Chapter 250: The Two Hundred Fiftieth Who Forgot His Name
When the Evil Moon rose, a lotus flower bloomed on the ground. Each petal of this flower was a shockwave produced when the ultra-high-temperature neutron star jet collided with the ground. And each of these shockwaves, controlled by the lotus consciousness, scattered neatly outward, transforming into clouds and mist that covered all areas of the Evil Moon on the surface of celestial bodies in the real universe, thus becoming the lotus flower.
For most intelligent beings, the surface of the Evil Moon is infinite and endless, making it very difficult for a person to measure the space of the Rotten Garden, Pleasure Palace, Endless Labyrinth, and Brave Slaughter Arena.
Visitors from outside arriving at the Evil Moon always encounter random scenes; even if two people visit at the same time, due to differences in time and even the likes and dislikes of the masters of these areas toward the visitors, the visitors are assigned to different locations.
But now, every particle sprayed by the lotus carries consciousness, infinitely filling every area; it forcibly uses astronomical-scale numbers to enter every place on the Evil Moon’s surface and mark them.
This is just like how a human chess player’s thinking may be ever so erratic, but a supercomputer can solve it with tens of millions of steps of calculation.
Every labyrinth area inside the Evil Moon seems to change endlessly, but every particle of the clouds and mist has observation ability.
And if the Supreme Heaven master on the Evil Moon has to analyze the observation intent of every particle to make assignments, it’s like a 21st-century joke where some people turn prayer beads with an electric motor to rack up merit, only to be teased that the Buddha encountered a DoS attack.
And now the Evil Moon’s encounter is exactly like this, but this is no “comedy.” Astronomical numbers of information particles flooded in, and the information that penetrated the fall and corruption of hundreds or thousands of civilized planets inside the Evil Moon was statistically cataloged by an astronomical-scale system, and after synchronous simulation and disassembly, the Evil Moon collapsed just like that.
…Return…
Xuan Chong walked on this land, allowing the particle streams to pass through his body. At this time, Xuan Chong’s body had begun to energize, with a thousand-zhang red flame around his carbon-based body. This red high-temperature area expanded six thousand meters with him at the center; this was the prototype of the Vermilion Bird.
Xuan Chong could now feel that the perception provided by this red energy body far exceeded his carbon-based body’s external perception.
The carbon-based flesh could sense heat and cold, light and dark, sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, and many other pieces of information; but now, the “ionized body” around Xuan Chong could smell the “scent” of every star around through starlight—for example, red giants are “sweet,” white dwarfs are “astringent,” and super blue giants are as “sour” as unripe oranges. Such perception was countless times more complex than what the carbon-based body provided.
After confirming that he was no longer flesh, Xuan Chong confirmed that he was about to “get out of class” and bid farewell to this world.
Xuan Chong sent a “farewell message” to the soldiers returning to the planet, finally setting the mecha to automatic return mode to send it back to the Xi Ren Star, into the Chi You Fleet in the Southern Border.
…Heaven and Earth finally at peace…
On Xi Ren Star, since the heavenly foe Evil Moon from beyond the sky was thoroughly fathomed, its celestial parameters began to normalize, no longer changing arbitrarily, flickering randomly, or spawning evil omens anywhere.
All living beings on the planets looked up to see a moon appear, and this moon reflected strong light, making the night as bright as day.
Citizens across Da Yao saw that night that the Evil Moon overhead emitted a white glow different from usual.
In the Heluo Region, the mad blood followers, these killers, looked up at the moon in confusion. Their original rage subsided, and then they collapsed to the ground in vertigo. Some starved to death on the spot, while a very few grabbed nearby frogs or insects and stuffed them into their mouths, finally surviving those difficult moments.
At Linghua Mansion, Zhen Hao looked up at the moon in the sky. As power drained away, he immediately collapsed onto the bed; his excessive indulgence in wine and women weakened him fatally. The maidservants and catamites, wearing rings and locked to the pillar beside him, watched this debauched man die by himself.
