Genshin Impact: Pool Character, Nirvana of the Demon God

--Reality

In Xing's live stream, the barrage of comments surged like a tidal wave.

Just as the characters in the game's storyline finalized their decision to "split up and visit residents to gather clues," the screen suddenly lit up—

The gilded notification box for "【Chapter 3, Act 3 Completed | Dreams, Illusions, and Deception | Mission Accomplished】" popped up, carrying a sense of solemnity with a touch of playful whimsy.

Before the audience could even catch their breath, the next task tracking seamlessly began: a golden light flashed on the task list, and a prompt appeared on the minimap, pointing directly to the new coordinates.

With a light tap of the fingertip, the character takes a step and moves with fluid grace, without any lag, hesitation, or processing delay.

It felt less like playing a game and more like executing an instinctive command etched into our DNA.

pause?

Ha... This joke is so cold it could freeze a server.

Finishing the main storyline of this version as soon as possible, then rushing to the map to farm resources, stockpile materials, and build up your team's strength—isn't that great?

Five-minute break? The emotional gap is immediately triggered, and if I click back in, I'll probably have to rewatch the recap three times to get back into the flow.

What if I run out of inspiration tomorrow, accidentally drop a frame, or have a mental breakdown... who will pay for this plot's interruption?

Therefore—the stars never stop.

(Of course, she would never intentionally reveal that she was currently using March 7th's account to play the story mode.)

(Xing has already used a secondary account on her phone to complete the storyline. Now that she has helped March 7 complete the storyline, March will have no more tasks to do.)

(Star: I'm really happy to be cheeky like this)

(March 7: How dare you mess with my account while I was away? You're finished! I said it! -- Already turned evil)

Just two minutes into the advance, Xing bumped into an acquaintance—

Isaac, who was crying and begging the main characters to help him find his grandfather in the previous chapter, is now standing at the entrance of the investigation team, clutching the hem of his clothes and looking on with a cute and expectant expression that says, "Please take me with you."

Xing immediately fired off the line at zero frames, as fast as a bullet fired at double speed: "Sorry, this group doesn't accept burdens. Crybaby, please leave the group, thank you."

The barrage of comments exploded like a fireworks display:

[Starting with zero frames! Not even enough time for buffering animations to load!]

[Ah Xing: Gentle? What's that? Can you eat it?]

[To be so cruel to children, who else on the entire internet dares to do this besides you! I call you the strongest!]

[Rude? Yes, rude. But...it's so relaxing!!]

Finally, someone spoke my mind: Kindness ≠ indiscriminate kindness, helping others ≠ raising burdens!

[+1, those NPCs, they're either here to make things worse or to make things worse, and they also help the writers pad out the runtime. If they don't know how the plot is going to develop, just stuff one in; it's always a good idea.]

[Were the production team secretly watching our comments? This "no" option is a perfect counter to their usual tropes!]

"He actually...could refuse?"

Xing raised an eyebrow, staring at the lone "Reject" button on the screen, a hint of amused surprise flickering in her eyes—

There was no "I'll think about it," no "I'll reply later," and certainly no "We've noted down Grandpa's matter." There was only a crisp, decisive "No," leaving no room for negotiation.

This isn't an option.

This is an attitude, a declaration, an expulsion order for all the burdens in the plot.

Novelty? Yes.

The feeling of pleasure? Absolutely overwhelming.

More importantly, you won't have to force yourself to watch those magical realism scenes where the main characters solve a case while also feeding their child.

Xing's lips curled slightly, and her fingertips lightly tapped the keyboard:

"Come on, let me see—without any burdens, how you're going to smoothly advance the plot."

——Teyvat

Sumeru, that ancient land covered by endless yellow sand, where the wind sweeps across the red rock walls with scorching heat, and there is Aru Village—

This oasis village, nestled on the edge of the desert, is quietly shrouded in a layer of uneasy mist.

Led by Seno, Ying and her companions embark on a journey to investigate the mystery of the disappearance of the "village guardian".

They visited each villager, inquiring about the memories behind every wooden door, but only received scattered sighs and vague shakes of the head.

Clues slipped through his fingers like quicksand. Paimon lowered his head, his voice tinged with weariness. Iya, on the other hand, clenched his clothes, his brows furrowed—should he save the person first and then investigate the cause?

Just as everyone's steps faltered and hope seemed to be extinguished, Seno stopped and stared intently in the shadow of a mottled earthen wall: from a crack in the wall, a whisper slithered out like a snake's tongue—"The Red King... is really coming back..."

