Infinite spooky game

In the conference room of the Jiangcheng Bureau of Investigation and Statistics, images of the Shangri-La Snow Mountain, captured by a monitoring satellite, are projected onto a large screen.

The glacier, unchanged for millennia, stands silently, devoid of human figures or ghosts, its solitude unchanged since ancient times. Suddenly, the image on the screen vanishes without warning, replaced by a vast expanse of blank white. People know then that the final gamble has begun.

At this point, no one knew what had happened on the snow-capped mountain; they could only anxiously await the outcome.

No one spoke, for any words would be too dignified for the situation; everyone remained silent, for even if humanity were to perish, it was not their place to utter their last words.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock..." The mechanical clock installed in the conference room at the beginning of the century chimed annoyingly, but no one got up to turn it off. Under immense pressure, even movement was forgotten; people sat like statues, staring motionlessly at the screen.

After an unknown amount of time, the sound of rain began to fall outside the window. At first, it was just a few light drizzles, but within seconds it turned into a torrential downpour.

Thick, dark gray clouds stretched for miles across the sky, and heavy curtains of water poured down like waterfalls, as if a suspended ocean had been overturned onto land. The howling wind whipped up giant waves, and huge raindrops swirled in the air. The mythical flood that submerged the world was probably a harbinger of this, as it unrestrainedly vented the wrath of the gods.

Blood tears flowed from the silvery-white eye at the center of the dome, then closed tightly in the next second, turning into a white line that pierced the sky. The mysterious and eerie aura dissipated at a perceptible speed, like the white tail cloud left behind after an airplane has passed, which spread and faded under the dilution of the rain, merging into the gray sky.

The pattering rain drowned out all other noises, becoming the sole symphony of mass in the world; the spiritual rain fell on every corner, striking the white stained glass windows of churches, the gray chimneys of factories, and the black rooftops of towns…

Raindrops pounded on the ground, splashing up a thick fog that swept over the man-made buildings and natural landscapes in the surrounding area. All people and things were smeared with the gray and white of a funeral. A great sorrow flowed into everyone's soul through the water, and so they all knew of the death of the god and wept uncontrollably for him.

"Is the ancestral god dead?" a councilor asked, choking back tears. "This rain is just like the rain that fell in Jiangcheng half a month ago..."

No one knew the exact answer. The electronic equipment malfunctioned severely in the rain; the lights flickered twice as if there was a bad connection, and the conference room was plunged into complete darkness; the projection screen went black, the air conditioning and ventilation systems stopped working, and the mechanical clock ticked on at an unchanging frequency, as if it would continue to tick until the end of time.

All monitoring satellites failed simultaneously, making it impossible to observe the situation in Shangri-La, or even what was happening in other cities. But everyone could feel the extraordinary nature of the rain that was descending upon the world.

They held their breath, silent and peaceful, like corpses lying in coffins awaiting burial, continuing to await judgment. They waited and waited, and suddenly lines of silvery-white text appeared in the darkness before them, accompanied by a solemn and dignified voice:
[Where gods fall, all the strange, mysterious, and bizarre things of the past and future will perish.]

The announcement of the rules, as always, was cold and detached, yet it sealed the fate of the final gamble. People finally knew the outcome, and it was by no means disappointing; on the contrary, it meant immense surprise and hope.

The councilors, setting aside their usual pride, stood up and embraced one another. Their faces, streaked with tears from the aftermath of the god's fall, presented a scene that felt surprisingly natural.

They relayed the news to each other incoherently: "The Ancestral God is really dead, Lin Jue won, humanity has triumphed... It's like a dream."

Yes, it's like a dream. Although they regarded Lin Jue as their last hope, they never thought that he could actually accomplish this almost impossible task. After all, he was an ancestral god, unlike the sea god or the Siqi.

How did he do it? What price did he pay? Will he come back? How should they deal with him next?

On ordinary days, upon learning that Lin Jue had accomplished another great feat, some disgruntled legislators would inevitably plot how to use political maneuvering to reduce his benefits.

But now, under the torrential rain brought about by the death of the god, private desires, no matter how beautifully they are depicted, appear dark and despicable, and individual filth is so insignificant and weak in the face of absolute grandeur.

Just as people might think a lighthouse at sea isn't bright enough and then try to dismantle or modify it, they would never question the sun, because the sun is the sun.

The councilors, reflecting on their past actions, were all filled with shame. They thought that when Lin Jue returned, whether he was a scheming schemer or a selfless rationalist, they would be willing to put him in a high position and let him control the future course of this giant ship called "humanity".

Of course, by then, things would likely be beyond their control. They weren't power-hungry individuals either; if Lin Jue wanted, they could resign.

