The light seeped out of the room, and outside the door was a pitch-black corridor, as if leading to endless darkness.

"Here I come." Su Ming'an walked towards the door.

Shadow waited at the door, hands in pockets.

"Where are you going?" Little Ming asked, following closely.

Su Ming'an paused his steps and replied casually, "I'm going to a meeting, I'll be back soon."

"I'm coming with you." Little Ming took strides to catch up.

"You don't need to follow."

"I'm coming. If anything happens to the Lord, I would be sent back midway." Little Ming insisted on coming.

Su Ming'an's eyes questioned Shadow, who consented. Although this Little Ming was Su Ming'an, they were strangers to each other, so he didn't mind.

At this moment, as Su Ming'an was about to leave, shouts came from the auction hall:

"Su Ming'an, don't go! Let us see you for a bit longer!"

"Hey? Where did the Boss Rabbit on stage go? It was just here..."

Su Ming'an turned back to glance at the crowded people, and with just a glance, thousands of eyes returned the gaze, filled with frenzy and reverence, their pupils densely packed like compressed insect eggs.

—When billions watched Chang Ge make his final wish back then, it was with the same look.

Under the stage.

Mizushima Kawa Sora had already come to an agreement with the blond youth, their postures somewhat aloof, appearing more like allies rather than lord and summoner.

"Let me say this first, when you come to Luowasha, I'll only provide advice. If confronting the Divine Envoy and Agent of the Light Series, I won't participate." The blond youth said.

"...Understood." Mizushima Kawa Sora said.

...

On the other side, Su Rin slightly lifted the black robe covering his face. Beside him followed a vaguely white shadow.

"...Something's not right." Su Rin muttered.

He looked at his card. This was what he had just drawn; since he blocked the light, no one saw that he drew the purple glow.

...

[SSR·Cloud City God·Su Rin]

[Class: Mage (Rear)]

[Born above Heaven, once sailed away from home, wrote with poetic pen to earn fame, watched over the world for sixty years, until the Old God returned, the Holy City collapsed, and the Heavenly Dream shattered.]

["—My bound dream has become bizarre and fantastical. Then hopefully, your independent and free life shines like a song."]

...

Su Rin didn't expect to draw his "past self". Logically, this didn't make sense, since he was standing right here, so where did this "past self" come from? This was most likely a cut-out time segment created as a replica, not real.

But despite this, at the moment of drawing, he truly felt...his past self was quite the pretender.

Two pairs of golden eyes met for a moment, the Cloud City God seemed to understand everything. No questions were asked, just silently standing beside Su Rin as if observing the surroundings.

Su Rin looked at the values:

[Darkening Value: 87 points]

[Level: lv.71]

The darkening value being so high was normal; for balancing in the past, he could control anyone to die.

His strength was indeed weakened, after all, the Cloud City God was born attached to the Cloud City. However, it wasn't as severely weakened as himself, retaining some strength.

He pondered for a while. To understand Zhai Star humans, he once surfed the forums for a long time—generally, such summons might be "a wish made by the despairing self towards the future: I wish to save that yet-to-fail me?", thus paying a price to be summoned into the real singular timeline, if he can help the successful singular timeline's "self" win, then the wish can be realized, obtaining rewards, returning home.

So this Cloud City God state of self, would gladly be summoned as a card to fight alongside him for victory.

He looked up at the glass room: "Hmm? At this time...where is Su Ming'an going?"

Next to him, the white shadow spoke: "Who?"

Its voice was much more indifferent than his own, light as a feather. This comparison made Su Rin realize that indeed he had changed a bit after leaving Cloud City.

Most of his interactions with Su Ming'an started after being pulled down, so the Cloud City God was not yet familiar with Su Ming'an.

"Nothing." Su Rin shook his head.

The Cloud City God remained silent. It seemed that God didn't quite understand why "self" could still live after leaving Cloud City, and looked like living quite freely.

...

