“You’re afraid no one knows you’re here,” Qixia said.
“Hey! What kind of nonsense is that!” Chen Junnan retorted. “A quiet gentleman like me only speaks up when he meets someone he’s really tight with, you know?”
“Sure, whatever,” Qixia replied.
Qiao Jiajin jogged up and asked, “Liar Boy, did you finish your business?”
“Almost. Just one last person to meet,” Qixia nodded. “Want to come with me?”
“Hey,” Chen Junnan waved it off. “We just didn’t want you to get drenched and die in that black rain, so we came to check. Turns out you’ve already cracked that little black bead. Alright, go do your thing. The three of us still have a meeting to attend.”
Qiao Jiajin nudged Chen Junnan with his elbow. “Handsome Boy, are you still holding a grudge?”
“I never hold grudges,” Chen Junnan said. “I’m just impatient, petty, can’t let things go, and have a strong vengeful streak.”
Qixia sighed softly and shook his head.
“Come on, man,” Qiao Jiajin chuckled, pulling at him. “Didn’t we already make up? Good brothers shouldn’t let grudges linger overnight.”
“You really think I’m holding a grudge?” Chen Junnan snorted. “Old Qi, the reason I came looking for you this time was to make sure you owe me a huge favor. Listen up—we’ve figured out the big rat’s motive.”
“Oh?”
In just a few words, Chen Junnan relayed what the mole had told them.
He not only informed Qixia that the mole was a trustworthy “fence-sitter,” but also mentioned that the eight “Zodiacs” on the map were likely receiving special treatment from “Tianlong,” accelerating their promotions far beyond anyone else. Their games were also personally guided by “Tianlong.”
So naturally, everyone would assume these eight were Tianlong’s trusted confidants—but the situation seemed oddly suspicious.
“Special treatment from Tianlong…?” Qixia stroked his chin, a scenario he hadn’t anticipated.
Why would Tianlong single out these eight for favor?
If their identities were exposed, they’d likely be demoted to “ants,” just like the former “Earth Dragon.” But if they weren’t exposed, why the preferential treatment?
“Someone’s ensuring my plan is executed accurately…” Qixia murmured. Could that someone be Tianlong?
With this in mind, Qixia felt his reasoning was becoming slightly clearer.
Numerous subtle clues pointed to the fact that in the “Land of the End,” the person to be most wary of wasn’t Tianlong—but Qinglong.
Qinglong appeared far more frequently than Tianlong, and most of the intel Qixia had gathered came from him. If Qinglong lied, no one could refute it.
Since Tianlong remained in deep slumber and lacked the “Spiritual Perception” ability, even if Qinglong lied, Tianlong would never notice.
“That makes sense,” Qixia nodded. “At least for me, Tianlong isn’t as evil as imagined, and Qinglong isn’t as benevolent.”
“Huh?” Chen Junnan blinked. “What’re you talking about, kid?”
“Nothing,” Qixia shook his head. “Any other news?”
The three exchanged uneasy glances, as if hesitating.
“Go on,” Qixia said. “Your eyes are practically screaming there’s more.”
They sighed helplessly, stammered for a bit, and finally told Qixia about Qin Dingdong.
They explained that Qin Dingdong was Wei Yang’s disciple, trained in deception to disrupt participants’ games and ensure no one escaped—strikingly similar to the “Extremists’” methods. But Qixia remained indifferent, seemingly uninterested.
Then they mentioned her “fragmented memories.”
At this, Qixia’s eyes flickered with intensity, his mind racing.
He turned to Qin Dingdong and asked skeptically, “So you’re saying your entire life is fake?”
“I only suspect the life in my memories is fake,” Qin Dingdong shrugged. “I know myself—my personality doesn’t align with the things I supposedly did or the life I supposedly lived.”
“Interesting,” Qixia nodded. “If that’s true, I have a question.”
“What?”
After a pause, Qixia asked, “Why do you assume your memories are fake, rather than your current personality?”
“…Huh?” Qin Dingdong froze. “What do you mean, Qi?”
“Don’t misunderstand—just a small doubt,” Qixia said. “If you believe your memories were fabricated, it implies your entire life was altered.”
“Right, that’s what I meant,” Qin Dingdong nodded.
“But if your personality was modified, it’d only require tweaking your present self,” Qixia countered. “Logically, the latter seems more plausible, no? After all, the latter could be achieved just by someone using ‘Echo’ in the Land of the End.”
“But that doesn’t add up either…” Qin Dingdong frowned. “If my personality was changed, the effort seems minimal… because I’ve always been like this after every rebirth. So when exactly was it altered…?”
Her voice trailed off as she realized Qixia had a point.
It’d be far more realistic to modify someone’s personality in the Land of the End than to rewrite their entire past.
But why would anyone do that?
Though the two approaches seemed fundamentally different, they’d both lead to the same outcome—making the person question their own life’s authenticity.
“I can’t say for sure,” Qixia admitted. “But ‘personality shift’ sounds more probable than ‘life forgery.’”
“Personality shift…” Qin Dingdong pondered before asking quietly, “Qi… other than me, have you seen anyone else here undergo a ‘personality shift’? It’s hard to imagine—”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I suspect two others.”
“Two?”
“Me and Chu Tianqiu,” Qixia replied coldly. “Too many clues point to it—I can’t ignore it.”
“You…” Qin Dingdong was stunned. “No, that can’t be… Qi, when I met you, your personality was already similar to now.”
“That just means my change happened earlier—possibly before we even met,” Qixia said.
“Wait a second…” Qin Dingdong felt like she’d stumbled onto something unprecedented. “If you and Chu Tianqiu also underwent a ‘personality shift,’ doesn’t that mean you’ve doubted your own lives were fake?!”
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