I, the leader of the esoteric sect, am doing great things in the infinite world!

Li Lin habitually reached out to pat the melon, and the melon stall owner, witnessing this, instinctively asked, "What are you doing?"

It's probably only Chinese people in the whole world who habitually pat a watermelon with their hands.

"To appease the melon," Li Lin casually remarked, seizing the opportunity to swiftly grab a watermelon knife and chop it into the melon. The innocent melon died on the spot, and the shopkeeper, startled, dropped his water pipe and collapsed to the ground.

Li Lin's movements were so swift and fluid that onlookers mistook him for a notorious bandit and made way for him. Even the melon stall owner nearby dared not accept Li Lin's money.

"Thank you so much." Li Lin never expected to meet such a kind person while out hunting in the wild. He kept turning back to thank him and said he planned to patronize his business often in the future.

The melon stall owner nodded and bowed as he watched Li Lin disappear from sight before daring to reach out and wipe the sweat that had somehow trickled down his chin.

At this moment, someone who knew the melon stall owner came up to him, still shaken, and asked, "Old Abbas, are you alright? Did you borrow money outside... or are you being watched?"

"I don't know, I really don't know!" Old Abbas collapsed to the ground. "I'm just a fruit vendor!"

After some comforting words, old Abbas finally calmed down. At this point, acquaintances, wanting to comfort old Abbas, all decided to buy him melons.

Old Abbas was about to take out a watermelon knife to cut the melon when he realized the knife was missing.

"I thought you'd take this opportunity to cause trouble and then chop that vendor in half with your knife," the exile muttered, glancing sideways at Li Lin. "And why did you take his knife with you?"

"Didn't he give this to me?" Li Lin said matter-of-factly.

"I'm pretty sure it's not," the exile sighed to himself, deciding not to argue with Li Lin about it.

After all, every argument with Li Lin ended with his victory. Not only did he not feel any sense of triumph, but he also had to be wary of Li Lin's unpredictable mental pollution. To be honest, the exile once thought of having Li Lin confront her great enemy.

Considering that Li Lin not only didn't spend a penny today but also made quite a bit of money, and that others even gave him a melon and a watermelon knife as compensation, his haul this morning was truly substantial.

However, this kind of thing can happen once or twice, but not three times. If it happens too often, you'll likely get beaten up in real life offline.

The exile decided that he could no longer let Li Lin act on his own. After thinking it over, he decided to first go to the antique and gun shops in Algiers.

I vividly remember buying the Lion Hunter rifle in Rostock, and given Algiers' turbulent climate, with the National Liberation Front and the colonial governor locked in a fierce struggle, such opportunities should be more frequent and closer.

The aftershocks of World War I had not yet subsided when the exile and Li Lin nearly bumped into someone as they entered the gun shop.

"Sorry." The exile nodded and brushed past the man.

The man didn't move; instead, he stood in front of them, or more precisely, between Li Lin and the exiles.

Seemingly realizing that his actions were blocking the gun shop's entrance, the man gestured to the exiles and Li Lin, signaling them to come out.

When they stepped outside the shop, the man removed his soft hat and bowed slightly to the exiles and Li Lin, revealing his Arabic-looking face. Surprisingly, he was dressed like a European celebrity, wearing a high-necked trench coat in addition to his fedora, with his trousers neatly pressed and a silver pocket watch tucked into the side of his striped vest.

When he spoke, his fluent London accent rang out: "I'm the one who should apologize. I interrupted your purchase process, but I had no choice but to do so."

The exile wisely remained silent, thinking the man might have mistaken her for someone else.

"Please don't think like that, it's bothering me. In fact, the image of you in my eyes is not what it is right now, so I'm not sure if it's you—well, to use Christopher's words, it's either/or, but I don't agree with that, so I need to confirm—you should still be using the name Snyder right now, right?"

He then turned to Li Lin: "And you, Mr. Abraham."

Li Lin rubbed his hands together, eager to try: "The riddle master, huh?"

The exiles' attitudes underwent a dramatic change: "Who are you?"