Su Ming'an stood still for three seconds, glanced at Lv Shu and the others, then decisively turned back.

...Mustn't look back anymore.

He plunged into the dark corridor, following Little Na straight ahead. A familiar scent gradually filled the air, quickening his heartbeat—the smell of joss paper burning.

It seemed like a dark corridor, but was actually high-dimensional space technology. Su Ming'an could feel spatial fluctuations flowing beside him, as if complex numbers were piecing together, shattering, integrating, gradually assembling a corridor leading to the unknown, leading to that special space, a high-dimension convergence place.

In an extremely quiet and oppressive atmosphere, only the sound of heels striking the ground was heard.

"...Su Qing." A slightly clear voice came from beside.

Su Ming'an turned his head, Little Ming was watching him.

"Su Qing. My name." Little Ming said.

"You named yourself?" Su Ming'an asked.

Their voices echoed in the dark space, Little Na tilted her head but did not look over.

Little Ming raised an eyebrow: "...After all, we are two people, my past is different from yours, it can't be explained with 'possibility', nor is it 'original'. In short, stop calling me Little Ming, distinguish me from you."

"Understood." Su Ming'an said.

At this moment, the person in front came to a halt.

Su Ming'an's heart tightened; this meant... the moment had arrived.

Ever since the negotiations in the Tenth World with the organizers, he had been incessantly thinking, continuously conversing with his inner self—if, in the end, he truly failed, would he really be taken away? Would he fall into the hands of the organizers, becoming a new sword to be wielded? How could a mere ordinary student like himself outmaneuver these high-dimensional beings, seeking negotiation space on the edge of a blade?

After this journey, there would be no turning back. Authority was his final trump card, the only weapon he had as a human to counter the organizers; everything else was too insignificant.

Little Na rested her hand in the void, as if there were a black doorknob there. She lowered her eyes and bowed, stepping back in her high heels, as if she were drawing open a boundless curtain—

"Please, go ahead."

Her figure vanished.

Light spilled into Su Ming'an's pupils.

He saw an expansive starry sky, not a free-floating space, but a high platform resembling an Ancient Greek thought-provoking venue, ivory white structures and fragmented sculptures standing tall. Perhaps philosophers once debated human intelligence and philosophical doctrines in such a scene, but never for this purpose.

They had chosen the conversational setting to mirror the spaces where human philosophers pondered, implying perhaps they wished to symbolize their own sagacity and inclusiveness similar to those Greek philosophers?

Su Ming'an walked to the center of the venue, surrounded by fading structures, faintly glimpsing the splendor of past civilizations, above him was a vast and profound starry sky, containing thousands of scenes and colors, making one feel negligible.

At the moment he stood still, his live broadcast room was already inaccessible, recording, filming, and friend functions momentarily unusable. He was like a man empty-handed, standing naked in this place.

"Rustle—"

Instantly, murky starlight descended, several amber shadowy figures formed on the high platform. Their arrival bore no imposing force or pressure, seemingly a mere visual change. Subsequently, numerous deep gazes lowered, staring directly at Su Ming'an at the center.

If it were an ordinary person, they would probably have trembled in fear. However, Su Ming'an did not feel frightened, nor did he look back. His gaze ambiguously dropped into the void, seemingly unwilling to meet any high-dimensional being's eyes.

Beneath the surrounding white pillars, ancient texts and mythological inscriptions marked the ivory white surroundings, scattered civilization remnants lay at his feet, strewn like inconspicuous stones by the roadside.

"(Why let us overlook him?)"

"(Quickly elevate him to our level.)"

—It was peculiar, abrupt language resembling ancient poetry.

Or rather, it wasn't language, more like collision sounds emitted through signal exchange. Lengthy verbal exchanges had been simplified to the extreme; only the network of thought was needed for transmission.

Yet when Su Ming'an heard these collision sounds, he could comprehend their meaning—he surprisingly understood their conversation.

The next moment, he felt the ground beneath his feet rise, leveling with the other high platforms, seemingly caused by them.