His eyes narrowed, and he immediately led everyone to the sound, where they faced the villagers who looked bewildered.

After some questioning, the truth began to emerge: this shocking rumor actually originated from the drunken whispers of several mercenaries from the gilded guild in the Kawan Post Station tavern.

Those gilded caravans that roamed the sandstorms year-round, wearing faded gold-patterned cloaks, believed in the Red King's last teachings, long since lost to the wind and sand.

According to them, "madness" is not a calamity, but a sacred omen—legend has it that on the eve of the fall of the Red King civilization, the entire desert was plunged into a vast spiritual tide:

Countless scholars, in the instant of comprehending the truth, lose their reason, their eyes ignite with crimson-gold flames, and they murmur ancient words that no one can understand.

Now, this strange phenomenon has reappeared: in recent months, scholars who have been judged to be "mentally unstable" by the Sumeru Church have been exiled here at an unprecedented frequency and settled in Aru Village.

What's even more chilling is that these exiles disappeared one after another without a trace—the houses were empty, the water jugs were not overturned, and even the sandy ground was devoid of any signs of struggle.

In the eyes of the Red King's followers, this was no coincidence, but the prelude to a divine oracle: the missing scholars were "living sacrifices" personally chosen by the Red King, undergoing a baptism of fire in the shadows to be reborn—

Their madness is the key, their demise is the clarion call, and the Red King's throne is slowly rising from the depths of the desert...

These were all news reports that the residents had heard from the tavern.

[Is it true? A demon god has risen from the dead?]

[Does the Red King possess this ability?]

[Madness? Signs? It's starting to feel like Cthulhu.]

[If this really has anything to do with Cthulhu, then I'm a little curious: how did the Great Tree King manage to defeat the Red King in the Demon God War?]

[↑It seems the Great Tree King was predetermined, because she is the incarnation of the World Tree, so Sky Island dared not let her die.]

So, is the legend of the Red King true or false?

"fake."

Nasita's voice, like a clear spring dripping into a lake, quietly rippled in the depths of everyone's consciousness, clear and firm: "The Red King is a benevolent god—even if there is a day of resurrection, he will never use the blood of his people as a means of sacrifice."

"This rumor is completely false." Her tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority, as if she were not refuting a claim, but reiterating a truth already etched in the dust of history.

Ying responded softly in the mental link, her voice carrying a hint of probing and concern: "Nasita... do you know the Crimson King very well?"

"I know a little," Nasita replied modestly, yet with an air of authority. "The name of the Red King is mentioned many times in the ancient scrolls left by the Great Compassion Tree King."

"He was not the cold-blooded desert tyrant of legend, but the creator who ignited the flame of civilization with a sincere heart—on the boundless yellow sand, he built towers, dug canals, compiled laws, and educated the people."

"He treats his people as his own children, replacing coercion with zeal and scheming with wisdom. Like most of the Daedric Lords of Teyvat, he deeply loves mankind, and his love is open, passionate, and unconditional."

Iya's voice then emerged, calm and sharp: "If one truly loves humanity, there is absolutely no way one would practice human sacrifice. That is not an act of divinity, but a fig leaf for tyranny."

Before the words were even finished, Sino's voice was like a blade drawn from its sheath, steady yet penetrating, cutting straight into everyone's minds: "Gods may not, but believers... may not."

Nasita paused slightly, a rare hint of hesitation appearing between her brows: "Sino, you mean...?"

Although she is the goddess of wisdom and has ruled over Mount Sumeru for five hundred years, she is ultimately too young—her divine status is not yet complete, and her experience is still shallow.

She was well-versed in classical texts and knowledgeable of the law, yet she had not yet truly understood the subtle and unpredictable fanaticism and obsession hidden deep within people's hearts.

Ying, who had traversed the stars and witnessed the rise and fall of countless civilizations, understood in an instant what Cyno had left unsaid.

She spoke slowly in her mind, her voice like the wind sweeping across the sand dunes: "Seno, are you saying... the Red King might not return as a human sacrifice—"

"Perhaps He will never return. But His followers firmly believe that only in this way can He be awakened?"

“Exactly.” Seno answered crisply, his tone revealing a worldly-wise coldness. “In Teyvat, faith is often sharper than the truth.”

"When worship degenerates into blind faith, sacrifice becomes glory, and madness evolves into piety. The Red King's followers do not need divine approval, only their own unwavering belief—'If He returns, He will do so.'"

