Famine 198: The High Priest

The night wind tousled Bian Xu’s golden hair.

Under the glow of the streetlamp, the ends of his hair, untamed and pale as down, caught the light. Bian Xu’s expression was radiant and beautiful, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, convulsively gripping the roots of his vines.

Si Zhiyan knew well that even if he tried to gloss things over again, Bian Xu would not protest.

He would merely… be disappointed.

If not even the “sir” he cared for would accept him, then all hope from anyone else was forfeit.

Si Zhiyan stared into Bian Xu’s golden eyes and thought:

I love you.

Never before had that idea been so clear. It echoed through Si Zhiyan’s body like a mighty blow, leaving him hollowed out and powerless.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath.

Then, slowly, he drew closer, wrapping Bian Xu in his arms, slender fingers pressing into his golden hair, holding him tight.

His lips parted, and tenderly, yet mercilessly, he spoke:

“You are the most important person in my life.”

Bian Xu trembled ever so slightly.

He instinctively returned the embrace, the “sir’s” figure folded into his arms. Si Zhiyan was so thin, seeming as if he might dissolve at any moment; his fair throat showed sharp edges of bone, descending into the collar of his black coat.

Si Zhiyan was a little shorter than Bian Xu, so in this posture, he could bury his face in the hollow of Bian Xu’s neck. Usually it was Bian Xu seeking him, rarely the reverse, rarely letting himself sink into Bian Xu’s warmth—his gold hair so clean, his scent fresh and full of sunshine—utterly, addictively lovely.

Si Zhiyan lowered his head, breathing him in, allowing himself to be swept away for a few seconds.

After a while, he murmured softly:

“…I want to build a future for you.”

“A future without hunger, without pain, where you can live joyfully and fully—just as you wish.”

……

…

[Ding! The Seed of Famine – Imaginarium World is now germinating…]

[LOADING…]

[1%… 25%… 78%… 100%!]

[Ding!]

[World’s Sapling – Imaginarium World has been unlocked!]

Buzz.

Before Si Zhiyan’s eyes spread a luminous, dazzling plain.

Meadows unrolled, a clear lake stretched far as the eye could see. Colossal blue whale phantoms leaped above the water, their calls mingling with the spray, vanishing beneath the surface in a flash.

On the distant horizon, windmills glimmered with a faint blue light—the houses of a fantasy-style town.

Banners and balloons drifted along the streets, interspersed with familiar, scattered orbs of light. Within the orbs, life pulsed and took shape.

Young, the buildings so painstakingly designed by the High Priests were now filled once more with his people.

To his dying breath, the High Priest had borne in his coffin the illusion of a new world…
Si Zhiyan had made it reality.

Confetti streamed down in the air; Si Zhiyan caught one piece, and it melted against his fingertips.

When he pressed it to his lips, it tasted like brightly-colored peppermint candy.

That cool sweetness spread over his tongue, and Si Zhiyan dazedly paused a moment, then continued along his path.

Other lives were still germinating. For now, only he himself was here—he had brought no one else, not even Bian Xu.

At the end of this path stood a magnificently grand underground temple.

The temple was vast beyond measure, as high as several stories, its rooms arranged in tiers stepping downward.

The pillars were inlaid with gems and sculpted figures, the ceilings adorned with intricate reliefs and vivid color. The floor was paved entirely in jade, with lacquered rails and alabaster carvings—a display of staggering opulence.

It was supremely sacred, radiant in gold and white.

This was the “Holy Mausoleum,”
the high tower in the Imaginarium World.

“Long time no see,” Si Zhiyan said.

In his memory, the very start of his “Famine Game” had been spent exploring with the Xu Bei team, doggedly advancing into the ruins of the Holy Mausoleum from the dark.

The ruined fragments of glory glimpsed that day had finally been restored.

Si Zhiyan descended the stairs, deeper into the Holy Mausoleum.

[Home…]

The Frosthorn Rabbit hopped from his pocket, leading the way with bounding leaps.

As Si Zhiyan followed, one by one, the lamps along the path lit up.
The walls were covered in beautiful murals, runes running in blue, spreading outward like veins.

They passed the little rabbit’s pet room, crossed snowfields and icy mountains, and at last came to the grand subterranean sanctuary.

Beneath the star-studded dome, a massive orb of light floated. Arrayed around it, many smaller orbs extended away into the distance.

“…Though you likely haven’t regained full awareness…”

Si Zhiyan stopped, lifting his lantern.

“Still—

—High Priest.”

High Priest, and the cathedral knights who followed him.
A hush, gentle and reverent, filled the space.

“I’m not here to make small talk.”

Standing in the center of the temple, Si Zhiyan lifted his gaze.

“Let’s get straight to the point.”

“You once made every preparation; you became the top player, champion of the selection game. But in the end you were defeated. Your opponent was—not human.”