"(Alright, now he is at the same level.)"

"(Can he understand our language?)"

"(Probably not. Hence, we need to use human communication methods to speak with him.)"

A vast amount of information exchange occurred in an instant, leaving only strange abrupt echoes. Among them, even mechanical sounds were mixed, perhaps there was a mechanical life among them.

Su Ming'an stood on the elevated high platform, surveying his surroundings—he saw twelve raised platforms arranged in a circle around his platform, totaling thirteen including his own.

Each platform revealed a silhouette.

Su Ming'an felt a momentary trance as if he hallucinated—these were islands, close yet never connected, falling amidst a distant, endless ocean. On these "solitary islands," people could communicate, form alliances, but could never reach another or further engage, becoming brethren.

Could their relationship be like this?

Su Ming'an had long deduced: the world game might not solely belong to the organizers; the organizers were also participants in the game, merely serving the role of "organizers," attempting to leverage the game for benefits. They must adhere to game rules, not directly interfere with players, not arbitrarily disrupt game fairness, nor thwart players' final wishes—they too were "prisoners" of the game.

At most, they exploited loopholes, enticing players to become special identities, secretly inciting player conflicts, yet akin to tigers locked in shackles, powerful yet unable to break free from the chains of rules, unable to accomplish more.

—They might not even all be high-dimensional entities.

Perhaps sliced, perhaps demigods, even second-level gods like Luowasha's Fun Demon, there's no need to imagine them overwhelmingly exalted. Once stripped of the mysterious veil, without the shelter of rules, they may not be all that powerful.

Thus, when they discovered Su Ming'an might possess authority that transcends their own, capable of retracing the entire world game—they became excited, even greedy—this authority surpassed their own.

They didn't intend to destroy him, eliminate him, but wanted—to take him.

Just like the Ouroboros of cosmic wanderers collecting garbage, they all possessed unachievable tasks, hence they needed his strength.

His Death Rebound had transcended them from the very beginning.

...

[According to cosmic theory, each birth of the universe is a lengthy process of energy sedimenting into matter, and matter transforming back into energy. Similar parameters create this "Reincarnation," while different parameters cause variations in each "Reincarnation." If one walks on the Mobius Ring, one would never reach the end.

He contemplated a possibility—does the control of the world game not entirely lie in the organizers' hands, leaving remaining control in his? He wasn't merely an ordinary player, but a manipulator of human civilization above the battlefield, experiencing memory loss?

For instance, through time-space, grandmother paradox, causal Ouroboros methods, could he compete with the organizers in the future?

Death Rebound, is this the "resistance" granted by his future self?

—"Chapter Five · 'Charm A'"]

...

Could there be such a possibility?

Could his initial game conjecture be correct?

Yet, regardless, he only perceived himself as a regular person; those past nineteen years seemed genuine. If even his past were fake, then what elements remained supporting him as "Su Ming'an"?

He leaned towards another answer.

[Who granted the Death Rebound?] This was the singular crucial doubt. Unraveling this would resolve all uncertainties.

As he contemplated, on the closest "Solitary Island" to him, a faint shadow began to shape, rabbit ears protruded from within the shadow, Boss Rabbit brushed away the dense fog, revealing the Big White Rabbit's true form.

"Dearest~ Rabbit is here! Seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar setting, doesn't it feel comforting? Rabbit's high platform is closest to you, if you encounter difficulties, you can confide in Rabbit." Boss Rabbit waved to him, smiling broadly.

Su Ming'an glanced at the Boss Rabbit, then at the remaining eleven swirling mists.

Admittedly, seeing Boss Rabbit, his heart grew somewhat more stable. Compared to the other eleven unknown entities, Boss Rabbit was the most familiar creature within human cognition.

"—(So, Su Ming'an.)"

The sound of Dieying emerged from the second "Solitary Island," its blue eyes faintly visible through the mist, emitting a golden sheen.

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