PTM 81

Chapter 81: Speak, what is your request?

This time, the celebration was held as scheduled.

The streets of Baiyujing were adorned with the red and gold national flag of Penglai, along with baskets of blooming flowers. Regardless of the undercurrents swirling beneath the surface, the city exuded a festive atmosphere, a facade of peace and tranquility.

In the past, such a grand celebration would have invited presidents and leaders from other countries to attend in person. However, perhaps for security reasons, or because the celebration was held in the metaverse, this time the foreign guests chose to remain in their respective countries and only accessed the event remotely through neuro-navigation pods.

In addition, more than a thousand people, including the country’s royalty, religious officials, government officials, and celebrities from all walks of life, were invited to Zhongyang District and under unified arrangements, access the metaverse together.

As an “outstanding representative of the Wo people,” I received the gold-embossed invitation five days before the celebration began.

Due to the large number of attendees and limited space in Zhonyang District, all invitees were divided into two groups: one group went to the Royal Theater and the other went to the Central Square.

I was assigned to the Central Square section.

The square was completely empty when I last visited, but now a huge transparent hemispherical building had been temporarily erected. Hundreds of silver neuro-navigation pods were arranged in a radial ring, with a towering floral column wrapped in the royal emblem at the center.

At first glance, it looked like a grave.

The staff led me to my designated neuro-navigation pod and then hurriedly left. The huge building was bustling with noise; everyone was busy socializing and exchanging insincere pleasantries, creating quite a lively atmosphere.

About ten minutes later, a soft female voice announced over the loudspeaker: “Esteemed guests, please enter the neuro-navigation pods,… Esteemed guests, please enter the neuro-navigation pods…”

I glanced at the time; it was seven in the morning. In another hour, the grand show would begin.

I lay down in the cold pod, the hatch slowly closed, and darkness descended. When I opened my eyes again, I was already in the metaverse.

The gate leading to the celebration gradually appeared before my eyes, its strange shape making me raise an eyebrow slightly.

It was an extremely narrow, solid wood archway, barely wide enough for one person to pass through. A spring was carved in the center of the lintel, from which two streams flowed, one upwards and the other downwards. The rest of the doorway was filled with all sorts of flowers.

A narrow gate, the Lethe River and the Eunoe River…

Did paradise lie on the other side of the door?

I scoffed as I understood the implication.

I passed through that door, what lay before me was not paradise, ​unauthorized copy​but an extremely luxurious and enormous Jing Shi church.

The pristine white walls were covered with exaggerated stone carvings, many edged in gold, which gleamed so brightly in the sunlight that they hurt the eyes. The verdigris-green oval dome narrowed upwards, culminating in a small, exquisite bell tower at the top of the curved surface, the place where the old king and the pope would later address each other.

To allow everyone to more clearly admire the “heroic figures” of these two old men, a huge electronic screen was erected in front of the church, broadcasting the images from the bell tower in real time.

The square in front of the church was packed with thousands of seats. Following the fluorescent arrows on the ground, I easily found my seat.

Then came the long wait.

Ten minutes to eight o’clock, everyone was in place, and the square was filled with a dense crowd.

At 8 o’clock, the magnificent organ music began to play, and the image of the master of ceremonies appeared on the screen.

Dressed in elaborate traditional attire, he held a long staff inlaid with jewels. He struck the ground once: “Silence.”

In an instant, the once noisy square fell silent.

“Bang!” The master of ceremonies struck the ground again and loudly proclaimed: “All people obey! In the name of the supreme law, we respectfully welcome the successor of the eternal royal power of Penglai, the supreme protector of the Jing Shi religion, the common master of the ocean and the land, the gatekeeper of the heavenly paradise, the son of the sun god, the chosen one—His Majesty King Chu Huan!”

“And His Holiness the supreme patriarch of the Jing Shi Holy Church, the navigator of the sea of suffering in the mortal world, the key-holder of the paradise of heaven, and the servant of the sun god—Pope David Benedict!”

The applause was thunderous and lasted for a long time.

The camera cut to the bell tower, where the old king and the pope have appeared unnoticed, bathed in golden holy light.

