Qin Xiao?

That was undoubtedly Qin Xiao.

Chu Jiubian read it again and found that it was indeed the person he knew. This was really strange.

According to the System’s explanation of the Divine Realm’s functions, Qin Xiao would not affect the completion of the System’s tasks, nor could he be a heinous criminal, otherwise the System wouldn’t have included him in its selection range.

But the System marked him as “not recommended.” Why was that?

Was it because Qin Xiao was the villain?

Chu Jiubian still hadn’t figured out the System’s purpose and origins, so he was unable to guess the motives behind its behavior.

But even without the System’s warning, he would never choose Qin Xiao as a Believer.

Because he was 100% certain that no matter how well he disguised himself, Qin Xiao would be able to guess his identity in an instant.

After all, Chu Jiubian was the only one who had been behaving strangely around the other party recently, so it wouldn’t be difficult for him to guess. 

Thus, it was very likely that as soon as he dragged Qin Xiao in, the man would kill him right after.

The losses outweighed the gains.

“System,” Chu Jiubian asked, “If I don’t choose a certain person this time, will I have the opportunity to choose them in the future?”

[Yes, Host. Keywords in the card library can be drawn repeatedly.]

[For example, you chose the “Armed Forces” card this time, and you will have a chance to draw this card again in the future. The “Reserved Believer” identity cards associated with this keyword will also appear when the keyword card is drawn.]

So he would have the opportunity to draw these people again in the future.

He tried to suppress his excitement.

Chu Jiubian stared at Qin Xiao’s card. Only when he possessed the strength to have an equal dialogue with Qin Xiao would he bring him into the Divine Realm and show him his ability as the “one true god.”

He would make this Lord Ning-wang willingly submit to him.

But that was for another time.

Right now, Chu Jiubian still needed to recruit an armed force to serve him, as well as a commander who was absolutely loyal to him.

He no longer hesitated, tapping the third card with his fingertip.

The other three cards immediately dissipated into white mist, and this card alone floated in front of Chu Jiubian and enlarged to the size of a computer screen.

The words on the card spread out like an ink painting, gradually dispersing, and were replaced by a brand new image.

This image was a simple tent that looked about the size of Chu Jiubian’s current bedroom.

However, the decorations and furnishings in this tent were extremely crude in comparison. It could be said to be “penniless and destitute,” with only a bed and a dining table set, as well as a wooden rack with silver-white armor hanging on it.

This was obviously the tent of Jiang Shuoye, Commander of the Mobei Army.

The tent door was pushed open from outside, and Chu Jiubian looked intently.

Sunlight shone through the door and cast a shadow over the new arrival, making it impossible for Chu Jiubian to glimpse his face. He could only see that he was tall, with a straight back and shoulders broader than those of the average person.

The figure walked through the door and closed it behind him. Then he went straight to the table, picked up the teapot, and poured most of the liquid inside straight into his mouth from the spout.

When he put down the teapot, Chu Jiubian got a clear look at his face and was briefly surprised. He hadn’t expected him to be so handsome.

However, his facial features were not as fair as Qin Xiao’s, but rather a rough and rugged sort of handsome. If Qin Xiao was a wolf adept at disguising himself and lying in wait, then this man was a placid lion.

There was a deep, sharp scar the length of a thumb cutting through the left side of his forehead, and the bisected eyebrow lent him a dangerous aura.

One could tell at first glance that he was a skilled fighter, as well as the sort of commander who was brave, resourceful, steady, and cautious.

The more Chu Jiubian studied him, the more satisfied he became.

The young commander in the image wiped the liquid from the corners of his lips and paced toward the bed. It seemed he intended to take a nap.

However, after taking just two steps, he paused and looked elsewhere in the tent.

There was nothing there, but he kept feeling like there was someone watching him.

Chu Jiubian met Jiang Shuoye’s gaze through the image on the card. He raised an eyebrow slightly.

It was undeniable that the surge of killing intent from the other party made Chu Jiubian’s scalp tingle.

But that was all.

When he realized this, Chu Jiubian’s heart sank.

This was the great commander who fought on the battlefield and had killed countless people, but he found that the sense of peril this man brought to him was far less than that of Qin Xiao.

This was certainly not because Jiang Shuoye was weak, but because Qin Xiao was an even more terrifying person.

This isn’t a good thing, thought Chu Jiubian.

Jiang Shuoye looked around the tent carefully, and after making sure that there was really nobody there, he walked hesitantly to the bed and sat down.

This person was too alert. If he wanted to pull him into the Divine Realm, he must do it when the other party was asleep or in a state of empty-mindedness.

In order to avoid wasting time, Chu Jiubian told the System to turn off the screen.

If the cautious Jiang Shuoye continued to sense these prying eyes, he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep.

So Chu Jiubian would just wait for the System to summon him in.

Inside the tent, Jiang Shuoye no longer felt that he was being watched, so he took off his shoes and lay down in bed. He didn’t even change out of his dirty clothes after training for half a day, and just closed his eyes to sleep.

Perhaps because the Tatars had been active at the border recently and his newly-trained cavalry was so disappointing, he was in a state of tense paranoia. 

He rubbed his stiff brow and exhaled slowly.

After a while, he seemed to fall asleep in a daze.

But in the next moment, he felt as if he was pinned under the gaze of some huge monster. Instinctive fear washed over him, and he abruptly opened his eyes.

White mist dominated his field of vision, dotted with drifting golden lights.

Before he could react to the new location, a strong sense of weightlessness came over him and he plummeted downward.

He immediately used his internal strength to adjust his posture at the moment of impact, landing with one knee bent to disperse the force of the fall.