In Yan Land, a lord also looked up at the sky. His original cough and tuberculosis were no longer “non-fatal.” After coughing up blood, he died. But in his manor, the serfs with agonizing lungs felt their symptoms disappear, though the hunger in their stomachs brought them back to reality.
As for Da Yao’s immortal sects, they felt the immortal mountains under their feet stabilize and breathed a long sigh of relief.
Qinghua Sect Sect Master: “The Great Tribulation is over.” But the immortals felt lost, because everyone had miscalculated who the tribulation-bearer was. And because they had not correctly assisted the tribulation-bearer, they missed out on great auspicious qi.—Infinite killing intent surged toward their mountains like rising sea levels submerging islands.
As for all living beings in the Xi Ren Realm, they felt the fear-inducing sensation that once weighed on their hearts like a mountain disappear.
And the cultivators sensed this even more clearly.
…End…
Six months later, Wu Ling and other officers and soldiers returned. With thousands of mouths, they recounted this battle they had experienced all along the way, never able to say enough.
So much so that every time they spoke of Commander Xuan Chong sacrificing himself for the moon, they wept uncontrollably.
The second year, Wu Lu succeeded as Chong Lord of Zhen State. And vassal lords across Under Heaven, including Zhao State and Bo Kingdom, all sent envoys to pay condolences and pay homage to the new Chong Lord in the south.
These vassal lords were not grieving Wu Yuanchang’s departure, but came to confirm whether Wu Xiao Que was really dead.
Of course, that same year Zhao Cheng also returned. Upon learning that the Chong Lord had not returned, it was like losing a close friend—although Zhao Cheng and Xuan Chong had only met a few times, at this moment Zhao Cheng felt they had dealt with each other for a very long time; after all, they had calculated against each other more than with their bedside companions.
Zhao Cheng’s advisor suggested: “Why not take this chance to send troops against Zhen.”
Facing yet another advisor in this life urging him to “gamble,” Zhao Cheng laughed dumbfoundedly; he slightly altered his parting words from his previous life: “Under Heaven is settled, so I shall prosper!” (This “prosper” is different from “cook.” Of course, nowadays this word means “smooth sailing.”)
And in Bo Kingdom territory, after confirming Wu Yuanchang was dead, this transmigrator overlord Wu Hengyu told those around him to withdraw first. The lonely man paced back and forth for the time of two cups of tea, then stopped. He found a step to sit on, looked up, and had Yu Li beside him dance a piece while he plucked his sword to play, to commemorate the deceased friend.
And in New Yao Capital, Tong Zheng Emperor was in mourning for his mother empress. Yet during the funeral, he stared blankly at the bright moon in the sky.
Tong Zheng Emperor looked at his throne in doubt: “Where does Heaven’s Mandate come from?”
Several months later, a small palace coup occurred in New Yao Capital. Eastern Yao fully stabilized, and Zhen, Zhao, and Bo sent tribute to the court.
Nominally Under Heaven was still Emperor Yao’s, but in reality the vassal lords everywhere had established their own domains.
…Beyond the sky…
In space, after Xuan Chong energized, he faced multiple summons of power. The first was an enfeoffment order from inside Xi Ren Realm, calling him to the star river for enfeoffment. The second was the Vermilion Bird bloodline summoning him for the final trial at a red giant star. The third came from communications of the native immortal path civilization of the Chi You Soldiers.
Before Xuan Chong could develop choice paralysis, the system: “The bell has rung, class is about to end. But before getting out of class, I need to ask you a question: how did you feel about this class and classroom experience?”—Although using the word “classroom,” the information accurately conveyed that “classroom” meant this world, i.e., how Xuan Chong felt about his experiences in this world.
After recalling the past events, Xuan Chong found everything like a storybook already read.—No love, hate, passion, or parting of life and death; as the protagonist, he had done what should be done in those circumstances. For a moment, he didn’t know what to answer.