The two men smiled and waved to the crowd in the square. I took a closer look and noticed that the old emperor’s hands were still as white and smooth as jade, while the Pope, who was originally quite old, now seemed to be waving his arms with a youthful and powerful air, his skin firm and radiant.

Especially when the camera zoomed in, I could clearly see the dark red flower-shaped birthmark on the back of his hand.

I retrieved fragments of my memory and quickly confirmed that the hand belonged to the young man from Penglai who had brushed past me.

“Silence.”

The master of ceremonies struck his staff for the third time, and the applause gradually subsided.

A sheepskin scroll was slowly unfurled before the old emperor. Referring to the text on it, he began to speak: “People of Penglai, three hundred years ago, our Chu ancestors stood on this barren land, clearing thorns and brambles, overcoming hardships and difficulties, and in the name of the sun god Balaka, they created Penglai beneath your feet…”

His dry and withered voice echoed throughout the square. About halfway through his speech, I glanced at the time again; it was a little past eight.

As planned, at this very moment, inspired by the Wuxi Chen incident, [unauthorized copy]Ye Shuer had already cut off the official live broadcast signal of the entire Penglai and begun broadcasting the ironclad evidence of the killings committed by the old emperor and the pope in their pursuit of immortality.

The unrest started on the periphery.

“Look outside…”

“Oh my god, is this for real?”

Whispers began to rise from the surroundings like pebbles thrown into a calm lake, causing ripples to spread rapidly.

When the pope spoke, the commotion could not be quelled even as the master of ceremonies angrily struck the ground with his staff.

Amidst the growing whispers of the crowd, the pope forced himself to maintain his compassionate demeanor and began his speech: “In the name of the Sun God, may the light forever shine upon Penglai…”

On one side were the solemn and dignified holy words, and on the other were scandals that trampled on humanity. Under this extreme sense of dissonance, the pope’s benevolent smile appeared hypocritical and repulsive.

I secretly checked online and found that almost every platform was dominated by terms like “immortality” and “body transplant”.

[Oh my god, I turned on the TV to watch the celebration live, but suddenly the picture blurred and a commentary video popped up saying that Project Beyond Century was a plan implemented to ensure the immortality of the Emperor and the Pope!]

[I saw it too! I thought my internet had been hacked!]

[I wasn’t watching the live stream; I was just browsing online for fun as usual when I suddenly came across a ton of related posts! It’s terrifying; they even changed bodies…]

[Could this be a case of malicious framing and spreading rumors, like the Wuxi Chen incident?]

[To find out if it’s true, just have the king and the pope show their necks.]

[May the sun god protect us. If this is true, then these people can no longer be called human; they are demons from hell.]

After I closed the page, the old king and the pope still had no idea what happened outside, and despite possibly feeling the unusual atmosphere in the square, still forced themselves to follow the procedure and jointly rang the large bell behind them after the speech.

“Dong—dong—dong—”

After three chimes, military music played, and cannon salutes and dazzling daytime fireworks simultaneously burst forth above the church.

Next was the military review. Normally, after the honor guard passed the church, the old king and the pope should have responded with the highest salute from inside the bell tower. However, before the review, both of them abruptly logged off. Instead, it was Chu Shengcheng who stood in the bell tower to inspect the troops.

“Why did they change people…?”

“What happened?”

The grand 300th anniversary celebration of Penglai ended hastily amidst a cloud of unease and uncertainty.

When I exited the neuro-navigation pod, it was not even 10 o’clock.

The moment my feet touched the ground, my vision blurred, and I staggered, only managing to stay upright by bracing myself against the side of the pod.

I rubbed the back of my neck and closed my eyes to catch my breath. When I opened them again, that strange, dissociative feeling between my consciousness and body had disappeared.

In the days that followed, the Penglai royal family and the Holy Church were caught in an unprecedented media storm due to the full exposure of the “body transplant” scandal.

Despite the authorities’ frantic efforts to delete posts and ban accounts, they were unable to silence public opinion.

Inciting, smearing, spreading rumors, sowing discord… it was that difficult to stir up discontent among the lower classes, especially when faced with irrefutable evidence.

