After listening, Wen Qiaoyun nodded blankly.
At that moment, the man before her smiled again, tears streaming down his face.
His expression seemed to have been twisted many years ago, only revealing itself today.
Wen Qiaoyun felt that their encounter was strange—like a reunion, yet also like a farewell.
Countless tangled thoughts in her heart and fragmented images flashing through her mind left her dazed and uncertain of what to do.
Perhaps, as the man before her had said, her return itself was a mistake.
**”If I propose a ‘life gamble’ to the ‘Referee’ in the game, will I die?”** Wen Qiaoyun asked again.
**”Yes,”** Chu Tianqiu nodded. **”Because it’s very hard for you to win.”**
**”And what about you?”** Wen Qiaoyun pressed. **”Even if it’s hard for me to win, tomorrow’s game won’t be just me participating, right?”**
**”Right. I’ll be there too. But I’ve hardly participated in any games,”** Chu Tianqiu admitted frankly. **”So no one knows what will happen tomorrow, but the death rate for ‘life gamblers’ is extremely high.”**
**”Okay…”** Wen Qiaoyun nodded.
**”Qiaoyun…”** Chu Tianqiu said softly, **”You don’t really want to die, do you?”**
Wen Qiaoyun paused for a moment before answering, **”How could I…? Maybe you don’t know me well, I—”**
**”I know you too well,”** Chu Tianqiu interrupted. **”The moment you feel that intense urge for ‘self-sacrifice’—”**
He slowly pointed out the window. **”The four great bells will toll for you.”**
**”Great bells…?”** Wen Qiaoyun followed his finger, her memories of this place fragmented. There was still so much she didn’t understand.
**”Qiaoyun, if your subconscious tells you that you can’t die yet, then don’t push yourself. Leave this place immediately,”** Chu Tianqiu warned. **”A storm is coming. If your sacrifice isn’t voluntary, everything that follows will be meaningless.”**
**”A storm…?”** Wen Qiaoyun frowned. **”But you won’t leave? You know it’s coming, yet you insist on staying?”**
**”I am an epiphyllum in the storm,”** Chu Tianqiu said. **”This storm involves me. It might be the best opportunity in seventy years, so I can’t leave.”**
**”Seventy years…”**
After saying this, Chu Tianqiu slowly turned and walked to the door, his back to her as he murmured, **”Qiaoyun, what has happened in these seventy years… I couldn’t explain it to you even in an entire night. But once you die… everything will finally begin.”**
**”But you’ve been crying this whole time,”** Wen Qiaoyun said. **”Are those really your true feelings?”**
Chu Tianqiu’s back stiffened for a long moment before he whispered, **”Yes.”**
With a soft click of the door closing, his figure disappeared from the room, leaving only a silent Wen Qiaoyun behind.
Night had officially fallen, and the city had grown deathly quiet.
Within the vast **”Land of Finality,”** four ghostly cities surrounded the flickering bonfires of **”Dao City,”** devouring the last traces of starlight like a whirlpool.
Countless people had fallen silent, their tangled thoughts drifting through the air like invisible threads.
Yet amid this stillness, the **”Train”** was unusually lively.
Qinglong dragged a chair to the entrance of one of the train cars, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand, blocking the path of all the **”Celestials”** inside.
**”Q-Qinglong… What’s the meaning of this?”** A shriveled old man slowly stood up, clearly puzzled.
**”Sit down, Celestial Rat,”** Qinglong said flatly, his expression unreadable. **”You’re all off duty today. No one leaves.”**
A young boy and girl, both around seventeen or eighteen, exchanged uneasy glances before speaking in unison: **”Why?”**
**”No reason. I just missed you all,”** Qinglong chuckled. **”Isn’t this a perfect chance to sit and chat, bond a little?”**
The pair fell silent for a few seconds before replying together again: **”We’ve been sitting in this room the whole time. There’s no need to ‘bond.'”**
The ticking of the clock at the center of the round table grew louder, the atmosphere turning tense.
Of the ten Celestials present, eight stared at Qinglong in confusion, while the remaining two were sprawled in their chairs, fast asleep.
**”So my words carry no weight now?”** Qinglong mused. **”Is it really so hard for me to ask for a little bonding time?”**
The boy hesitated, then glanced at his wrist, where a childishly patterned watch gleamed.
Almost seven o’clock.
**”Qinglong,”** the boy said. **”Just let me out for ten minutes. I’ll come right back. How about it?”**
Qinglong uncrossed his legs—only to cross them the other way, still blocking the door. **”What do you think?”**
**”What’s the point of this?”** the boy demanded. **”You know **Tianlong** gave us orders, yet you insist on trapping us here… Are you trying to corner us?”**
**”Celestial Rooster…”** Qinglong sighed. **”That’s not how you should phrase it. **Tianlong** gave you orders, but he didn’t tell me, so I know nothing. I just happened to delay you.”**
The boy named Celestial Rooster gritted his teeth, then raised his hand in unison with the girl beside him, both pointing at Qinglong as they declared: **”Don’t push it!”**
**”Interesting,”** Qinglong smirked. **”Celestial Monkey, Celestial Rooster… You two seem closer than ever. Have you achieved the ‘fusion of yin and yang’ yet? Really planning to walk the path **Tianlong** laid out for you?”**
His tone was casual, as if teasing juniors, but the girl—Celestial Monkey—clearly wasn’t amused.
**”Stop wasting time,”** she snapped. **”Celestial Rooster’s hour is almost over. If we can’t initiate the ‘All-Out War,’ are you going to let him take the punishment?”**
Qinglong pondered for a moment before replying, **”That does complicate things. But I have my own reasons for keeping you here. Starting now, all ‘Celestial Hours’ are canceled tonight. Just sit tight.”**
His words sent a ripple of shock through the room.
In their memories, they had always followed **Tianlong’s** commands. Never had Qinglong issued a direct counter-order.
As the two highest authorities in the **Land of Finality**, they couldn’t possibly turn on each other—meaning the Celestials caught in between would suffer the consequences.
Celestial Horse sat quietly, stroking Celestial Tiger’s head. Neither spoke—after all, **”Celestial Horse’s Hour”** had already passed, and **Celestial Tiger’s Hour** was from 3 to 5 AM. They were safe.
Now, the only question was how the impending **Celestial Rooster’s Hour** would play out.
**”Uh… um…”** A stuttering voice came from the corner—Celestial Snake. **”C-Could you… tell us the reason?”**
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