Chapter 844: My Name Is Yan Zhichun

My name is Yan Zhichun.

I am the “King of Extremes.”

As the ancients said: “There are three hundred and sixty trades, and each has its own path.” Those who reach the pinnacle are called the “Extremes.”

Taoism also teaches: “There are three thousand great paths, and each can lead to divinity.”

But the meaning of “Extreme” is to abandon all other paths and focus solely on one.

Yet the path we forge will defy all others—isn’t that far too perilous?

My life didn’t begin to change when I entered the “Land of the End.” No, the moment I opened my eyes and saw that white sheep, everything was already destined.

Though our interview room always had three “Zodiacs” standing guard—a white sheep, a Shar-Pei, and a sheep—we could only ever remember the white sheep.

The other two “Zodiacs” didn’t even need to speak before we all lost to that cold, imposing white sheep.

The game that opened this ordeal was called “The Liar.” The nine of us had to tell a story about something that happened before we arrived, then identify the liar among us.

It sounded simple, but none of us knew each other.

With different identities, professions, origins, and ways of doing things, how could we possibly know if they were lying in their stories?

It’s hard to explain just how much cunning that white sheep poured into this game. I can’t even remember how many times we died in it—before the white sheep taught me how to manipulate “Echoes,” I couldn’t retain any memories at all.

Ironically, none of us nine were powerful “Echoers,” meaning we couldn’t preserve our memories. Every time, we started fresh, making the same choices in the game.

Without outside interference, we’d just repeat the same words, cast random votes, and die horribly, over and over.

I saw the game’s flaw from the start. I told them that since the eight of us didn’t know each other, the liar was likely the referee, “Human Sheep.” But I was bad at communication and couldn’t convince the others.

Only one middle-aged man named Zhang Qiang supported me.

But even if Zhang Qiang and I voted for Human Sheep, it wouldn’t matter—we were outnumbered. We’d still die. The helplessness was suffocating.

I often wondered: Why would that strange white sheep ever help me?

In his game, we each got an identity card, but on mine, he wrote a message.

He taught me how to harness my emotions to awaken my “Echo.” I don’t know how many times he rewrote it, or how many revisions it took to reach its final form.

But back then, I was genuinely curious—as the host of the room, someone whose physical and mental abilities far surpassed ours, wasn’t his goal to kill us?

Otherwise, why would he host this game of creating “gods”? Why gather us from across the country?

Yet the white sheep did help me. He found the trigger for my “Echo.”

If I desperately tried to control those who opposed me, I would awaken my unique “Echo”—”Soul Snatcher.”

This trigger ran counter to my past behavior. I’d encountered countless people who opposed me, but I’d never bothered to persuade them.

The white sheep told me my “Echo” wasn’t strong enough yet—I could barely “snatch hearts.” If I ever learned to “snatch souls,” I’d wield the same power as this place’s “god.”

From the day my “Echo” awakened, I learned things I’d never known before.

For example, after “The Liar,” there were games like “Bamboo Shoots After Rain” and “Death From Above.” I also learned the white sheep would kill himself after the first game. From his corpse, I even found the “Zodiac Ascension Wager Contract,” revealing what he truly sought—

He didn’t want us to die in that room. He wanted us to venture out and vanish from it entirely.

But the contract’s signature was smeared with deep red blood, obscuring his name. I didn’t know what to call him.

His voice was icy, and he always wore a white sheep mask. Maybe… “Brother Sheep”?

“Bamboo Shoots After Rain” and “Death From Above” were just as difficult, but I had one overwhelming advantage—

I could control everyone in the room, making them mirror my actions. Coincidentally, whether it was rotating the table or hanging from the ceiling, survival in these games depended on the “participants” mimicking me.

I didn’t need to discuss or listen to them. I just made them obey.

That way, I could wield “Soul Snatcher” to lead everyone out of the room, down the long hallway, and into this eerie land.

But because I forcibly controlled the other eight to get here, they resented me deeply. The moment we reached the city, they scattered, starting their own journeys.

Just like in the real world, I was left isolated.

Walking down the dim streets, I raised my hand and read the words I’d written to myself at sixteen: “yna.”

But was I really alone?

Though I hate to admit it, people will ostracize you for any reason.

Too poor? Isolated. Too rich? Isolated. Too smart? Isolated. Too dumb? Still isolated.

Too hardworking? No. Too lazy? No. Too opinionated? No. Too passive? Also no.

They can’t stand anyone too different—whether that difference is positive or negative. People want you to blend in, to be just like them. That’s the only way you’re “one of them,” the only way they’ll “befriend” you.

So to fit in, people become mediocre.

I realized this far too late. As a child, I wasted hours watching cartoons and idol dramas I hated just to have something to talk about with classmates. I even pretended to stan the same boy band as all the girls in class.

But what was the point of all that wasted effort?

I regret it now—living a life bent to others’ whims, groveling for a friendship that was never real.

Later, Brother Sheep told me: The world’s elites are few. If you dilute yourself to fit in, you’ll vanish into the crowd, becoming just another face in the masses.

Years later, he said: Strive to rise above the “herd” and stand at the peak.

The top of the pyramid needs the fewest bricks.

That’s exactly what I think. Honestly, I don’t need friends or teammates. I know exactly what I want from life—I just need to do what I choose.

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