“Wuxi Chen’s hunting was to select bodies for the nobles,” “Unemployment is this high, and they only think about themselves,” “The Crown Prince bathes in red wine every day,” “Bishop Yi was silenced because she knew their plan,” “Wuxi Kunpeng has a strange habit of eating eyes”…

Crowd emotions were immune to reason and were always extreme. Once a doubt arose, it would escalate into genuine anger if it was not cooled down and stopped immediately.

The royal family’s consistent attitude toward scandals had been either arrogant disregard or only ​visit our site​brief explanations, in order to maintain their sacred sense of detachment.

This time was no exception.

After a three-day wait, the royal press officer released a statement of less than 100 words:

The royal family is aware of the images circulating online recently. These images are deliberate fabrications and slanders, and are seriously inconsistent with the facts. The royal family regrets this and reserves the right to pursue legal action against those responsible.

Such a statement failed to quell public panic; on the contrary, it only added fuel to the fire.

However, before public anger could fully erupt, an unexpected piece of news once again dominated the trending topics, the Pope had died.

Was it a desperate attempt to save his life by amputating his arm¹, or was there a rejection reaction after the surgery?

We don’t know.

In any case, he died.

As a result, another voice quickly emerged online, and public opinion began to subtly reverse.

[Didn’t they say he got a new body? How come he still died?]

[It seems the body transplant is fake; someone is maliciously trying to split Penglai. Anyone who believed it really fell for it.]

[The Pope dedicated his entire life to the cause of Penglai, only to be framed so severely on his deathbed. These people are beasts!]

[The Pope must’ve died of anger…]

If things continued like this, the situation would inevitably develop in a direction favorable to the royal family.

I made a quick decision and had Ye Shuer capture a close-up of the Pope’s hand during his speech in the live broadcast of the celebration. We compared the flower-shaped birthmark across the entire internet and finally found the unfortunate young man from Penglai whose body had been taken by the Pope.

The other party was a police officer from Penglai. Half a month ago, he told his family that he was going to carry out a secret mission, and then he disappeared. His family still didn’t know about his death.

In the voice of this police officer’s relative, I had Ye Shuer write several brilliant manifestos, which were then spread by believers of Free Will. The focus of attention on the incident quickly returned to the “body transplant”.

Meanwhile, Jiang Man’s speech theme no longer revolved around dreams and hopes, but was changed to the more contemporary theme of “We are born equal”.

“Three hundred years, ten generations. We kneel, they stand; we bleed, they raise their cups; we endure so-called ‘trials,’ they enjoy our ‘sacrifice.’ They claim that our souls will eventually return to the Sun God, yet in reality they devour everything we have. They peel off our skin to use as carpets, yet demand that we kiss the tips of their boots!”

On the stage, I scanned the audience one by one, making eye contact with each of them.

“While the powerful enjoy the most advanced life-sustaining technology, our loved ones are slowly dying in despair because they cannot receive effective treatment. The Sun God would not be so biased. Unless, the person sitting in that position is not God’s representative, but a thief! He stole the medicine that should have belonged to our parents, stole the life that should have belonged to our children, and then stands on high, making us thank this damned suffering!”

Unquestionable assertions, repeated emphasis on “truth,” and the contagion of anger and fear constitute the three major brainwashing elements of a group leader.

Being a public figure had its advantages. During this sensitive period, the government was hesitant to act rashly, only daring to exert pressure on schools and speaking venues as a form of soft resistance, and dared not take real coercive measures against me, fearing it might incite a bigger civil unrest.

The people began to resist Wuxi Kunpeng’s martial law order, and the atmosphere in Baiyujing was on the verge of exploding.

Immediately afterwards, I had Ye Shuer release a fake news story that could become the “trigger”—the Royal Police violently arrested a young Wo boy who was handing out flyers on the street.

According to my script, the boy was only twelve years old, had never been to school, and came from a poor family. He was handing out flyers on the street to earn a meager part-time fee. He had no idea what he was handing out, but the Royal Police, without saying a word, simply and roughly handcuffed him and took him away.

This was a perfect emotional anchor. The photos and videos from the scene were all generated by “technology.” Under normal circumstances, the public, with their remaining rationality, might quickly spot the flaws. But in such a special period, they didn’t see it as false information; they only felt that, as members of a group, they were participating in a great “exposure.”