After thinking for a long time, Xuan Chong replied: “Well, this world owes me nothing.”
The history teacher accepted this answer, but on the teaching record that Xuan Chong couldn’t see, noted “progressive” as the comment.
History teacher comment column: “This student, when facing an unknown plane, harbored a progressive heart to participate in and promote the development of the world’s fertile soil.”
…Teacher, student, teaching aid…
When the “history teacher” system asked him to “rate after class,” Xuan Chong remembered there was still someone by his side.
Xuan Chong looked at Xian Daoren; at this time, in the n-base flood, his original carbon-based body had been digitized.
Xian Daoren looked at his intact body, then at the starry sky and heaven and earth around, and asked: “Where is this? Have you ascended?”
Xuan Chong looked at him and said: “Yeah, sort of, ascension.” Then he voiced the doubt that had weighed on his mind for a long time.
Xuan Chong: “You’re actually a transmigrator, right?”
Xian Daoren was slightly stunned, and sensing Xuan Chong’s gaze, he immediately realized something, and cunning thoughts surged in his mind.
Xian Daoren immediately said: “We’re all transmigrators, all fellow countrymen!”
Xuan Chong was stunned, sensing that Xian Daoren’s enthusiasm was a bit off. But now under the camera, there was no need to scheme or defend, so he chatted freely with him.
Then, in his fourth sentence, Xian Daoren asked if Xuan Chong now had a system.
Of course, this was also what Xuan Chong wanted to know—how Xian Daoren had transmigrated and whether it was related to his own system.
Xuan Chong now understood that his system was a “classroom”; could it be a unlucky guy kicked out of class to stand in the corner, or expelled from another school (spacetime system)?
But what happened next declared that their transmigrations were unrelated.
Xian Daoren’s eyes darted: “Brother, you say you’re… in class? With a teacher?”
After confirming the other had no system, following the principle of “when meeting a castaway survivor on a deserted island at sea, pull them aboard,” Xuan Chong opened the system and asked: “I’ve gotten out of class, so how to arrange him?”
Note: Those diligently doing problems in class have no idea how Xian Daoren muddled through outside. Although Xuan Chong glimpsed Xian Daoren’s various little maneuvers here and there, he had no clue how truly vile his character was. This is the innocence of the “spacetime region” where Xuan Chong was from. Its outwardly “scheming” traits and malice toward the outside were all “acquired” later through contact. Toward newly met people, it’s initially all goodwill.
The history teacher thought for a moment, then replied: “Okay, I’ll handle it.”
Then the “history teacher” manifested before them, and at this time a huge “well mouth” appeared out of thin air beside them.
Xian Daoren looked at this deep bottomless “well mouth” and felt as if everything in his heart was exposed. While Xuan Chong’s feeling toward the well mouth was like having his previous life’s mobile phone browser history all flipped through—a natural oppression of student by teacher.
“History teacher” to Xian Daoren: “Welcome to our school. I’ve already entered you into the exam supplemental program. Please input your name from before transmigration.”
Xian Daoren was slightly stunned.
This was a very distant memory; unused for so long, it was like the name of some unremarkable classmate from elementary school, forgotten.
Xian Daoren silently: “I seem to have forgotten it.”
He really couldn’t remember between the two names! One moment this, one moment that, until finally unified under the nickname “Heavenly Venerable” gave him, as Heavenly Venerable said he loved to show off.
System: “Sorry. The student registry system cannot enroll.”
Then Xian Daoren was slightly startled, next the well mouth expanded to under his feet, and he showed panic, as the system replied: “You cannot enroll. Consciousness monitoring completed. Spacetime origin: from Zi Chou, near dimension region 343. Will send you to the local ‘spacetime labor dispatch department.'”
Soon, the space quieted, leaving only Xuan Chong.
After pausing three or four breaths, Xuan Chong felt a palpitation: “Forgetting one’s name is that serious?”
