Chapter 862: Something Wrong?

That is, seven years ago, the “Extreme Path” was officially established.

Few who join the “Extreme Path” in the future would likely believe that such a vast and mysterious organization was founded in just a few words between Jiang Ruoxue and me, standing on the street.

It wasn’t until after Jiang Ruoxue left that I truly understood what “causality” meant.

Jiang Ruoxue might be the most powerful “Echoer” I’ve encountered in five years.

If she determines a certain “outcome,” then the “cause” leading to that outcome will inevitably arise.

If she first states a “cause,” then that “cause” will inevitably produce the “outcome” she expects.

The only catch is that each time, she must find a logical connection that she finds convincing and that can truly occur—the larger the event, the more difficult it is for her.

And I finally realized that the five years she spent with me were, in fact, a test.

She wasn’t just observing me; she was also subconsciously constructing this powerful “causality.”

Only when she deemed the time right did she finally voice the “causality” she had long envisioned.

In other words, if at any point in those five years, my actions had failed to satisfy Jiang Ruoxue, we would have remained just good friends forever. She would never have activated the “causality” and, in an instant, established the “Extreme Path” for me.

So, which is the “cause,” and which is the “effect”?

Did the “Extreme Path” come to be because I wanted to establish it, so she appeared… or was it only because she appeared that I could establish it?

Cause and effect are entangled, the most difficult thing in the world to explain.

Some people obsess over whether the chicken or the egg came first, but I believe they emerged simultaneously in their entanglement, moving forward together into the future.

Thanks to Jiang Ruoxue, I can now carefully select strong individuals. As long as I tell them the truth, they will immediately believe in the “truth” of this city.

I’ve also employed some negotiation tactics and observation methods, deliberately choosing eccentric loners—people whose outrageous behavior would make others assume they’re simply unhinged, rather than suspecting they belong to an organization.

There’s one thing I still don’t fully understand: Jiang Ruoxue once told me, “As long as you speak the truth with sincerity, without deception, the other person will believe everything you say.”

The most intriguing word in that sentence is “truth.”

How should I interpret this “truth”?

If I tell someone that once 3,600 “Paths” are collected, this place will undergo a massive reshuffling, and they believe me—does that make what I said the “truth”?

If so… couldn’t I use this to “probe the future”?

In other words, I could test whether what I say is the “truth” by how people react. If they believe me, due to the existence of “causality,” then it must be true. If they don’t, then it’s a lie.

This sounds incredibly abstract, but it works every time.

Once, I told someone that the “Extreme Path” would lead everyone out of the “Land of Finality,” but they didn’t believe me.

I also said that one day, the founder of the “Extreme Path” would work alongside the rulers of this place—but again, no one believed me.

Turns out, all of those were lies.

Sometimes, being able to glimpse the future isn’t necessarily a good thing. I often find myself prematurely disappointed by what’s to come.

I don’t know if it’s a side effect of “causality” on me or some karmic retribution for peeking into fate, but I often feel… off. Like I’ll suddenly zone out.

One moment, I remember walking down the street, and the next, I’m sitting in front of a building, with a “Zodiac” of the Human rank standing not far away.

This feeling happened once about three years ago, and now it’s back.

It’s as if something is missing from my mind, but based on past experience, the sensation will soon fade.

I glance at the “Zodiac” in the distance. He stands motionless in front of a building, staring at the ground as if deep in thought.

A realization strikes me, and I take a few steps forward.

Sure enough, he’s finally here.

After five whole years… he’s finally appeared. It seems I didn’t just zone out—he pulled me here.

Though I’m a little curious… I’ve seen the “Zodiac Ascension Contract.” If everyone in the interview room disappears, he should have become an Earth-rank. Why is he still a “Human Sheep”?

“Brother Sheep…?” I call out softly.

His mask is identical to five years ago, and his figure hasn’t changed much—except he seems listless.

The “Human Sheep” in the distance raises his head, looking at me with eyes that are both familiar and strange. He studies me from head to toe, then lowers his gaze after a few seconds as if he saw nothing.

What’s going on…? He doesn’t recognize me?

“White Sheep?” I take a few more steps and call again.

This time, he reacts, as if confirming that I’m addressing him. He lifts his head and stares at me before asking coldly, “What do you want?”

“What do I… want?”

His phrasing throws me off. What does he mean, “What do you want”?

I’ve spent five years running around for a verbal promise he made, and now he asks me that?

“Didn’t you call me here…?” I press. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I called you…?” His eyes narrow slowly, icy enough to kill. After a few seconds, he shakes his head. “Impossible. I never called you. Go back where you came from.”

There’s something off about him…

But his build, his mask, his voice—he’s unmistakably White Sheep.

Has he… lost his memories?

A strange sense of helplessness wells up inside me. If White Sheep truly forgot everything… then what was the point of all these years?

“White Sheep… you don’t remember me?” I ask cautiously.

“You…?” His gaze pierces through the mask, as if searching for something. After a long pause, he rubs his forehead. “Wait… I think I remember you.”

It still feels off. He doesn’t seem like he doesn’t recognize me—more like he’s digging through distant memories.

“Where have I seen you before…?”

He stares blankly at the ground, and only then do I realize what’s different from the last time I saw him.

Beyond the intelligence and determination in his eyes, there’s now an added layer of coldness and despair.

“Yan…” he murmurs slowly, recalling my surname.

I almost remind him of the rest of my name but bite my tongue. I want him to remember me—not because I prompted him.

I need him to say my name, to prove that my existence has meaning.

But he can’t recall it. After a moment, his expression twists in pain.