Lin Chuan thought of the joke he used to share with Zhou Mingrui:
“I have shed my human body and sublimated into a god!”
“So,” he pondered for a moment, and forcefully wrote on the last line of the diary: “Could I really not be human?”
Lin Chuan subconsciously placed the issue of the Cosmos contamination at the very end.
This could only mean that either he didn’t care whether he could survive at all, or he instinctively didn’t take the contamination to heart.
It was much like how a normal person would never worry about being suddenly crushed to death by the air one day.
Even though atmospheric pressure objectively existed, because its impact on the human body was negligible, people simply grew accustomed to it.
Of course, it was also possible that the contamination and connections that should have fallen upon him were shielded by some high-level entity.
One could even say that this explanation was somewhat more reasonable.
But an instinct-like premonition told Lin Chuan that perhaps what was truly special was indeed himself.
After pondering for a moment, Lin Chuan decided not to think about what his situation actually was for the time being.
He put the cap back on his fountain pen, leaned his body backward, and unconsciously spun the pen in his right hand, circle after circle.
What kind of existence he actually was wasn’t the most pressing matter right now.
The real problem was that since Zhou Mingrui had already finished holding the luck-enhancement ritual, hanged himself from the southeast branch in Sefirah Castle, and awaited his arrival in Tingen of the Fifth Epoch, how much longer would it take for the Original Creator to awaken?
What should he do?
“Furthermore…”
Lin Chuan thought of his recent inexplicable train of thought, his worsening drowsiness, and the pulling sensation he felt from time to time.
“Perhaps I don’t even need to guess here; the truth is about to walk up to me by itself.”
He stopped spinning the pen and flipped the notebook forward.
After passing dozens of pages, Lin Chuan found the survival contingency plan he had made back then:
“…Either hitch a ride on a luck-enhancement ritual, or find related items to board Sefirah Castle and pull a self-hanging from the southeast branch, so as to smuggle oneself into later generations and wait for Klein to release the cocoon of light…”
He still remembered his plans at that time:
although he didn’t know why he hadn’t dropped and turned into a box upon arrival, in order to survive, Lin Chuan had formulated an escape route of “best to take Sefirah Castle, and choose Chaos Sea if all else fails”.
As long as he kept a low profile until later generations, he, holding a massive amount of intelligence, had absolute certainty of lingering his way to Sequence 3.
And under the condition of not affecting his humanity, Sequence 3 was already the best choice.
Of course, the premise was that someone had to become the Lord of the Mysteries, and then before this long funeral began, win the doomsday war for Earth.
Thinking of this, Lin Chuan glanced at the desktop.
The luck-enhancement ritual was recorded in the secret records of qin and han esoteric arts right beside him; even without this book, Lin Chuan remembered how to do it.
Items containing the aura of Sefirah Castle could also be found in this very secret records of qin and han esoteric arts.
Although it was uncertain whether the aura had been depleted, given his current financial resources, specifically purchasing similar antiques and ancient texts would not be a problem.
As for the missing materials for the ritual, it was even simpler.
The kitchen was right outside the bedroom door, straight past the living room.
There was still unfinished rice bought previously in the cabinet, which could serve as the staple food for the ritual at any time.
Lin Chuan silently looked at the survival contingency plan on the notebook.
Although the handwriting wasn’t overly messy, it was quite scribbled, which was enough to show the writer’s panicked and complicated mood at the time.
If it were himself right after transmigrating here, perhaps he would have already gone to the kitchen to prepare four bowls of staple food, placed them in the four corners of the room, then walked four steps counter-clockwise, waiting to be pulled up to Sefirah Castle to be roommates with Little Zhou.
“Heh.” Lin Chuan suddenly chuckled softly.
If it were when he had just transmigrated, he would have definitely done so without hesitation.
What did the life or death of others have to do with him?
This world might be Zhou Mingrui’s home, or it might be Huang Tao’s home, but it had no relation whatsoever to him, Lin Chuan.
One could even say that if he had never felt that faint pulling and calling, and thus doubted his identity, Lin Chuan would also choose to take the Sefirah Castle special passage right now.
After all, Zhou Mingrui had already gone up and hanged himself from the southeast branch.
If Zhou Mingrui hadn’t gone up yet, Lin Chuan would have dragged Little Zhou along.
“This isn’t to save people,” Lin Chuan wrote in the blank space at the very bottom of the paper, “If Zhou Mingrui doesn’t go become the ‘Lord of the Mysteries’ to shoulder this huge pit, how am I alone supposed to defeat the Great Old One and win the doomsday war?”
Paying tribute in this manner, Lin Chuan felt unable to keep a straight face while his mood also became much more relaxed.
Sure enough, transmigrating to a ghost place like Lord of the Mysteries required occasionally going a little crazy to maintain optimism.
However, apart from Zhou Mingrui, anyone else—even Zhou’s parents—could not make Lin Chuan’s thought of “boarding Sefirah Castle” hesitate in the slightest.
Because he had a reason he must survive.
He had to stay alive, and then go home.
Everything in this world had nothing to do with him, and this place had never accepted an outsider like Lin Chuan.
Moreover, he knew very well how much he was worth, so he would never have any unrealistic savior thoughts.
But…
All of this was built on the premise that Lin Chuan had just transmigrated over and didn’t know Zhou Mingrui.
At that time, his impression of Zhou Mingrui stopped merely at the male protagonist of a novel, while he himself was just an ordinary person.
After genuinely being college roommates with Zhou Mingrui for four years, a full four and a half years, over sixteen hundred days and nights, Lin Chuan had long forgotten the stereotype of a so-called “novel protagonist” and discarded the arrogant cognition of a transmigrator.
This long period of time was enough for a young man who came to this cold, desperate, and completely unfamiliar world to instinctively draw close to a kind good person he had in mind when he discovered one, ultimately becoming true friends.
“And good people shouldn’t cry…”
Lin Chuan’s voice appeared exceptionally clear in the quiet room:
“They should get a happy ending.”
He recalled a passage he had once recorded in his diary before transmigrating:
The first person to die was named Zhou Mingrui; he was an ordinary person of the former era, passing away quietly amidst the sorrow of his loved ones.
The second to die was Klein, who died at Blackthorn Security Company when the evil god descended, protecting Tingen with his life.
The Moretti family lost their best older and younger brother.
The third to lose his life was named Sherlock.
He was a great detective, harboring enthusiasm and morality, risking his life to stop the disaster even knowing it was impossible, and ultimately perishing amidst an abnormal meteor.
…
The fifth farewell was the Miracle Invoker Merlin, who wandered across the continent, fulfilling wishes for countless people, yet alone unable to respond to his own wish, ultimately walking calmly toward death.
In the end, only the Fool above the grey fog remained.
He might be a benevolent deity, but He would ultimately vanish amidst the erosion, able only to futilely reminisce about His former homeland in dreams.