“So, could you tell me…at the very end of it all, whom does the champion face?”

Buzz.

In Si Zhiyan’s mind, an image unfolded.

This must have been the High Priest’s own memory.

The High Priest was on the floor of the sanctuary, blood on his lips, half-kneeling as he gasped for breath, sweeping hair covering his blood-streaked face.

A gigantic eye hung in the heavens, cold and aloof, watching all.
And behind that great eye, blazed a field of dazzling holy light.

——

Si Zhiyan’s pupils contracted.

“…As I thought.”
His voice was very soft—a sigh.
“It’s the Lord God.”

The selection game of the Imaginarium World, the final battle in Tianman’s paradise, even the ruined world of Aunt Zhou’s…

Even the Famine Game that Si Zhiyan had participated in himself…
They were all the same.

In every game, players slaughtered and competed, seeking to become the [Successor to the Lord God].

Yet, the winner faced one last ordeal:

A final confrontation with the Lord God.

…It was utterly unreasonable.

Just as Si Zhiyan expected, the next instant, the Lord God’s holy light effortlessly consumed the remains of the High Priest.

In a flash, all was annihilated.

“Ugh…!”

Si Zhiyan’s mind exploded with pain; blood gushed from every orifice, and his vision went blank.
Even catching the barest sliver of that memory was more than he could endure.

The lingering brilliance swallowed him whole.

When Si Zhiyan came to himself, he found he was slumped against a pillar, doubled over, panting for breath.
Only after a long while did reality return to him.

“…Is this…” Si Zhiyan clutched his chest and gasped, searching for words. After a moment, he could only manage a helpless curse: “…Who could possibly win against that?”

He saw the truth. The Lord God was holding nothing back.

In this final showdown of the selection tournament, the victor would face the Lord God head-on. The Lord God would not hold back in the slightest; the player must fight with everything they had.

The High Priest’s orb pulsed faintly, making no comment.

For a long moment, Si Zhiyan was silent.

“Isn’t it strange?”

As everyone knew, the broadcast had once said—

[The Lord God’s game is the selection for the next Lord God.]
[At the end, the living survivor with the highest overall rating will become the true successor and inherit the Lord God’s entire authority.]

“But then, why—after hundreds, thousands of these contests, after innumerable worlds have been destroyed—hasn’t a single person ever succeeded in inheriting the Lord God’s throne?”

Without waiting for a reply, Si Zhiyan took out a handkerchief, gently wiped the blood from his face, and looked down at himself, saying, “You fell awfully quickly. I was battered, too.”

“It’s been so long… since anything else has made me bleed.”

“Both you and I, we’re survivors of countless years in the game—top winners among hundreds of millions. In any real game, if there’s one final boss, and the player grows to this level, they’re supposed to stand a real chance.”

“There needs to be a chance to ‘win,’ or else the game can’t go on.”

Si Zhiyan’s voice held a barely-perceptible tremor:

“But… why does it feel as if there’s simply nothing we can do to shake that thing?”

“There’s got to be something wrong with this.”

“……”

The orb flickered softly.

Si Zhiyan waited a while, seeing no answer was forthcoming, and smiled faintly.

“There are some things I’ve found odd for a long time.”
“In every world I’ve been to so far, there always seems to be one especially dominant individual.”

Back in the Holy Mausoleum ruins, Zhong Yanqing had collected frescoes and scattered fragments, assembling clues about the High Priest.

The High Priest had lived longer than anyone else. He ruled his civilization for centuries, perhaps millennia.
He possessed peerless wisdom, incorruptible and far-seeing, guiding the flourishing of his world for hundreds of years.

He oversaw waterworks, tamed floods, ended pestilence, put down all rebellion swiftly—no one could oppose him.

Even when the Lord God descended at last, no one could overrule the High Priest’s will.

Why was he stronger than any who had ever lived?

“The Imaginarium World had the [High Priest]; Tianman Paradise had the [Heavenly Veined Sisters]; the dense apartments had [Aunt Zhou the Agent]…”

“These individuals all had powers far surpassing their peers, wills far steadier, unbreakable resolve. It’s as if they had cheat codes from the very first day, and claimed the top of every leaderboard without ever being displaced.”

“Everyone believes they’re ‘chosen ones’—the rest can’t compare.”

“It’s as if…”

It was clear Si Zhiyan had mulled this over for a long time. He spoke quickly, rationally, as if reciting lines rehearsed many times.

“The winner of the trials had been marked out from the very beginning.”

And in the Famine Game, it was even more glaring…

Si Zhiyan took a deep breath and looked up.

At last, his voice was cold and steady, as if passing judgment:

“I know you don’t wish to answer, but forgive me—there’s something I must understand, no matter what.”
“—Where did your power come from?”