“A twelve-year-old boy. What’s his name? Maybe none of you know. He’s never been to school; a schoolbag is a luxury for him. Today, he stood on the street not for any political ideals, nor to rebel against anyone. He was just doing it for a few coins of part-time work, so that there will be one more piece of moldy bread on that old, worn-out dining table at home!”

Since there were no longer any offline venues for me to give speeches, I had moved my speeches to the metaverse.

“That child has been missing for 48 hours, and nobody knows where he is. The government keeps denying that they did it. But weren’t they the ones who arrested Mu Ke in Fantong? If not them, then who was it?!”

In my speech, I stated that I would use my influence to speak out for this child and would sit in protest outside the Prime Minister’s residence until Wuxi Kunpeng released him.

In reality, that was what I did, along with dozens of other disgruntled people, sitting in silence from dawn till dusk.

“Mr. Jiang, His Excellency the Prime Minister requests your presence.”

At midnight, the gates of the Prime Minister’s residence finally opened. A man dressed as a butler came out and bowed respectfully.

I looked up at him, stood up and dusted off my clothes, “Lead the way.”

“Mr. Jiang,” a member of the public sitting with me behind me called out anxiously, “be careful, it might be a trap!”

I turned around and gave a reassuring smile: “Don’t worry, I believe His Excellency the Prime Minister isn’t that kind of person. Wait for my good news; I will definitely persuade him to rescue the child.” With that, I followed the butler into the Prime Minister’s residence.

To my surprise, despite the tense situation outside, the Prime Minister’s residence remained a picture of peace and prosperity.

As we walked through the corridor, servants frequently passed by carrying silver buckets of ice and expensive wines. Judging from the quantity and variety of the wines, this was by no means a small gathering of one or two people, but rather a sizable banquet.

“His Excellency the Prime Minister is currently holding a private gathering to mourn the Pope,” the butler explained conunauthorized copysiderately when he noticed my gaze.

He led me to an empty side room, asked me to wait a moment, and then left.

Mourning the Pope?

I walked to the window and peeked out through a corner of the curtains.

This reception room offered a perfect view of the servants hurrying along the corridor. A politician like Wuxi Kunpeng, driven by self-interest, wouldn’t even mourn the death of his own son, let alone an old zombie. I didn’t believe it.

A short while later, there was a soft knock on the door behind me.

“Please come in,” I said casually, assuming he was a waiter bringing tea.

Just as I turned around, the person outside came in. It was indeed someone bringing tea, but it was more than just bringing tea.

The waiter carrying the tray used his back to block the door, allowing the person behind him to go first.

The man was dressed in a well-tailored black suit. He was tall with long legs, and his silver hair was combed back, revealing a handsome and aloof face that looked like a sculpture.

Who else could it be but Zong Yanlei?

I thought it was a “Hongmen banquet,²” but it turned out to be a “honey trap.”

Zong Yanlei only glanced at me when he entered the room, and then acted as if I didn’t exist. He walked straight to the sofa in the main seat and sat down.

After the servant placed two cups of tea and a three-tiered pastry stand on the table, he left quietly. The door to the reception room closed again, leaving only Zong Yanlei and me in the quiet space.

“What, are you here to be a middleman?” I sat down opposite him.

He didn’t answer immediately, but instead slowly took out a silver cigar box from his pocket, selected a cigar from it with his slender fingers, and put it in his mouth.

“Click.”

The cigar was lit, and a faint aroma of tobacco filled the air. He casually tossed the lighter onto the coffee table

With a brown cigar between his fingers and his other hand loosening his bow tie, he leaned back, exuding a languid air of superiority.

“Speak, what is your request?” He exhaled a puff of smoke, looked at me through the swirling smoke, and finally spoke his first words since entering the room.

I was stunned for a moment, then realized that the person sitting in front of me was [visit our site]not “Zong Yanlei”, but just a “noble” from Penglai.

***

Author’s Note

Crowds never thirst for truth. Faced with evidence that doesn’t suit their taste, they will turn away; whoever can offer them illusions can easily become their master.

—Gustave Le Bon

Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.

—The Gospel of Matthew