Chapter Eleven: The Master's Task

“This pattern of change… it must be a signal from the ‘Deep Space Black Dot’!”

Ji Cheng glanced around, swiftly left the crowd, and slipped into a civil defense alley.

These alleys were short, with only a single exit that could be sealed at any time. Their main purpose was to give citizens a place to hide if mutated beasts broke into the city and there wasn’t time to reach the fortifications.

He pulled down the locking ring, and the exit shutter of the alley silently descended. Now, this five or six-meter-long passage was completely cut off from the outside world.

“No one should disturb me now,” Ji Cheng muttered, taking out the access pod.

His hands were trembling ever so slightly.

“If I hadn’t been a veteran player of ‘The Grand Galaxy’ and had the fortune to witness the Gaia Network, I would never have guessed that this planet actually concealed a Deep Space Black Dot.”

No one truly knew the essence of the ‘Deep Space Black Dot’. All that was known was that both the ‘Deep Space Black Dot’ and the Gaia Network were artifacts created by an ancient cosmic civilization countless eons ago.

Even in the final version of ‘The Grand Galaxy’, the Gaia Network remained the only immersive virtual world that spanned the entire universe, and its servers were rumored to be hidden beyond the event horizon of a black hole.

Before his transmigration, there was a popular theory among players known as the ‘Ice Lake Theory’, which likened our universe to the water beneath an ice sheet, while the Gaia Network was the sky above the ice. To enter the Gaia Network from the material universe, one had to find a breach in the ice.

That breach was the Deep Space Black Dot.

“But according to the story progression, it wasn’t until the third expansion, ‘Gaia: A New World’, that the Gaia Network was first discovered by an archaeologist from an alliance, by which time the Galactic Empire had already perished centuries earlier.”

He selected the string of garbled code and used the access pod’s built-in quick-crack program to open an upload channel.

“Let me remember, what was the default key for the Deep Space Black Dot?” Ji Cheng thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up and he typed a sequence into the display.

As a transmigrator, he didn’t need to crack it from scratch—the default key for the Deep Space Black Dot had long been made public on the game forums in his previous life. As long as this black dot hadn’t been altered, he could enter unimpeded.

“Why haven’t I entered yet?” The thought had barely formed when everything around him abruptly froze.

The flickering screen, the beeping of the access pod, even his own breathing—all were cut off.

His mind still spun, but the world was utterly still: absolute silence, absolute peace.

Ji Cheng felt himself ascending. The surroundings blurred and faded until he floated, bodiless, without hands or feet, without eyes or ears.

He could neither see nor hear. All sensation slipped away.

He didn’t know how long it lasted—perhaps only a second, perhaps several minutes—before his senses returned to him.

“In the game, entering the Gaia Network was instantaneous. Why is it so complicated in reality?” Ji Cheng mumbled.

“Wait, I can speak?” Ji Cheng gasped in surprise, quickly looking down.

He had a body again, though he still felt somewhat incorporeal. Lifting his head, he found himself facing a vast, shadowy space.

Three towering spired arches loomed ahead, each crowned with a row of grotesque, fearsome sculptures. Metal columns supported the arcades, above which rose soaring, mysterious triangular symbols. On either side of the gates stood two massive, dark towers.

The towers stacked five grand levels, each harmoniously contributing to the monumental whole. In Ji Cheng’s eyes, the space radiated an imposing order—statues, carvings, engravings, and innumerable intricate details only adding to its majesty and calm.

It seemed less the work of mortals and more the handiwork of gods.

“Isn’t this the headquarters of the Machine Cult?” he exclaimed.

The scene before him was precisely the one he’d seen in the game’s promotional videos—the headquarters of the Machine Cult: three arches, the mechanical pyramid emblem, five-tiered towers… there could be no mistake.

“Who would have thought—the infamous villainous faction’s headquarters was hidden within the Gaia Network all along.” Ji Cheng realized. No wonder, when the Winter Coalition issued a world quest and countless players searched tirelessly, no one could find this place.

Unless you entered through the corresponding Deep Space Black Dot, unless your technology rivaled that of the civilization that created the Gaia Network, you would never locate this virtual space.

“It seems this was once a religious site of the ancient civilization, later discovered and repurposed by the Undying Machine Nation as the Machine Cult headquarters.”

Ji Cheng gently traced the archway, making his own deductions. The body he now inhabited was, in fact, the creator and pontiff of the Machine Cult.

He proceeded deeper through the portal. The way was unobstructed, and after a mere few dozen meters, he came upon another great metal door, standing open, at least ten meters high.

“Oh my god.” Ji Cheng suppressed his amazement and stepped inside.

It was a vast, ancient, and silent hall, covering over a thousand square meters, utterly empty except for a long table at its center, flanked by four chairs on each side.

At either end of the table, one side held a high-backed throne, the other an enormous mechanical torch.

