud crash echoed from far away.
This time the thunder was unusually sharp, and even the ground trembled.
He turned his head toward the sound—and saw smoke and fire rising from the distant docks, as if something had exploded.
People on the street stared at each other in confusion. Some eagerly pulled out their phones to film, while others excitedly hurried closer, trying to catch some drama.
Normally, Huai Shi might’ve gone for a look too. But now he felt crushed under the double burden of life and the damn host nonsense—no energy for curiosity anymore.
He sighed, turned left into a side alley, and sped up his pace.
Clang!
At the alley’s end, a bottle hit the wall and shattered, glass scattering everywhere. Then it was crunched under a boot.
Someone stumbled out from the corner, like they were drunk, staggering wildly. Without slowing down, they crashed into Huai Shi—smack!—and splattered against the wall.
Huai Shi froze.
What kind of hero is this?
Before he could react, the ‘hero’ stumbled away from the wall, locked eyes on Huai Shi—and suddenly lunged forward.
Too late to dodge, Huai Shi felt his wrist grabbed, and then something heavy shoved into his arms.
“What the hell?”
He stared, confused, instinctively trying to pull away—but his hand felt wet.
Thick red liquid was seeping from the man’s sleeve.
Blood.
Only now did the overwhelming stench of blood hit him.
A wave of dizziness and splitting headache crashed over Huai Shi. He doubled over, dry heaving until saliva spilled onto the ground.
When he finally raised his head, he saw the man’s twisted, grimacing face. Their eyes met. The man tried to speak—but only spat out a mouthful of blood.
The scene was horrifying enough—but what Huai Shi noticed next was even worse.
In that bloody puddle on the ground… there was a little goldfish.
Not even big. The kind you keep in a home aquarium. Fat and cute.
“Dude… what the hell did you eat? Sushi? Alive?!”
Huai Shi gaped. “You sure you didn’t eat some bad seafood?”
But before he could process it, the little fish twitched weakly… then shriveled up, turning gray and crumbling into dust that melted into the blood.
As the fish died, the man seemed to lose all strength. He collapsed onto the ground, breathless, dark blood pooling under his coat.
Silence fell.
Only Huai Shi remained in the alley.
And the box shoved into his hands…
It was about the size of a large Rubik’s Cube. Heavy. Sloshed when shaken, like filled with liquid.
It felt cold—iron and copper kind of cold—and its surface was carved with elaborate, unfamiliar patterns. Strange symbols, mostly hidden by sticky blood, but radiating an eerie, irresistible power.
Huai Shi swallowed hard.
His throat was dry.
Just holding it made him want to open it—like something inside was calling to him. Tempting him. Begging him to possess it…
He took a deep breath.
Was this even a choice worth thinking about?
Without hesitation, Huai Shi pulled out his phone.
“Hello? 110? I’d like to report something—”