Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies
Chapter 12: Old, Magician, Storyteller?
Chapter 12: Con man, magician, storyteller?
Fate thinks you're just a con man, but you're actually a magician, or maybe a storyteller? I'm Sima Ming, the Sima of a Thousand Faces.
The night was dark, and the hotel's old and rough wooden bed made a slight creaking sound.
Siming lay on his back on the bed, flipping three cards casually with his fingertips - The Messenger of Disaster, The Lost Scholar, and The Thousand Faces.
He was reviewing the day's battle.
How terrifying is the swordsmanship of Viscount Red Wing?
I'm afraid I've become a delicacy on the table of the vampire viscount.
But this is not important, what is important is——one's own means,
In the face of absolute force, it is still as fragile as paper.
He exhaled lightly, his eyes showing a hint of helplessness and a hint of amusement.
"O One of a Thousand Faces... what exactly does your entry mean?"
He stared at the card of the Thousand Faces and muttered softly.
Writing Destiny…?
The Thousand Faces Man laughed softly in the darkness, like a playful bystander.
Whispering softly,
"Give it a try, Siming. You've always been chasing 'possibilities', haven't you?"
Siming's pupils contracted slightly.
"But what's the price?"
The Thousand Faces' whispers became softer and softer, carrying an irresistible and mysterious charm:
"Your story satisfies me...and it may satisfy you, too."
Siming's mouth corners slightly raised, revealing a hint of sarcasm.
"... Thousand Faces, how did you know that I'm not a con man, but a writer?"
He was silent for a moment and finally made up his mind.
"Okay, let's give it a try."
Destiny weaving, start.
On Siming's fate pattern, the remaining three stars lit up at the same time.
In the deep darkness, a faint blue glow appeared at his fingertips.
It seems as if some indescribable thread of fate is intertwining, entangled, and reshaped.
The Thousand Faces' whispers echoed in his mind, like a soft yet dangerous whisper:
"Weave your own destiny, Sima."
Sima Ming stared at the card of the Messenger of Disaster and whispered slowly:
"The unfortunate woman guarding the bridge, longing for her lover to return home..."
"Your hopes and your tears, with their cold flames, have transformed into will-o'-the-wisp fire, lingering in the world forever."
His words were like chanting a mantra.
The image on the card began to distort, and the hideous goat head of the Messenger of Disaster slowly disappeared.
Instead, there is a blue lantern floating in the night.
A strange blue flame burned inside, swaying in the darkness like a ghostly whisper.
A new card is born.
Shiranui Ghost Flame - Cold flame, a malicious flame that freezes everything.
The card trembled slightly, as if adjusting to its new form.
The Thousand Faces laughed crazily, his voice filled with ecstatic joy:
"Good story, Siming, it's a really good story."
"You succeeded in making me happy."
The Thousand Faces' laughter deepened, carrying a hint of meaningful warning.
"But remember, it is destiny that is woven into your being."
"If one day, you encounter another Shiranui Ghost Flame..."
"If its fate doesn't match the story you've woven, I'll be disappointed."
Siming's eyes narrowed slightly.
——What this guy means is that the created cards cannot have repeated stories?
What if he encounters a real Shiranui Oni in the future, and its "background" is not the story he made up?
Will the One with a Thousand Faces turn against him?
He narrowed his eyes, slowly stroked the cards with his fingertips, and a thoughtful smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"It seems that the price of 'weaving destiny' is not just the consumption of sanity..."
"More importantly—
'The logic of the world must be consistent with the destiny you weave.'"
Sima Ming stood up, moved his wrist, and put away the newly born Shiranui Ghost Flame.
He needed some information and needed to know more about the secrets of the Eternal Night Blood Alliance and the blood clan.
And the best way to get information, of course, is to go to the pub——
——Use magic and gambling to exchange for information.
The Moon Hunter Tavern was still bustling.
Astrologers converse in the light of the cards,
Several travelers from other worlds sat around the table, exchanging stories from each other's worlds.
Sima Ming knocked lightly on the table, attracting everyone's attention.
He smiled and raised a playing card, flipped it between his fingers, and then tossed it lightly.
