I was a charlatan in India

God’s country.

Shenhe lay on the bed like a dead fish, his eyes vacant.

His memories were a jumbled mess; he was now looking at himself at seven years old, carrying a small bucket to dig sand at a construction site.

A few minutes later, he would get into a fight with the neighbor's brat, and both of them would go home crying.

The reason I remember it so clearly is because the last cycle was just half an hour ago.

With the current number of believers, half an hour of erosion would require Shenhe to replicate his entire life to resist it.

The endless repetition of life is not only boring, but it also allows him to examine every decision he makes over and over again.

The matter itself had become boring, and he would occasionally pay attention to some inexplicable details.

For example, in the previous cycle, when the naughty child's fist landed on his face, he ignored the pain and instead observed the cloud shape reflected in his tears.

...This is certainly boring.

He started to get bored.

Shenhe gradually realized that those things he once cherished, or those predicaments that he once felt were formidable, now seemed utterly insignificant.

Life is but a few decades, like a dream or an illusion.

He had come to understand divinity to some extent.

To relieve his boredom, he would also look down at the absurdity of Varanasi.

Perhaps these believers will go mad, lose their way, and fall into depravity.

However, Shenhe no longer cared so much.

Even if believers gradually walk into destruction, it is the path they have chosen.

New life will still quietly emerge, choosing suitable soil to take root and sprout.

Then they continued their blind faith.

Perhaps there's some truth to what divinity says.

Compared to believers, I am not necessarily much smarter; I just have more power and can easily decide their life, death, prosperity, and decline.

If you truly want what's best for believers, you should learn to respect them and even allow them to have their way.

Just like what divinity is doing now.

He simply gave himself a choice.

To be more specific, it is...

How to return to Varanasi and let Shen take control of everything again.

This thing now hangs in the memory of the only forty-eight hours that belong to me.

It is so tempting.

Shenhe didn't dare to think too much or look too closely, as if knowing the contents would lead him to do it sooner or later.

After all, endlessly repeating a life with a predetermined outcome is simply too torturous.

Moreover, this is clearly a divine trap. He must have known that if things continued like this, He would be worn away by incense ash and began to look for a way to break through.

In any case, let's at least wait until the incense ash body transforms the believer before making any further decisions.

Even as a deity, this is a responsibility one owes to believers.

Shenhe dared not think too deeply about it and made up an excuse for himself.

It is only with this belief that I can persevere a little longer and not look at that tempting method of liberation.

He knew that he had wavered.

He shook his head and turned his gaze back to Varanasi.

Screams and howls mingled, the passion echoing across the green field as the game began!

"Thump!"

All the drums sang together, and then the dark-skinned, thin, short man began to play a dense accompaniment.

"Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh!"

He was banging on the ball while running and spinning around the field.

The poor couldn't resist the strong medicine and found these skinny monkeys particularly annoying; they bared their teeth, glared, and acted ferociously.

"Bang!"

The merit ball and the durian landed together.

Let the game begin!

The monks exchanged glances, preparing to coordinate a steal!

Their initial tactical design was three forwards, three center forwards, and four defenders.

However, this lineup was clearly designed for a single ball, and now that there are two balls, the tactics naturally need to be adjusted.

"622!"

The leading high monk quickly made arrangements.

This means that the six players are divided into two teams, each controlling two balls, with two center forwards and two guards.

Regardless of the configuration, neither the monk nor I understand football.

But this perfect teamwork is indeed the result of a lot of practice and refinement.

Senior brother!

Junior brother!

The high monks understood and adjusted their formation according to the changed tactics.

Amitabha Buddha, this formation subtly aligns with the principles of the six realms of reincarnation and the perfect harmony of the two truths.

The principles and teachings of Buddhism are indeed profound and excellent!

Wonderful, wonderful beyond words!

However, the commoners had already taken the initiative to formulate their own tactics.

"Durian!"

Someone shouted excitedly.

The other commoners joined in the wailing: "Durian! Durian..."

They want to steal the durians!

The two center forwards exchanged a glance and began to adjust their formation, focusing more on the durian.