But the torch was extinguished, no flame upon it.

Ji Cheng approached the throne. After a brief hesitation, he sat down without fear.

—Virtual space permissions written. Council Hall activated.

A voice sounded. A ring of light columns illuminated the hall’s perimeter, revealing the entire space.

He scarcely had time to take it in before a torrent of data surged into his mind.

From this data, he gleaned a few key facts:

1. This virtual space was called the Council Hall, and now belonged to him.
2. There were a total of nine Deep Space Black Dots leading to this place; besides the one he entered through, the other eight corresponded to the eight chairs.
3. Each Black Dot channel permitted only one person at a time.
4. With his administrative rights, he could modify or even revoke the keys to these nine channels.

Digesting this information, Ji Cheng’s heart surged with excitement.

“Nine channels—this must be the highest-level virtual space in the Gaia Network!”

……

Galactic Empire. Weiyang Star Palace.

As the heart of the Empire’s vast domain and its supreme seat of power, countless decrees were issued from here, and untold lives flourished or perished by its will.

“Somewhere in the universe, gods must exist.”

Ji Ruyue furrowed her brow, slender jade fingers resting beneath her sharp, snowy chin, her expression cool and aloof. Despite her noble bearing, there was an air about her that made one want to profane her dignity.

“But they all say there are no gods in the universe. Those old men at the Royal Academy of Sciences even published 497 papers to prove it.”

A trace of gloom flickered in her eyes, yet she still refused to accept it.

“If there are no gods, how did the universe come to be? Where did matter originate?”

Ji Ruyue tapped open the floating screen at her side, preparing to access the imperial historical archive’s internal network.

“There must be a clue somewhere.”

As her fingertip drew near the screen, a network name filled with garbled code refreshed before her. Before she could react, her finger had already tapped it.

A flash of black light—and she slumped, unconscious, into the cool chair.

……

“Where… is this?”

Ji Ruyue opened her eyes, dragging herself out of the senseless void. Her mind was blank, struggling to grasp what had just occurred.

For a few minutes, she’d almost thought she had died.

“Welcome to my hall, my lady.”

“Who’s there?” Ji Ruyue turned her head cautiously. The first thing she saw was an ancient-looking throne, upon which sat a man whose face she couldn’t discern.

Yet something about him radiated an innate authority, a presence impossible to resist.

“Sit.” The man’s tone was calm, yet brooked no argument.

In a daze, Ji Ruyue sat. The cold metal of the chair pressed against her back.

Her heart was pounding uncontrollably. This utter loss of control, to her surprise, held a certain allure.

“May I ask, was it you who… brought me here?” Ji Ruyue asked, her rosy lips nearly pressed into a line.

She had never experienced such a loss of agency, and it both thrilled and unsettled her.

“Yes.”

“And may I ask, what is this place?” She did her best to maintain composure on her stunningly beautiful face.

“A higher-dimensional space.” The man’s stern, commanding voice echoed in her ears.

A higher-dimensional space?

The calm she’d just managed to muster nearly shattered again.

Though she rarely left the capital, Ji Ruyue’s access to the royal knowledge repositories meant her learning was considerable, and this concept was beyond belief.

Could such a thing truly exist?

“Are you… a god?”

The word trembled from her throat.

“Not yet,” the man on the throne replied, shifting his posture to face her directly.

He claimed he was not a god… yet he could lift someone into a higher-dimensional space. She glanced at her current body, which looked almost ethereal. Her senses were sharper, her movements more agile and free than ever before.

It was all so incredible.

Even if this man was not yet a deity, he could not be far from it…

“Then, have you brought me here because you need something from me?” Ji Ruyue asked, her eyes shining with anticipation.

“Worship me.”

The hall suddenly fell silent, broken only by Ji Ruyue’s increasingly rapid breaths.

And he claimed not to be a god!

What normal person would demand worship? Her beautiful eyes shone with a strange light.

“Please… please let me become your follower. I will do anything you ask of me.” The cold, noble composure fell away, replaced by supplication and docility.

I must seize this chance! She bowed her head, not daring to look at the throne, as her mind raced with speculation:

This being—who claims not to be a god, yet can bring me into a higher dimension, and seeks worship—perhaps he is an exiled, or newly awakened, ancient god.

Only such an explanation could account for all this.

As a devout theist and an ardent dreamer, such a guess struck at the core of her soul, making her tremble all over.

“Complete one task, and you may become my follower.” The man on the throne turned his hand, and the surrounding darkness seemed to twist with it. “It’s only fair, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, very fair!” Ji Ruyue nodded frantically. “Please, give your command.”

The hall grew silent once more, the stillness now tinged with unease.

Ji Ruyue’s heart was in turmoil. Suddenly inspired, she knelt gracefully on the floor. “Your command, my lord.”