The Choice

Instantly, dead silence fell. The moment Ji Jue turned the revolver around and offered it forward, the crowded throng seemed to ripple and recoil, as if what was pointed at them wasn't the grip, but the pitch-black muzzle. No, it was far more terrifying than a gun barrel— For a fleeting second, those myriad distinct faces froze, as though they hadn't reacted yet, or hadn't had the time to grasp the meaning behind this incredible news. Opportunity, turning point, dawn, salvation. Call it whatever you liked. Sometimes, when such a momentous occasion arrived before someone, the first feeling in their heart wasn't relief or ecstasy, but... fear. Dread, unease, hesitation. Something surfaced within those hollow eyes. What if this was fake? To escape catastrophe only to receive such a miraculous boon—everything seemed too wonderful to be real, yet it was right within reach. Yet, what if this was real? The instant that thought took root in their chests, the impulse to step forward froze and vanished. Leaving behind only a hair-raising silence. After growing accustomed to failure upon failure, conceding defeat time and again, fleeing through endless displacement, the tormented would tell themselves repeatedly: we only lacked the Holy Lord's blessing; we had no equal opportunity; we lacked the necessary conditions... or they would simply resign themselves to despair. Yet now, when such an opportunity was laid before them, they realized that from this day forth, there might never be an excuse for losing again. Never an excuse for losing again. Even if the power to slay an angel genuinely sat right in front of them, the precious sliver of light it cast illuminated only an ever-expanding darkness and a far more terrifying future. Besides, even if they could kill an angel, so what? The disparity between them and the enemy remained overwhelmingly hopeless. The rebels, scurrying like stray dogs, were barely a drop in the ocean. After fleeing with heads tucked for so long, did they really still have the conviction to grip a weapon and fight a war with no end in sight? Or even... did they still have a chance—to surrender? In that split second, Linka raised her hand without hesitation from amid the crowd. Ji Jue turned a blind eye. Even as she repeatedly waved and shouted his name, he turned a deaf ear. This was not a stage meant for her, nor did she need to perform another miracle. Throughout these few seconds of hesitation and silence, Ji Jue remained expressionless from start to finish, yet he wasn't surprised. Too many people had been frightened out of their wits, and too many wished to escape reality—even within this dream, they still harbored naive illusions, unable to confront despair. Suddenly, the frozen crowd surged. Heads bobbed. While some remained paralyzed in place, more people squeezed forward without a second thought, shouting, raising their hands, waving frantically in the hope of catching Ji Jue's eye. Right then, a small, hunched figure squirmed out, tumbled to the ground, scrambled up, and scrambled forward on all fours. Exerting every ounce of strength, he shoved past the people in front, devoid of any decorum or restraint, crossing the boundary and stumbling and crawling onto the platform. Upon his youthful face lingered dried nosebleeds from his tumble. His sutured arm was clearly not his own, missing several fingers. The boy reached out decisively toward him, practically demanding: "Let me do it!" His rough, raspy voice carried an insolence born of poor upbringing, alongside an urgency that burned like fire. It has to be me! It must be me! Because anyone else just won't do. Those eyes— "Sure." Ji Jue grinned silently and placed the revolver into his hands, paying no heed to the offense in his tone. He even guided him step-by-step to steady his footing, adjust his posture, and personally cocked the hammer for him. "Have you really thought this through, kid?" He lowered his head and whispered softly in the boy's ear, "You understand what you're doing, right? Once this shot is fired, Tiancheng will never tolerate your existence. Even if you lose in the future, even if you manage to escape or surrender, no matter how great a contribution you make to them, you will burn eternally in Limbo." For an imperceptible instant, the wrist holding the gun seemed to tremble. Right after, veins bulged. "Why shouldn't it be them burning in Limbo?" The boy whipped his head back, glaring at him with ferocious defiance. Then, decisively, he pulled the trigger! Once, twice, and once more—a heart-stopping roar erupted, freezing the entire camp in its tracks. And in the fading echoes of the blast, aside from the dry clicks of the empty cylinder spinning, there was only a near-despairing wail. It came from the angel's remnants—a tiny bullet had pierced its indestructible body, like a red-hot steel needle easily puncturing an ephemeral bubble. Immediately after, dense fractures abruptly spiderwebbed across its entire form. Shrill shrieks spread. Mutilated eyes snapped wide, and once the last glimmer of light drained away, only the vacant glaze of dead fish remained. A visible collapse began, yet it was promptly swallowed and covered by writhing silver light, turning into a statue of death erected before everyone's eyes. He—or it—was dead. At this moment, amid the silence, everyone stared dumbfounded at the scene before them. Then, uncontrollably, they erupted into cheers, hoarse roars, hysterical arm-waving, and tears streaming down their faces. The entire camp practically boiled over. Upon every face where the shock had not yet faded, uncontrollable joy and jubilation surfaced. Celebratory shouts rang out. Like sparks spreading across a grassy field into an ocean of fire. Amid the fervent torrent of excitement and cheers, Ji Jue looked down at the boy beside him. The boy still held the empty gun, his stiff finger clamped tightly onto the trigger. There was no joy, no delight. He merely glared fixedly at the angel's corpse, as if waiting for it to climb back up so he could fight it to the death once more! Within those dark eyes, a deeper hatred and animosity smoldered quietly like fuel for a fire. Ji Jue could no longer suppress a smile. He gently patted the boy's hair, then gave his shoulder a firm slap. Turning, he walked away. Truly a fine piece of uncut jade. He was beginning to look forward to this. *** Half an hour later, inside the Chicken-Leg Hut, Ji Jue unapologetically commandeered the old geezer's workshop, making himself completely at home. He even picked and poked around, complaining that the layout was inconvenient and clumsy to use. *Can't you cut it out already!