Three hours of torrential rain created a large amount of floodwater. The cold rainwater poured into the Bureau of Paranormal Investigation building, making the ground floor slippery.

Electronic devices were gradually restored over time, and lawmakers, soaked in the damp air, operated the monitoring satellites with trembling hands.

Images from every county and city were transmitted back, and it was raining all over the world. The death of the ancestral god was enough to have a greater impact than the death of the sea god. Centered on the snow-capped mountains of Shangri-La, the area of ​​the land where the god fell extended infinitely in all directions, eventually covering the entire world.

Leaves that had fallen into the dust flew back to the withered branches; the old locust tree that had been cut down trembled and slowly straightened up, connecting to the uneven wooden stake; tiny fleshy buds sprouted from the surface of the skull that had fallen into the stinking ditch, weaving layers of fresh flesh and blood; a man with a whole beard and tail stood up, leaning against a telephone pole, and looked around blankly.

"Why is it raining? Why am I lying here?" Countless men, women, and children around the world who have just been resurrected from the brink of death have asked similar questions.

"I clearly remember being in school..."

"Yes, I remember lying perfectly fine in bed. Was I sleepwalking?"

Countless ghosts returned to human form, and countless corpses came back to life. They exchanged glances, finding no answers, and wandered aimlessly towards their respective homes.

"It's raining so hard, let's go home, let's go home, get some sleep, and rest..."

See you tomorrow, see you tomorrow...

In the bustling metropolis of Longjun, an elderly man with a hunched back pushed his tricycle against the flow of people in the rain. His shoes had unknowingly slipped off, and he stepped barefoot into puddles, grabbing the hands of hurried pedestrians.

"Have you seen my granddaughter? She's only up to my waist, and she has a little braid..." He frowned and asked again and again.

When the tenth person was asked, a clear, childlike voice suddenly rang out behind him: "Grandpa, why aren't you wearing shoes?"

The little girl in the floral dress reached out and grabbed the old man's clothes, tugging at them in confusion. The old man turned around and saw the girl's face; his already wrinkled face deepened. He smiled broadly, hugging the girl as if he owned the whole world: "My sweet little girl, where did you run off to? Grandpa was so worried..."

"Grandpa, I had a really strange dream. In my dream, there was a very tall and huge snow mountain!"

"What do snow-capped mountains look like? Grandpa has never seen one in his life."

"The snow mountain is... um, I forgot! But I remember Grandpa promised to catch butterflies for me!" "Okay, when the rain stops, Grandpa will take you to catch butterflies!"

……

One year later, in the break room of the Shangri-La branch of the Bureau of Paranormal Investigation.

Lin Chen sat on the sofa, holding the phone to his ear, his tone light: "Mom, everything's fine here. My colleagues are all easy to get along with, and the food in the cafeteria is delicious. I recently got a permanent position and signed a 99-year contract, so it's practically a secure job..."

"Mom, don't worry, it's definitely legitimate, and the level is higher than any other department. Every time we operate, we have the Public Security Bureau and the Armed Forces cooperating with us..."

"You mean Qi Si? Everyone's busy with their own things after graduating from university, how could he have time to talk to me? I don't want to bother him. Besides, our work requires confidentiality..."

"Girlfriend? Not yet. My work and life aren't stable yet, and besides, the organization has rules, so there's no rush..."

After dealing with his parents' concerns, Lin Chen hung up the phone and chuckled self-deprecatingly.

The parents were simple, honest people, with little access to information. They were unaware of the connection between Qi Si and Si Qi, nor of the sins their son carried.

He continued his parents' misunderstanding, only reporting good news and not bad, living a peaceful life, and unknowingly learned the skill of lying without batting an eye.

A year ago, before the excruciating pain of his heart being pierced had subsided, Lin Chen opened his eyes again to find himself standing in a downpour, completely unharmed.

He couldn't sense the presence of the identity token, and stared blankly as the bizarre scene around him distorted and changed color under the rain, gradually returning to normal, before belatedly realizing:

The final instance truly ended, and the eerie game vanished completely from this world.

This is definitely a good ending. Lin Chen was genuinely happy. He hitchhiked, worked odd jobs, and borrowed money along the way, finally crossing the ocean from North America back to Jiangcheng. There, he encountered the Bureau of Investigation and Statistics, which was mobilizing former players to participate in post-war recovery work.

Yes, although all the people and things affected by the strange events have been restored, the long-term chaos has still created many places of crime and evil, and many criminals have taken advantage of the chaos. The buildings destroyed by the artillery fire also need to be repaired.

Furthermore, just as the eerie phenomena of almost every region in the world had vanished, a barrier of wind and snow appeared in Shangri-La, enclosing the entire snow-capped mountain and isolating it from the world. People in the vicinity found it difficult to traverse the wind and snow, yet they often dreamt of demons and monsters, and occasionally, when they looked towards the snow-capped mountain, they saw rows of corpses and ghostly figures.