Sure enough, all eleven members of the Outcasts charged forward, with even the goalkeeper heading straight for the durian.

This, this is, this could be the legendary "burning the boats"?!

Such a strong offensive stance!

These heretics are indeed not to be underestimated.

The monks exchanged glances, their expressions turning serious.

They were trained and had a better physical foundation, so they naturally got the ball before the commoners.

"Senior brother, please help me!"

"good!"

Upon hearing this, the two forwards quickly bypassed the commoners and attacked into the opponent's field.

Next, once the formation is established, you can pass the ball and shoot!

However, the eleven untouchables rushed forward, knocking the high monk who was controlling the ball to the ground, then ripped off his turban and howled.

"Ask your name!"

The other lowly people gritted their teeth, punching and kicking as they bared their teeth like demons: "Say the name! Say the name!"

Oh! The real game has begun!

A wave of cheers erupted from the stands.

"Strike the traitorous monk! Strike the traitorous monk! Strike the traitorous monk!"

"Master, junior brother!"

The group of high monks were already furious when they saw their junior brother being beaten, and this shout instantly aroused their blood.

Good heavens, the local religious groups are so impolite!

"Get the ball!"

They exchanged a glance and quickly rushed into the fray. Even the forwards who controlled the ball of merit abandoned their scoring opportunity and headed straight for the players.

What do you mean by "stealing the ball"? This is clearly a slogan for starting a brawl!

There is a difference between high-ranking monks and commoners; no one specifically instructed them to score points.

Firstly, Surya didn't want the monastic community to win at all; secondly, they weren't paying these monks' salaries, so it wasn't appropriate for them to order them around.

Moreover, in the eyes of the high monk, the lowly people's team was nothing more than worthless objects, mere chickens and dogs, and there was no need for him to feel sorry for these few attacking opportunities.

Save my junior brother!

The bond between monks is truly extraordinary!

The high monks shouted that they were going to grab the ball, but in reality they were all using their special skills to attack the lowly people's vital points.

Back of the head, sides of the neck, lower back and kidneys, weak joints!

"Bang! Thud! Clang clang clang!"

They all put in their best effort and were extremely ruthless.

These moves, let alone refugees, would be fatal even to strong martial artists.

What Buddhist magnanimity, what concern for public image—all of that was thrown away after suffering a loss!

Come on, let me show you what fucking fair competition looks like!

However, this thunderous attack had a rather awkward effect on the common people.

Aside from one high-ranking monk who successfully kicked and broke the opponent's knee, the other attacks, which were clearly meant to kill, only caused the commoners to sway slightly.

They then ignored the high monk's attack and continued to besiege the unfortunate man in the crowd!

The goal is clear!

Damn it, their heads were clearly dented from being kicked!

The player whose leg was broken didn't even let out a wail; he just turned his head with a strange laugh and stared straight at the high monk!

Then, he reached for his broken leg and snapped it off with a "crack"!

Oh, this thing, a stick!

With a wave of his hand, as if he had just picked up a stick, he swung his broken leg at the high monk!

No, it's even better than a wooden stick.

It can even spit out blood to cover its prey's eyes!

Then, the lowly man braced himself on the ground with both hands and moved his body at an astonishing speed, pouncing on the attack like a lame mad dog and tearing at it!

The drugs provided by Surrey were terrifying!

Upon seeing this, the audience erupted in angry curses.

"Wasn't it forbidden to break both legs? How come this is..."

"If you're going to call him a monk thief, then he really doesn't know how to respect the rules!"

"Beat him! Break that bald monk's legs too!"

Some people were more rational, pointing out: "Brother, only the goalkeeper can't have a broken leg."

However, many people completely ignored this and just grumbled and cursed.

"The monk thief!"

"Using dirty tricks!"

Some people even started to cheer for the common people and inexplicably formed a united front against a common enemy.

"Bite his trachea, kill these monk thieves!"

To those fierce, madmen, these incitements were crystal clear.

At the same time, the increasingly dense drumbeats and strange cries around him seemed to be cheering him on!

Go!

Trading one won't be a loss, but ripping off two is a huge profit.

Awooooo!