Chapter 98#

Distant Star Reflection 06#

Tan Per responded to Yu Feichen by pulling the nearby blanket over his face.

Yu Feichen considered if he’d said something wrong, concluding negatively.

The covering obstructed breathing. He wanted to pull it away, yet realized this experience was his first. Recalling the dungeons passed, the supreme deity rarely performed actions toward him, even less frequently displaying emotion.

In a moment of distraction, he remained covered longer, nose suddenly catching the tranquil ethereal scent—like eternal sleep flowers.

Yu Feichen pulled the blanket away, finding Tan Per already sitting upright against the backrest, regarding him thoughtfully.

The person’s brows and eyes were icily bleak. Even while thinking, they lacked nothing of calm decisiveness, only subtle melancholy like thin smoke between brow and eye corner—call it wistfulness or compassion, altogether unfathomable.

Yu Feichen: “What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking…” Tan Per’s tone was surprisingly sincere. “…our luck really is terrible.”

Yu Feichen laughed.

Tan Per seemed never to have seen him laugh, simply watching continuously.

Yu Feichen: “But you’ve come now. Be kinder to yourself next time.”

The supreme deity experienced unexplained weakening in each dungeon. Yu Feichen still wondered if this world’s version would develop heart disease or acrophobia. He hadn’t expected a straightforward reduction to a soon-to-be triggered omega.

He asked a question long delayed: “Don’t all these worlds begrudge your arrival?”

“I haven’t truly descended. Incomplete things necessarily possess flaws,” Tan Per said flatly. “But I won’t truly die within dungeons either. You needn’t concern yourself.”

Yu Feichen wasn’t surprised. Indeed, if the supreme deity descended with full power, this fragment wouldn’t survive—it would simply dissolve under eternal day’s light.

“Then your consciousness,” he said. “Part remains in paradise handling affairs, with a fraction here watching me?”

It could subdivide endlessly, each entry person accompanied by one—demonstrating the deity’s affection.

Tan Per: “As consciousness, I currently exist only here, beside you.”

This was barely acceptable. Yu Feichen now permitted him access to the Landon family sanatorium’s temperature-regulated railings.

“But I probably can’t complete occupation within six days,” Yu Feichen said. “In six days, we might still be trapped in the wormhole.”

Tan Per: “I know.”

Yu Feichen pondered further, saying: “Or tell me your values. I’ll help find you an alpha.”

Facing Tan Per’s unusual gaze, he said calmly: “Don’t look at me like that. We’re not compatible.”

An alpha and omega cohabiting this long, with even intimate contact, showed no heat response from him. His mania was even subtly intensifying. Tan Per besides triggered responses showed no other symptoms—proof their values didn’t align.

Tan Per regarded him with another inexplicable look, then rose, walking toward the bathroom.

Water sounds emerged faintly. Left alone, Yu Feichen stared at the ceiling for a while, covering himself with a blanket. The illusory eternal sleep flower scent aided mental calm. He picked up the network terminal, beginning to supplement this world’s knowledge.

The device, called a network terminal, functioned below even a recently information-era world’s communicators. It had two functions only: communication and searching the “Truth Library.” Search terms could be nouns or questions. For existing knowledge, the library provided explanations or answers—for instance, apples were edible fruit.

Knowledge’s upper limits were four-operation algorithms and inhibitor basics. Deeper knowledge, like fundamental physics laws, left the library entirely empty.

Yet there were some introductions to the Truth Cathedral, though filled with flattery and religious nonsense, ultimately revealing the cathedral’s operational threads.

Knowledge acquisition terminated when Tan Per approached the bed, unveiling his blanket. Tan Per slightly furrowed his brows, expression resembling a kindergarten teacher fearing students would suffocate under blankets.

Seeing the information on Yu Feichen’s terminal, Tan Per asked: “How much did you learn?”

His hair was half-dried from wiping, transparent droplets sliding downward, disappearing into white bath-robe collar skin.

Yu Feichen only glanced once, gaze returning to the terminal, saying: “Enough.”

This was an empire jointly governed by cathedral and imperial house. The cathedral imparted and applied “Truth,” while the imperial house possessed secular power. Both maintained military forces—the emperor commanded armies while the pope had his knights.

They appeared balanced, but emperors required cathedral coronation, and only priests could operate advanced weapons and starships.

The cathedral annually selected gifted children from the empire, entering monasteries to study basic etiquette and doctrine. After successive elimination and selection, remaining children divided into directions—some learned daily task management, while the most exceptional studied “secret language” containing Truth itself.

