After a thousand years of cultivation, he returns at the pinnacle!

After Jiang Chen returned home, he took a shower, changed into clean clothes, and lay back in bed.

The sky outside the window had already darkened, and the night in Jiangzhou was as quiet as if nothing had happened. But the message notifications on my phone screen were flashing wildly.

The class group chat exploded.

He had muted his phone after returning from the capital, and when he checked it now, he found over a thousand unread messages. The people in the group had been chatting since last night, almost without interruption.

"@Jiang Chenchen! Is that you, the one in Beijing?!"

"Holy crap, Jiang Chen, you're on TV! Did you know that?!"

"No, did you guys see that clearly? Is that really Jiang Chen in the school uniform?"

"I zoomed in on the screenshot for comparison, and it's him! The Jiangzhou College uniform, and the face matches!"

"@JiangChenchen, say something!!!"

"Has he muted the group?"

"That's impossible, how could he not know about something so important?"

"Do you guys remember? On Awakening Day, the test revealed he was a Level 0. I knew something was wrong then! The only Level 0 in the world—that alone says something, okay?!"

"That's not what you said back then. You said, 'Jiang Chen is finished, don't associate with him anymore.'"

"...That was before, things are different now!"

"Alright, alright, stop arguing. @JiangChenchen, I'm sorry about what happened before. Please forgive me, you're a magnanimous person."

"+1, I'm sorry, Brother Chen."

"+2"

"+10086"

Jiang Chen scrolled through the chat history with a blank expression.

There were just too many messages for him to keep up with. But he could roughly make out a few stages—initially, there was shock and skepticism; some thought it was photoshopped, others thought it was someone else who looked similar. Then came confirmation; someone dug up various photos and videos of him at Jiangzhou University, comparing them frame by frame, and finally concluded: it was him. And then, there's this current stage—an overwhelming flood of apologies and gestures of goodwill.

Those who left the group, deleted him as a friend, and mocked him behind his back immediately after his failed awakening were now more enthusiastic and sincere than ever.

Someone posted a long apology in the group, several hundred words long, saying that they were "young and ignorant" and "misled by others", hoping that Jiang Chen would "forgive and forget".

Some people began to reminisce about the past, saying that Jiang Chen had helped them with their problems and lent them his notes, and that they had always remembered that kindness.

Some people have already started looking to the future, saying things like, "Brother Chen will definitely be a big shot in the future, so don't forget about us old classmates when that happens."

Jiang Chen glanced at a few messages and then gave up.

He didn't reply to any messages, swiped out the group chat, and opened another dialog box.

Three minutes ago, Wang Kai sent a message: "Brother Chen, did you see those people in the group? It's hilarious. Those who were the most critical of you before are now the most eager to apologize."

Jiang Chen typed two words: "Saw it."

Wang Kai replied instantly: "What are you planning to do? Reply to them?"

"I won't reply."

"Hahaha, I knew it! By the way, Brother Chen, I felt my spiritual energy flowed more smoothly during my cultivation today than yesterday. Does that mean I've broken through?"

"It's not a breakthrough, it's just that your meridians have adapted. Keep practicing, don't slack off."

"clear!"

Jiang Chen exited the chat interface and scrolled through a few more messages from other groups. There were club groups, grade groups, and even a group of his elementary school classmates—someone had dug up his contact information and added him to a group he hadn't spoken to in years.

Without exception, all the messages were tagging him and asking him about things in Beijing.

Jiang Chen held his phone to his chest and stared at the ceiling for a while.

I'm a little hungry.

He sat up, put on a coat, and prepared to go downstairs to the convenience store at the entrance of the community to buy a rice ball.

As I stepped out of the building, a cool night breeze greeted me. The streetlights in the neighborhood were dim, and insects were chirping in the flowerbeds; everything seemed normal.

Jiang Chen had just reached the front door and hadn't even had time to take out his phone to scan the QR code when he felt something flash in the darkness—it was a flashlight.

Then, a massive influx of people poured out from all directions.

"Jiang Chen! It's Jiang Chen!"

"He's out!"

"Hurry! Hurry!"

A dozen people rushed over at the same time, some carrying cameras, some holding recorders, and some holding mobile phones to live stream. Like a group of sharks smelling blood, they instantly surrounded Jiang Chen.

"Jiang Chen! May I ask about the abilities you displayed during the Apostle's arrival in the capital—ah!"

The reporter at the front of the group was speaking when he tripped on the steps of the flower bed and nearly fell on Jiang Chen. He scrambled to regain his balance, the microphone almost hitting Jiang Chen in the face.

Jiang Chen slightly turned his head, avoiding the microphone, and his gaze swept over the faces of the people present.

Then he recognized some of them.

