Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 204: The Dance of the Strings Begins
"It's not like you're being held captive by a string."
"You've long since lost the right to act."

The moment I stepped into the mansion, the air suddenly felt heavy.

It wasn't cold, but a feeling of pressure, like fine threads wrapping around the trachea and slowly tightening around the throat—heavy, damp, and suffocating, like a drowning person who has already lost their breath before sinking into the deep sea.

This is the first welcoming gesture brought by "Dead Silence".

The hall resembled a forgotten ancient theater, its dome soaring so high it was out of sight.
The walls are covered with reliefs and images that do not belong to any timeline.

The relief depicts a group of children holding hands on a misty stage. Each child's eyes are like empty white porcelain holes, like vessels without souls.

The portraits are stacked doll faces, some grinning, some with tears streaming down their faces, as if the world itself has been turned upside down.

The red carpet stretched out from the entrance, like velvet laid out in a pool of blood, leading everyone to the center—an isolated circular stage.

On the stage, a tall wooden puppet sits.

He wore a tattered top hat and a worn but impeccably tailored tailcoat, his hands neatly resting on his knees.

Its posture is like that of a devout sonata, with its back to the crowd, yet it occupies the center of the entire field of vision, as if it were the true "protagonist" here.

"This...is a theater?" Mu Sisi's voice sounded dusty, weak and trembling. "Like...the kind in my dream..."

“It’s a domain,” Zhuang Yege corrected softly, her voice like the friction of pebbles coming from a crack in the ground. “And it has already begun.”

boom--!
The floor of the hall suddenly trembled, as if some huge mechanism was slowly activating underground.

A ring of pale red runes appeared simultaneously beneath everyone's feet. The lines spread like blood on the stone slab, swirling, intersecting, and eventually forming hidden binding seals.

The next second, dozens of nearly transparent threads suddenly shot out from the gap between the ceiling and the floor tiles, precisely wrapping around everyone's wrists, ankles, and even the ends of their hair.

"Ah!!" Fujimiya Sumi cried out in surprise, staggering backward but falling straight to the ground.

Eileen tried to break free, but only felt a sharp pain. The thread was cold and thin, embedded in her skin without breaking or bleeding, yet it seemed as if it could pierce through her flesh at any moment.

Duan Xingzhou roared and struggled, but with each movement he made, the thread tightened, causing his tendons to tremble.

A sweet, ethereal child's voice filled the air, like a toddler holding a broken tape recorder, playing back a fragmented melody.

"Welcome...welcome—"

The puppet did not turn around, but a rusty speaker was embedded in its chest, from which the sound slowly emanated.

Its head suddenly rose.

There was no actual movement; it was as if an unseen hand had "lifted" the head, which had been hanging low—a pause, stiff, yet precise.
Finally, the wooden face that should have been expressionless was rotated into a "smiling face".

It was a "laughter" that was distorted to the point of being morbid.

His mouth was torn from the corner to the ear, his teeth were like wire files, his face was covered with cracks, and his eyes were painted black dots, yet they were facing everyone.

"Welcome to Act One, The Dance of the Strings," it "said."

The child's voice coming from the speaker had no intonation or rhythm, like an over-recorded cassette tape trying to maintain its integrity amidst constant cracks.

"The rules of the game are as follows—"

“When I turn my back to you, you may move; when I finish counting and turn around—the one who remains still the slowest will be taught a lesson by the thread.”

"The punishment—it'll get more and more exciting!" It chuckled, the sound like jagged teeth scraping against glass.

"Remember: Each of you is connected by a thread."

“I can’t see your movements—but I can feel the… trembling of the thread.”

Its laughter gradually became shrill, like the wind passing through the broken skull of a puppet, echoing in the empty theater as a distorted sound.

"There are no walkthrough instructions for this play. Stage hints are hidden within the theater."

“Go, my actors.” It paused for a beat, then the voice slowly faded.

"You guys—you're already in character."

The crowd exchanged bewildered glances, and for a moment, no one dared to move. Only the thread embedded in the flesh trembled slightly, as if waiting... to see which one would snap first.

The next second, the lights around the theater suddenly went out, as if an invisible hand behind the stage had pulled down the curtain.

In the pitch black, only a beam of dark red light suddenly shone in the center of the stage, like blood seeping through the curtain and congealing into the pupil of the observer.

Under the red light, the giant puppet still faced away from the crowd.

It wore a swallowtail coat covered in cracks, with a silver rod hanging from its fingertips, which gently rose with its movements, as if initiating some kind of eerie ritual.

"one."

The voice was delicate and sweet, like a little girl gently counting, yet behind each syllable lay a kind of unsettling, hollow echo.

No one dared to move.

Whether it was the fear of the rules or the sheer red light itself that made people instinctively hold their breath, it's hard to tell.

"two."

Vera whispered a reminder: "It's starting."

Her voice, like a pebble falling into a deep well in the darkness, caused no ripples, yet sent chills down one's spine.

"two."

The sound had barely faded for half a second—

It turned around.

It happened suddenly and without warning.

It wasn't "three," it wasn't any expected beat, but rather it happened right after the second note, before anyone was ready.
The puppet's head suddenly spun to its limit with a "clack," and the cracked smile was suddenly right in front of everyone's eyes, as if the entire theater had shrunk in an instant, and it was smiling at you—and you had nowhere to hide.

Snapped!
The air seemed to explode, and the threads tightened abruptly!
"Don't move!!" Rudolf growled, his voice hoarse and warning.

Everyone froze, like shadows nailed to a nightmare.

Except for one person.

Number 07, Xu Jinxiao.

The young man, who had always been silent and ignored, was a step behind in the rhythm just now.