“Secret language” was how the cathedral taught knowledge.

So secret language functioned like a knowledge chasm isolating everyone outside. Only the cathedral existed within it. Others felt no discontent, having seen the complex language—Truth resembled divine will, difficult to interpret. Only a select few possessed this talent, while others simply completed assigned work, received compensation, and enjoyed empire’s benefits and gifts.

The entire empire’s operational mechanism worked this way. As for “rebels,” the terminal held no relevant information.

“I think you won’t require me exploring even your rebellion process,” Yu Feichen said. “If the original Tan Per were here, I’d have already interrogated it from him.”

Tan Per: “You’re skilled at interrogation?”

Not particularly skilled. He simply frequently encountered situations where people psychologically became subordinate the moment he opened, making subsequent matters proceed naturally.

So Yu Feichen didn’t answer, directly meeting Tan Per’s gaze, saying: “You’re skilled at concealment.”

Tan Per slightly smiled, this time not refusing, telling him this rebel leader’s history.

Tan Per came from common family origins but displayed exceptional talent from childhood, naturally entering monasteries, studying “secret language,” eventually becoming a student closest to the pope through outstanding performance.

He touched many fields but excelled at language.

This prolonged rebellion began with language.

Tan Per spent five years mastering “secret language,” then another five years independently researching, simplifying and condensing, inventing another set of clear, simple universal language based on secret language and daily speech. At sixteen, he presented this language to the pope, believing it would greatly enhance truth study efficiency, unifying all existing truths—in original “secret language,” due to years of differentiation, each discipline’s language was independent, requiring specialist translation between them.

The pope, after long consideration, rejected this language, reasoning it would damage truth’s sanctity. Using secular language revealing truth’s laws would inevitably lead astray. Today’s convenience would tomorrow face deeper exploration’s inadequate-wording dilemmas.

Finally, this language was completely destroyed, cutting off Tan Per’s heretical notions.

Yet Tan Per never wavered. Rather, he felt disappointed in the pope. His disappointment spread from the pope himself to the cathedral itself—the stagnant truth cathedral, like a paralyzed giant, its pace became uncontrollable, moving further from truth itself.

If merely disappointed, it would pass. But excelling at language gave him broad social connections, traversing various branches, encountering people like himself, people who even had organized groups—the cathedral’s “rebels.” They each had specialties but shared one vision: a new, free cathedral.

Years later, at twenty-one, he became the rebels’ leader. Subsequently, over four years, he secretly planned multiple reforms but achieved no complete success—the cathedral’s hierarchy was strict, immovable. Yet the rebels grew, deeply embedding within the cathedral.

Then came this. They attempted to assassinate the pope but failed, exposing themselves entirely. As leader, Tan Per became prisoner, exiled to mining star.

“The process was complex, but his wish remained constant: universal language replacing secret language, all truth unified,” Tan Per said. “I’ve finished.”

Yu Feichen: “But you haven’t explained why he claimed to be an alpha with a partner.”

“Because mentally stable alphas are most convincing. Omegas, through character traits, always face certain restrictions,” Tan Per explained. “He understood early that opposing the cathedral required strong force, all participants needing steadfast conviction. To become absolute leader, he had to be alpha. Willpower could offset character weaknesses, and the cathedral’s quiet environment suited omega life. For years, no one discovered it—except his beta assistant. But the assistant believed he was also beta, and they pretended partnership.”

“Except he lived in constant danger for years, resulting in now’s triggered response being… extraordinarily intense,” Tan Per said helplessly, blinking. “Knowing his time was short, he made final all-or-nothing attempt, already prepared for worst.”

“He could supplement character flaws with willpower. You have willpower too. Why take inhibitors?” Yu Feichen asked an odd question, seeming to believe this person couldn’t possibly trigger.

“So I only needed three vials,” Tan Per said. “He needs ten.”

It sounded almost proud.

Yet Yu Feichen never doubted this supreme deity’s willpower and conviction. He only doubted the person’s potentially fragile physical state. After asking, he realized the remark completely bypassed his thoughts—like talking simply to talk with Tan Per.

Yu Feichen disliked this state. He changed topics: “What is the snowman?”

Tan Per, economical with words, pointed at his terminal, indicating self-search.

Yu Feichen: “…Oh.”

Thinking, he felt obligated to clarify he didn’t seek freebies.

“I was already going to search it,” he said, “but you emerged too quickly.”

Tan Per looked down, gazing at him flatly.

“Oh,” Tan Per said.