"So they paved a bloody path for the gods."

His voice was low but not to be ignored: "I have seen too many 'believers' like this. They do not ask about cause and effect, do not consider the cost, but use faith as a knife and obsession as fire—burning away reason and destroying others."

This is not a rash judgment, but a clear, dangerous, and potentially dangerous path leading to the truth.

Once the key point was clarified, Sino stopped pressing the issue.

With a slight twitch of his fingertips, the oppressive aura that had been pressing down on the people in front of him suddenly dissipated—the two whispering villagers from Aru Village were instantly struck as if by lightning, staggering backward, their faces ashen.

Before leaving, Seno's voice was as cold as frost, each word piercing their ears: "If I hear another word that belittles the Little Lucky Grass King—whether true or false, regardless of the occasion—I will no longer care about Candice's feelings."

Upon learning that Nasita's gaze had never left any part of Mount Sumeru, not even the driest desert edges or the most barren oasis corners, the scales of loyalty in Seno's heart had quietly tipped.

He was never protecting the phantom on the throne, but the child who was buried in books deep in the rainforest, gazing at the stars alone in the dead of night, and tossing and turning for every tiny life...

If those two had only discussed the resurrection of the Red King, Seno would have let it go; but they dared to praise the Red King's name while trampling on the virtues of the Little Lucky Grass King—

This crossed the line.

The perpetrators of evil are those parasites who have occupied the Church for many years, the royalists, and the hypocrites who use the name of God to pursue their own selfish desires.

Nasita should not bear the blame for them, nor should she be nailed to the pillar of shame for being "incompetent" and "weak".

"The people of the desert... seem to really dislike Nasita," Paimon muttered to himself, watching the two figures hastily disappear into the sand dunes.

Ying's gaze was calm as she looked at the undulating sand line in the distance: "No, what they dislike is the royalists—or rather, the Church of Jesus, which is now controlled by the royalists."

In the eyes of the desert people, the Church is no longer a temple of knowledge, but a court of judgment high above the rainforest, coldly overlooking the desert.

They were unaware of factional divisions, only knowing where the edicts came from and where the oppressive taxes originated. Even the old stories of the Red King were distorted into tools to suppress the new king.

In the shadows, Naxi sighed softly.

The sigh was so soft, yet it seemed to hold the breath of the entire rainforest—again, that familiar, heavy sense of self-reproach:

If a decision had been made sooner, if the royalists had not been allowed to grow in power out of concern for "order"... would Aru Village not be shrouded in fear and rumors today?

Are those missing village guardians still sitting peacefully around the campfire, telling ancient stories?

Hmm... given the villagers' mental state, it seems impossible for them to accomplish this?

Ying, Seno, Dixia... The crowd gathered silently, their words few, yet like a warm current flowing into a cold pool.

A moment later, Naxi Da raised her eyes, the mist in her eyes dissipating, leaving only clarity and determination.

She nodded slightly, her voice regaining its usual gentleness, but with an added unwavering strength: "Let's set off. First, find the village guardian—the clues may be few, but every step counts."

They came to investigate the rumors of the "resurrection of the Red King," but now the clues are as thin as paper, with only a prophecy whose truth is hard to discern.

Rather than staying in Aru Village and waiting for news, it's better to take the initiative—if the person hasn't returned, there will be traces on the road.

Along the way, Dixia arrived, her cloak fluttering, her eyes resolute: "Count me in."

The little boy named Isaac had previously pleaded to join twice—once with Ying and once with Seno—but was politely refused both times.

He caught up with Dixia again, tilting his sand-covered face up, his voice trembling: "Sister, take me with you! Grandpa... he must be so scared..."

Dixia knelt down, placed her palm on his sweaty forehead, and said in a gentle but uncompromising tone, "I will take your heartfelt gift. But you must stay in the village."

It wasn't that she didn't believe in the child's sincerity, but rather that she was unaware of what lay ahead—disaster itself wasn't frightening; what was frightening was the unknown.

The unknown is never a battlefield for children.

Not every seemingly slender figure possesses the power to tear apart a storm, like Nasita or Iya.

True gentleness is sometimes precisely restrained refusal.

Isaac's reddened eyes and clenched clothes were enough to say everything: he wasn't reckless, but rather cared too much—

He cared about the village elder who comforted him during his most painful time and became his pillar of support.

This relationship is commendable, but it's a pity they couldn't see their own worth.