He stood up at once, muscles tense and hands clenched into fists, and stared ahead with sharp eyes.

White mist still surged in front of him, and he knew that that terrifying pressure came from within it.

What was going on?

Where was he?

What lay ahead?

Jiang Shuoye’s breathing was long and steady. Although his mind was abound with suspicion, there were no signs of panic on his face.

Suddenly, he heard a long, ethereal cry. He raised his eyes at once to see some kind of bird flap its wings in the clouds above his head, then vanish in an instant.

Jiang Shuoye’s heart skipped a beat.

He vigilantly scanned the unending mist around him, cautiously treading forward step by step.

The mist seemed to go on forever, but after a few steps, he smelled the refreshing fragrance of plum blossoms and the mist receded substantially.

Whereas he was previously only able to see the ground beneath his feet, he could now see two steps away.

After walking like this for more than ten steps, the mist before him dissipated almost completely, and was replaced by a pure white space more than ten times the size of the military training grounds.

This square space extended into the white mist in all directions. Two thick, straight coiled dragon pillars stood to either side, extending upward with no end in sight.

In the middle of the space was a white jade table about six meters long.

There was only one chair at this table, its back facing away from him.

This was a dream.

Jiang Shuoye understood that only a dream could be this absurd and inexplicable, although this dream felt particularly real.

His tense form relaxed somewhat, but he was still instinctively alert to possible movement around him, and naturally did not ignore the terrifying pressure in front of him.

But because he knew this was a dream, he finally lost his initial wariness and was in a state to analyze the scene before him.

He supposed the table and chair had been prepared for him. Was he dreaming of having a feast?

Jiang Shuoye was not a person who cared much about what he ate, and really didn’t expect to dream about such a strange table.

How puzzling.

He went to the table and curiously touched the back of the chair.

It was smooth to the touch, made of higher quality jade than he had ever seen.

He took another careful look and found marks on the table and chair that appeared to be ancient characters or some kind of totems, but there was no trace of them being artificially carved – they appeared to have grown like this naturally.

Such magic was worthy of a dream.

Jiang Shuoye took a seat on the chair, placed his arms on the armrests, and looked straight ahead.

A dozen feet ahead, red plum blossoms faintly dotted a screen of mist that was much like a gauze curtain. A breeze carried their sweet fragrance to him.

What lay ahead?

He frowned slightly, and decided to take a closer look.

But just as he was about to get up, a strong gust of wind blew past.

He subconsciously raised an arm to block it, and when he looked up again, he found that the white mist in front of him seemed to have thinned.

And it grew thinner the higher it went.

Jiang Shuoye slowly raised his head toward the mist curtain, and his heart instantly skipped a beat.

Within the hazy white mist were huge, leisurely floating golden silhouettes, much like…..dragons.

And beneath those silhouettes was the faint appearance of a huge figure, like the most magnificent statue in the temple.

But unlike a solemn and dignified Buddha statue, the one before him was not in a meditative pose. Instead, it sat on a chair with its legs crossed, its posture languid as it leaned its face on one hand.

The figure seemed to sense Jiang Shuoye’s gaze, and slowly sat up straight.

And as the other party moved, crisp sounds like that of jewelry clacking together filled the air.

It seemed that this was the source of the sense of oppression.

Even though he knew it was a dream, Jiang Shuoye still instinctively tensed up. But rather than immediately standing up to go on the defensive, he instead asked: “Who is responsible for this?”

After a moment of silence, the statue seemed to chuckle.

Then came the cool, somewhat indolent voice of a young man. There was a smile in his voice as he said: “Welcome to my Divine Realm.”

Jiang Shuoye regarded the figure with a frown.

What was a Divine Realm?

“Who are you?” he asked.

Chu Jiubian lowered his eyes toward the man in front of the long table. His gaze was not directed toward Chu Jiubian, but at the towering projection he had created above his head.

Were Jiang Shuoye to see the entire picture at this moment, he would find that Chu Jiubian was shorter than him – but the giant projection looked much more like a god.

Chu Jiubian tapped the armrest with his fingertips and said: “I am a god.”

All these years of acting had not been in vain. It was a piece of cake to alter his voice slightly.

His excellent delivery skills made these lines, which even he felt were immature and embarrassing, seem convincing rather than awkward.

As Jiang Shuoye stared up at him, his tense body completely relaxed.

This dream was getting increasingly ridiculous. He should be able to wake up soon.

In this relaxed state, he was no longer as aloof and reticent as he was in the military camp, and instead became more talkative. He asked: “Then which god are you?”

He himself did not believe in gods, but he had heard of some of them and wondered which one this dream person might be.

Chu Jiubian had already considered this question.

He couldn’t just impersonate a legendary deity, so he could only invent a new one.

He would rely on his believers to gather information and build up his power base, and associate himself with the identity of “Chu Jiubian,” which he must designate as a higher authority than his own in the Divine Realm. This way, when his followers found out that everything he did in the Divine Realm was for the purpose of helping “Chu Jiubian,” they would experience a sudden sense of enlightenment.

In other words, he must slowly reveal the fact that he, in the Divine Realm, actually obeyed, believed in, and even fanatically loved “Chu Jiubian.” This would solidify his believers’ devotion to him. 

The “one true god” could only be “Chu Jiubian.”

In this way, even if the System no longer existed, he could still use his identity as Chu Jiubian to inherit these believers from the Divine Realm and continue to have their obedience. After all, he was a higher authority than this “god” in the Divine Realm.

So after much thought, he came up with an identity that was particularly suitable.

Chu Jiubian’s voice was cool and leisurely, echoing throughout the vast space.

“You can call me —”

“The High Priest.”

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Chapter 11 << Table of Contents >> Chapter 13