* Bao Dachai rolled his eyes. Watching Ji Jue rummage through his jars and bottles without the slightest courtesy, he hurried to tuck the treasures he had accumulated into his coat, hiding them deeper. Unfortunately, the crucible was far too large to conceal, so he had no choice but to let him use it. Inside the crucible, however, from the molten iron of the angel's melted remnants, waves of wails rose. Faces surfaced and sank, merging into bizarre shapes. "Living Spirit Transmutation?" Bao Dachai pointed and chattered unreservedly from the side, scoffing, "Well, well, quite adept, aren't you? Wouldn't have guessed it... If I recall, isn't that considered a taboo by the Association?" "Here's a funny joke: someone from Nirvana preaching taboos to me." Without looking back, Ji Jue sneered, "I kill Federation ministers and generals, I kill emperors and princes, but I know deep down, I'm a good guy—" "Don't you talk nonsense! Slapping such huge labels on people the moment you see them!" Bao Dachai stubbornly refused to admit it, turning the tables instead: "Whether I'm from Nirvana or not is another matter, but this move of yours... tsk, tsk, tsk, I bet even folks in the Profound aren't as practiced as you! Good grief, it's lucky this Huangliang dream doesn't have Sovereign Virtues. Otherwise, add a bit of blessing, put some more muscle into it, and a Great Sin could've descended in person..." "Then go ahead and report me." Ji Jue rolled his eyes, puffed out his chest, straightened his collar, and asked with curious mockery, "Excuse me, are you going to report me—the Association's Chief Craftsman of this term, Master of Celestial Craft, handpicked by former President Delong and President Gustav as the Association's next-generation pillar—for having ties to the Profound?" "Good thing you didn't hoist the banners of Ye Xian and Tianlu, or this place wouldn't be big enough to hold your ego." Bao Dachai curled his lip. "If Kanemoto had a tenth of your hypocrisy, he wouldn't have fled to the Profound. Too bad you don't possess a tenth of his brilliance either." "Tianlu? Kanemoto? Who are they? Never heard of them. Sound like two stray dogs on the side of the road." *Holy shit...* Bao Dachai was dumbfounded, almost wanting to give him a thumbs-up. As expected of Ye Xian's student—truly a masterclass in betraying masters and ancestors. "I'd like to see you dare say that to their faces." "Well, that brings up the question—" Ji Jue smiled faintly, glancing back. "How do you know I haven't said it to their faces already?" Bao Dachai's face twitched once, then twice, completely rendering him speechless. In his old age, he was suddenly experiencing for the first time that when everyone was a fucking Ashen alchemist, craftsmen still managed to have wildly different moral baselines... Watching this wretched dog Ji Jue nitpick his way through the workshop built from Bao Dachai's own dream, doing whatever he pleased and tossing out all sorts of messy techniques with reckless abandon, Bao Dachai couldn't help but feel that it was utterly absurd that the Association's Absolute Sentence squad hadn't knocked on Haian's door yet! Ji Jue had no other choice. He would have preferred to use standard methods, but this dream simply lacked the necessary documents and foundational rules. Operating directly with his bare hands could achieve effects through conversion, but when it came to alchemical arts involving soul manipulation, those from the Profound tended to be simpler, cruder, faster, and just a tiny bit more practical... Otherwise, what was he supposed to do? Kill the old geezer beside him and see if he'd drop some Tale Alchemy loot? Forget it. Alchemy, after all, came down to affinity. Ji Jue could tell without even thinking that his affinity with Tale Alchemy was pitifully low. Of its three elements and three Sovereign Virtues, he didn't possess a single one! "Hiss, this is getting far too sinister." Bao Dachai leaned in, shaking his head as he stared at the wisp of phantom light taking shape amid the black and bloody flames. "Who on earth are you planning to give such an unhinged thing to?" "Mm, not quite sure yet," Ji Jue shrugged. "Speaking of which, I saw a pretty decent young man just now. A bit young, but he has potential." *Has potential?* Bao Dachai rolled his eyes. As if it was your place to say someone has potential! You're a young punk yourself! Yet... wherever the current Ji Jue went, it was impossible to treat him as an ordinary craftsman anymore. Whether by the Celestial Craft in his hands, the bones he had trampled beneath his feet, or the backing behind him... Even if a banquet was hosted at the Association, he could easily pull up a chair at one of the head tables. As for the boy he mentioned... Bao Dachai pondered for a moment and tapped his forehead. "That kid... I remember him." "Is he famous?" Ji Jue asked with curiosity. "In terms of being obnoxious? Definitely." Bao Dachai shook his head. "Refuses to follow orders, never listens to anyone, gets into fights constantly, and turns hostile at the drop of a hat—prickly as a hedgehog. At first, people took pity on him, but later on, nobody cared anymore, leaving him to fend for himself." "Elaborate." Ji Jue lowered his gaze to the crucible's fire, waiting for the final Purification to finish.