The Arab scholar put his felt hat back on his head and said, “My name is Void, Son of Void. Before this name was given this meaning, they called me Ibn Adim.”

The instant he finished speaking, a semi-transparent frame suddenly appeared on Li Lin's dark green desktop, and the icon of the secret history reappeared. Compared to the secret history of Alcana, Dr. Ibn Adim's secret history orientation was much stronger.

Then the icon of the Secret History cracked open, and a card belonging to Ibn Adim emerged beneath it. Abstract strokes outlined an Arab scholar wearing a top hat and a trench coat against a deep purple background. He had a thick beard and straight eyebrows like the nib of a pen.

Someone has arrived.

The signs were clear enough—the wounds of history throbbed, the knots of time loosened, and the words recorded in books dimmed. All signs pointed to a secret, immortal being of history drawing near!

An immortal being who is curious about you has arrived!

[Student of History - Son of Nothingness (??? ??????)]

Dr. Ibn Adim, known as the Aleppo Man, has a keen interest in thousands of obscure and even overlooked histories.

In any case, a mysterious immortal similar to the Alcana found them. Recalling the Alcana's methods, the exile's expression changed slightly. She stared into the Aleppo woman's eyes and asked seriously.

"So what do you want to do?"

The surrounding pedestrians came and went in a bustling manner, but no one paid any attention to this side. It was as if the people of Aleppo had become another time and space.

When asked questions by the exiles, the Aleppo man did not answer directly, but instead took out a brown notebook from the pocket of his coat.

He opened his notebook, turned to a certain page, and read aloud the contents: "Don't rush to kill Defour, and don't kill Defour with your own hands. This is my advice to myself."

After reading it, the Aleppo man tore off the page and handed it to Snyder.

The exile examined the paper carefully without saying a word.

That was her own handwriting.

296 I see you don't understand at all.

Discussing such matters outside a gun shop is somewhat inappropriate, and although the Aleppo people's abilities seem more bizarre than those of the Alcana, that doesn't stop them from finding another place to discuss it in detail.

They arrived at a well-known local Arabic restaurant. As the exiles lifted the curtain hanging in front of the door, the Ottoman melody of "Ancestors and Grandfathers" wafted out, along with the pungent, spicy smell.

Suddenly, Li Lin wanted Nian to come over for a free meal.

A white gauze curtain embroidered with the word "halal" hangs between the main hall of the restaurant and the kitchen at the back. Something is bubbling on a stew pot, emitting a rich aroma of mutton and peas, along with the sounds of spoons and knives clattering. The rich and fragrant aroma flows from the kitchen all the way to the dining table.

The raisin pudding, like a soft cake, was soaked in pale white cream; the potato and cabbage puree filled shallow plates, colorful yet delicate, with light green and pale yellow blending harmoniously, garnished with small red fruit pieces; in the center of the table were several large legs of lamb, and every now and then someone would come up and use the knife to cut off their favorite piece of meat, place it on their plate, and take it back to their own table.

This self-service-like dining style can indeed make a restaurant very famous.

The man from Aleppo took two puddings and a beef dish—though many went to get knives to cut the leg of lamb, he declined.

“Since I left the waking world and returned to the lucid dream, I have never touched lamb meat again, for it is a tribute to pilgrims and vision thieves. In every history, the pure black sheep always helps us find the right path.”

He sounds like a charlatan the moment he opens his mouth.

All the existing immortal beings of the secret history belong to the Sichen, who is known as the Wandering Traveler. Among the Sichen, he has the most faces, which some people call "masks".

Among the many faces of wandering travelers, the following are the most commonly used: sight thief, laughing thrush, centipede, pilgrim.

The Aleppo man cut off a piece of beef, put it in his mouth with a fork, chewed it, swallowed it, and then explained in detail to the exiles the chaplain known as the Wanderer.

"He was born in a city called Mia, but was punished for mistakenly entering a temple in his childhood. After becoming the oracle, he cast a curse, causing the city of Mia to only drink the sand and dust throughout all of history and disappear without a trace in the sandstorm. As a centipede, he is vengeful."

