Cthulhu America, I can see the kill line.

After hesitating several times, Kong Jiu's finger hovered above the screen for a moment before finally pressing the answer button.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Alex Johnny Conn?"

An old and hoarse voice came from the other end of the phone, each word seeming to be squeezed out from old parchment, carrying an overly solemn sense of ritual.

When you open the box, do you immediately call out your full English name?

Kong Jiu's brows furrowed unconsciously.

Such an opening often foreshadows trouble.

Sales pitches, scams, or some "legitimate business" he has absolutely no interest in.

Anyway, people who call me by my full name have never brought me any good news.

"Just call him Kong."

He gave a brief response, his voice deliberately calm.

At the same time, the brain has already begun to work at high speed.

This voice... seems familiar?

There was a noticeable pause on the other end of the phone.

The air froze for three or four seconds in the electromagnetic waves.

"Is it really you?"

When the aged voice rang out again, its tone had completely changed.

It was a joy that was almost uncontrollable, like a spring suddenly gushing forth from a long-dried-up riverbed.

Every syllable trembled, as if the speaker was trying to suppress some emotion about to burst forth.

Kong Jiu could even picture the old man on the other end of the phone, gripping the receiver tightly, his eyes welling up with tears.

Even if he has an illegitimate child looking for his father, it wouldn't be an old man, would it?

"Um, yes, I'm Alex. And who are you?"

Kong Jiu asked patiently, but the ominous premonition in his heart was growing stronger.

"Master Kong! Sage Kong! God Kong!"

The old man called out three names in a row, each one more exaggerated than the last, his voice rising with excitement, piercing Kong Jiu's eardrums.

"I saw your name on the school roster, I never expected... I never expected it to actually be you!"

The intimacy on the other end of the phone, as if they were treating him like royalty, made Kong Jiu's stomach churn.

He subconsciously leaned back, as if that would distance him from the sound.

Did Old Deng mistake someone for someone else?

The thought flashed through his mind: Could there be another charlatan in the world with the same name as him, who specializes in swindling and deceiving people, and this old man has unfortunately fallen for his trick?

"Old man, who are you?"

Kong Jiu tried to keep his tone steady, but his fingertips were unconsciously digging into the sofa fabric, leaving shallow marks.

"Me? I am Professor Iam, whom you miraculously saved from that doomed celestial catastrophe. Don't you remember me?"

Sky catastrophe?

Kong Jiu was taken aback at first, then the floodgates of memory suddenly opened.

The violently shaking cabin, the screaming crowd, the suffocating feeling of lack of oxygen, and the desperate process of making a deal with that evil god...

At least Kong Jiu understood why the old man was so emotional and his words were so fervent.

Asking your savior, "Do you remember me?" is still too awkward.

Kong Jiu really wanted to say into the microphone, "There were over three hundred people on that plane, how could I possibly remember you, old man?" but he swallowed the words back.

The other party mentioned the "school roster," indicating that it is very likely a professor from the school.

Out of basic social courtesy and to avoid the awkwardness of meeting again on campus, he took a deep breath and adopted a relaxed and polite tone:

"Professor Iam, I'm just a good person who does good deeds anonymously. I didn't ask for anything in return from anyone on the plane, let alone remember so many people, right?"

He tried to downplay the matter and hope to stop there.

However, what came from the other end of the phone was a series of incoherent sobs.

That wasn't a cry of sadness, but a sob of some kind of emotion breaking free of its dam.

As if their long-held beliefs had suddenly been confirmed, the devout pilgrims finally saw the true face of the deity.

Kong Jiu listened patiently for a full half minute, but all he heard through the receiver were intermittent gasps and indistinct murmurs.

He could even picture the other person with tears streaming down their face, wiping their face haphazardly with the back of their hand.

Finally, he interrupted impatiently, "Feed? Can't you even talk, Professor?"

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry, my lord, I was just too excited..."

My lord?

Kong Jiu's brow twitched suddenly.

The word struck him like a cold needle, piercing his eardrum unexpectedly.

"What did you call me?"

His voice unconsciously lowered, and the unease in his heart began to spread, like ink dripping into water, quickly spreading a gloomy background.

"My lord, what's wrong?" The old man's choked voice carried a natural confusion, as if it were a matter of course to address him.

"My lord? Have you formed some kind of... organization that worships me?"

Kong Jiu's unease gradually turned into a tangible chill, creeping up his spine.

"Lord, don't you know?"

The aged voice carried a hint of genuine doubt, as if Kong Jiu had asked an extremely strange question: "Didn't the big boss of Pudu Pharmaceuticals tell you about the church he spearheaded?"

A chill suddenly ran through the young man from the East.

Many, many images flashed through his mind.

There's the look of disdain in Neos's eyes when she's called a god.

There was that weary look in Aethasus's eyes. Oh, right... there was a hint of schadenfreude in that look. How come I didn't notice it then...?

I remember when I was a child, during Chinese New Year, there were all sorts of gods on the stove in my hometown. When I asked the adults, with snot hanging from my nose, "Who are these gods?" my dad would kindly tell me, "These are the people who once saved our village." I was so curious.

These memories, like a dark chapter in history, flashed through Kong Jiu's mind in just a few seconds.

He even hallucinated that his own statue—perhaps a somewhat unrecognizable clay sculpture or a rough wooden carving—was surrounded by a group of people whose faces he couldn't make out. Those people were clasped together, kneeling or bowing, chanting incoherent "hymns" or "prayer"...

*Clang.*

The phone slipped from Kong Jiu's hand and fell into the sofa cushions.

"grass."

Kong Jiu flicked his hand, a purple light flashed, and the book appeared in his hand.

He had mentally prepared himself a thousand times for the possibility that he might become a ruthless, inhuman killer in the future.

But "having believers"...

This kind of absurd, sticky, and primitively religiously fanatical thing was completely outside his mental plan.

When the title "My Lord" was truly uttered by a living person, the instinctive sense of unease that originated from the depths of the modern soul still delivered a resounding slap to his face.

By God!

A semi-transparent 'self' silently appeared on the other side of the sofa the next time he blinked.

"Explain yourself?" Kong Jiu turned his head and stared intently at the figure, his eyes filled with a mixture of questioning and urging.

"No one has died, and I don't intend to kill anyone, so don't call me."

The figure gave him a dismissive glance, as if looking at an unreasonable child.

Then, he sneered, "Some believer's getting angry? Remember what you called Neos when you first met her? Just take it."

Before the words were finished, the figure vanished again.

"My Lord? My Lord? Do you find this title unpleasant? My God? Immortal? Supreme Being?"

The phone call, still connected, came through sincere calls.

Kong Jiu covered his ears in self-deception, listening desperately to the devout prayer.