His feet were still slowly moving towards the display cabinet by the wall, as if trying to find an escape route, or... just wanting to get away from that terrifying red light.

But he was half a second too slow.

The silk threads, like the tentacles of a jellyfish, suddenly tightened and wrapped around his limbs.

The puppet raised its right hand and flicked its fingertips.

"The first latecomer—please perform 'The Slap of the Regretful'."

boom!
No one made a move.

Xu Jinxiao's body seemed to be pierced and controlled by some kind of force. He turned around and swung his arm violently, slapping himself hard at an almost unimaginable angle!

The sound was crisp and clear, like the crack of a whip, and it exploded in the center of the theater.

He was slapped so hard he fell to the ground, his mouth split open, his right cheek swelled up rapidly, blood dripped from his ear, and even his voice was broken.

Mu Sisi let out a nearly out-of-control scream. Eileen rushed over but didn't dare touch him, and could only stare intently at his face.

“It’s not just ‘control’,” Rudolf said, his voice strained. “It’s forcibly pushing the human body to its limits to perform a certain action—with enough force… to cause a concussion.”

The puppet fell still again, its head turning back once more, like the curtain falling after the intermission in a play—slow, heavy, and deadly. Its hands hung limply, and the silver rod rose once more.

—The countdown to the next round begins.

"What should we do now?" Wang Yichen gritted his teeth, his face pale.

No one answered.

One fact has been etched in everyone's mind:

In each round, someone has to "perform".

In every round, blood inevitably falls on the red carpet of this theater.

The punishment just now was merely the prelude.

And "Act One" has only just begun.

The theater lights remained dim and reddish, but were no longer stable.

As if some dormant will is gradually awakening, the originally uniform red and white light source begins to change—purple-black, dark green, and dark blue colors flash alternately, as if the theater itself has fallen into madness.

The puppet returned to its original form, with its back to the crowd, its silver rod raised high.

Its movements were faster, its silhouette blurred like the ripped frames of a videotape, each action carrying an unusual "replay" feel.

"Next round."

The sound was like a fairy tale DVD playing for the ninety-ninth time—stuttering, out of tune, sweet yet distorted.

"start--"

"one."

Quiet.

"two."

Still quiet.

"……three."

Several players standing in the back row moved cautiously, their footsteps light and soft, like mice scurrying through the cracks in the church slabs.

"……Four."

"Hurry up, we only have this much time!" Wang Yichen urged in a low voice, but his voice already trembled almost imperceptibly.

"……five."

Rudolf silently counted the beats, his face as taut as iron.

His every breath was meticulously calculated, as if the slightest deviation would make him the next victim.

"……six."

The crowd was on the verge of a nervous breakdown; the sounds of footsteps, heartbeats, and the occasional humming of trembling threads all converged into a maddening white noise.

"……seven."

"It's still not turning?" Fujimiya Sumi's lips moved slightly, but she was so frightened by her own words that she immediately covered them.

Then--

"Turn around—"

The "cluck" sound was deliberately drawn out, as if someone were dragging their fingernails across glass, sweet and sharp, almost piercing everyone's eardrums.

boom!
The puppet's head suddenly spun around, and the smile that had split its face "flipped" out in a way that defied physiological structure.

It was as if his face was being hooked and torn outwards, and deep within his eye sockets was a blank and smooth ceramic, gleaming with a moist light.

"The slowest one is you—number 09."

The air suddenly froze.

Lin Wanqing, the girl who had always been cautious and silent, was suddenly thrust into the spotlight. She was still standing against the wall, her shoulders trembling, and had just tried to take a half-step back.

“Your ‘performance’ is—the kneeling of the remorseful.”

"Please execute."

Snapped--!
Her knee slammed into the ground as if struck by a hammer, the sound of bone cracking echoing through the theater like a withered branch breaking.

"what--!!!"

She let out a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed to the ground, blood slowly seeping from her trousers, staining her pale fingers red.

“This isn’t control…” Rudolf’s face was ashen, his voice almost trembling, “This is deliberately creating—trauma.”

"It's not punishment, it's 'calibration'."

"It precisely controls musculoskeletal responses, forcing the body... to break down."

The puppet has now returned to stillness.

As the red light faded, the silver rod slowly rose again, its posture seeming to say:
—Next.

Wang Yichen clenched his fist tightly, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to say something, but swallowed it back.

He never imagined that a "0.3-second delay" could result in a fractured bone, kneeling, bleeding, and a "silent judgment" from the crowd.

Mu Sisi and Eileen barely dared to move, huddled in the corner like rag dolls.

Fujimiya Sumire hugged her knees, her eyes unfocused, as if she were about to burst into tears.

“They’re insane…” Eileen sobbed softly, “We have no chance of winning…”

Rudolf's face had long since lost all color.

He gritted his teeth and uttered a low, almost choking, cold word:
"It is using rules to completely destroy our 'action judgment' and 'rhythm memory'."

“Every round, every turn, shatters a layer of human neural scaffolding.”

He looked at the three sorcerers, and at that moment his eyes held no questioning, only a desperate hope on the verge of collapse:

"You...are you really just going to stand by and watch?"

Zhuang Yege did not answer; the bronze bell rolled between his fingertips, trembling slightly. Vera closed her eyes, and a layer of holy light quietly appeared in her palm.

Si Ming stood on the outermost circle, his eyes closed, as if he were counting or listening to the wind.

They didn't move.

But they are waiting—

It wasn't about timing, but rather the one and only chance of victory that belonged to "humanity".

Every action is a line of dialogue;

Every moment of hesitation is a punishment;

You are no longer an actor.

You are the character who was written out of the story in this play.

(End of this chapter)