"As a laughingthrush, He chased the sun, and every feather of His was imbued with the scent of the sun. The sun here does not refer to the now-divided Sichen·Canyang, but to the more perfect, brighter, and warmer sun before Him."

"As a vision thief, before leaving Mansus, He drew a river that encircled Mansus, connecting the world of the waking world, Mansus, the Sea of ​​No Light, and even the realm of illusion. This river was called the River in the Painting. Afterwards, the twin sea children, who were still mortals, drowned in the sea during the great drought in Lydia. However, they entered Mansus through the River in the Painting in the sea, where they achieved the great feat of becoming a Divine of the Sea through the ascension of the Divine of the Red Cup."

"Therefore, the twins of the sea still remember the sight of the thief."

"Among the many prophets, the Wanderer is the only one who does not reside in Mansor, because His other name, the Pilgrim, has already revealed what is yet to happen but is destined to happen. He is destined to cause a great change that will sweep through Mansor."

The exile put down his cutlery, glanced around at the people who seemed unfazed by his presence.

She smiled and said, "So, my actions have caught the eye of a wandering traveler?"

“That’s one thing,” the Aleppo man said. “You should know that you’re not only competing with Defort, but also with yourself.”

"What do you mean?" The exile took out the paper.

“That is advice from another version of yourself in history,” the Aleppo man said. “He lived in a history that was brighter and more powerful than yours is now.”

"Him? My other history is male... There are multiple histories. I always thought it was a hypothesis of the apprentices."

“Of course it’s not a hypothesis,” the Aleppo man said. “It’s just that to me, your history is like a page that can be turned at will, and the vast majority of people are just insignificant punctuation marks on it. Only a few occupy the majority of the page.”

"It sounds like the immortals in the secret history have a huge advantage in this regard," the exile said sarcastically, though it was still too difficult for her to accept this worldview setting.

"No, don't think that way. Those who become scholars of all histories all hold equal respect and a thirst for knowledge for all histories." The Aleppo man saw through the exile's thoughts at a glance. "That's why you can't find apprentices with a secret history nature, because they all live in their own histories. An apprentice might live in England during the Wars of the Roses, or in Istanbul during the Ottoman era, or in the Mingtiao of the Xia Dynasty, shouting 'When will the days end?' to the sun... Only by living out of their own histories can they become new immortals of the secret history."

“I’m sure I’m not someone who respects history very much.” After thinking it over, the exile decided to speak frankly. The feeling that the previous Mysterious Immortal Arcana had given her was too bizarre, like a lucid madman. “You see, I don’t even cherish antiques. I always use them to exchange for money.”

Why should we cherish litter that is so easily picked up from the roadside?

To everyone's surprise, the Aleppo people were even more astonished than the exiles: "Isn't this something you can just find anywhere?"

The exiles fell silent.

I really want to hit someone...

The Aleppo people, not understanding what sore spot they had touched on with the exiles, could only shut up in frustration and turn their attention to Li Lin, who had been eating freely from the very beginning.

Li Lin was eating when he started speaking; Li Lin was eating while he was trying to reason with him; and Li Lin is still eating now that he has stopped.

“You have a really good appetite,” the Aleppo man remarked, though his words were not entirely sincere.

"I won't pay!" Li Lin raised his head and said in a trembling voice.

“I’ll pay.” The exile, who was watching the drama unfold and stirring things up, was honestly annoyed by what the Aleppo man had just said. This kind of emphasis, somewhere between a riddle and a prophecy of the future, was really annoying.

Dr. Ibn Adim pressed on, saying, “Mr. Abraham—I’m sorry to address you by that name, but that’s the only name you have in this history. If you would like, you can tell me your current name.”

Li Lin raised his head, looked at the people of Aleppo, and softly said, "My name is Zhang Jie..."

A hint of doubt flashed in the exile's eyes. Wasn't his name Li Lin?

Could it be——

Li Lin continued, "...You can call me Brother Jie."

"Hello, Brother Jie."

The people of Aleppo treated Lilin with far more respect than the exiles.