System solemnly: “When you hand in homework or take exams, the first priority is to write your name on the test paper and notebook. Forgetting to write the name equals zero points.”
Xuan Chong’s mind buzzed.
Because in this reply, Xuan Chong inexplicably heard another voice: “In transmigration, the greatest crime is forgetting oneself! That’s betrayal of self. He (Xian Daoren) is a fool!”
…Ding ding, ding ding…
“Bell?” Xuan Chong: “Where’s the bell coming from?”
But as Xuan Chong moved, he found himself lifting his body; turns out he was at a classroom desk.
On the desk, um, where he had been lying, was a junior high history textbook. Then came the sound of books hitting the desk from the front podium, and the teacher’s crisp and forceful “Class dismissed.”
Like a military order issued, the environment suddenly became noisy.
The students stood up together, and Xuan Chong stood up with them, reflexively shouting together: “Goodbye, teacher~”, their dragging voices full of perfunctory toward the teacher and the relief of class ending.
The history teacher walked out the door, and at the end, paused at the doorway, turned his head, and loudly said to all students: “Homework is the test paper handed out before class. Remember, don’t forget to write your name.”
“Goodbye, Teacher Ren!” The class monitor led in seeing off the teacher.
And Xuan Chong was slightly stunned, as if hearing something, watching the teacher’s back. Then, when Xuan Chong thought about what this teacher’s name was, he found his thoughts a bit jumbled. He only remembered that this history teacher was called Teacher Ren.
Wait, as a student who just slept through class, why does it feel like…? Like the teacher just guided me in a dream? (Memory has reset, treating the recent transmigration as a classroom dream.)
Then, Xuan Chong frantically flipped through his book. Page after page of his own crooked classroom notes, recorded below the illustration on the page about the Western Zhou enfeoffment system.
“Blood Reward: in the cycle of governance and chaos, every surge is the oppressed lower stratum’s restless stirring after growing dissatisfied with their social stratum.” This sentence was from right before waking from the dream, too profound an impression to forget.
Next, Xuan Chong flipped to the book cover, where the name “Xuan Chong” was written crookedly. The Xi Ren Realm story dreamed during class sleep quickly faded.
Xuan Chong: Yes, his name is Xuan Chong, and this is indeed his memory in the textbook. But~
Xuan Chong looked up at the familiar yet strange fluorescent lights on the ceiling, and the portraits and illustrated introductions of “Newton,” “Einstein,” “Confucius,” and “Sima Qian” hanging on the walls on both sides, feeling somewhat disoriented.
Because before transmigration, he remembered being an adult; he shouldn’t have “reborn” into school now? And this class didn’t seem like when he was sixteen or seventeen before transmigration, though it felt extremely familiar.
With a clatter, something fell from the desk drawer. Xuan Chong instinctively caught it and found it was a poorly printed book. Oh, from the exaggerated cover, it should be a novel. The novel’s name was . Opening the first page, the prologue read: “Wu Fei, a youth from a military family, took up sabers and spears in the chaotic times under heaven. Unknowingly, he became a general.”
Xuan Chong was slightly stunned, then felt something hard in the book, pinched it, and found it was a library borrowing card.
Then he “recalled” that this novel was borrowed from the school library. Um, he still remembered there were a few wuxia novels inside.
Next, he recalled his father, um, a mid-level section chief who liked stock trading after work. And his mother, a meter reader in a factory—um, a cigarette factory—who was usually strict with him, often hammering him with “the kid from so-and-so’s colleague’s family got such-and-such on IELTS, top such-and-such in the province.”
Everything was very clear, but “am I in this world”?
Soon, the memories of once being a general became distant and hazy, the calculation and statistics knowledge quickly faded, and looking at those once-simple but now quite troublesome homework problems, he confirmed he was a junior high student.
The just-dreamed “kings, marquises, generals, ministers” didn’t count.