The playing cards actually floated in the air, transforming into brilliant stars that shone brightly under the lights of the tavern. "Ladies and gentlemen."
His voice has dramatic cadences, like a natural stage performer.
"I have a story I want to share with you."
"A story about fate, deception, magic, and astrology."
He waved his black silk gloves lightly, and a dozen playing cards spun in the air and fell as lightly as butterfly wings.
"But...how does the story end?"
Siming smiled, his eyes flickered slightly, and he murmured softly:
"That depends on what price you are willing to pay."
The astrologers present were slightly stunned, and then smiled with interest.
Gambling, magic, storytellers...
The game of Thousand Faces Sima Ming has officially begun.
And the Thousand Faces Man is in the void that Sima Ming cannot see, appreciating the new story written by Sima Ming.
You are silent, and I am returning home hidden in the fog.
The red light is flickering and the road is blocked and vast.
A pair of childhood sweethearts, from childhood ignorance to adulthood promises,
We vowed to stay together for life and grow old together.
However, the world is cruel and their family's difficult financial situation makes it impossible for them to fulfill their promise.
The man resolutely decided to travel far away and saved money as a traveling merchant just to buy a beautiful wedding gift for his beloved woman.
On the day of departure, a cold fog enveloped the village.
The woman held a red lantern and walked him to the old bridge outside the village.
As they embraced at the bridge, the woman choked and whispered:
"On the day I return home, we'll meet again by the red light." The man solemnly promised, hid her tears in his heart, turned around and stepped into the fog.
His figure gradually disappeared, but the light of the red lantern never went out, as if her hope was guiding her through the fog.
Day after day, the woman stood guard at the old bridge, lighting a red light every night, waiting for the familiar figure to return.
However, the cruelty of fate was beyond her imagination.
The plague attacked the village like an evil spirit, and the number of people in the village gradually decreased, and she was not spared.
Even when she was weakened by illness, she still refused to leave the old bridge and held on to the red light tightly.
Her eyes grew dim, but the light remained bright. She murmured in a coma, "He will definitely come back..."
On a windy and snowy night, the village was dead silent and the fog was so thick that it seemed as if even the sky was invisible.
The woman lit the red lantern for the last time, leaned against the bridge railing and closed her eyes.
The red light flickered slightly in the snow, but it never went out. Her breathing stopped.
The waiting in the fog is forever solidified into an unfinished obsession.
No one knows how many years have passed, but one day, a red lantern slowly emerged on the road deep in the fog.
The faint light swayed slightly, as if looking for something.
The lights drifted towards the old bridge, and at the head of the bridge, there was another red lantern hanging.
The two lights echoed each other, as if expressing some unspeakable emotion.
At that moment, sad and beautiful singing floated out from the fog, sounding like crying, laughing, complaining and telling.
That night, the two red lanterns at the bridgehead began to spin.
As they danced to the song, the light intertwined into an eerie red shadow.
They slowly approached, and the color of the lights gradually turned to a faint blue.
The flames began to wriggle like life, as if struggling to express the sorrow that had been pent up for thousands of years.
Finally, the two lanterns turned into two balls of ghostly flames, floating quietly and dispersing into the mist with the wind.
From then on, Shiranui Oni-en became the nightmare of those who were lost.
In the mist, they whispered, their songs sad and lingering, as if urging lost travelers to return home as soon as possible.
But the road back home is a road of death paved with cold and fire.
Anyone who dares to stop or try to escape will be closely followed by their will-o'-the-wisp fire.
The dark blue flame was like an icy poisonous snake, coiling around its prey and branding the scorching cold into its flesh and blood until its soul was burned out.
The terrible thing is that when the lost groan in the extreme cold and burning,
The singing became softer, with a strange hint of pity:
"Go home...go home...don't let her wait too long."
These urgings were like gentle traps, forcing people to destroy their minds and allow themselves to be devoured by the cold flames.
When it's all over, only charred bones will be left on the ground.
At the bridgehead, the two balls of ghostly flames were still dancing, singing a low elegy that no one could understand.
They are not really malicious, they are just urging, urging the travelers to return home as soon as possible...
Waiting to send more souls into the endless land of cold fog.
(End of this chapter)
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