The Bureau of Paranormal Investigations suspects that some of the supernatural forces are lurking on the snow mountain, and could resurface at any time; moreover, Lin Jue has not come out since he entered the snow mountain, and no one knows whether he is alive or dead. It always feels like a Damocles' sword is hanging over their heads, unresolved.

They intended to recruit a group of daring players to go to the snow mountain to take a look. Lin Chen volunteered and was immediately pulled away to sign a ninety-nine-year servitude contract after his identity was recognized.

The salary and benefits are quite good, but the daily work is rather dangerous. Lin Chen considers it as atonement for his past actions.

Some people expressed sympathy for Lin Chen, saying that he had been deceived by Qi Si from beginning to end, so why should he still be implicated by him now?

Lin Chen seriously refuted this: That's not how it is. Even if he had to do it all over again, he would still make the same choice. Qi Si saved him three times, and his three lives belonged to Qi Si. He must, absolutely must, repay him.

He disapproved of Qis's behavior but couldn't change it; let's just say he atoned for Qis's sins.

"Lin Chen, are you ready? We're about to set off!" Li Yunyang shouted into the walkie-talkie, wearing thick protective clothing.

Lin Chen put away his phone, put on the protective mask, zipped up his protective suit, and replied, "I'm ready, I'll come to the assembly point now."

The team heading into the mountain crossed the boundary of the mountaineering preparation area and entered the snow-capped mountain. The barrier formed by the wind and snow seemed insurmountable, but it was only for ordinary people. The men and women who had been players easily crossed this insurmountable barrier and stepped onto the steep slope at the foot of the mountain.

The ice and snow have frozen time, and the footprints left by climbers of yesteryear are still embedded in the mountain path, their scattered marks clearly visible.

With Li Yunyang leading the way, Lin Jue and his group followed behind, braving the mountain winds blowing down from the summit and trudging forward in the footsteps of their predecessors.

The distant ice walls appear strangely flared, as if forcibly split apart by some force, or as if deliberately parting to make way for a path. Tiny icicles grow on the glacier, interspersing new ice flakes on top of the original ice walls, making the glacier cluster look like an ice flower blooming around the central flat area.

Standing on the flat ground is a crystal-clear ice sculpture, clearly a corpse covered in ice and snow, which has quickly solidified into a hard statue in the frigid cold of tens of degrees below zero, and has been fixed in the appearance at the moment of death, which has not changed in the slightest even as the sun, moon and years turn.

The team approached silently and saw that it was a male corpse kneeling on one knee. His hands were tightly gripping an ancient bronze sword that had precisely pierced his heart. The blood was frozen the moment it flowed, and its gilded color could be faintly seen through the translucent ice shell.

That is the blood of the gods.

Fear of corpses is a human instinct, but no one who sees this corpse feels any aversion. Instead, they subconsciously remain silent, as if they are at a funeral, paying their sincerest condolences to the victim.

After a year, the aftershocks of the god's fall had subsided, leaving only the cold wind swirling ice shards around the frozen corpse, outlining irregular patterns on the surface of the ice below.

Li Yunyang stared at the corpse, and after a quarter of an hour of silence, she said softly, "It was Senior Lin Jue. He became an Ancestral God and killed himself, turning the whole world into a land of fallen gods, immune to all strange phenomena."

Lin Chen remained silent. He thought of his few rare interactions with Lin Jue. The initial admiration was too vague, and the later confrontations were always filled with hostility and wariness. For a long time, he was unable to truly understand Lin Jue, and was instead swept up by his emotions.

Over the past year, because Lin Jue's whereabouts are unknown, humanity, which has just been saved from the brink of extinction, has revived the tradition of conspiracy theories. Many busybodies maliciously speculate that someone of Lin Jue's level should have greater ambitions, so how could he be wholeheartedly plotting for humanity?
But now the facts prove that humanity doesn't understand Lin Jue as well as they think. Perhaps few can understand why Lin Jue, who clearly possessed the qualifications to become an ancestral god and create a new world, chose to die for humanity.

Lin Chen couldn't help but think that if he were in that position, he would probably make the same choice. Because he wanted his parents to live, and he wanted his teachers and classmates who had treated him kindly to live, he didn't want the world to be destroyed, no matter how ugly and dirty it was.

The howling snowstorm seemed to subside, and the pure white sunlight filtered through the gray snow mist, illuminating a small patch of sky. The latecomers and ice sculptures were bathed in the same luster, their expressions blurred in the light and shadow.

Some people faced the ice sculpture and raised their hands in salute; soon, everyone followed suit, raising their hands in unison to offer a salute. (End of Chapter)