Chapter Ninety-Seven: The Meeting

Li Wei sneered, “Are you sure it’s the fifth energy level? Don’t just compare me to any random nobody.”

Barolo lied without batting an eye, “That’s right, it really is the fifth energy level.”

He couldn’t truly judge A-dong Sa’s power, but at this moment he unhesitatingly rated it as fifth level.

This evaluation was clearly an understatement.

Provence said solemnly, “What kind of person is this A-dong Sa, really?”

Barolo spoke offhandedly, “What kind of personality do you expect from a cursed lone star? It’s just reclusive, cold, and difficult.”

Li Weishi transformed back into Li Wei and snapped fiercely, “I don’t believe a single word from that old bear. Provence, let’s team up and do a soul search on him right now!”

Barolo snorted through his nose, “Dead demon. If you weren’t so afraid that the old man’s prophecy would come true, you wouldn’t have sent me to make contact with A-dong Sa. If you have guts, go talk to her yourselves.”

Li Weishi suddenly chuckled, “I heard A-dong Sa is a cute little girl. I really want to meet her.”

Li Wei quickly took control and rebuked lightly, “There are plenty of beautiful girls at home. Don’t get involved. The old man’s words have never been wrong. Whether hostile or friendly with A-dong Sa, it won’t end well.”

Provence said helplessly, “Then what can we do? Just avoid her completely?”

Barolo suddenly said, “Don’t call it ‘her.’ Beneath that human skin, there’s definitely nothing you can sit down and have tea with.”

Provence fell silent.

Li Weishi lamented, “Ah, I still prefer girls who are the same inside and out.”

Provence held his head, “So what? How should we deal with it? We need an answer.”

Barolo said, “No matter what, the ‘Blazing Demons’ have decided to keep their distance from A-dong Sa.”

Li Wei said, “‘Six Wings’ too.”

Provence looked at both of them, frowned, and after long thought said slowly, “‘Prism’… reserves judgment.”

Barolo scoffed, “So unsatisfactory. You really haven’t changed a bit.”

Li Wei was indifferent, “It’s each group’s own business. I won’t interfere with others’ decisions.”

Provence leaned back in his chair, exhausted. The stature of each seemed to shrink another inch. He said, “Do you think sitting in this position is easy? When some unknown expert suddenly appears, you have to be on edge for half a day. I haven’t had a peaceful sleep in ages.”

—

Barolo sneered disdainfully, “You say such stupid things? If you have the ability, give up the position of leader and become a lone wolf. I guarantee your life will be ten thousand times easier. Taking the benefits while complaining—I, Barolo, hate rich brats like you the most.”

Provence was so choked he couldn’t reply.

Beside him, Li Weishi fanned the flames, laughing mockingly, “Hehe, Sister ‘Rose Cross’ has wanted this seat for a long time. If you want to step down, I’ll be sure to tell her.”

The meeting quickly broke up in its usual unpleasant manner.

As Provence left, he muttered, “A-dong Sa… what kind of person are you? And what direction will this miniature world take?”

He looked at the black base with white pupils on his wrist, then at the graffiti sun and moon in the sky, seemingly close enough to touch, and felt a long-festering unease grip his heart.

—

The task cycle in the miniature world varies by person, roughly ranging from half a month to half a year, typically about once every two months. A shorter cycle means the miniature world is paying greater attention to the apostle; a longer cycle does not mean neglect, but rather that the upcoming task is exceptionally difficult, requiring more preparation time.

There are some ways to influence the task cycle.

One is to join a team, usually fewer than twenty people, where everyone shares the exact same task cycle.

Another is to accept tasks directly issued by the miniature world’s administrative zone, allowing early participation.

A-dong Sa is a stowaway; her first task cycle is unpredictable, but the black base with white pupils on her wrist can notify her three days before the task begins.

A-dong Sa received the miniature world’s task notification.

“Blood, pain, shadow.

Life is an endless struggle.

Hell is crowded with whispering resentful wives,

Dead fish eyes mock from behind.

Hey, can we still smell the sunlight?”

The words exuded a dark aura but were deliberately vague—neither appetizing nor discardable—truly a bittersweet riddle.

This was normal; the worlds experienced during tasks are real alternate realities. If the miniature world’s tendrils could easily uncover everything, what need would there be for apostles?

Yet the task’s arrival so swiftly was exactly what A-dong Sa wanted.

She would visit the last place to pass these three days.

—

Before A-dong Sa stood an immense, magnificent building. Its squared beams and seamless columns exuded a subdued, profound majesty, compelling one to lower their head in reverence.

This was a place where anyone ought to show humility.

For it might be the largest library in the multiverse—the Spiral of Life.

The Spiral of Life was not a specialty of the Mourning City; it was a vast knowledge repository jointly managed by several miniature worlds. Its true form was said to be hidden in the quantum vacuum sea—ubiquitous, impregnable, nearly a conceptual greatness.

The interior space of this building partially merged with the Spiral of Life, allowing apostles to use some of its functions.

Of course, at a cost.

Entering through the gate, surprisingly, was just a narrow space of a few hundred square meters.

The molecular partial pressure of the air abruptly shifted, clearly severed from the outside world. A-dong Sa guessed that in that brief moment, she passed through a spatial transition field and was transported to another space.

Though called the quantum sea, how could ordinary apostles enter such a place? An ordinary space had to be opened to receive them.

The pitch-dark space was empty except for a massive glass wall dozens of meters ahead, seemingly bottomless, resembling a water tank, emitting a milky, murky glow that obscured the other side.

A-dong Sa stopped three meters from the vast glass.

Suddenly, a gnarled tentacle stretched out from the milky glass, touching it.

The tentacle twitched slightly and then grew five fingers, its tips releasing a living-like black ink that swiftly traced a circular main stem.

From this circle, fine branches extended, budding into serpentine, ring-shaped, hook-shaped forms—like an ink dragon baring scales and fangs in fury, or a brush soaked in ink sprouting countless barbs—both chaotic and mysterious.

This was a most bizarre script; one circle could represent a sentence or an entire lengthy article. Even with the miniature world’s simultaneous translation, very few could truly master this writing.

Vast information compressed into a tiny circle—indeed, very suitable for storage.

The message read: “Apostle, state your request.”

A-dong Sa said, “I am seeking ‘Sloth.’”