The next day, I went to find Bai Yang empty-handed and told him that the Earth Snake had turned the bookstore into a playground.
Since I couldn’t defy a “Zodiac” of the Earth level, I had no choice but to come empty-handed. I believed matters at the upper level should be handled by those at the upper level—it wasn’t my concern.
Surviving for five years had taught me that caution was my greatest weapon.
“A white Earth Snake…” Bai Yang nodded after listening. “Got it. I’ll handle it. From now on, I’ll have him bring the books directly to me on the ‘Train.'”
Hearing this, I felt that familiar sensation again—I was unbearably curious about Bai Yang.
“Brother Yang…” I ventured, “You’re currently at the ‘Human’ level. How will you make an ‘Earth-level’ obey you?”
“An ‘Earth-level’ is still human, isn’t it?” This time, instead of lashing out, Bai Yang actually answered my question. “As long as someone is human, they can be reasoned with. If you can reason with them, you can identify their vulnerabilities. And if you can grasp their vulnerabilities, you can potentially control them completely.”
After saying this, he glanced at me and then asked with slight hesitation, “What do you think of that logic?”
I swallowed hard and replied, “Brother Yang… where do you learn these things?”
“Mostly from my own thoughts before, but now some from books, too,” Bai Yang said. “Thanks to the books you’ve brought me—though it’s still far from enough.”
Honestly, I’ve never been afraid of smart people. What scares me is when someone smarter than me also works harder. It makes me feel helpless for no reason.
“You finished thirty books in a month… and that’s still not enough?” I asked. “I used to finish just two a week…”
“It’s not enough. I still have too much free time,” Bai Yang said, looking at me. “I can’t just stand idly at the entrance like the other ‘Zodiacs.’ I have to do something. I’m still racing against time.”
“This…” I hesitated, studying him. “You’re already a proper ‘Human-level Zodiac,’ aren’t you? What are you racing against?”
“I…” Bai Yang shook his head. “Telling you would put you in danger. But I *am* racing against time—my time is limited.”
“Limited…?”
“Yes. I *have* to do something.”
“But now that no one’s coming to play your game and you don’t have any books to read, what do you plan to do?”
“Let’s engage in ‘armchair strategy,'” Bai Yang suggested. “Pick a few challenging problems to discuss. It’s another way to grow stronger.”
Perfect. This was exactly why I wanted to stay close to Bai Yang.
“No problem,” I agreed with a nod. “I know a little about everything. What do you want to talk about?”
Bai Yang lowered his head, stroking his chin in thought, then said, “Yan Zhichun, what are your thoughts on the ‘subconscious’?”
“The ‘subconscious’?” I pondered as well. “That’s a psychological term, isn’t it? It refers to the part of human mental activity that remains undetected.”
“Exactly. It’s a psychological term. Do you know the relationship between the ‘subconscious’ and ‘Echoes’?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “After your guidance and my own experiments, I’ve realized that the more I subconsciously believe my ‘Echoes’ will activate successfully, the higher the success rate becomes. Not only have I mastered the method of triggering ‘Echoes’ myself, but I’ve also passed this knowledge to those who joined ‘Extremis.'”
“Good,” Bai Yang said. “That saves me a lot of explanation. In other words, the stronger one’s subconscious is, the more powerful they are as an ‘Echoer.’ You understand that. Then let me ask you… aside from ‘Echoes,’ what other influence does the ‘subconscious’ have here?”
“Other influences…?” I lowered my head, seriously considering the question. It felt like another test.
If I couldn’t answer correctly, the direction of Bai Yang’s next words would shift.
But no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t figure out any other ways the subconscious affected this place. Was there really something beyond ‘Echoes’?
Seeming to sense my dilemma, Bai Yang continued, “American psychologist Martin Gallard once conducted an experiment. He blindfolded a death row inmate, strapped him to a bed, and announced that his execution would be carried out via bloodletting. Then, he lightly scratched the prisoner’s hand with a wooden splinter and began slowly dripping water from a prepared tube onto the prisoner’s wrist. As the sound of the dripping water slowed, the prisoner grew increasingly terrified. In the end, he died—with symptoms identical to excessive blood loss.”
“I’ve heard of this experiment…” I said. “It’s a specific manifestation of the ‘suggestion effect.’ The prisoner’s death was ultimately caused by fear and self-suggestion.”
“Right. Now, what if the subject were a dog or a monkey… would they die?” Bai Yang pressed.
I considered the scenario and replied, “They wouldn’t understand the suggestion, so they probably wouldn’t die.”
“Good. Given that, let me ask you this…” Bai Yang’s gaze suddenly sharpened. “Can our ‘subconscious’ forget that we’re human?”
“What…?” I froze. A premonition struck me—this conversation was about to veer into uncharted territory.
“Yan Zhichun. You’ve played the ‘Liar’s Game’ before. Have you noticed something strange…?” Bai Yang stared at me. “We’re already dead… We don’t even need to breathe… right?”
“Ah…”
I think I understood.
In an instant, everything Bai Yang was getting at clicked in my mind.
“If we don’t need to breathe, it means we don’t require basic survival necessities—no need to drink or eat,” Bai Yang continued. “But have you noticed… every one of us still feels hunger, and some even starve to death.”
He then raised his hand, covering the mouth and nose area of his mask, and added, “We don’t need to breathe, yet some suffocate. We don’t need sleep, yet we feel exhaustion from sleep deprivation. Theoretically, we’re all in a state of lingering spirits—none of this should affect us.”
My eyes widened slowly as my thoughts became clearer than ever.
“I see…” I blinked. “Even the ‘Natives’ starve to death… because their subconscious, as humans, still believes they’ll die without food…”
“Exactly,” Bai Yang nodded. “We can’t forget we’re ‘human,’ so we remain shackled. That’s why we can’t reach our full potential.”
“But this is too abstract,” I shook my head, sighing deeply. “As long as we can speak and think, our subconscious will always insist we’re human.”
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