The middle-aged man on the left wearing glasses is a reporter from the Jiangzhou Metropolitan Daily. On Awakening Day, he was the first to rush up to Jiang Chen, shove the microphone to his mouth, and ask a question that shocked the entire audience: "Jiang Chen, as the world's first person without superpowers, how do you feel right now? Do you think your life is over?"

Jiang Chen was still in a daze and didn't answer. The reporter immediately posted a headline: "The World's First Case of a Person Without Abilities: From Genius to Waste."

The woman on the right with the curly hair works for Jiangzhou TV. The day after Awakening Day, she spent the entire day squatting downstairs at Jiang Chen's house. When Jiang Xueqin went out to buy groceries, she rushed up to her and asked an even more outrageous question: "Jiang Chen's mother, your son has become incapacitated. Don't you parents feel ashamed?"

Jiang Xueqin was so angry that she was trembling all over and almost got into an argument with her.

And the young man holding the phone behind him was a self-media blogger. On the night of his awakening, he published a long article titled "The Fall of a Genius: A Complete Analysis of Jiang Chen's Incompetence," in which he wrote sarcastically: "The so-called chosen ones are nothing more than lucky. Once their luck runs out, they are nothing."

Jiang Chen remembered all of these people.

It wasn't because he held grudges, but because his divine sense, cultivated over a thousand years of immortality, allowed him to remember everyone he had ever met.

At this moment, these people arrived again.

But this time, their expressions were completely different.

The middle-aged man's face was plastered with smiles, so wide his eyes were almost closed. His voice was shrill and urgent, as if afraid Jiang Chen would run away: "Jiang Chen, I knew you were extraordinary back then! The only person in the world without abilities—that in itself is the greatest special thing! I wanted to write an in-depth report on it, but the editor wouldn't allow it—"

The curly-haired woman squeezed to the front, her foundation reflecting the streetlights, her voice sickeningly sweet: "Jiang Chen, how's your mother's health lately? I'd like to do an exclusive interview about how you grew up in adversity; the audience will definitely be very interested—"

Jiang Chen glanced at her.

Her voice grew softer and softer until it disappeared completely.

The social media blogger held up his phone, the camera pointed at Jiang Chen, and the comments in the live stream chat were scrolling wildly. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but after being glanced at by Jiang Chen, he swallowed his words back.

He simply held the phone up even higher, his hand trembling, but he dared not look away from the camera.

There were seven or eight reporters around, some from Jiangzhou, some from neighboring cities, and even one with a media pass from Beijing. They huddled together, microphones raised in mid-air, wanting to ask questions but not daring to, wanting to leave but unwilling to give up.

These same people, just a month ago, were using the most vicious language to mock him, exploit him, and treat him as the butt of jokes. Now, they're back, with the same enthusiasm, the same excitement, and the same sycophancy.

They've just changed their tune.

The term "mocking" has been replaced by "praising".

But for Jiang Chen, it made no difference. Just then, his phone rang. It was a message from Shen Qingxue.

"Jiang Chen, I'm back in the capital. My father and the people from headquarters want to see you, not for interrogation or investigation, but for a formal, open and honest discussion. They'll tell you everything they know about the Apostles, the Demon God, and everything else that interests you about this world. I'm inviting you on their behalf. Whether you come or not is up to you."

Then, another one.

"Also, I owe you my life. I will repay that favor."

Jiang Chen looked at the two messages and his thumb hovered over the top of the screen for a moment.

Before he could reply, my phone vibrated again.

This time it wasn't Shen Qingxue.

It's Su Ze.

The message was very short, only a few lines:

"Jiang Chen, you should already know about what's happening in the capital. The General Administration wants to invite you over—not as an order, but as a request. You decide the time and the method, and we'll fully cooperate. If you're willing, I can arrange a private jet right now."

Jiang Chen stared at the screen, his lips twitching slightly.

He put his phone away and looked up.

The group of reporters in front of him was still there. Some were whispering, "What is he looking at?", some were craning their necks to peek at his phone screen, and some were holding up cameras and filming non-stop.

Jiang Chen glanced at them and then spoke.

The sound wasn't loud, but everyone could hear it clearly.

"Excuse me."

Two words, as bland as saying "excuse me" to a passerby.

But the group of reporters seemed to be pushed by an invisible hand, and they all stepped aside to make way.

A night breeze blew by, causing the hem of his clothes to flutter slightly.

He took out his phone and replied to Shen Qingxue's message first.

"When?"

Three seconds later, Shen Qingxue replied: "Anytime. You decide."

The next second, Jiang Chen disappeared.

Those around rubbed their eyes, making sure they weren't seeing things. The boy who had been standing there just moments before had vanished without a trace, leaving not even a sound.

The night wind was still blowing, the streetlights were still on, and the insects in the flowerbeds were still chirping.

But the person is gone.

The blogger stood frozen, holding his phone, while the comments in the live stream chat sped up even faster.

He opened his mouth, and finally uttered his first complete sentence of the night:

Where are they?